counting coots

The other night that Jamie Oliver was on the telly. It was a new programme where he goes round different places drenching food in copious amounts of olive oil while having staged mock-matey chats to locals. Pukka, innit? Anyhow, while he was drenching something else with olive oil (al fresco) in Venice I could hear a Chaffinch singing in the background. So far, so inane. However, the Chaffinch song was markedly different from the song we hear in the UK and my interest rose a little....


When I wur a lad dear reader, I was given a little aide memoire about how to recognise a Chaffinch song. Imagine a fast bowler approaching the wicket to bowl. Curtly Ambrose will do. As he approaches the wicket, the frequency of his footfall will increase as he approaches and delivers his 90mph Yorker. The Chaffinch song is likened to this footfall. Listen out next time – works a treat.

Now, as you may know, birdsong can vary from region to region and I find that the ones I notice the most are Chaffinch and Wren – probably because they are quite structured bursts of song and that’s why it was pretty easy to notice the difference. The Italian Chaffinch song started as ours does but there is a slight but noticable pause before the final flourish.  My meandering point is that the children of Italy cannot have the same aide memoire because the song is different. Oh, and they don’t play cricket.

I suppose that it could be compared to a footballer taking an illegal penalty.  Jogging up, pausing to put the keeper in one direction, and placing the ball in the opposite corner, scoring the goal without sanction.  Which some might think is apposite for an Italian striker. 

Well seeing as you asked, no the Grebes did not perform their foreplay dance yesterday but seemed more interested in actually building a nest. Nicely for me this seems to be on the corner of the dog leg of the river, possibly the only place on this little stretch that I cannot see. So in place of the spectacular watery extravaganza, have a picture of a small bird that I photographed badly.

However, did see this.

Yes, it is a Coot. And yes, it has nest material in it's gob.

To you this may seem mundane, to me this is the beginning of Groundhog Summer. Look at the mad red eye, and the steely determination to fulfill it's evolutionary destiny. This bird is beginning to make a nest in an area where it cannot succeed. Unless of course, it has learned from last years debacle. Now as my observations of the pair of Coots in this area last summer showed me, they have a fucking hard job remembering what happened yesterday (even if yesterday involved having the nest flooded out and the eggs sinking into the waters of the Wandle).

There will be, I am sure, considerable numbers of updates on these mentalists over the coming weeks....