He stared at me. I stared back

Perhaps we avoid emotion in order to escape unnecessary forehead wrinkles.

By contrast my Greek friend Jristos tends to give a fairly extreme reaction to whatever lands in front of him.

Although he now has a sociology PhD, he has maintained a strong ability to be thrilled.

“That is AMAZING! Oh my God,” he will say, upon hearing the latest Girls Aloud album.

Or, alternatively, he will utter an expletive and screw up his face, as if he has been forced to chew a wasp.

He might cause a scene when picking paint colours in B&Q — swearing at the magnolia, rejoicing at the lemon yellow — but generally he makes life more fun. I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to people who can work the Amazing Face — complete with staring eyes and a generous grin.

This weekend, it was my turn.

My parents came north from Derby and we headed out to investigate Muncaster Castle.

There were some of the most beautiful countryside views I had ever seen but, better than that, were the castle owls.

We saw huge European eagle owls, with eyes as big as mine, and snowy owls with faces like seals. There were barn owls, which swallowed up dead mice in one go, and tawny owls that ate everything put in front of them.

Jristos taught me, in an art gallery a long time ago, that if you search for your favourite you remember what you’ve seen. It helps you enjoy an event and it helps you share it. So, I scouted around for the best bird of the bunch.

There he was, the ferruginous pygmy owl.

This demure little South American creature was sitting in the corner of his huge pen, perched silently on a tree branch.

He was only the size of an adult fist, with wide eyes, which blinked innocently.

This didn’t impress me all that much though, until I learnt this tiny brown bundle of fluff — one of the smallest owls in the world — will take on an adult dove for supper. That’s like me picking a fight with a polar bear.

He stared at me, I stared back. Amazing.

I look forward to the forehead wrinkles.