Lockdown day 60 - Just observations

I've discovered that Sunday at around 10:00am is the best time to go shopping at the local Co-op.  The parking space in front of the shop was entirely empty, there was no queue, and never more than four people in the shop at any time. I wore a mask for the first time, but it almost felt obsolete.

Grace has made two masks; one like this, but with the addition of a very effective bendy bit (very technical!) over the bridge of the nose,

and one like this, made out of a t-shirt of mine, and providing four thicknesses of fabric over the nose and mouth.

Swan update...

The cygnets are growing very fast.

(The nasturtiums have suddenly shot up, too!)

We'd been hoping that the parents would get round to showing them the weed that grows at the waterline all around Kantara, but it took them a while to register this.

(Oh, good grief, look at that paintwork! It'll be tidied up as soon as we can move.)

Then, lo and behold, they came again, this time to give it a proper try.

It's supposed to be very nutritious, and I'm sure it's a better diet than the bread they get fed with at other boats. It's not detrimental to the boat in any way, and it'll break off in a few weeks of cruising, but I find it very annoying at the moment.

During my coffee routines over the past few days, I've been fortunate to see a kingfisher flying from boat to boat opposite me, perching on a tiller or taff-rail for a few moments before moving on. The photo's not mine (I wish!)

Sorry, whoever, but I really have no idea where I got this photo from!

Shortly after the kingfisher finally disappeared, I watched in amazement as a crow made three attempts to fly low and slow over the water, apparently to pick something up with his talons. He failed, but what was he after? Fish?

There was no way I was going to get a photo of the crow fishing, either,

so this one's from the Scottish Wildlife Trust - but still not fishing.

Then there was the comedy of a mallard trying to land on NB Charlton's solar panels, angled at about 45 degrees. He slithered off backwards, but managed to gain some kind of purchase, which involved a great deal of wing flapping and foot scrabbling, but failed finally. As he slipped back down the glassy slope again, he tried hooking his beak over the top of the panel, and this worked for a few seconds, inasmuch as he stopped sliding off. But getting to the peak of his summit meant having to let go of his anchorage, and this meant... he simply fell right off in a most ungainly fashion. I can't swear that the noise made at that moment by other ducks actually was laughter, but it certainly sounded like it.

(If you're a boater who's been disturbed by a laughing duck at silly o'clock in the morning, it's a sound you hate!)

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