Thursday 7 December 2017

It was a dim morning of drizzle interspersed with longer periods of rain. Shovellers don't mind rain ...


... and Blackbirds are delighted, as it brings up the worms. The pair at the bottom corner of the Dell ...


... were hauling up one every minute.


The Diana fountain was deserted, and a Grey Heron was standing on the edge as if it supposed there were fish in it. I'm pretty sure it was wrong.


Rose-Ringed Parakeets were drinking from a puddle.


A Magpie foraged in fallen leaves ...


... and a Moorhen doing the same found a small brown larva.


The pigeon-eating Lesser Black-Backed Gull was between meals, and scratched his beak thoughtfully.


These two Black-Headed Gulls seemed to be well mated, as they found no need for the full wing-spreading ritual and were content just to call to each other. The male (I think), seen first, had just returned from chasing another gull away.


A Goldcrest came out on a twig near the Henry Moore sculpture.


There was a flock of Long-Tailed Tits in the next bush.


A Great Tit expected to be fed.


The Rose Garden was empty of people, and there were Robins on bushes and benches everywhere.


Later, the sun came out, lighting up the white Mallard drake ...


... and bringing out the female Little Owl near the Albert Memorial.


On the way home I passed the Zambian High Commission, where a Carrion Crow was enjoying a large lump of butter it had found on the pavement.

18 comments:

  1. The amount of worms eaten by birds, makes you wonder how there's enough left to make earth. Or rather, in what enormous numbers they must exist.

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  2. Or insects. I don't remember who said that only one thing could be said for sure of God, according to his creation: that he likes insects.

    Is butter edible for birds? I guess it must be like milk, or perhaps yoghurt.

    Pretty little spherical Goldcrest! Never fails to brighten anyone's day.

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    1. I think it's the fat. We used to make bird food by filling coconut halves with melted suet/lard/dripping (can't remember which) including sunflower seeds. (you didn't buy that in shops then). You had to punch out one of those near-holes at the end of the coconut to put the string through.
      And, apparently, God is particularly fond of beetles.

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    2. And among beetles, He especially favours weevils. Jim

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    3. Including vine weevils that devastate my pot plants? I say.

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    4. According to Paul, beef dripping is the thing. You can get it from Sainsbury's. He adds a bit of flour to make it stiffer,

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  3. What a fantastic blog !!! I'm planning a trip to Hyde park on Saturday morning. Not being familiar with the area is there a particulary good time to see them / area they favour. I've noticed the 'Leaf Yard' mentioned in a few posts. Would you mind pointing me in the right direction please ?

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    1. Sorry I'm reffering to the Little Owl's.

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    2. Little Owl pair 1: start at the leaf yard, the fenced enclosure with the statue of Peter Pan on its east side. At the southeast corner of this enclosure there is an old battered chestnut tree. Look for the next one, a few yards away to the southwest. Then look for the one after that, at a slightly greater distance and up the hill a bit. It has brambles round its base. This is the Little Owls' nest tree, and the owls' long-term favourite branch, when viewed from the north side, is at the near corner of the tree. However, they are less likely to be seen here in winter. At the moment the male owl may sometimes be seen in a hole in a tall horse chestnut tree 100 yards away just short of the Queen's Temple, and viewable from the temple side. There are three tall horse chestnuts: look in the middle one, third branch from the bottom on the left side.

      Little Owl pair 2: start on the north side of the Albert Memorial and walk north towards the statue of Physical Energy. When you get to the bicycle path, turn left (west) and walk until you come to the first intersecting path, which crosses at a very shallow angle. On the near left (southeast) corner of the intersection there is an oak tree. The nearest tree to this, also an oak, tree has the Little Owls' hole in it. You need to view the tree from the south side, that is, the side away from the path. Seen from this side, there is a thick branch sticking out slightly above horizontal about 35 feet up the trunk, with a large bulge in it and a large round hole in the bulge.

      Little Owl pair 3: stand in front of the Henry Moore sculpture. Look up the hill towards the park offices. There are three tall lime trees half way up the hill. The owls' nest hole is in the nearest of these trees. Stand on the north side of it. The hole is in the second big branch up from the bottom, on the right side.

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  4. Wow,excellent instructions. Thanks very much.

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  5. The biologist J.B.S. Haldane was fond of saying that, if one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of creation, it would appear that 'He' has an inordinate fondness for stars and for beetles (by Haldane's estimate, in the 1940s, there were nearly 300,000 species of beetle known, as against fewer than 9,000 species of birds ). Haldane was making a worrying theological point: a God is most likely to take trouble over reproducing its own image, and 300,000 attempts at the perfect beetle contrast with one stab at humankind. "When we meet the Almighty face to face he will resemble a beetle and not the Archbishop of Canterbury".

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    1. Indeed archbishops adorn themselves with carefully crafted regalia, but jewel beetles are naturally so. Jim

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    2. If God was like a beetle, I'd be OK with that. But if he was like the Archbishop of Canterbury I'd be seriously worried.

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    3. A couple of interesting articles here and here cover how Egyptian scarab mythology prompted some Christian sages to identify Jesus as the true scarab deity, and less specific beetle metaphor. Jim

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    4. Hooray, Haldane was on to something. And there has to be some agency to push the great dungball of the sun across the sky. It stands to reason.

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  6. If any, I think I'd prefer any godhead to be something entirely different..

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    1. Think of Kafka's Metamorphosis as an apotheosis.

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    2. I'd really rather not, thank you. Much as appreciate insects.

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