Standing at the sink, elbows deep in lemony suds, I watch my daughter through the kitchen window as she makes her preparations to feed the poultry. First, there’s the thick oilskin coat, too big for her, and worn despite the 28C temperatures. Then her father’s old full-face motorcycle helmet, visor down. Finally, she hefts a battered hockey stick, swinging it a couple of times to get the balance.
