With every step I take through the dampish long grass and reed-filled ground in Cosmeston’s west paddock, small creatures flit up and away from my intrusive legs and feet. These are craneflies, probably the species Tipula oleracea.

I am no danger to them but they are right to flee: a couple of days ago, I was sitting eating my lunch at a picnic table in a nearby country park, watching as a Magpie strutted through the grass, picking off cranefly snacks for its lunch.