Chickens!

Yes, other people spend the Bank Holiday sitting in traffic jams to spend an hour at the seaside, but La Famille Angevin spend it traipsing up the M1/A1 to go and pick up chickens. No contest...

We haven't had chickens at Chateau Angevin for a few years, after Sir Reynard helped himself rather too liberally one night and I lost the heart to restock. But, after the blandishments of the new house-guest (Sally, my neighbours' daughter - long story) and the pleading of Mini I succumbed to the charms of a lemon pyle Brahma quartet who are now firmly installed in the front garden. The cockerel (whom Mini christened 'Edgar' for some arcane reason) has already fallen into the usual way of all things male at Chateau Angevin - ie. he's been strutting about as if he owns the Northern Hemisphere and attempting to boss his womenfolk around. They, of course, are having none of it (anthropomorphic, moi??)

To those who've never had the experience of sitting in the garden drinking a cup of tea and reading a book whilst poultry mill around doing their own thing I would say 'get out there and get some birdies NOW', because there really isn't anything like it. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed the vast chicken vocabulary echoing around the place, but this afternoon and I'm so glad I gave in to Mini. Watching Edgar and his ladies explore their new territory was an absolute joy and much, much better than Big Brother....