Does your neighbourhood contain a badly singing thrush?

Since early Spring I've had to endure the dreadful chirrupings of a thrush that desperately needs singing lessons. Early every morning, it turns the dawn chorus into a maelstrom of distorted crotchets and fractured quavers. Every note is so horribly off-key, even the leaves on the oak trees opposite are crazily hurling themselves off the branches. It's even worse than listening to Duran-Duran's current comeback tour or British Eurovision Song Contest entries. I've rung the Royal Society For The Protection Of Birds (RSPB) and received the reply that its relentless mutilation of soothing birdsong may be due to avian laryngitis. Or more likely, because it's thoroughly tone deaf. It hasn't attracted any mates (sensibly, on hearing the first battererd notes they flew off somewhere else).
I saw it in my garden the other day, bashing a juicy snail to smithereens. It ignored both my ear muffs and the roaring engine of the ground-to-air missile aimed at it. Nothing happened because my attention was diverted to another strange sight. Wood mice attacking Blackbirds? I'm beginning to wonder whether my garden has a hidden crop of magic mushrooms. Unlike house mice, wood mice are sweet-faced and ginger coloured and for their own safety should never be announcing "I'm here" in broad daylight to predators up in the sky, in the bushes or approaching them with a baseball bat. More strange Nature Notes soon.