The Danger Zone

There was danger of random sitting and staring occuring today. After a week of Shakepeare and Stratford, of hops and golf courses, self-build dreams re-ignited and the building of a bistro bar for the Dowager House in the North Wing of Cluckinghen Palace, Andy sat in the kitchen this morning looking BORED OUT OF HIS MIND!

Did I tell you about the new Dowager House bistro bar? Honestly, our chickens must have the most up-to-date mod con facilities of any hens North of the Equator. Andy decided that Mrs Miggins and Mrs Pumphrey needed a hanging chicken feeder and a hanging water 'thing'. (Don't know what the technical term is - 'feeder' seems wrong, 'water feature' a bit pretentious), so he purchased said items and we hung them on the bush that refused to be dug up and is now regrowing. First spot of rain and the feeder filled with water, turning the layers pellets into layers mush, and for some odd reason Miggo and Pumphrey preferred their old water bowl aka my shepherds-pie-for-two dish to the new fangled dangley water 'thing'.

'It's too new fangled,' said Mrs Miggins.
'And dangley,' said Pumphrey who at least had tried drinking from it and got head butted for her efforts.

So Andy set about making a tiny little bistro hut to hang the feeder and fangly dangley water thingy from. It is fully recycled from bits of the old fence. I don't know what the rock is for - some kind of retro bar stool I think, but the girls LOVE it.

'It's tres chic but sort of olde worlde rustic in an American Road House kind of way,' says Miggins, ever the cosmopolitan.
'I like it because it stops the layers pellets turning into layers mush when it rains,' says Mrs Pumphrey.

Back to Andy being bored. I was making a cake. I thought, I'm not having Andy standing in the kitchen and staring, especially as I have already caught him making contact with work at least once this week. He needs occupying, I thought.

'Get your lap top and sit at the kitchen table and start writing 'Monumental,' I said. 'And I shall ask you questions about plot and character and when I've made the cake I shall get my laptop and sit opposite you and we can be writers together - HURRAH!'

He didn't really have any choice, poor thing, I can be very determined when I get started.

'Monumental' is the title of a novel that Andy is starting to write.
'What's it about?' I asked. And he told me but I'm not telling you because I don't want to spoil the plot when it is published and you buy it in droves.
'Who is the protagonist?' I said.
'I don't know,' said Andy.
'How does it start?' I said.
'I don't know,' said Andy.

We stared at each other, Andy trying to absorb the inspirational waves I was attempting to send in his direction.

'Stop sitting and staring,' I said. 'Sitting and staring is a dangerous waste of time unless you are being confronted by a mongoose in which case sitting and staring will likely save your life.'

Having checked the kitchen and ascertained the complete absence of mongoose/mongeese/mongi/ mongum (must be the 'STOP MONGOOSE!' spray I've been using - it's like Cillit BANG! only quieter), Andy got on with the writing task in hand.

'Best to use stream of consciousness,' I advised. 'It's the only way when you're stuck in your writing. Just let it all spill out, no questions, no editing, no matter how daft it seems.'
'Like you do in your blog every day?' said Andy.

'Shut your face,' I said.