We are the proud owners of four new hens. Pompous, Self-regarding, Publicity-Seeking and Pillock are settling in nicely into their mud patch in the bottom of the garden. I’m kidding, they are called Phyllis (after my white haired Grandma), Daisy (I forget why), Rosie (she’s red) and Trixie (short for Archaeoptryx – don’t ask). Rosie is most definitely boss hen, she does good strutting, eats everything in sight and would elbow the others out of the way without so much as an excuse me to eat out of your hand – except she doesn’t have elbows and cannot talk. Anyway, I do love them, even if the rainy squelchy trudge down the garden at twilight is less appealing than on a fine summer’s evening…I like to listen to them chattering.

We have survived the first camping trip of the year. More rainy squelchy trudging, this time down to the river at the bottom of the campsite to retrieve sodden children and waterlogged wellies from the river where they were not supposed to be unattended. They built an impressive dam, and like good campers, unbuilt it again before we left, leaving nothing but footprints.

Such are my poultry* excuses for not blogging more of late. That and frenetic weeding in the garden whenever it is not wet…and conferences and almost incessant train rides to and from Darkest Peru Plymouth for hearings.

And alas I shall be away this weekend on another conference, although I am hoping I may find time to do a little blogging between vey serious lectures and slightly less dour evening entertainments.

*that’s a pun