Eaten by people, that is. The birds scarf them down as soon as the green balls start to take on a little grapiness. This year we've watched them gradually darken into purple grapes the size of un-dried raisins.* Peter has been watching closely because the vine is right outside his office window.
Quite often during the day he'd shout "Bloody blackbirds" and dash from his office. Once outside he'd wave a stick with a white rag tied to one end or he'd hurl rocks into the vines, hissing loudly all the time. Then he'd ask me again if we really did need a license for a BB gun.
I wondered about the hissing until today. This morning he walked into the office with a cannister of compressed air under one arm. When the birds landed in the vine he poked the nozzle out the window and pulled the trigger.
"HISSSS!" went the compressed air. The birds flew off.
I think the grapes are a type of muscat. They're quite sweet, except for the one I choked on when Peter saw me eating them and hissed the compressed air at me.
*I've just realized the proper name for an un-dried raisin is 'grape.'