We overheard Bird and Ellen discussing things that had been on the radio. Bird told Ellen that there were 52 billion chickens in the world - the most of any variety of bird. That was 9 birds per person on average. They agreed that it was more special to be of a lesser variety, which prompted Bird to suddenly splutter "The Most Exciting News" as he put it.
"Englebird Humdinger" he exclaimed to an alarmed Ellen. "We are going to be represented by a bird in the Eurovision Song Contest this year Ellen!"
Ellen screeched.
"He has a big white collar - like Harry Hill, and Sideboards on his face!" Bird enthused.
Ellen asked if he was quite sure that this creature was a bird.
"Of course," Bird jumped up and down on his perch, a little irritated. "He had a Number One Record in the 1960s called 'Release Me' - well a human wouldn't sing that, would he?"
Gordon x

Yesterday was Harvey's Birthday. We don't know how old he is, so we take a year off at every Birthday instead of putting one on! He went for a walk in the woods and frolicked amongst the first early Bluebells and enjoyed a special supper with Honey and Strawberry in the evening. Happy Birthday Harvey! Gordon & Sylvia xxx

We have a hard frost today. The fields are glistening in the bright sunshine and the sky is a clear, cold blue. But spring is most definately in the air!
Henry Stephens wrote in 1855:
'As soon as the grass begins to grow in spring, so early will cared-for hens delight to wander into sheltered positions of pasture, in the sunshine, in the warm side of a thorn-hedge, and pick the tender blades, and devour the worms, which the genial air may have warmed into life and activity. With such morsels of spring food, and in pleasant temperature, their combs will begin to redden, and their feathers assume a glossy hue; and even by February they will begin to chant - and this is a sure harbinger of the commencement of the laying season.'
Henry Stephens also wrote:
'A chicken never eats more tenderly than when killed a short time before being dressed.'
--- and I thought he had sounded such a nice chap. Gordon x

Today is Mother's Day and on Mothering Sunday, the fourth in Lent, girls in service used to be given leave to visit their mothers, taking a simnel cake as a gift. In Warwickshire and Gloucestershire the traditional meal on this day was a chine of pork, followed by fig pudding. A chine was a particular cut (down each side of the backbone) and often served at christenings or other celebrations, and at Christmas-time in Northamptonshire.  John Clare in 'The Shepherd's Calendar' wrote:
'And huswifes sage stuff'd seasoned chine
Long hung in chimney nook to drye
And boiling eldern berry wine
To drink the christmass eves good bye.'
Sylvia xxx

Today the rain is plopping. They say we need it. I do however not need it plopping on my feathers when I make a quick dash from the barn to Bird's box to see if he has dropped any millet. Yesterday was a different kettle of fish - a phrase that Sylvia thought developed in the late 1700s and described a high-society picnic where freshly caught salmon were cooked in kettles in the banks of the River Tweed - but that's as maybe. It was dry. The green woodpecker was laughing gaily and Philip the Pheasant calling across the field. Mum threw some raw carrot at the top of Peter Rabbit's parlour and it made us all jump when a fat baby scampered out of a burrow just in front of us. He had been taught well - as the soft thud of the carrot might have posted the alarm that Someone Else was hunting overhead. He Who Shall Not Be Named, to coin a (nother) phrase.

But the trees and the spring flowers seem to like the rain today. The buds on the trees are waiting to break open and send their new fresh brilliant green baby leaves into the world. The fine twigs of the beech tree have spear-shaped or lanceolate buds whose bracts will soon be cast off and wafted about by any breeze that blows. The leaves of the wild arum are poking out - and soon they will produce the most bizarre flowers which we call 'lords-and-ladies' and have  a device for catching flies. The tall spike, enclosed in the folded spathe is slightly warm and attracts small flies to come and warm their feet. Later they are coaxed into the fold from which there is no escape until they have been well-dusted with pollen - and so are able to fertilize another plant.  I have a device for catching flies too. It is called my beak. The primroses and early violets are looking happy as well - and Lois chose the new grass, tasty and moist, instead of her hay this morning.
Dad arrived quite early and seemed quite pleased with himself - albeit a little rueful. The comfortable waistcoat that he particularly favours had been dug out from the back of the cupboard in the kitchen as he had just unearthed (from some obscure hiding place) a new zip for it. He explained that he hadn't worn this vestment for some months due to the lack of functioning zip. However, armed with a new zipper, he had set to work to attach the aforementioned fastener and with a most satisfied huff (one pertaining to nothing less than that of a great achievement)  he drew the zip in an upwardly direction, right to the very top of the waistcoat - only to find the original one had been hiding under the collar all the time.
There are no flies on Dad! Gordon xx

"Hey Gordon! I didn't tell you about my trip down Memory Lane last Sunday, did I?"
Oh no. I could pretend that Mum had. But pretty pointless.
"I took my Mum back to see where she lived when she was a young chick! And the house that I was born in! The midwife put me in a drawer."
Was this a mistake? Did she mean to file Mum away with the vests?
"She came on her bike - just like the programme on TV that I told you about. And my Dad was putting up the washing line in the garden when I was hatched."
Was this to hang Mum out on to dry?
"Anyway, we drove all around the roads where I used to rollerskate. You know one day I shot down a slope by the Astoria and narrowly missed a man going past riding his scooter. The only way I kept upright was to hang on to the back of his pillion and he sped me along the road until I was going so fast  that there were sparks coming off my skates. I had to let go eventually of course."
Of course.
"We went to see Pop's Bootmakers Shop in Station Road. But it is a Tattoo Parlour and Body Piercing Shop now. Wonder what Pop would have thought of that? Pop was my Mum's Dad, Gordon. He was born in 1894. He's not alive now, of course."
Of course not.
"And opposite used to be 'The Cabin'. It was a little red wooden shed with an opening at the front and a door at the side. Pop often used to sit in here during the day after he retired and helped the old chap who owned it. There was just about room to squeeze two chairs inside. Pop called it a "Sweet Stuff Shop". It sold four Black Jacks or Fruit Salad chews for a penny. You had to buy at least two which cost a halfpenny - although you did have farthings - but they were so small and fiddly. It was always busy, especially after school when children would eagerly fish a few pennies from the depths of their pockets and queue up to select a small and precious assortment of different sweets which were carefully placed in a small white paper bag and eaten with relish on their journey home. I came past on my way home from school every day and Pop would smuggle me in the side door. 'Come on in, Peachey'  he would say. It was standing room only or I shuffled onto a small portion of Pop's chair and he would sneak me a sweet or two from the jars. It felt very important to be on the inside of The Cabin.
There was always a newspaper tucked under the counter - well studied and creased firmly down at the back page and Pop would give me some money to put on the horses for him and his old pal at the Bookies opposite.

Nanny - that's my Mum's Mum - didn't know about these cloistered affairs. Less still that Pop sent me over the road to put the bets on when I was a mere chick myself. She would have been very cross with him. But the Bookie and Pop waved knowingly across the road and all was well. And when Willy Carson was riding for Dick Hern, Pop always put a bet on - and he was rarely let down.
I had a sherbet dib-dab for my efforts and reluctantly kissed Pop goodbye and made my way home for tea, later passing Nanny's house and waving as she moved the net curtain back. Well I knew The Cabin wouldn't still be there Gordon, but the concrete wall that supported the back of it, nestled in the bank of the railway bridge, was there. Look!"
I duly studied the lump of concrete that had transported Mum back into her childhood and such vivid and happy memories. I don't expect anyone who lives there today rushing for their train to commute each morning to The Big City would have any idea what secrets that lump of concrete holds. Gordon xxx

Can a month really have passed since we last wrote in our diary? It has been interesting to look back on last year's entries and compare the time of year. The primroses are behind this spring - but that is probably due to the late cold weather. There is loads of frogspawn in the pond by the meadow; the wild birds are twitterpated and we are starting to lay eggs. Us Sebrights are off to a slow start - just making sure the weather really is warming up - but the Rosecombs are laying like Billy-O. (Who was Billy-O?).
This morning is shrouded in the thickest of fog and it is chilly with it. Lois is still enjoying a little dry hay in the morning, but starting to munch contentedly through the day on grass. Peter Rabbit and his family are thriving and Mr & Mrs Fox too! Kizzie and her friend saw two hares in the field yesterday - so big that at first they thought they were roe deer! The Fieldfare gang and the Long Tailed Tit gang provide a subtle and sweet background melody - in contrast to the raucous squabbling of the Rooks which are set to menace us until the end of June again.

Harry has been showing us his new tail - which is growing still longer every day. He tries to sneak up and wrap it around us so that we have to try and dodge underneath to escape. He thinks it is very amusing. Strange bird.
Ron, Don, Drongo, Nog, Lisa  and the rest of last year's offspring are all grown up. They left Poole Tree College with excellent qualifications. Don took the top prize in the study of soil - presented by Terry Firma; Ron excelled at IT and won the "Joy Stick Award" presented by Meg. A. Byte. Drongo and Nog proved outstanding showmen and won the "Lacing Award" presented by Phil E. Gree. Even Neddie and Seagoon won top prizes in Sport. Who knows what the 2012 hatch will aspire to? Gordon & Sylvia xxx