Wonder if I'm going to be the first recorded case of feline flu jumping species. The cat, who's wandering over the keyboard, sneezed at the same time as I did.

To avoid coronary hardening after patiently scoffing a slab of Brie and an oozing Roquefort, I took to the still iron hard footpaths of Chiswick House, skin puckering from the sinking temperature, slipping and sliding, back to the place where I saw yesterday's conclave of very hungry birds, competing for bread balls, or in the case of the Heron, dominating the cocktail sausage field.

A much less cosmopolitan scene this afternoon; mostly, Coots gingerly stepping or occasionally skating across the frozen lake, with a solitrary Mallard at anchor.

In the midst of all this was a Coot wrestling with a loaf of bread at least one and half times it's size. Be like me trying to tuck into a life size bar of chocolate.