Back To Reality

Well, hello there. I should probably explain my absence, in case anyone noticed. We have been on a lovely holiday to Tenerife, where I spent the days lazing by the pool, drinking garish cocktails with unpronouncable names, and liberally applying suncream to my celtic toned children. Oh, and sneakily, at the back of my mind, worrying about the girls.

My chicken sitting experience was largely trouble free. My friend's dinosaur chooks mostly behaved themselves, settling for rushing the run door when ever I opened it and pecking my toes. They laid like clock work, and greedily devoured the chopped cabbage that was left for them in the fridge. Offer my girls cabbage and they're likely to turn around and defecate on it in protest.

My chicken sitter and I had a rather complicated change over of duties. She was flying in from Majorca a matter of hours after we flew out to Tenerife. The morning of our departure, I spent a manic couple of hours making her girls comfortable, before racing home to get the palace in order. The packing was almost an after thought. At last, after checking the coop for the thirteenth time, we left for the airport. I resisted fretting to the ever tolerant husband about flight delays, and chicken sitters stranded in Majorca, and dinosaur chickens turning cannibal in order to survive, and more refined ladies having to use underlings as spades in an attempt to break free from their secure habitat.

We had a blissful holiday, and I managed to only text my chicken sitter once (she also caved and texted me while away). Safe in the knowledge that all was well, I set my mind to other interesting developments.

The ever tolerant husband finds switching off from his job some what difficult, and could be seen sneaking in to the internet room at the hotel at regular intervals. During one such foray, I asked him to check my emails. The week before we left, I had an interesting email from a pekin breeder who mentioned that he had the 'odd frizzle'. My interest well and truly piqued, I had emailed him back asking for colours, ages and prices. Getting the ever tolerant husband to check my mail served two purposes. It subtly introduced the idea of aquisitions, and I also really wanted to know. Alas, no email was forth coming. However, the holiday spirit had relaxed the ever tolerant husband enough that he was quite amenable to the idea, merely breezily stating that he didn't want to know what I was up to as long as he didn't have to be involved.

A green light, in my book.