The eight eggs have become three plump fledgelings and are , as of today , allowed out of the nest , carefully shepherded by both parents . The gloomier among us who predicted instant disaster in the form of ingestion by huge fish or being turned into mincemeat by outboard motor have been proved wrong .
The woman who won't feed them even a crust of bread in case they become "too reliant on Fast Food" is being ignored by another fan who buys them biscuits .
And the man who knows everything now says he knew they'd have three , because coots always do ... even though at first he'd said it was a ( adjective deleted ) stupid place to have nested and no good would come of it .
And , so far , I've managed not to drop my camera in the water .
I've only lived here for twenty years so can't hope to know everyone yet , unlike an extremely elderly neighbour who pointed out a wizened old chap in a scootmobile to me , yesterday , "He was my mother's milkman , you know " .
But now I'll be able to say in fifty years time , "That's the Gwyneth Paltrow woman of us waterfowl fanciers , you know ."
Of course I have been doing other things , too .
The Annual Scarf gets a centimeter longer every day . It was inspired , in part , by this poster
And by a couple of recently painted houses in Groningen
Oh , and talking of posters ...
I now find myself considering every cat I come across ... The power of advertising .