pumpkinstrokemarrow

Rather different sort of nature note this morning. BH has been happily watching the nesting activities of two robins in the ivy over the top left hand corner of her kitchen window. Breeding empathy between females. And observing, for example, that they do not fly into the nest when she is observing them. Elementary precaution. But not enough to put Franklin off the case, a cat not previously known for his feral vigour. He twigged and before we noticed he had jumped from the window sill up into the nest, struggling a bit as not very good at climbing the ivy. All the leaves get in the way of the twigs he might latch onto. BH chases him away. Firmly transfers him to the front garden and locks the door. A few minutes later he jumps down from the extension roof and grabs something - an egg or a chick - from the nest which he carries off behind the compost dustbin to consume in private. BH most put out, although luckily disturbed at that point by the telephone ringing. By the time she had dealt with that, temperature had dropped. Franklin continues to hover in the hope of being able to grab something else.

Which gives rise to various problems. How did Franklin, who disdains pidgeon chasing on the lawn, know that robin activity in ivy means interesting things to eat in the ivy? Fairly sure this would not be something that his mother taught him. Why did he care enough to make it back from the front by an alternative route? How did he know about the alternative route? What do the robins do? Do they get divorced? Do they start over? Start over in a new nest or have another go with the old? Again, not matters on which they would have been guided by their parents. If these things are coded in brain cells, how does that code get there? Seems a bit far fetched that it is all derived in some mechanical way from the coding of genes.

Different sort of red in tooth in the margins of the visit to the Couper Gallery the other day, when we noticed a helicopter hovering over No. 10 Downing Street. Now prime ministers, despite appearances, are generally energetic and aggressive people or they would not have made it there. So generally susceptible to a bit of military flummery. I bet they are all deeply impressed - as indeed they should be - by the ceremony of the keys to the nuclear missiles, something which one assumes is done very soon after kissing the hand of the monarch and having been fully empowered to act on her behalf. So the thought ran through the mind, as we stood on the peace pagoda on the bank of the river, that outbound prime ministers are allowed one last bit of military flummery. They are allowed to press the red panic button which has a helicopter stuffed with special forces sent over from the Battersea heliport. In then hovers over the chimney of the prime ministerial residence, lowers a grapnel and hauls the outbound prime minister up through the chimney into the helicopter, his arms and legs flailing in an impressive way, and which then whisks him off to honourable exile on some remote island in the outer isles. He is given a list to choose from. A sort of reverse Father Christmas operation. Meanwhile the inbound prime minister marches in through the front door to the sound of trumpets and the popping of flash bulbs, especially procured from Harrods for the occasion. As with all well managed brothels, outbound customers never bump into inbound customers.

The word apotheosis comes to mind, which links to the virgo immaculata of yesterday's second post.

PPS and why, on what must have been about the 10th post of this post, did Mr G. get around to telling me about http://www.zooplus.co.uk/. The post in question changed an 'in' to an 'on'. Maybe there is an element of time dependence or chance about these advertisements.