Splashdown . . .

I was standing at the edge of Fairy Lake in Acton, up to my ankles in goose shit, trying unsuccessfully to get a gaggle of sleeping birds to fly. Then I heard a furious honking noise from the sky. Looked up and spotted an incoming flight with their landing gear down warning their pals down below to keep out of the way. They swooped down in waves, three abreast, necks outstretched, feet splayed, wings wide for stability in a perfectly synchronised landing . . . I was so surprised that I almost missed the shot . . .