It’s been a ‘fowl’ kind of day.
First, after breakfast I told my eldest daughter to take the tray downstairs and put it in the chicken- well of course I meant KITCHEN…. 6 am is way to early for any normal human being to function, never mind actually co-ordinate speech.
I dropped the terrors all off to school and nearly ran over some wild bantum hens that live in the house next to the school; they like to wander aimlessly up and down the street and across the road whenever they like. I swerved to avoid them and nearly hit an oncoming Misubishi driven by an Egyptian mother with an agenda and flicked my wing mirrors in just in case,
When I got home, all plans for chicken biryani had to be put on hold as I had forgotten to leave it out of the freezer the night before and we had to settle on spaghetti bolognese instead.
It was a peaceful morning, spent doing a bit of washing, fixing up the house, watching TV and working out in the new gym area downstairs, before heading off to pick up the kids. I took a different road to avoid the roaming hens…..
So, my son ran out of the school gates with a look of pure delight on his face. Ah, he had a good school trip, I thought.
Yes and no- he had been to a local amusement park, but not to my amusement had come back with a baby chicken in a bag….alive and tweeting.
Not happy. Sensible teachers, I thought, sensible……
Then came the sandstorm.
Well midnight and the chicken ( who we have named Orville due to its fluff) is still ( much to my chagrin ) alive and tweeting in one of the upstairs bathrooms. He will only stop tweeting if I hold and rock him.
Reminds me of a picture I saw of chef Gordon Ramsey and the caption:
”Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because you didn’t f*&^%$£ cook it!’
Roast dinner anyone?