Just a smidgeon down the water from Heyford lies Pigeon’s Lock. It’s right out in the boonies, with a couple of houses there a mile or so down an unmade road from the pleasant village of Kirtlington (while a safe distance from any Morris dancers), and a mile or so across the fields from the equally pleasant village of Tackley (where lies a handy railway station).

Chief mate had to nip home for a night so was deputed to do the honours, i.e. walk to Tackley station, go to Heyford to fetch the car, and then return the next day on train and foot laden with all the things we had forgotten when we brought the car up at the weekend.

Just below the lock was a pleasant enough spot to moor for a few nights, but being under the circuit at London Oxford Airport (sic) it’s clear that the commercial flying training bit is still busy: the continuous drone of unsynchronized props on light twin-engine aircraft practising single engine approaches and landings is unmistakeable… BTDTGTTS! Ah what memories.

Add that to one or more large dark green and unmarked helicopters carrying out nap-of-the-earth operations barely above tree level, and thunderstorms bumping around on and off all day, it wasn’t entirely the quietest spot to have a day off.

Mind you, last time I moored near here, back in the late eighties(?), it was the first weekday evening after the clocks went back to GMT, and all the commercial flying instructors were out doing their three “night” circuits and landings to keep their Night Ratings current. Within 20 minutes of official dark there were 21 (yes, I counted them, 21) aircraft airborne in the Kidlington circuit. The poor old Blackbushe air traffic controller used to wet himself if there were five in the circuit, in broad daylight.

Eschewing any flying, a kingfisher chose to moor up for half an hour or more on the boat just up from Song & Dance: lovely to watch through the binoculars, though the photo is handheld through a dirty glass window at long range.

And just to add spice to life, the plan to meet SWMBO at Tackley Station on her return and repair to the local pub for dinner was rather stymied when I rang them to check they were doing food that night. They weren’t. Good job there was nothing in the fridge.

I know Mallards (especially in the wild) don’t subsist entirely on stale bread, my fingers or hand-outs, although opening the side hatch anywhere pretty soon conjures up a bunch of them demanding food with menaces. And I guess the book does say they’re omnivorous.

Even so, moored up in the jungle on the Oxford Canal between Heyford and Tackley, we were rather surprised to see a Mallard drake paddling along in a stately fashion with head held high, and a sizeable fish in his bill. He kept tossing his head upright in an attempt to align the wriggler with his throat just like a proper-job fish-eating seabird. He got there in the end too! Respect!

Red kites and buzzards are fairly common at home, though we rarely see a kestrel these days (even though when motorways first came into use, they were the bird you saw motoring along them). When travelling North West up the M40 these days, red kites are two-a-penny from the Maidenhead – Marlow – High Wycombe area, then slowly peter out as you get further towards the Midlands, while buzzards become more prevalent.

So, travelling slowly South East from the Potteries, and seeing plenty of buzzards (as well as a dull brown painted boat named Buteo Buteo) , we were idly wondering when and where we would first spot a red kite: we were expecting to see them from Banbury downwards, maybe.

But nature moves in mysterious ways… as we pootled gently into the middle of Banbury, a dark red narrowboat came round a corner, narrowly missing us, and in the excitement of collision avoidance, we nearly failed to notice it was named Red Kite. Spooky!

And as for birds… we did indeed spot a pair of red kites this morning being suitably splendid, at Grants Lock, just South of Banbury. Along with a buzzard surveying a field on the other side of the canal, and a kestrel quietly perching on the telephone lines watching proceedings. All at once. Honour is satisfied!

With the local wildlife on its second or even third brood, large family groups of mallards, swans and moorhens are common, they often follow the boat, while opening up the side-hatch is usually the prompt for a bunch to appear out of nowhere demanding food, more in hope than expectation.

While SWMBO was driving along the Grand Union this morning, I was sitting quietly in the front deck area in the hot sunshine, and without thinking draped my arm over the side. This was too much temptation for a passing/following mallard who, mistaking my middle finger for her morning croissant, did her best to swallow it. Don’t know who was more surprised…

Savaged to death by a lady duck: not the epitaph I had in mind.

Moored up just outside Braunston for the day. There were four fields opposite the boat: the near one (“South”), the far one (“North”) – you can just make out the fence, and two (“East” and “West”) just out of shot to the left and the right of the picture. The fields show particularly fine  remains of the old “ridge and furrow” cultivation system.

As evening drew on, (with far more sheep than in the picture) all the sheep in the South field wandered determinedly  into the East field over the space of a few minutes, followed by those in the North field. With no sign of sheep dogs or humans, it looked as though they were programmed to go and eat or something at a particular time or signal. But five minutes later (too quick for nosh) they all wandered back into the North and South fields (far to quickly to have eaten); another five minutes and they all – to a sheep – wandered into the East field, where they remained for the rest of the evening. Strange beasts, sheep.

Oh. There were a pair of Peregrine Falcons perched on the church steeple, too.