Last night I dreamt I was back in the house where I grew up. All the old companions were there: the creak on the stairs, the cat on my bed, the tawny owls calling from the oaks on the scaur, and the birch tree that dominated our back yard.

How many hours did I spend staring at that tree as a boy? There was always something different to see. Goldfinches, woodpeckers, starlings and linnets. In middle age now, I’m still yet to see a couple-colour as ravishing as the smoky head and red crest of the linnets that used to chime in those white branches.