I can happily confirm that there was an owl in my back garden on Woodcombe Crescent last night at 9-ish. Very pleasant to hear.

I remember reading a book by Margaret Craven called "I Heard the Owl Call My Name" in which according to Native American Indian tradition, if you hear the owl call your name then your death is close to hand. I'm so glad my name isn't Tawit Tawoo.