Birdwatchers flocking to a Yorkshire cul-de-sac might just be the most British moment... ever

In a week where political chaos has coincided with minimal sunlight, I, for one, have been thrilled to see news of birdwatchers converging on Yorkshire in hopes of seeing a rare bird.

Earlier this week, twitchers armed with enormous cameras travelled for hours in the hopes of seeing the scarlet tanager, an American songbird that had rather mystifyingly taken up residence in a back garden in Shelf near Halifax, West Yorkshire.

They were split on how it had ended up there: one thread on X patiently laid out an argument for its escaping from somewhere, using maps with established previous locations for the bird. Others thought it might have been blown off course by a hurricane. None could miss the chance to see it in an easy-to-access location rather than on a far-distant island, as its few previous British sightings had been.

Not only did this story – again, about a single bird in a West Yorkshire cul-de-sac – make the 10 O’Clock News, but it’s been widely read. This is an example of the quintessentially British story, a humble piece of determination centred on an unusual hobby or occurrence that has the potential to become a low-budget yet award-winning TV drama.

There is something about everyone getting caught up in a no-pressure excitement that is particularly delightful. It happens less and less often now that TV viewing has become so fractured and social media platforms break down, so when it does, it can be as joyful as a national holiday.

I have fond memories of a job interview that took place in 2016 on a day when the entirety of Twitter was glued to Drummond Puddle Watch – a live-stream of people trying to navigate a particularly large puddle in Newcastle. Then there was The Queue to see the Queen, already the basis of a novel but surely set to become a prestige ITV drama.

I watched it from the hospital while recovering from an operation and completely glued to following this enthralling but couldn’t-be-lower-stakes drama play out online as people patiently lined up to pay their respects to the late Queen. Also in 2022, much of the UK lost an entire workday to watching Jerry Dyer’s YouTube stream of planes landing at Heathrow airport in heavy winds. It went viral thanks to his ecstatic commentary.

I experienced this kind of pure and simple joy first-hand in 2020, when, in an inspired bit of creativity, my husband made me a no-context book of every WhatsApp picture we had sent one another through the first Covid lockdowns. It was thuddingly, comfortingly dull. One spread was just pictures of HG mould spray from when I gave the bathroom a makeover. I shared a thread of these pictures and it went viral, with people setting reminders to do it for their friends the next year (they did). As with all the other trends, it was a lovely bit of connection through something very gentle, very silly – and very British.

I’m feeling this again now with the rush of people joining the social media platform Bluesky from X. Along with numerous mutterings that “skeets” is the worst possible term for posts (welcome, sub-editors), newcomers are saying it’s reminding them of the early days of Twitter when #cheesejokes would trend for an entire day and Rhodri Marsden’s #duvetknowitschristmas first saw people sharing their bleak accommodation at family gatherings.

Something so low-stakes acts as a grounding of sorts. It’s familiar, uniting and gently lovely. People experiencing an anxiety attack are suggested to name something they can see, hear, feel and taste. Those in 12-step recovery groups ask for “the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference”.

During times of immense turmoil, keeping things small can be deeply helpful. Few of us, if any, can affect global politics – but we can get excited about a bird.