Expertise is the curse of our age. We feel inhibited from doing all sorts of things because we are not experts: listening to music, looking at art, writing poems, playing sport, cooking meals: we feel that there no point in doing them unless we are a world authority on the subject.

Such a dreadful, self-limiting way of living. There are more than a million members of the RSPB: very few call themselves birdwatchers. There are many more people who put out food for the birds: they do so out of love for the birds but would shy away from the title of birdwatcher. After all, they are not experts.

Expertise go hang. Birds give humans a great deal of pleasure in life: and you don't need a doctorate in ornithology to find it. No more do you need to chase rarities all over Britain: birdwatching is not really about rare birds. It is more about common birds.

How do you become a bad birdwatcher? Look out of the window. See a bird. Feel a moment’s of pleasure in the sight: feel your heart take wing with the bird: and you are a birdwatcher. Fully qualified. The rest is only a matter of degree.

I wrote How To Be A Bad Birdwatcher from, as it were, a missionary position: believing that a delight in birds is available to any one with eyes and ears: to any one prepared to forget all this nonsense about expertise. This hit a nerve in British life: so naturally, from an irresistible combination of missionary zeal and desire to cash in on a good thing, I wrote A Bad Birdwatcher’s Companion.

The book was intended as a personal introduction to 50 of the most obvious of British birds. Knowing a name matters: knowing a name, whether it is of a bird or a human being, is the way a relationship begins.

I have always loved birdsong: I love being able to tell one bird from another without even setting eyes on it. I have always wanted to share this, and I have done so in thousands of words. Just as often, I have taken friends for walks and made them listen: tried to make them hear. But now, at last, I am able to do this on a wide scale.

For I was asked to read A Bad Birdwatcher’s Companion for Naxos AudioBooks, and this allows listeners to hear not only the beauties of my voice, but also the voices of the birds themselves. Now, as well as hearing me going on about the loveliness of the blackbird’s song, you can hear the blackbird singing for himself.

At this time of year, birdsong is working up towards its peak. This is the time to listen: this is the time to begin to learn. If you can begin to open ears, hearts and minds to the great chorus of the spring: if you can become a bad birdwatcher and bad birdlistener as well, you will find incomparable joy. Without ever once being confused with an expert.

The CD of A Bad Birdwatcher's Companion by Simon Barnes is available at a special Times Online discounted rate from Naxos AudioBooks.

To buy a copy of How To Be a Bad Birdwatcher click here and to buy a hardback copy of A Bad Birdwatcher's Companion (hardback) click here

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