The other morning, I was convinced someone was knocking on the door. Dream? No. Miss Cat was sitting up alert, ears pricked. Postie? I got up, observed Miss Dog somnolent on her beanbag, checked front and back, walked round the house, etc., and realised with some irritation that it was quarter to seven, a bit early for the postman. A currently resident Palaeographer had precisely the same experience last night. I could have told her what it was, had I thought to. Perhaps as a consequence of sanding the floorboards, which makes the room much lighter, the Professor’s study has mysteriously begun to attract the jackdaws. They come and sit on the sill and rap on the glass with their powerful beaks; I presume they have designs on colonising what now appears to them to be a bright, empty space, and are asking themselves, ‘why has the air suddenly gone solid?’ I’ve now caught them at it several times, and I’m sure that they are the source of the noise. Very annoying it is too, but as with many noises of the night, if you know what it is, it is wholly possible to ignore it.