I watch Sky TV.

It is quite entertaining I decide, and nowhere near as expensive as people say.

Plus it is amazing how stupid and dangerous some drivers can be on the roads, especially when there are brave patrolmen around who will catch them and send them to jail, using video footage as evidence.

Desperately seeking a new way of keeping myself awake until at least the beginning of the evening, I take a stroll outside. “Chickens!!! Chickens!!! Hellloooooooo chickens!!!” I coo, wandering over towards their compound to tell them about my trip. We have lots to talk about, and I would like them to give me some advice on judging my competition, which was a roaring success with literally entries.

All is quiet. This is odd. Normally the lightest footfall on the gravel path results in a blur of chickendom, tumbling over each other to be first in the queue for elevenses. I reach the door and there is no sound.

“Chickens…?”

No blur, no frantic pecking, not even a friendly cluck. The chickens are mooching around on Short Tony’s side of the enclosure, utterly disinterested in my presence. One raises a blase chicken eyebrow at me before resuming nosing around in dirt.

My chickens have forgotten me. I stand helplessly in the doorway, at a stroke having become one of the great tragic figures of poultry-rearing. And tragedy is the word. In fact, a man who is getting on a bit being coldly betrayed by his five chickens – it is uncannily close to the plot of King Lear.

I turn wordlessly away and fetch a small bite to eat for them. They cluck happily and remember me again. Chickens are shallow. It is a shame that King Lear did not have access to some cornflakes, as things would have turned out much better.

“Let me tell you about my travels,” I begin…

17 Comments

  1. Jonny Baby (surely that’s what the B stands for)! Welcome back! The vague feeling of malaise has lifted from my soul…

  2. Golly – I am ‘Baby’. Ummmmm – hullo again. It has been a long time. I am still catching up on what has been going on in my absence.

  3. Mere cornflakes after such a prolonged absence? I think they were expecting custard, at the very least.

    Hell, Jonny, screw the chickens – regale us!

  4. Jonny darling, you’re home! Did you have a lovely time? Did you get a tan? How did the pants get on?

  5. well happy canadian thanksgiving for today. If you’d stayed a week longer you could regaled stories of turkey to the chickens. Or would that be like telling the wife about that thing the girlfriend does?

  6. Yes, I am sorry to miss the Thanksgiving, as I’m sure they do a really spectacular effort at the Best Western.

    I did not get a tan. I shall be writing about my experiences shortly.

  7. They hadn’t forgotten you – they were just sulking. Now we humans are better than that.
    But you took your time didn’t you?

  8. I take it you forgot to cancel Sky.

  9. I have a theory that the only people subscribed to Sky TV are those who forgot to bail out of the trial or those who can’t figure out how to.

    Welcome back chuck.
    🙂

  10. Ahh! Shallow things them there chickens – at least your blogging groupies haven’t forgotten you.
    Welcome back and can’t wait to be regaled with Canadian Tales.

  11. Welcome back. Am very much looking forward to stories about moose and bear and persons Canadian. Not entirely sure about pants stories though…

  12. Poor chickens – the original captive audience. Once they’re all unconscious from flinging themselves frantically at the fence you might know better than to inflict your tedious travelogue on others. But then again, if you had even so tiny a glimmer of self-awareness, you would’ve binned this blog long ago…

  13. Welcome Back from the Great White North, Jonny.
    Did you have a good time there, eh?
    Suck down a few Molson’s and get you some moose jerky and fudge?

    Looking forward to your travelogue, eh!

  14. Do not, under any circumstances, repeat anything I told you about anything.

    Sewmouse: where Jonny was, no-one says ‘eh’, we drink Boréale, not Molson’s, and the only jerky I’ve seen was from Toronto.

  15. And the pathologist still isn’t reading it.

  16. Sewmouse is right about the fudge though. Whenever I visit my Quebec and Acadian relatives, I feel like I need a shot of insulin afterwards.

  17. “If you lived in Norfolk, YOU would realise quite how exciting it is to see a great big fuck-off fibreglass dinosaur atop a ‘Dinorama 4-D Dinosaur Experience’ attraction. We have nothing like that…”

    Obviously YOU have never been to Lenwade Dinosaur Park, and you call yourself a Norfolkian!

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