"You do realise the neighbours probably think you're some sort of Peeping Tom," I said to him indoors the other day.

He was leaning against the frame of the back door looking at a large white bird on the roof of the house opposite through the binoculars I got him for Christmas.

"It's a gannet," he said. "They don't normally nest inland. It's very unusual to see one trying to nest on a rooftop. I've only ever seen them at sea or on coastal cliffs."

"Yes, that's all very well but the neighbours won't think you are looking at a gannet. They will think you are spying on them and trying to see through their bathroom windows. Please put your binoculars away before someone's large and scary husband comes round."

In the end he did, although his gannet watch has continued without the aid of binoculars. He now keeps those for when he walks the dog over the South Downs.

Daughter was singularly unimpressed with his wildlife sightings, having little interest in the natural world these days, apart from her pets.

Her attention is all on the pop music scene and school, clothes and make-up and other such teenage pursuits.

Her first day back at school after the Easter holidays was "take your daughter to work day".

As she had the choice of getting up at 4am to go deep sea fishing with her dad or getting up at 7am to come to work with me, not surprisingly she chose to accompany good old mum to the hospital, despite not really having any intentions of taking up a career in the health service.

She appeared ready for work but somewhat inappropriately dressed in jeans and a crop top and was sent back upstairs to change into something more circumspect.

She was then devastated to find that her mobile phone would have to be switched off during the day while she was in the hospital.

"But how am I going to contact my friends?" she asked in dismay. You can phone them when you get home. I'm sure you can survive a few hours without texting everybody you know every ten minutes," I told her.

"I don't know if I can," she said.

She did manage to survive the day and interviewed a number of the staff who work with me to find out what they did and how they felt about work.

I don't think any of it changed her mind about not wanting to be a nurse or a doctor but at least she got a view of what real life is all about.

"It's very busy at your work. Does everybody have to work that hard all the time?" she asked that night. "I don't think I could do that."

I didn't like to tell her that whatever she finally decides to do will mean she will have to work hard to get where she wants.

She's happy in her little pink and fluffy teenage world at present, where the most onerous task she has to cope with is a double load of homework.

She might as well enjoy it while she can.

Besides, as she grows older I think she will realise that if you are doing what you want to do, work can be fun as well as difficult at times.

Perhaps she should have gone to sea for a bit of gannet-watching with her dad.