The winds are rising. All morning I’ve been watching the jackdaws zipping and zooming round the house. My granddad used to feed jackdaws. He’d stand in his garden, ubiquitous cloth cap on head, cigarette smouldering in mouth, and hold the bacon rind up. It wouldn’t take long before the first jackdaw arrived and snatched the rind from his hand. When it was my turn, I’d usually lose my nerve and throw the rind up at the oncoming black shadows of the jackdaws. Nimble fliers, they’d catch it in mid air.