Speaking too soon...

A pleasant Friday evening pootle on the river, was made all the more pleasant by the realisation that Mr. Asbo the swan wasn't patrolling his patch, but was chiling on the bank whilst Mrs. Asbo herded her five little cyngets along. Buoyed by this, I reassured the cox the next morning that there would be no more trouble from said swan. What I hadn't taken into account was that on the Friday evening there were virtually no boats on the river, but by the time we approached his domain yesterday morning he had been riled by eights ploughing up and down for several hours. He was, in consequence, in fine wing-flapping, flying at and even landing on the boat style. I don't know what the swan male hormone is, but I think he has it in droves. Indeed, this morning his attack was more sustained, as we got nearer the young in question. Fair enough, really. Hopefully photos to follow.