A dull, but mild morning. Spring is in the air. And sex. Especially among the duck people.

Mallards are living on the flooded watermeadow and it’s just sex and mayhem. Worse than a Weatherspoon Friday night.

Bunches of males are trying to get to the females and being noisily warned off by the mate of the moment.

A pair had found a little bit of peace in one pond. The female standing on a little log, probably to make it harder for himself to get at her yet again. And then a large heron arrived for his breakfast, stalked up and told the pair of them to piss off, this was his pool.

Meanwhile, in a shrub outside my front door, a sparrow is yelling his head off. It’s not much of a song, but, bless him, he gives it everything he’s got.

His been doing this for weeks and I don’t see what he’s on about. OK, it’s a nice shrub and I’m sure he’s very proud of it. But nobody else seems to be interested in it or him. I don’t know whether he’s warning everyone to stay away from his very own bush, or advertising it in the hope that some nice young lady sparrow will come by, “ ‘Allo, Darlin’, fancy some messin’ about?”

Whatever it is, I hope it works out for him.