Even active kids have to rest sometimes - "but why do they have to pick MY pot?", mutters PP, with his far from small youngsters crammed in either side of him. Mother probably had the better idea - on her off-duty time, she'd distance herself by a few rooftops for her loafing.

Evidently my efforts at keeping the kids out of the hanging troughs were just taken as an opportunity to squeeze into the smallest space possible. Understandably, growing plants anywhere on the balcony was quite a problem. Not that the birds would eat them, but after all, a plant is just something to lay down on, isn't it?

As very junior birds, still to learn the art of flight, these youngsters would find a cosy corner to tuck themselves into once they were off their nest. The favorite would be where I leaned a sheet of wood against a wall - it seemed to bring out their ancestral instinct of roosting in caves.

There's always one young pigeon in a pair who is more pushy, boisterous or just plain difficult, I reckon. This one - a male - insisted on hiding in a corner and refusing to come out when his father called him (they do call their kids when it's time for food or flying exercise). But PP would eventually give in, and go seek his delinquent to feed him.