The children decided it was time to feed the ducks at The Victoria Road Duckpond- you get a better class of duck there - though one of them is slightly manic and has a very human laugh. Other local ducks are snobs and will not eat anything they are offered - not sure what they do eat but they turn their bills up at mere bread. Anyway, as the final morsel was gobbled down we turned to leave but my eye was caught by two smooth, round domes which turned out to be feral terrapins basking on a half-sumberged branch, the escapees from the brief craze for Super Hero Ninja Turtles all those years ago. I managed to grab one distant photo but before I could approach closer, the ducks began a pincer movement and after a few reptilian snaps, the terrapins vanished below the water. This is apparently very well know locally - they eat the ducklings - though I read that the temperature in this country means that there will not be the sound of little terrapins - these are just pensioners, grumpy and pining for the warm North American waters of their ancestors.
Purely coincidental that The Orwell Diary entry for today is about Terrapins.
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