The Running Chicken and Nearly King Jimbo

Before I get on with the main business of the day, I need to report upon the progress of Mrs Poo because you may have smelled chicken cooking on Monday and I don't want you think that we, well, you know, did the practical self-sufficiency thing with her.

Intensive nursing has been eased off as she is now drinking for herself. Her day, then, goes thus:-

a) I collect Mrs Poo from her cage in my writing room and carry her to the garden. This gives me a chance to squeeze her underbits to check for possible stuck eggs (no egg laying for 5 days now).
I then drag her cage (2 feet by 4 feet, just about fits through the two doors of the inner lobby) through the kitchen and into the garden, leaving water and straw in my wake so Mrs Poo has access to her facilities throughout the day. A kind of Cluckinghen Palace mobile home.

b) Mrs Poo has free range of the garden. Because she is hobbling about like a drunken octagenarian at the moment and eating very sparsely ('It all seems like so much effort,' says Poo), the veg on the patio and in the raised bed are safe from chicken massacre. I leave her to potter in the garden all day, making occasional visits to check she hasn't got stuck down the drain/behind the greenhouse/in the water barrell/escaped on a bicycle.

c) Sometimes I will pop out with a tit-bit of food I think might tempt her. Sometimes she gives it a half-hearted peck; mostly she looks at it, then looks at me and says, 'What? No caviare?'

d) Occasionally I have to dive out into the garden and remove her from where she is leaning against the side of Cluckinghen Palace (South Wing) and Mrs Slocombe is sticking her head through the fence and relieving her of more of her feathers. 'DON'T STAND THERE AND LET HER DO THAT!' I shriek. 'YOU'LL BE OVEN-READY BY THE END OF DAY, YOU STUPID CHICKEN!'

e) At about 7 p.m, Mrs Poo will climb into her cage and sit on her nest. This is her saying, 'It's time for bed,' so Andy and I carry her, Queen of Sheba-like back into the house, though the kitchen and into my writing room where she sleeps. We check her crop for fullness, just to make sure she is eating, and her crop is usually a good two thirds full. Not fit to bursting and sticking out like the other hens, but sufficient enough that she isn't slowly starving to death.

This morning I saw Mrs Poo running across the lawn. Actually running. I think I wasn't supposed to see her running because when she noticed I was watching her she stopped suddenly and did a bit of limp. And now she is sitting next to the water barrell with a bit of a look in her eye. I hope this means she is starting to feel better. This chicken pandering is starting to take its toll. On me.

Anyway, the main business of the day is to inform you that I have opened another blog page entitled 'Nearly King Jimbo.' This will be eventually be attached to the Much Malarkey Manor web-site as part of The Library page. The Library is well under construction. It has many bookshelves and a comfy chair with a cat sitting on it. The cat is Lilith, Tybalt's dear-departed sister. If you want to sit in the armchair you don't need to shoo her away. She is a spirit cat so just sit down and she'll go right through you like a vindaloo with extra jalapenos. Andy got a huge book through the post yesterday all to do with creating web sites and other such interwebbley-nettley things that quite frankly make my head hurt.

But he seems to be enjoying it, and says he's learnt at least two new things from it and he is only up to page 94.

The new blog will contain the second book I wrote in this 'My Year As A Writer' adventure. I am going to publish it chapter by chapter, and posted an introduction and Chapter I yesterday. So if you're interested or bored or curious or the cat litter tray needs cleaning out and you need a handy displacement activity, the Nearly King Jimbo Blog can be accessed at www.mmmlibrary.blogspot.com

Happy reading!