On new additions and unwelcome guests.

May had been a gloriously warm and sunny month. Blue skies, blue waves, golden beaches. Evenings that continued stretching out and just made everything feel better.

The daylight hits a turning point that signals the last of the foraging hours; about an hour before sundown. The shift is subtle but noticeable. I can’t explain the difference, but I feel it. So do the birds. The starlings get the zoomies, taking to the skies en masse to dart around in formation, all noise, energy and joy. The gulls circle individually, screaming at each other anxiously. They know it’s technically getting on for bedtime, but they also know that kebabs and chips are mostly available after sundown. They eventually make a decision and disappear over the horizon, either to roost or to terrorise pub goers and tourists in town. The crows like to take advantage of this moment of peace and get a last, uninterrupted meal in before dusk.

I took the food out for my regular crow customers, making tock tock noises, and grinning like an idiot as I scattered broken-up peanut butter fat balls across the top of the wall. Then I returned gracefully back inside and went straight to the viewing gallery. (Fine. I ran to the kitchen and peered through the grimy window.)

The first crow took a piece of the food and flew off. A few minutes later two crows came back. They took turns flying off with food, only occasionally taking a few bites for themselves. This went on for quite some time and I suddenly realised they had other mouths to feed! So I named them Crowmum and Crowdad, the names being interchangeable as it’s actually impossible to tell which one is which.

We repeated this routine daily at breakfast and supper. They kept a wary distance on the rooftops across the way, waiting until I was back inside before swooping in silently, eating a little, and taking the rest to-go.

After a couple of weeks, a third crow joined them at the dining table. He was big. Loud. Cawing like it was his first fat ball in a month. His juvenile status was betrayed by a few white feathers on his chest and a complete lack of volume control.

The offspring had fledged.

I named him Crow.

Because I’m a simple creature with no imagination.

Crowmum and Crowdad were still their usual quiet, efficient selves. I could feel their eyes rolling whenever their youngling made a scene. They indulged him, as they are in fact excellent parents and very aware that he has a lot of learning ahead. Under their watchful gaze, Crow paced along the wall, inspecting the area like he was considering buying it. He seemed to approve. And he learned fast! Within a few days, he started waiting on the wall in anticipation. Not warily watching from a rooftop until dinner was served, but on the actual wall, waiting for the food to arrive. Pacing. Things were going really well, better than I could have hoped at such an early stage, and I made sure he wasn’t kept waiting for long.

On one particularly warm evening, I dashed out excitedly and literally bumped into a group of lads on the fire exit landing. My son and his friends, gathering for an impromptu party al fresco.

“Everything okay, Tom’s mum?”

“Yeah, gotta run, the crows are waiting for their dinner.”

Puzzled looks. I didn’t care. I had birdie waitressing duties to perform.

Once the job was done, the questions started.

“What’s brought all this on?”

“Tell me more about the crows then, Sue.”

“When exactly did you turn into a total nut?” (Cheers, son.)

“Ahh, you’re going to be the crazy crow lady now then, are you?”

I explained everything. The cemetery feedings. The buffet. The new site.

Tom begrudgingly admitted it has always been a thing, though he still made that finger-circling-the-temple gesture that’s meant to indicate madness. I clocked it, but I wasn’t in the mood to pretend I cared. I told them that I’ve simply ramped it up a notch and I was just waiting for the first gift. A bottle cap, a button, a ring-pull, whatever says “We trust you.”

Crow was already munching. Crowmum and Crowdad arrived shortly after. I couldn’t have been happier.

The next morning at 07:20 hours, Crow was already pacing up and down on the wall. A little early. He started cawing loudly - definitely an “I’m here, hurry up” tone. I scrambled downstairs in my pyjamas, fat balls in hand, half excited, half perturbed. Who exactly is training who here?

I was halfway across the car park when Crowdad and Crowmum appeared. They seemed a little surprised that I had responded to Crow’s begging, but noted it for future reference. I left them to it and went to get ready for a walk through town. I had done a little more research and found that crows are attracted to shiny things - not quite on the level of their magpie cousins, but enough to be leveraged in the right circumstances. So off I went on a charity shop treasure hunt for cheap shiny trinkets. Happily I found them in abundance. It’s amazing what you can find in a box of random bits marked ‘20p’.

19:00 hours. Supper service.

All three crows were now cawing in unison. The cheek! I allowed it, of course. I ran out, scattered their evening meal along the wall, and also placed a bright silver charm in the shape of an anchor beside a pile of peanuts. Then, as per established birdie buffet protocol, I turned away to take up my post inside at the window.

Before I had taken more than a few steps, a gull crashed the party. A big one. Huge! He landed like a feathered apocalypse, beady-eyed and wings wide for maximum impact. The crows tried to grab a few bites, but he was too fast; greedy, loud and completely without manners. In a blink, everything was gone and he took off, leaving nothing but crumbs and an insult to my hospitality.

The crows left in disgust. The venue, once refined and genteel, had clearly gone right downhill.

I lingered there for a few moments, the empty wall feeling suddenly vulnerable. This wasn’t just a restaurant anymore, it was a territory. And territories get contested.

I dearly hoped it was just a one-off. An opportunistic raid while on his way to the really good stuff outside the local kebabery.

I also hoped the anchor charm wouldn’t get stuck on its way out tomorrow!