A soggy day

Drizzle turned to steady rain. The Grey Wagtail was hunting along the edge of the Serpentine by the Lido restaurant.

A Pied Wagtail trotted through the wet grass at the Round Pond.

There were still a fair number of House Martins here.

The Little Owl was understandably staying indoors.

A Wood Pigeon near the Dell nibbled at the leaves of Climbing Nightshade, Solanum dulcamara. This is not quite as toxic as its relative Deadly Nightshade, Atropa belladonna, but would make a sheep or a cow (or you) very sick. Pigeons have a remarkable tolerance of plant toxins.

There is a detective story, I think in the Dr Thorndyke series, in which a man poisons his rival by giving him pigeons and rabbits which he has raised in an enclosure with Deadly Nightshade planted in it. The animals are unaffected by the poison, but collect so much in their flesh that when eaten they can gradually kill a human.

The usual Great Tit in the Rose Garden came out of the shrubbery for a pine nut.

The Coal Tit could be seen at the bridge. It's a moody creature and only sometimes comes down to be fed.

Mark Williams sent a pleasing picture of two Blue Tits on his hand.

It's typical of them that when one is taking food the other one waits its turn by hanging off the edge with its claws. They are so light that this doesn't hurt but if a Great Tit did it, it would be quite painful.

A Magpie pulled bits of fallen bark out from the roots of a tree to see if there were any insects underneath.

The young Grey Herons had stopped climbing around and were standing in the nest. They clearly dislike being rained on.

The odd-coloured Lesser Black-Backed Gull with dark eyes was doing his Great White Shark impression.

The Black-Headed Gull on the landing stage looked around sharply to make sure that no other bird dared to land here.

One of the Great Crested Grebe chicks on the Long Water was under the bridge with its father.

Grebes are supremely waterproof, but bit of moisture on the surface of the feathers makes preening easier.

The Little Grebes  were still on the Round Pond, and this one was behind the eight ball.

For those unfamiliar with this expression, it originates from the game of pool, where you have to pot numbered balls in order. The ball marked 8 must be potted last. If your cue ball gets stuck behind it when you are trying to pot one of the other balls, you must avoid hitting it, which is a foul. So it's a metaphor for being in a difficult position.

The pair of Egyptian Geese at the Albert Memorial are usually here, a long way from the lake but today they had plenty of water.

A Red-Crested Pochard drake dozed at the island, unaffected by the drizzle ...

... but later, when it was raining hard, this one's bouffant hairstyle was beginning to subside. They have sacrificed the usual waterproofing of ducks for the sake of fluffiness.