At the moment TP is enjoying those long, school, summer holidays ..... and so am I. As he doesn't need to be persuaded from his pit at 7 a.m. neither do I. Like many of my colleagues I am able to work from home and it is nice to be able to get out of bed without the need to set an Alarm Clock, perform minor ablutions and still be ready for work on time.
30% is generally Office based so still needs to set the alarm which gives me even greater pleasure because I can then ignore the damn thing and doze for 40 minutes or so ...... "What about the chickens?" I hear you ask, "Sod them - they can have a lie in too" is my pithy response. Actually there is further bad news on the chicken front but more of that in a minute.
Going back to 30%, she needs to set the alarm to get ready for the Office but also seems to think that, because I can have a lie in, so can she. She then has to run round like a mad thing shouting in order to get out of the door and leave for work. Why she has to shout I'm not quite sure - it's just one of those things she does.
Right, back to the Poultry If your an urban dweller or of a sensitive nature you might want to go and Google something else because it might get a bit "rocky" from here on in.
First things first, Endemol's death on Saturday was very timely as we have received a notice from the Council about the noise of the Cocks. I don't have a problem with that. The notice is very polite and is just that, it is a notice that they have received a complaint and are obliged to investigate.
We have always been sensitive about the noise of the Cocks and their potential impact on our neighbours and have always made it clear to them that if they are disturbed we will do something about it. That is why I am a little peeved to have had a letter from the Council. Rather than knock on the door and say "Badman - they are getting a bit noisy, can you sort them out" some idiot has got themselves all worked up about the noise and gone to the council rather than just sort it out.
This is where I start my "Towny" rant. I am from a rural background and ringing the council is not the way to do things, just come round and knock on the door and ask! Endemol's death was perfect timing and yesterday saw the Light Sussex have it's neck pulled and it is now sitting in the slow cooker surrounded by vegetables and white wine. The Buff Brahma will get done towards the end of the week.
You will note that I am not going on along the lines of "this is the Country, the noise of Cocks is to be expected". I do actually feel that way but the bottom line is that my neighbour has got worked up enough about this to complain to the council so has probably gone beyond a reduction in noise and is expecting total silence. 30% and I had already decided to slim down the population before the complaint hit the mat so the decision had already been made.
So, no Cocks at the Pile for a while. The hens will sort out a new pecking order and everyone will get a better nights sleep. The Council investigation will come to naught.
..... and next year I can put another batch of eggs through the incubator and start the cycle of life again:-)
One final observation, if this had been France the Town Hall would have laughed at the complaint. Here in the UK we have to be more devious - eat the evidence and start again next year.
Showing posts with label Chickens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chickens. Show all posts
Tuesday 3 August 2010
Saturday 31 July 2010
The King is Dead, Long Live the King.
Endemol
Born: August 2007
Died: 31 July 2010
A bit of a sad day at The Pile.
We returned from collecting TP at the end of his PGL week and returned to find Endemol; our Minorca Cock had died while we were away.
I come from Farming Stock and am not particularly sentimental but am sad to see him go as he was an absolutely stunning bird and a real character to have around. If you are not familiar with Cocks, other than knowing that they crow, they can be a diverse bunch; ranging from evil bastards that fly at you with their spurs at chest height because they see you as a competitor to soppy old things that barely take notice of you.
Endemol was a Gentleman; not aggressive but elegant and refined. We will all miss him.
Back in 2007 we had recently acquired some Minorca Pullets from a fairly local breeder. Village Idiot said that he knew of a Minorca Cock at the other end of the Village and asked if we wanted to borrow him. We agreed and he turned up in a crappy cardboard box tied up with baler twine a few days later. If there is one thing you can say about VI - he has a certain style.
The Cock settled in and started to tread the pullets but we knew that he needed to be with them for at least 10 days for us to stand any chance of having some fertile eggs to incubate. However, after 3 or 4 days we had a Silky Hen go Broody and decided to put a few eggs under her "just in case". 21 days later we heard cheeping so we knew that "Dad" was fertile.
In the mean time we had started to collect eggs to put in to the incubator and so we ended up with 2 batches of chicks; one reared naturally by a broody and the other incubated and reared by us. Time passed and the chicks grew and at about 5 or 6 weeks we were able to work out which were boys and which were girls. Most of the boys were dispatched but we kept the best from each of the hatches and this is how Endemol got his name as he was the "Big Brother".
Endemol's Dad was returned to his owner and we realised that we liked having a Cockerel about and so we kept Endemol and he settled in to his life which basically consisted of food, sex and crowing.
He was so noisy that he couldn't sleep out in the coop at night as he would start up at around three in the morning. So, for fear of complaining neighbours, we used to tuck him up in a box in the cellar overnight and return him to his Hens in the morning. He got so used to this routine that when the hens returned to the coops at night he would wander in to the house as it got dark and would perch on the back of a chair in the hall waiting for one of us to take him down to his box.
Maybe you can see now why we got attached to him. He was a real character.
Incidentally, people will tell you that a cock will not crow if it is dark and also if he cannot stand up and throw his head back to let rip. This is absolute nonsense. Endemol used to crow in a box in a pitch black cellar. His body clock let him know when to start. He didn't need the Sun to tell him it was wakey time.
His finest hour came in the Summer of 2008 when we entered him in the Minorca Class at the Three Counties Agricultural Show. He not only won his breed class but he was also judged to be the best of the Light Breeds and earned a place on the Champions Row.
This means that I can not only claim to have a prize winning cock but can also post a picture of it in the Journal.
Born: August 2007
Died: 31 July 2010
A bit of a sad day at The Pile.
We returned from collecting TP at the end of his PGL week and returned to find Endemol; our Minorca Cock had died while we were away.
I come from Farming Stock and am not particularly sentimental but am sad to see him go as he was an absolutely stunning bird and a real character to have around. If you are not familiar with Cocks, other than knowing that they crow, they can be a diverse bunch; ranging from evil bastards that fly at you with their spurs at chest height because they see you as a competitor to soppy old things that barely take notice of you.
Endemol was a Gentleman; not aggressive but elegant and refined. We will all miss him.
Back in 2007 we had recently acquired some Minorca Pullets from a fairly local breeder. Village Idiot said that he knew of a Minorca Cock at the other end of the Village and asked if we wanted to borrow him. We agreed and he turned up in a crappy cardboard box tied up with baler twine a few days later. If there is one thing you can say about VI - he has a certain style.
The Cock settled in and started to tread the pullets but we knew that he needed to be with them for at least 10 days for us to stand any chance of having some fertile eggs to incubate. However, after 3 or 4 days we had a Silky Hen go Broody and decided to put a few eggs under her "just in case". 21 days later we heard cheeping so we knew that "Dad" was fertile.
In the mean time we had started to collect eggs to put in to the incubator and so we ended up with 2 batches of chicks; one reared naturally by a broody and the other incubated and reared by us. Time passed and the chicks grew and at about 5 or 6 weeks we were able to work out which were boys and which were girls. Most of the boys were dispatched but we kept the best from each of the hatches and this is how Endemol got his name as he was the "Big Brother".
Endemol's Dad was returned to his owner and we realised that we liked having a Cockerel about and so we kept Endemol and he settled in to his life which basically consisted of food, sex and crowing.
He was so noisy that he couldn't sleep out in the coop at night as he would start up at around three in the morning. So, for fear of complaining neighbours, we used to tuck him up in a box in the cellar overnight and return him to his Hens in the morning. He got so used to this routine that when the hens returned to the coops at night he would wander in to the house as it got dark and would perch on the back of a chair in the hall waiting for one of us to take him down to his box.
Maybe you can see now why we got attached to him. He was a real character.
Incidentally, people will tell you that a cock will not crow if it is dark and also if he cannot stand up and throw his head back to let rip. This is absolute nonsense. Endemol used to crow in a box in a pitch black cellar. His body clock let him know when to start. He didn't need the Sun to tell him it was wakey time.
His finest hour came in the Summer of 2008 when we entered him in the Minorca Class at the Three Counties Agricultural Show. He not only won his breed class but he was also judged to be the best of the Light Breeds and earned a place on the Champions Row.
This means that I can not only claim to have a prize winning cock but can also post a picture of it in the Journal.
 |
| Endemol's Finest Hour |
Sunday 20 June 2010
A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum
I used to frequent a Forum for a period of time. Have you ever done that?
That's the way to take a random and hopefully not representative sample of the Internet community and God what a depressing experience that is. I popped back in there for a couple of minutes this morning before I came in to draft today's Journal entry and it was never like I'd been away.
Yep - my blood pressure was through the roof and I was frothing at the mouth at the pointless crap people will take the time to put forward in debate. Now I know that many will regard the stuff I write here as absolute rubbish, but you came to me. I don't put this forward as an opinion or argument and I don't put myself forward as a subject matter expert or guru in any particular knowledge or lifestyle area. I'm just a bad man living in the English Midlands recording his thoughts and days.
Forums or fora, apparently either plural is acceptable, are quite interesting places to dip in to but never make the mistake I made and join one. They are populated by some of the most truly dreadful people you will ever encounter. I've seen them all including "The only gay on the forum" who posted a lot of camp innuendo but knew absolutely nothing about the subject being discussed. I mean what is the point in waiting 5 minutes for a Microsoft OS PC to boot up plus a further 3 minutes to get some form of Broadband connectivity only to post "I cant help but I'm sure that someone will be along soon who can". For Christ's sake! Would you not re-read that before hitting the Post button and think "well that makes me look like a bit of a fuck wit doesn't it".
We are talking about common interest groups - I intentionally avoid the term community as the only sentence relevant to Forums with "Community" in it should also have the words "Care, in" and "the". - sorry, we are talking about common interest groups where Post Count is King. Every User has a post count which records the number of times they have made an entry in the Forum. Be very careful how you regards this statistic. The uninitiated might will think "Oh that person has made millions of posts, they must be an absolute expert on the subject". They might, but then again you might find that 87% of their posts are made up of "LOL" and "Hugs" and "Capital letters are regarded as SHOUTING".
If you are underneath a Ford Capri from the early 80's and need to know the easiest way to remove the rear axle do you really want to put your trust in an anonymous man who works all day as an Accounts Clerk and then spends his evenings in front of a computer either putting unmoderated bullshit in to a Forum or cruising free porn websites? That way lies bruised knuckles and a large piece of metal falling on your upper body, or if you are him, a huge post count and a sore wrist. Get yourself a Haynes Manual or talk to the Guy down the street who spends his evenings lying underneath a Capri.
It amazes me that people access Fora via the Internet but then seem to forget that they are using a colossal information repository and ask the most basic of questions. I kid you not, I checked out the Forum I used to frequent and a Poster was referring to a Lhasa Apso. I'm not going to go in to why they were asking about a dog on a Poultry forum but, and this is the point, they posted " Lhasa, I'm not sure of the spelling". Have these people never noticed that Google actually has "Do you mean" functionality where it checks the spelling our your searches and gives you alternatives in case you can't spell. How stupid are you when you type a word that you aren't sure how to spell, point out that you aren't sure how to spell it and don't bother using the Internet to check the spelling. Would you want to take advice from a person with that level of intellect?
I could go on ad infinitum about that Forum but I will finish with this. A poster titled their post as URGENT - Sick Chicken and then went on about how concerned they were and how they needed immediate advice as they were absolutely beside themselves with worry over the sick bird. ..... Yep ... so bloody concerned that they went to their PC and wrote a post. Didn't think to pop it in a cardboard box and run it over to the vets.
That's the way to take a random and hopefully not representative sample of the Internet community and God what a depressing experience that is. I popped back in there for a couple of minutes this morning before I came in to draft today's Journal entry and it was never like I'd been away.
Yep - my blood pressure was through the roof and I was frothing at the mouth at the pointless crap people will take the time to put forward in debate. Now I know that many will regard the stuff I write here as absolute rubbish, but you came to me. I don't put this forward as an opinion or argument and I don't put myself forward as a subject matter expert or guru in any particular knowledge or lifestyle area. I'm just a bad man living in the English Midlands recording his thoughts and days.
Forums or fora, apparently either plural is acceptable, are quite interesting places to dip in to but never make the mistake I made and join one. They are populated by some of the most truly dreadful people you will ever encounter. I've seen them all including "The only gay on the forum" who posted a lot of camp innuendo but knew absolutely nothing about the subject being discussed. I mean what is the point in waiting 5 minutes for a Microsoft OS PC to boot up plus a further 3 minutes to get some form of Broadband connectivity only to post "I cant help but I'm sure that someone will be along soon who can". For Christ's sake! Would you not re-read that before hitting the Post button and think "well that makes me look like a bit of a fuck wit doesn't it".
We are talking about common interest groups - I intentionally avoid the term community as the only sentence relevant to Forums with "Community" in it should also have the words "Care, in" and "the". - sorry, we are talking about common interest groups where Post Count is King. Every User has a post count which records the number of times they have made an entry in the Forum. Be very careful how you regards this statistic. The uninitiated might will think "Oh that person has made millions of posts, they must be an absolute expert on the subject". They might, but then again you might find that 87% of their posts are made up of "LOL" and "Hugs" and "Capital letters are regarded as SHOUTING".
If you are underneath a Ford Capri from the early 80's and need to know the easiest way to remove the rear axle do you really want to put your trust in an anonymous man who works all day as an Accounts Clerk and then spends his evenings in front of a computer either putting unmoderated bullshit in to a Forum or cruising free porn websites? That way lies bruised knuckles and a large piece of metal falling on your upper body, or if you are him, a huge post count and a sore wrist. Get yourself a Haynes Manual or talk to the Guy down the street who spends his evenings lying underneath a Capri.
It amazes me that people access Fora via the Internet but then seem to forget that they are using a colossal information repository and ask the most basic of questions. I kid you not, I checked out the Forum I used to frequent and a Poster was referring to a Lhasa Apso. I'm not going to go in to why they were asking about a dog on a Poultry forum but, and this is the point, they posted " Lhasa, I'm not sure of the spelling". Have these people never noticed that Google actually has "Do you mean" functionality where it checks the spelling our your searches and gives you alternatives in case you can't spell. How stupid are you when you type a word that you aren't sure how to spell, point out that you aren't sure how to spell it and don't bother using the Internet to check the spelling. Would you want to take advice from a person with that level of intellect?
I could go on ad infinitum about that Forum but I will finish with this. A poster titled their post as URGENT - Sick Chicken and then went on about how concerned they were and how they needed immediate advice as they were absolutely beside themselves with worry over the sick bird. ..... Yep ... so bloody concerned that they went to their PC and wrote a post. Didn't think to pop it in a cardboard box and run it over to the vets.
Saturday 1 May 2010
I think the Toner is running out.
Saturday Morning, the start of a long weekend.
Its funny how you feel differently about a day when you get up at a time of your own choice rather than a time dictated by Dante's Nine Circles of Hell or the need to prepare TPs lunchbox before the School Bus leaves. Everything is much more mellow when you are in control of the agenda.
My morning routine is pretty similar whether it is a School Day or a holiday with the exception of making aforementioned packed lunch. I still have to let Tyson and Marauder out, feed and water the chickens and pour a number of double espressos down my neck.
It is odd though that Potato and Eddy also know it is Saturday and are having a lie-in too. Normally Potato is most insistent that I, as Domestic Staff, serve his breakfast before I do anything else in the morning. Today however they are both curled up together and have indicated that I can bring up the papers (ironed of course) and coffee an hour later than usual.
I should point out that Sell-by-date, now in his dotage, is not an early riser and usually waits until around 11 before indicating that he needs to go out and empty his bowels. He is a martyr to his bowels and if you are stupid enough to wade in to a conversation with him about them don't say I didn't warn you. You should know the warning signs by now since you must have as many aged relatives as I do - Ones who have lost all inhibitions and lack anything remotely interesting in their life so will tell you about polyps and unnatural secretions. RUN AWAY!
A true story - A few weeks back I was walking Tyson and Marauder and I bumped in to a fellow dog walker. I know her well enough to chat to and have recently learnt her name having known her dogs' names for much longer. This is the way of dog walking that it is often that you know someone by their dog's name!
Anyway, I asked her how she was as I hadn't seen her for a while and she told me that she hadn't been walking recently as a result of having her haemorrhoids removed - FOR GODS SAKE! I hardly know the woman and she is talking about her Bum Grapes. Puts fingers in ears and sings La, La, La!
Where was I - Saturday Morning - now that I have constructed the Maginot Line T& M can assist when I let the chickens out. They carry out the morning patrol of the coops with great enthusiasm and prowl the runs like Camp Guards looking for the entrances to "Tom, Dick & Harry". I thought I had heard the chink of an enamel mug against a bed frame a couple of times recently but its probably my mind playing tricks.
I collected the eggs and found this .....
Its funny how you feel differently about a day when you get up at a time of your own choice rather than a time dictated by Dante's Nine Circles of Hell or the need to prepare TPs lunchbox before the School Bus leaves. Everything is much more mellow when you are in control of the agenda.
My morning routine is pretty similar whether it is a School Day or a holiday with the exception of making aforementioned packed lunch. I still have to let Tyson and Marauder out, feed and water the chickens and pour a number of double espressos down my neck.
It is odd though that Potato and Eddy also know it is Saturday and are having a lie-in too. Normally Potato is most insistent that I, as Domestic Staff, serve his breakfast before I do anything else in the morning. Today however they are both curled up together and have indicated that I can bring up the papers (ironed of course) and coffee an hour later than usual.
I should point out that Sell-by-date, now in his dotage, is not an early riser and usually waits until around 11 before indicating that he needs to go out and empty his bowels. He is a martyr to his bowels and if you are stupid enough to wade in to a conversation with him about them don't say I didn't warn you. You should know the warning signs by now since you must have as many aged relatives as I do - Ones who have lost all inhibitions and lack anything remotely interesting in their life so will tell you about polyps and unnatural secretions. RUN AWAY!
A true story - A few weeks back I was walking Tyson and Marauder and I bumped in to a fellow dog walker. I know her well enough to chat to and have recently learnt her name having known her dogs' names for much longer. This is the way of dog walking that it is often that you know someone by their dog's name!
Anyway, I asked her how she was as I hadn't seen her for a while and she told me that she hadn't been walking recently as a result of having her haemorrhoids removed - FOR GODS SAKE! I hardly know the woman and she is talking about her Bum Grapes. Puts fingers in ears and sings La, La, La!
Where was I - Saturday Morning - now that I have constructed the Maginot Line T& M can assist when I let the chickens out. They carry out the morning patrol of the coops with great enthusiasm and prowl the runs like Camp Guards looking for the entrances to "Tom, Dick & Harry". I thought I had heard the chink of an enamel mug against a bed frame a couple of times recently but its probably my mind playing tricks.
I collected the eggs and found this .....
...... Looks like one of the hens is running low on ink. I'm sure I reset the egg count when I did the last install but cant remember seeing a "Low Ink alert" recently. Good job we are off in to town this morning as egg receipts are going to be down this week with produce looking like this.
Now what type of toner cartridge does a chicken take and can I persuade 30% to install it?
Postie came - usual stuff - bills, election pamphlets and a letter from Amnesty International. Apparently the readership of this blog is broader than I thought and they are gravely concerned about the plight of the lawn mower. Apparently I am guilty of incarceration without trial, enforced labour and failure to adequately meet it's nutritional and health care needs.
Its a good job they don't know what happened to the Strimmer!
Thursday 22 April 2010
Spring
Forget all the vernal equinox versus the 1st April debates. Here at the "Pile" Spring arrives when I finally drag the mower out from its lair and use it with menace on the lawn.
Lets start with the mower. I like mowing the lawn - its not particularly taxing and the lawn isn't huge so its quite a pleasant way to spend 30 minutes or so on a sunny evening.
However, I don't like the mower it is an oily, smelly, noisy beast that coughs and splutters BUT WILL NOT DIE. My Dad has a beautiful mower that gleams and purrs and cuts beautiful stripes in his lawn. Last year mine kicked out a stone in a fit of pique that shattered one of our windows and I ended up forking out over £200 for a new double glazed unit. See, it hates me - why cant it be a perfect garden companion like my Dads?
Because I hate it. I neglect it. I don't have it serviced. I don't change its spark plug. I barely keep the sump topped up with oil. I certainly don't remove the accumulated grass and oil its chassis. BUT IT WILL NOT DIE. I just want it to fail so I can go to the DIY store and get a new one like my Dads.
Yesterday evening was its first outing of the year - hence the official beginning of Spring. I dragged the beast from its lair where it had been tipped on its side so that other junk could be crammed in there with it. I believe that piling rubbish on it over the winter ensures that it understands my loathing of it. To get me back for this poor treatment over the long winter months it slowly oozes the contents of its sump via the piston rings up in to the cylinder. A consequence of this is that I then need to remove the plug, clean it and then pull the starter cord several times to expel the oil from the cylinder - remember O Level Physics - You can't compress a liquid so pulling the started cord with a cylinder full of oil ain't gonna happen.
I dutifully performed these actions and then primed the carb and tugged that the starter cord. The beast decided that it would take revenge and gave a mean kick-back hence I type this with very sore fingers this morning.
Having taken revenge it then starts, fills the garden with an oily smoke and performs perfectly for the first run out of the year.
It is a love/hate relationship. I hate the mower and it loves the fact that I hate it. Hence IT WILL NOT DIE and allow me to go and get a new one like my Dads.
There is however a glimmer of hope, during the starting escapade I noticed a rust spot, quite a large one, on the chassis. Like a teenager with a zit I probed and picked and a hole appeared. MAYBE THE END IS CLOSER THAN I THINK.
Now to the lawn. Over the winter the lawn has been abused by three dogs and a trio of Light Sussex. I see a trip down to the garden centre in the next week or so for a couple of rolls of turf as surgery will be required in a few places. I find a freshly mown lawn a pleasing sight and the impact of three dogs and the occasional chicken means that some degree of Groundsman type activities are required each Spring. I may well offer the Guys at Wembley the benefit of my experience 'cos the state my lawn gets in to over winter makes their job look like a walk in the park.
While on the subject of Spring - the increasing day length means that the aging poultry flock have finally gotten off their perches and decided to pay me back for the vast quantity of food that I give them. For those unaware, a chicken only lays when there is more than about 10 hours of daylight which is why commercial birds have artificial light. They also lay less as they get older. My lot are definitely not Spring Chickens so generally can't be bothered to do much before the middle of March.
Egg production is now the order of the day and I take the odd box in to colleagues in the Nine Circles of Hell and the other 30% does quite a trade at her place of work. I now have quite a quantity of small eggs and it seems a bit mean to sell them so I'll be pickling eggs at the weekend. I absolutely love pickled eggs and they are nothing like those white blobs floating in cloudy, detritus filled liquor at the chip shop. Simply hard boil a few, shell them and put them in a clean jar with a 50:50 mix of malt and pickling vinegar and shut away for about 6 weeks. Then open and enjoy.
Oh Dear - it just went a bit Nigella there for a moment - apologies.
Lets start with the mower. I like mowing the lawn - its not particularly taxing and the lawn isn't huge so its quite a pleasant way to spend 30 minutes or so on a sunny evening.
However, I don't like the mower it is an oily, smelly, noisy beast that coughs and splutters BUT WILL NOT DIE. My Dad has a beautiful mower that gleams and purrs and cuts beautiful stripes in his lawn. Last year mine kicked out a stone in a fit of pique that shattered one of our windows and I ended up forking out over £200 for a new double glazed unit. See, it hates me - why cant it be a perfect garden companion like my Dads?
Because I hate it. I neglect it. I don't have it serviced. I don't change its spark plug. I barely keep the sump topped up with oil. I certainly don't remove the accumulated grass and oil its chassis. BUT IT WILL NOT DIE. I just want it to fail so I can go to the DIY store and get a new one like my Dads.
Yesterday evening was its first outing of the year - hence the official beginning of Spring. I dragged the beast from its lair where it had been tipped on its side so that other junk could be crammed in there with it. I believe that piling rubbish on it over the winter ensures that it understands my loathing of it. To get me back for this poor treatment over the long winter months it slowly oozes the contents of its sump via the piston rings up in to the cylinder. A consequence of this is that I then need to remove the plug, clean it and then pull the starter cord several times to expel the oil from the cylinder - remember O Level Physics - You can't compress a liquid so pulling the started cord with a cylinder full of oil ain't gonna happen.
I dutifully performed these actions and then primed the carb and tugged that the starter cord. The beast decided that it would take revenge and gave a mean kick-back hence I type this with very sore fingers this morning.
Having taken revenge it then starts, fills the garden with an oily smoke and performs perfectly for the first run out of the year.
It is a love/hate relationship. I hate the mower and it loves the fact that I hate it. Hence IT WILL NOT DIE and allow me to go and get a new one like my Dads.
There is however a glimmer of hope, during the starting escapade I noticed a rust spot, quite a large one, on the chassis. Like a teenager with a zit I probed and picked and a hole appeared. MAYBE THE END IS CLOSER THAN I THINK.
Now to the lawn. Over the winter the lawn has been abused by three dogs and a trio of Light Sussex. I see a trip down to the garden centre in the next week or so for a couple of rolls of turf as surgery will be required in a few places. I find a freshly mown lawn a pleasing sight and the impact of three dogs and the occasional chicken means that some degree of Groundsman type activities are required each Spring. I may well offer the Guys at Wembley the benefit of my experience 'cos the state my lawn gets in to over winter makes their job look like a walk in the park.
While on the subject of Spring - the increasing day length means that the aging poultry flock have finally gotten off their perches and decided to pay me back for the vast quantity of food that I give them. For those unaware, a chicken only lays when there is more than about 10 hours of daylight which is why commercial birds have artificial light. They also lay less as they get older. My lot are definitely not Spring Chickens so generally can't be bothered to do much before the middle of March.
Egg production is now the order of the day and I take the odd box in to colleagues in the Nine Circles of Hell and the other 30% does quite a trade at her place of work. I now have quite a quantity of small eggs and it seems a bit mean to sell them so I'll be pickling eggs at the weekend. I absolutely love pickled eggs and they are nothing like those white blobs floating in cloudy, detritus filled liquor at the chip shop. Simply hard boil a few, shell them and put them in a clean jar with a 50:50 mix of malt and pickling vinegar and shut away for about 6 weeks. Then open and enjoy.
Oh Dear - it just went a bit Nigella there for a moment - apologies.
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