Invaders at twelve o'clock

Yesterday, Andy and I set off to collect 2 new hens from a farm deep in the Kent countryside. Somehow, we manage to come home with three - a white Sussex, a Speckedly and an H& N Brown Nick. We install them in the hen house and congratulate ourselves on increasing our flock whilst at the same time sparing a fond thought for the recently departed Mrs Bennett.

As we settle for a cuppa and biscuit there is a knock on the back door. It is Mrs Miggins.
'Hello,' I say, 'how can I help?' ' I don't like to interrupt your elevenses,' says Mrs M, 'but there appear to be intruders in my garden.''Really?' I reply, thinking a local cat has wandered in, or a hedgehog, maybe. 'Yes,' says Mrs M. 'Three chickens. Are those hobnobs by any chance?' she continues, casting a glance at the barrell on the table. 'No, we ate all those yesterday, remember? These are Jaffa cakes. Would you like one?' 'No thank you,' says Mrs M. 'I find the orangey bit in the centre gets stuck to my beak.' Not wanting to become involved in a lengthy discussion about biscuit related products and whether, in fact, a Jaffa cake is a biscuit or a cake, I guide the conversation back to the question of intruders.

'They aren't intruders,' I explain to Mrs M. 'They are your new companions.' 'I have a companion,' says Mrs M. Oh no, I think, she still hasn't got her head around the Mrs Bennett/chicken heaven concept yet. 'Yes,' says Mrs M, 'I am all the company I need and if I need any more all I have to do is cluck loudly and annoyingly and you come running with sunflower seeds or grapes. A more than adequate arrangement I think.' 'Well,' I say,'I'm sorry to disappoint you but they are here to stay.'

Mrs Miggins fluffs herself out in disgust. 'Do they have names?' 'Yes, the little brown one is called Mrs Polotviska and the grey one is Mrs Slocombe.' 'And the poofey, white one with big knickers?' 'Is Mrs Pumphrey,' I say. 'She's a clairvoyant, you know.' Mrs Miggins's eyes brighten at this piece of news. 'A clairvoyant, you say?' 'Yes, she can foresee the future. It's quite a talent you know,' I smile, delighted that Mrs Miggins seems to be softening in her attitude towards the new residents. 'Well, then lets hope she has seen this coming,' says a determined Mrs M, who turns from the back door and with all the velocity of a greyhound after a rabbit, races like a maniac towards where the three girls are gathered, scattering them to the four corners of the run, squawking with alarm.

'Mrs Miggins!' I reprimand. 'That is not lady-like behaviour. Stop it this instant!'

Mrs Miggins turns and fixes me with a stare that means business. 'Now let's get one thing straight, shall we? This is my garden, my Eglu, my run, my food, my water bowl, my extra outside water bowl and my nest box. Mine, d'you hear? Mine...all mine!!!Mwhahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!' And with that she runs a few more turns around her garden, sweeping her cloak behind her and twanging her Zorro mask in a most menacing manner.

Mrs Slocombe looks at Mrs Pumphrey who looks at Mrs Polotviska who is trying to spell her name in bits of dried grass on the floor of the run. 'Did you see that coming?' asks Mrs Slocombe. 'No, I didn't,' admits Mrs Pumphrey. 'I think I'd better unpack my crystal ball. We have clearly fallen in with a bonkers crowd.'