I came over to Bradford on Avon a couple of days ago, and am moored near the tithe barn in a long avenue of tall trees where the blackcaps sing. There are lots of kingfishers on the river here, or perhaps one very busy kingfisher. This morning I took an early walk and watched one fly along, dumpy and purposeful, and burst into a sunbeam like a blue meteor hitting the earth's atmosphere.
A short time later I saw the kingfisher again, hovering briefly over the water. I never knew they did that.
The splashing under the trees below the packhorse bridge proved to be not a giant otter, but a labrador called Walpole.
I'm guessing at its name.
Here's Peter, of NB Grey Hare. I last met him in Reading last year, when Suzanne and I were setting off up the alarmingly flooded Kennet in Suzanne's boat Electra. Peter's been at Hilperton over the winter, working on his engine.