Panic in the Rose Garden

A colder day with a keen east wind makes the small birds hungrier, and Great Tits, Blue Tits and Coal Tits in the Flower Walk were keen to take pine nuts from my hand.

The familiar Robin at the southwest corner of the bridge ...

... and one of the Coal Tit pair hurried up the top of the steps before I reached their usual feeding place.

The female Robin at Mount Gate still has to be called before she comes out on the railings. It's a ritual now, and she's accustomed to it.

A pair of Long-Tailed Tits bounced about in a tree by the Vista. They're seen in pairs and no longer in winter flocks as the nesting season approaches.

I was photographing a Blue Tit in the Rose Garden ...

... when suddenly the small birds dispersed in all directions in an explosion of panic. They had seen a Sparrowhawk, which swooped down at their bush. Luckily it didn't get any of them. It flew up and perched in a plane tree.

This is a young bird, as you can tell from the coarse barring on its front. I couldn't find where the usual pair at the police station nested last year, as the old Magpie nest they used to use had fallen to piece. But it's clear that they did nest.

The scattered feathers of a Feral Pigeon at the Triangle showed where a Sparrowhawk had struck earlier.

A Magpie perched on a stump by the Long Water, with gorse blossom in the background.

A Jay looked expectant in a tree farther along the path.

Jackdaws lined the Serpentine Road.

You can never tell whether gulls are courting or about to shoo a rival. Three young Herring Gulls seemed to be a pair ousting a third, and sitting down is a sign of assent, but then they too chased each other.

The single Great Crested Grebe at the island refuses to be budged by the pair. After they shoo it, it simply returns to its usual place.

Coots are rebuilding the nest south of Peter Pan, usually a successful site.

A Coot made itself comfortable on the swan nesting basket at the Triangle. Geese, ducks and herons have used this basket but I've never seen a Mute Swan interested in it.

Miniature daffodils in the Rose Garden are barely larger than buttercups.

I thought this growth on a fallen tree trunk near the Henry Moore sculpture might be a Chicken of the Woods that had been partly eaten by a squirrel, but it isn't the season. Google Lens says it's a Dog Vomit Slime Mould, Fuligo septica, and indeed there is an unmistakable patch of that on a log a short way off, but it's a different strain, bright yellow and hugging the surface.

The official mind at work: how to get the word 'issue' three times into a 38-word notice.