Although we are only afforded tantalising glimpses as the adult birds fly in and out we can guess from previous years what is happening in the nest week by week.

Deep in the moss-filled cup the young hatchlings nestle, kept safe from wind and weather by Mum’s constant vigilance and warm feathers. (We believe that since Saturday she has never left the nest, except for quick toilet flights.) For the first two weeks the chicks are at their most vulnerable but are also the epitome of baby-bird cuteness covered in pale down set off with a black ‘lone ranger’ eye-stripe. Only the cotton grass, blowing and dipping like thousands of flexible cotton buds on the marsh, rivals their white fluffiness. Their little necks also wobble erratically as they stretch up for the food that Mrs. delicately holds out to them. Only the smallest pieces of best white flesh, torn from the fish No-ring carries up, are suitable for their tiny stomachs. Growth rate is tremendous though and the first hatched chick will have doubled in size over this week with any other siblings closely following its ‘eat, sleep and grow’ regime.