In a tree near the bridge, there were loud calls from an agitated Wren, and two very small birds could be seen dashing about in the twigs. I thought it was a couple of Wrens chasing each other in flirtation or rivalry. Then a Wren burst out of the tree and fled into another one, and I got a chance to photograph its pursuer. It was a Goldcrest.
Probably the Wren had got too close to the Goldcrest's nest, which made the smaller bird angry and brave enough to chase it away. By the way, this is not the well known Goldcrest's nest in the yew tree at the southwest corner of the bridge. It is at the northwest corner, near the little flight of steps leading down from the bridge to the path.
This is also where the most easily photographed Great Crested Grebes' nest is, though you have to crouch down on the path to get a clear view through the twigs, and when the leaves come out it will be much harder to see.
The other grebe of the pair was on the opposite side of the bridge, fishing. This picture was taken looking down from the bridge.
At the far end of the Serpentine, two pairs of grebes were having a territorial dispute, with a good deal of circling and calling and diving. As usual, it subsided peacefully.
The pair of Mandarins on the Serpentine had worked their way up farther from the bridge, and were well to the east of the Lido when I found them. The meaning of this slow advance is not clear.
As usual, a Coot has nested inside one of the small boathouses.
This nest site has a serious problem: the chicks fall off the platform into the water and can't get up again. I must speak to the people at Bluebird Boats and ask them to put in a temporary plank. This boathouse is not used for anything at the moment.
When I was a child and the water in the Serpentine was black and filthy, they used to add chlorine to the water at the Lido during the swimming season -- which would not be allowed now. Two motor boats were used for this, and they were kept in the boathouses. Their names were Doreen and Chloreen.
The Black Swan has returned from his excursion on to the Long Water, and was in his usual place on the reed raft, preening under the gaze of a Moorhen.
A Great Tit perched on a tree stump in the leaf yard.
In the same place, this Coal Tit was getting bored with being photographed, and stared impatiently at me wanting to be given a pine nut.
A Little Owl was out in the oak tree near the Albert Memorial.
And so was another in the lime near the Henry Moore sculpture.