Saturday, 29 February 2020

A wonderful find in a bin at the Lido restaurant for a pair of Carrion Crows: two whole chicken mayonnaise sandwiches, to which they returned again and again. In case they still had a corner to fill afterwards, there was some falafel too. Human wastefulness is scavengers' gain.

A Starling was foraging for insects in a big flower pot on the terrace.

Another crow gave me a haughty stare from a gatepost beside the Long Water, the paint worn off by countless birds' claws.

A noisy political rally at the Hyde Park bandstand didn't disturb the Redwings a few yards away in their little triangle of worm-rich ground. They were safe behind a fence and knew that no one was paying attention to them.

There were also several Blackbirds.

A Goldcrest came out on a yew tree in the leaf yard.

There was a good showing of small birds near the bridge, including two Coal Tits that came to my hand ...

... and plenty of Blue Tits.

I haven't seen the usual Chaffinches here for several days, but here's a pleasing picture of a female by Cindy Chen.

A Cormorant took off from the Long Water.

A pair of Coots bounced around in the choppy waves at the east end of the Serpentine. They want to build a nest on top of the weir where the water flows out of the lake, a silly place to which they return every year only to see their chicks swept away, but Coots have a strange inability to learn from experience. The current high winds won't die down for at least a week, but the persistent birds will hang around hopefully for as long as necessary until they get a chance to start building.

The pair of Mute Swans on the island stay mostly in front of the gate where they used to go in and nest, but which is now closed. They still haven't adjusted to the change. But there are several places outside the fence screened by bushes where they can nest perfectly well.

A Pochard drake glowed in the sunlight.


  1. The Swans look sad. There is something almost pathetic in how lost, or at a loss, they appear to be.

    The Coots are at it again. The triumph of hopefulness over experience, it seems.

    I like the idea of the Redwings's leading their secret lives happily away from the eyes of the masses, unaware of the existence of such a lovely bird under their very nose.

    1. Redwings are remarkably well camouflaged on bare ground. You can look directly at one quite near and standing still and not see it till it moves. The passers by don't have a clue that there's a bird there at all.