Frankenstein the Rooster

I have created a monster. About a year ago, I rescued a tiny little chick from a local market which was bald, ugly, and covered in peck marks from the other chicks. A year of good feeding later, and this is what I've ended up with. His head is above my knee level (and no, I am not short, contrary to what my children may say). Can you see that look in his eye??? it's breeding season now, and he has become aggressive. Last night, he tried to attack me in the garden. He leapt up unexpectedly and clawed at my thigh though my trousers. I was stuck behind a rock, and he wasn't letting me out. I yelled and yelled before M heard me and came to resuce me, equipped with spade and metal spike.

More seriously, he's also been attacking the chickens-and pariticuarly going for one of them, who only has one eye and dislikes sex.

So today, he's been kept cooped up and away from them, only being allowed out to peck in the chicken coop in the afternoon. By which time, the chickens had gone over to the neighbouring farmer's house to eye up his cockerels. They don't care, my chickens. They are all the very worst kinds of sluts...but to get back to the orginal point, this bird is now clearly destined for someone's pot. The only question is whose?...and how to kill this monster???It may require a machine gun...

A Full Moon

well Martin was dreading this-the super duper full moon which stared remorselessly into the house last night. A pretty impressive sight once the clouds had cleared. M's theory being that I turn into a raving lunatic everytime there's a full moon.

I have never heard such a load of rubbish in my life.

Took Frank for a long walk in the sunshine this morning. Sourdeval seems to be welcoming the Spring with a brace of building projects. Sod the recession when there are subsidies and grants to be had.
Everything is neat and meticulous-I have a wave of homesickness and nostalgia for piles of rubbish, screaming families, and graffiti. I'm not kidding-all that order and tidiness can get to you after a while.



Even the building plots remind me more of a model railway for some reason than real life.
Even more spookily-There is nobody, literally nobody to be seen anywhere. We heard a big dog bark from somewhere way inside a house, but that was it. The French have all gone.

Spring chores

At last! My carefully calculated programme of phased nagging has paid off and I now have (as a replacement for my broken rotary line) a single clothes line. Just in time-since the sun has really come out the past few days and Spring is finally here notwithstanding some chilly and frosty mornings. To be honest i think I prefer the aesthetics of the single line clothes line to the suburban claustrophobia of the rotary version anyway. As I put the sheets on the line, the wind started blowing and the sheets flapped and cracked in a most satisfactory manner. There is no fabric conditioner in the world which can outdo the scent of fresh air on newly laundered cotton sheets.

The ducks had taken to sitting in a new place in the coop recently, which meant they were depositing their eggs on the concrete floor. so I moved a new nest box into that position and, after the obligatory few days when they spurned my efforts, they've now accepted the change and happily lay their eggs there. I still can't get over the thrill of collecing newly laid eggs.

Mart has been digging out a new bit of vegetable patch. he is a very aggressive gardener. Probably using his garden fork to vent all his frustrations at beig endlessly nagged to put the washing line up. This does mean that Hilda the chicken is dicing with death as she moves closer and closer to his digging area in the hunt for juicy worms.

A Chair

Yessss!!!!! and it's Welcome to my new(ish) Hypnotherapy chair. M says it looks more like the Mastermind chair but that's just silly. It will be fine. In fact, it will be great. Now, just imagine yourself sitting in it, and slowly allowing all the muscles of your body to relax...(starting with your feet...think of your feet relaxing...) See? It's easy!

In the meantime, Frank is waiting by the wheelbarrow for me to join him in the garden for another digging session.

Yesterday, I unearthed all these potatoes left over from last year. Fantastic. Free food. And it's just as well because since I started writing today's blog, M just phoned to ask me to make today's tea stretch around an extra guest.
My larder is beginning to make Mrs Hubbard's look like a branch of Tesco's Extra.

Cat Yoga

Today's entry is particularly aimed at any readers who might be a little stressed. (I know there is at least one harassed banker who will be looking at this). This advice and guidance comes care of my cat, Mackerel, who has studied Cat Yoga for pretty much all of his life. As you can see, Mackerel does not have any money, or even any testicles, but he doesn't let that bother him. So yesterday, he found a nice sunny spot on this barn windowsill and proceeded to demonstrate 'The Cat Stretch' which can be achieved by placing all fours on the ground, and arching your back towards the ceiling/sky.

2-The Cobra. Placing your head on the floor, stretch your bottom as high as you can towards the sky/ceiling. Repeat facing towards the other side.

3-Rest. You have earned it. It's not good for anyone to work too hard. Besides which, you're looking gooooooood just as you are.

Tinchebray

M has returned...so now there is a chance to fill up my little car with petrol and escape to somewhere else for a while. After two weeks, it doesn't much matter where-as long as it's elsewhere. It's an overcast day but to me, it's like Spring due to my slightly giddy mood as I look round the local town of Tinchebray, making my usual odd assortment of sights I found interesting... For example, this raspberry-coloured handle on a closed-down shop doorway. There are lots of closed-down shops in Tinchebray.

This cafe has lettering which reminds me of old Mabel Lucie Attwell books.

70's style tiling (exterior) on another shop front. Reminds me of the era of 'macrame' and 'The Good Life'.

Chickenism (Day 4)

With Wellington the cockerel elsewhere, the chickens have time once more to give free rein to their creative whims. Tonight, they staged a fairly impromptu and improvised play entitled "Chickenism". Whilst Joan and Bianca (white chickens) acted out the more dynamic roles, illustrating the little appreciated roles of Famous Chickens in History, Hilda (brown chicken), kept silent and still on the perch throughout the performance, a vigil which was apparently intended as testament to the effort and suffering of chickens valued for nothing but their egg-laying abilities...

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...then, as dusk fell, the harsh electric light illuminated the coop just as the play reached it's climax, and Joan and Bianca leant over Hilda, forming a perfect arc, in a moving tribute to all that chickens have achieved. "Bravo!" I cried as I crouched uncomfortably in the coop doorway, and threw in handfuls of the finest chicken corn.