It is a grey and drear day - rather typical of November. The air has a damp chill to it, although it is dry. Outside Wattlebury Cottage three Herons visit the big field and shuffle and paddle their way through the muddy ruts searching out tasty bites. Dad says they like frogs. They are very large and we are a bit in awe of them. A strange creature, a heron. Harvey was taking a look at them whilst he and Mum dragged the dustbin along the drive to the road last night and he accidentally stood on a pointy stone. Well you would have thought he was about to take his last lingering breath as he lolled back on his bed and held the offending foot in the air for all to examine. His eyes half closed and he sighed deeply. All because (as he whispered to us this morning) he had spotted the Christmas tin of Cheesey Footballs on the table and was hoping one might pass his way.
"You poor Man." Mum exclaimed and put a large Cheese Football in the centre of his dinner. "This will make you feel better!"
Harvey confided in us that he had to exert the utmost control over his jaw so as not to be seen to wolf the aforesaid Cheese Football in the first mouthful of food. However we are pretty sure by the second mouthful the tasty morsel had completely and utterly gone.
Gemma and Drongo have asked Kizzie if they can go to the Panto this year. I believe she is trying to get them two tickets in a box. Kizzie sells the tickets at our Theatre and this year they are producing Cinderella. The two Wugly Sisters had their photo with Kizzie last week - they used something called a Selfie Stick. Dad saw the stick on the table and thought it would make an excellent judging stick. Mum told him that you press a button and it extends automatically. Dad was thrilled!
"I shall get him one for Christmas Gordon!" Announced Mum. "Kizzies has a pink handle - but I shall get Dad a black one."
They are so silly (Mum and Dad) even I  know the button is for taking a photo - not extending the arm. Gordon xx

Yes, THAT time of the year is upon us again. Dad was up bright and early and put on his Show Special Pully - you know the one - beige, very dense and only worn on Very Important Days. The alarms had been set at Wattlebury Cottage for 04.15, but Dad gets very excited on days such as these and was up at 03.45. Mum said she heard him go down and make his coffee and get his bits together and she settled back for a snooze. Unfortunately Dad had forgotten to unset the alarms and they rattled noisily at 04.15 when Mum had just slumbered off again. Such is the way of things. This morning is fairly foggy and Dad set off in good time. Half an hour later he returned. He had forgotten his glasses. "We should have made a list" Mum was heard to mutter. And off he went again.
Just three of us have been chosen this year. And very excited they are too. Suzy is representing us in the Gold Sebright Hen class and Freda and Annabelle the Black Rosecomb Pullets are going as well. Freda, Annabelle and their Mother, Dolores, are The Bossy Rosecomb's descendants. Freda will NOT stop chatting - unless she wants to lay an egg. Dad won't be lonely on his journey to Telford anyway. He'll be lucky if he can hear Radio 2 above her incessant chatter.
So we are saddled with Mum. She has her shopping list for the Chicken
Co-Op and has chores on her agenda as long as a bantam's leg. Should be fun! Gordon & Sylvia xxx

It has indeed been an extremely soggy November so far. We have to nimbly hop and spring o'er puddles and yuk as we make our way to the safe haven of a dry loose box. There we climb upon a straw bale or one of Dad's home made perches and shake ourselves dry. The long shed is best avoided, we have come to quickly realise, as there are holes in the roof. Multiple holes in the roof.
The young cockerels and pullets of 2014 are progressing well at Wattlebury College. They are learning the arts of Wormery, Scratchamatics, Cockadoostry and Nestics. We are very proud of them as they set off each day along the path to college, their feathers gleaming in the pale morning light. Past the spindleberry, past the holly bush and into the distance. Yes they are a fine bunch.
Sylvia and I can then take a breather and potter around in relative peace. There are the daily chores to see to of course. I like to tidy up whilst Sylvia prepares the evening meal. The day goes all too soon and before we know it the rest of the family are home and the yard is once again alive with banter, dallying and jest. Gordon x

It is raining. Raining hard actually. We have taken refuge in the old stable perched on a bale of straw. Harvest (the canard) is snoozing and Pauly the Turkey is thinking about laying an egg. I'm sure Pauly won't mind me saying, but she has laid some whoppers this year. Kizzie's man who is called James likes them scrambled. Sadly we no longer have Johnny Turkey now. Did you eat him at Christmas, I hear you cry. Of course not! He just took a turn for the worse and passed peacefully away. So Harvest and Pauly have become the best of friends. Now yesterday was a lovely sunny day. We did a fair bit of useful grubbing and Dad cleaned some pens out and mended holes. He also went to buy our weekly supplies from the Chicken supermarket. Mum de-frosted the fridge at Wattlebury Cottage. She hadn't intended to, but the door was accidentally left open overnight and it was half done when she came into the kitchen in the morning.
Must just mention here that we had a bit of a scare on Friday night. Thought Mum and Dad had also taken a turn for the worse and that they were going the same way as Johnny Turkey. Gordon xx