The sea was calm, reflecting the untroubled stillness of the blue sky. Suddenly a shag burst into view, shook off the water and looked around. I expected a leap-up-and-dive move. Instead he bowed his head into the water, brought up a sparkling silver fish, jiggled it around and swallowed it. His breeding crest topped his triumph. Before leaving home I had watched a goldfinch, its red face glowing with spring, use the same movements to manoeuvre a dandelion seed down its throat.

Further round the coastal path there was a rocky island where shags and cormorants gather to hang out their wings. But what was that strange bird next to one of the cormorants? Common sense overcame my excitement: it was my first guillemot of the year, grooming its back feathers and presenting only a white chest.

Birds are arriving. The cuckoo, later than usual, is calling round the village; warblers sing whilst house martins weave and dodge. The herring gulls are pairing, going round to check the property market. This requires long sitting sessions for one while the other goes around tweaking its surroundings or looking for a fight. Then it is time for it to gather up beakfuls of dried grass to stake its claim.

Spring scents are powerful. Banks of scurvy grass have a smell of earth, whilst the yellow gorse gives an overpowering coconut push. This is the greatest aromatherapy.

Leaving the path for a piece of woodland, I walk into a spicery of wild garlic, their white blossoms dancing among the bluebells and wood anemones. Further on, the strong black buds of ribwort have started their first circlet of tiny soft yellow flowers.

Have there ever been so many primroses? This year there are a surprising number of sports, particularly that mutation which produces a long stalk, like a cowslip, with a floral spray of primroses smiling on the top. "The flowers that bloom in the spring/Tra-la..."