Back at the café again; so is the starling, perching on top of a windbreak pole and singing his heart out. Another complex song varying from pops and crackles to budgie sounds to a two-part call containing one ascending, and then one very long descending note, not quite a wolf-whistle, but close enough, actually rather better. No scaffolder could be that tuneful, or suggestive. I try this part of the song. The starling gives me a look. He keeps on singing. I try it again. After a while he does it back.

And there’s this crow watching us, looking really intent. I try it again and then, honest, cross my heart, I hear this two-part squawk returned; one ascending, one long descending, well, ‘note’ isn’t exactly the word as it sounds like its coming from a domestic gravel crusher but I know it’s the same tune so I try it again for the benefit of the crow and it returns the call again, several times over while becoming more and more animated, first shifting its weight from one leg to another and then adding a bit of a knees-bend so it seems to be doing something like the okey-cokey on a pogo stick.

The starling flies off. I suppose its bad enough having your best tune murdered by a great lump of a human without some bloody crow joining in too, but me and the crow are dead pleased with ourselves.