Who's a pretty boy then?

Not this poor chap, that's for sure.

I first saw this young blackbird about ten days ago when it was sitting on our neighbours' fence. From a distance it looked like a small vulture but by the time I'd grabbed my binoculars for a better look it had flown away.

Since then, however, he—or possibly she; it's a bit difficult to tell at this age—has been visiting our garden and looks even more peculiar close up. The poor thing has either been bullied by its nest-mate (I saw another young blackbird nearby that was fully-feathered and frightened this one away when it got near) or it's infested with something. Whether it will recover is anyone's guess.

Yesterday, being August bank holiday Sunday and beautiful weather, we popped down to Weymouth bay where the annual dragon boat race was taking place. We arrived just in time to see the three finalists paddling away from the beach to the starting point at the end of the ferry terminal jetty. After a while we realised they were all paddling madly back towards the beach. A minute later (literally) they all stopped, the very short race apparently over, and the victors began throwing their teammates into the water.

On our way home after a cup of coffee at the nearby Weymouth Pavilion we became aware of a strange squawking noise. There, amongst the afternoon promenaders was a lady walking along with her arm bent up and with two (I discovered later) black-headed caiques perched on her hand. They were each wearing a little harness and seemed totally unphased at being surrounded by dozens of people.