Chicken Psychology

'What's up with her, then?' says Mrs Slocombe, who, now the Spring sap is rising, is once more on a mission to goose as many feathers from the Miggins and Pumphrey bottoms as she can.
'Who her?' says Mrs Miggins. 'And can I say that if you do that again, I shall doink you on the head. It's still too cold to be going commando in the nethers.'

Mrs Slocombe makes a last peck at Mrs Miggins' fluffage and dashes for the North Wing gardens of Cluckinghen Palace where she continues to conduct the conversation through a megaphone.

'HER INDOORS,' she shouts. 'WITH THE WELLIES AND THE INTERESTING RANGE OF KNITWEAR.'
'Oh...her?' says Mrs Miggins. 'Well, I think in human parlance she's having what's called a 'mid-life crisis.'
'WHAT'S THAT THEN?' shouts Mrs S.
'It's a time in one's life when one takes stock of life already passed and life to come and realises that one is half way through one's allotted time and one is not sure what to do with it,' says Miggins.
'BUT SHE MIGHT BE MORE THAT HALF WAY THROUGH HER LIFE,' shouts Mrs S.
'Don't say that,' says Mrs Miggins. 'You'll throw her into an even worse mood, and you know she'll only be out flinging more white cabbage at us if that happens.'
'BUT WE HAVEN'T FINISHED THE LAST LOT YET,' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Tell me about it,' sighs Miggins. 'There's only so much cabbage a hen of my age can cope with before consequences start occuring.'

Mrs Pumphrey emerges from the kitchen door. She is arrayed in her Madame Arcati outfit, except the hat is new, the last having been sat upon by a particularly hefty poltergeist.

'How is she?' says Mrs Miggins.

Mrs Pumphrey sighs, and arranges her oriental silk house coat in artful folds.

'Well, she was all right until we drew the 'Chicken of the Golden Bell,' she says.
'The Chicken of the Golden Bell?' says Mrs Miggins. 'But I thought that was supposed to be lucky?'
'It is,' says Mrs Pumphrey, 'but not when it follows the Cock of Doom.'
'Oh blimey,' says Mrs Miggins.
'Indeed,' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'DID SHE SAY THE COCK OF DOOM?' shouts Mrs Slocombe from the other end of the garden.
'Yes,' says Mrs Miggins.
'Why is she down there shouting up here?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'Oh, ignore her,' says Miggo. 'Too many feathers in her brain, that's all. Now tell me, what else did the cards show?'
'I'm afraid I cannot divulge such personal information about my clients,' sniffs Mrs Pumphrey.
'Bag of Monster Munch and copy of Hens At Home, April issue?' says Miggins.
'Pickled onion flavour?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'Whatever, ' says Mrs Miggins.
'There seems to be a period of transition arising in her fifth zenith of the emerging corn,' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'Meaning?' says Mrs Miggins, who, as you know, cannot be doing with all this esoteric techno-talk.
'Meaning,' says Mrs Pumphrey, 'that she is very hacked off at the mo and is seeking a new pathway.'
'This one is a bit muddy,' agrees Mrs Miggins, giving the ground an experimental stomp.
'WHAT'S GOING ON?' shouts Mrs Slocombe. 'WHY ARE YOU BOTH WHISPERING?'

Mrs Pumphrey sighs. This always happens when she tries to explain the hidden mysteries of life to those who still think it's funny to dress up in a bed sheet and jump out off the airing cupboard shouting 'BOO!'

'There comes a time in a person's life,' she begins, with all the patience she can muster, 'when you realise life is but a fleeting breath of existence that all too easily can be snuffed out with the stop of a heartbeat.'
'OR A DOUBLE DECKER BUS DOING 40 MILES AN HOUR,' shouts Mrs S.
'SHUT UP!!' shouts back Mrs Miggins, who unlike Pumphrey, doesn't mind telling it how it is.

'And when that time happens,' comtinues Mrs Pumphrey because she is stoical like that, 'things that seemed important are no more so, and you start to feel infinitely less tolerant at the rubbish people, especially educational advisors, throw at you.'
'I see,' says Mrs Miggins, because she didn't like to admit defeat on the cognitive learning front at this point. 'So what does that mean? New job?'
'In a nutshell,' nods Mrs Pumphrey.
'NUTS?' shouts Mrs Slocombe. 'WHO'S NUTS?'

Mrs Miggins looks at Mrs Pumphrey.

'Shall you tell her, or shall I?' she says.