Just the Two of Us

'Just the two of us now then,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Just like in the song.'
Mrs Slocombe frowns, as only a creature without eyebrows can. 'Me and My Shadow?' she says.
'No,' says Mrs P.
'Daisy, Daisy?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Chickens on a tandem? Don't be ridiculous,' says Mrs Pumphrey.

There is another bout of chicken frowning as a mad chicken brain strives, unsuccessfully, for the right song.

And then a light comes on!

'I know!' says Slocombe. 'Tea for Two!'
'NO!'
'It Takes Two...'
'It'll take more than two to sort you out,' snaps Mrs Pumphrey.
'...babeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!' finishes Mrs Slocombe. 'To make a dream come troooooooo!'

Mrs Pumphrey sighs. 'Look,' she says, turning to Mrs Slocombe, who is now wild-eyed with the karaoke bug. 'Mrs Miggins was my pottering chum. And now she has gone to potter with Mrs Bennett, who was her old pottering chum...'
'I've never had a pottering chum,' says Mrs Slocombe.
'And why might you think that is?' says Pumphrey.

Mrs Slocombe shrugs, despite having no discernible shoulders. 'Because I have no pots?'
'Wrong,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Because you are a speckledy, mad-eyed, feather pecking, wonky-combed lunatic who has all the social skills of a teenager addicted to Facebook.'
'I have 2376 friends on Facebook,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'Perhaps one of those could potter with me.'
'I think,' says Mrs Pumphrey, 'that we are just going to have to get used to each other as new pottering chums.'
'Okay,' says Mrs Slocombe, who is quietly pleased at this offer. 2376 friends on Facebook may look impressive, but she is almost certain she doesn't actually know all of them and she is pretty certain a high proportion of them are mad as a box of frogs.

'BUT...' begins Mrs P, 'there are provisos to our pottering friendship. Conditions. Quid pro quos.'
'Are they like worms?' says Slocombe.
'No,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'They are like a peck in the head if you don't shut up and listen.'
'Oh,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'Right, well, I'm listening. What are the squid pro visto conditions then?'

Mrs Pumphrey clears her throat.
'One,' she says. 'Always remember that Mrs Miggins was my best pottering chum and you will never measure up to her meticulous standards of pottering, not even if you stand on a very tall ladder wearing platform wellies...'
'Would that be me wearing the platform wellies, or the ladder?' says Slocombe.

Mrs Pumphrey gives her a withering look and continues.

'Two, I intend to maintain my beautiful plummage for as long as possible. You are to keep my plummage away from your beak. No longer shall I accept excuses of 'I'm only picking a bit of fluff off your wing.' If you can't keep your beak from my plummage, you will have to potter ten feet behind me at all times.'

'Right,' says Mrs S. 'But what if there really is a piece of fluff on your wing?'
'I'll let the wind blow it off,' says Mrs Pumphrey.
Mrs Slocombe sniggers. 'You nearly said 'blow off,' she says.

'And three,' finishes Mrs Pumphrey, 'you will remember that I am now in charge of our flock, diminshed though it is.'
'Shouldn't there be a democratic election to decide leadership?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'There has been,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Denise says I am definitely to be in charge because she wouldn't trust you to be in charge of a blunt wax crayon.'
'Oh,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'So who did I vote for?'
'Me,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'And I voted for me, and Andy abstained because I was too Tory for him. Which makes three votes for me and none for you.'

'I'm still not sure that's how voting is supposed to work,' says Slocombe.

'Okay,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'How about I'm in charge because I'm bigger?'

'If you put it like that, it works well for me,' says Mrs Slocombe, suddenly feeling very small.

'Good,' says Pumphrey. 'Then it's settled. We shall go into the Eglu and raise a glass of elderflower champagne to Mrs Miggins, a most extra-ordinary hen, and a fine example to all hen kind on how a hen should live her life.'

'Maybe we should raise a Hobnob, too?' says Mrs Slocombe.

'That's the most sensible suggestion you've made all blog,' says Mrs Pumphrey.