Making a splash

R had to go to Stratford today, and I tagged along in the hope that he'd buy me cake. Which he did, so all is peace and harmony in the O household this evening.

The Avon is currently in the sad state of being ornamented by neither dragonflies nor tufted ducks, and nor are there any winter thrushes on the rec' as yet. But I was saved from having to go home and wrangle some garden inverts (as, of course, were they) by this swan launching into its bathing routine just as I was walking along the bank. It's a fair while since I've posted a scene like this, and that's seems like enough of a reason for doing it today.

I couldn't decide for quite a while which of these two photos to feature. I like the extra for its combination of fabulous feathers and the baleful side-eye I seemed to be getting from the swan. But in the end I went with this huge splash, which isn't a usual element of these bathing performances, and I think must be the result of a stray upward kick. The open bill makes me fantasise that he's singing a particularly enthusiastic bath-time song, or maybe just yelling "YEAH!!!" in triumph at producing a column of water that's taller than he is (though of course this is a mute swan, so in reality he can only produce hisses, growls and squeaks).

I read somewhere recently that one of the top irrational fears among British people is having their arm broken by a swan, but while this may be an unlikely occurrence I'm not sure so far outwith the bounds of possibility as to count as irrational. The fact that a bird of this size can lift itself so far out of the water speaks to its strength, and when you add in some attitude - and the swans at Stratford have plenty of that - you get a creature that I think merits treating with respect. I saw one chase a guy off a bench the last time I was in town, which was, admittedly, quite funny, but at the same time I was relieved that someone else was the victim rather than me.