Monday 3rd May Bank Holiday

Day 14

Walking by the canal we stop and watch a family of swans in the reeds of the far bank. The mother continuously dips her neck deep into the water. The babies, 7 of them - fluffy grey pompoms - bustle around her, light as meringues. The father hovers a little distance away, keeping his wings up and curved behind him. His attention is gluelike.

On the way back we see him again, alone this time. He’s zig zagging round an upturned white canoe. A wet-suited man, treading water, is trying to drag it to the bank. A woman is clambering out, hair dripping, shivering.

“We’ve been tipped out by that swan,” she says. As if she can’t believe it.

I’d love to have witnessed it - that display of raw protective instinct.

In the next curve of the canal we catch sight of the mother swan nestled on a platform of straw. Her babies are tucked in close, out of the wind, heads down, knowing daddy is on patrol.