A Blackbird was singing near Kensington Palace.
This is one of the many birds that have found a home in the enormous beech hedge enclosing the 'Wiggly Walk', a path of hairpin bends down a steep slope at the uphill end of the building -- a very fit wheelchair user could make it to the top. This precipice is part of the larger slope of the Broad Walk.
A geologist told me that the slope, which you can also see in Kensington Church Street, marks the transition from one flood plain of the Thames to the next one down, as the enormous river carrying away meltwater from the glaciers at the end of the Ice Age gradually shrank. The Thames was bigger than the Amazon and, because sea levels were much lower, turned north around East Anglia and joined the Rhine to meet the ocean in what is now the northern part of the North Sea.
Another Blackbird was singing near Rima, and so was the male of the harem of Wrens that live in the scrub between here and the road. Here one of them is foraging under a lime tree.
The male of the pair Coal Tits here was also singing. But the pair in the leaf yard were too intent on following me to be fed to bother about music.
The familiar Robin outside the ticket office of the Lido had taken up his usual station in the olive tree and was singing fit to bust.
On the Round Pond, Blondie the Egyptian Goose was having a frantic wash.
She is now always seen with her newly acquired mate. We might get some blond babies in due course.
One of the pair of Great Crested Grebes at the top of the Long Water had caught a perch under the willow tree, and was turning it round so that she could swallow it without the spiny dorsal fin catching. No wonder grebes have to eat feathers to protect their insides.
The male Little Owl looked out of his nest hole for a moment.
And the male Tawny Owl was in his usual place enjoying the sunshine.