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Showing posts from March, 2018

I think it's time to tell you about The Chicken.

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I think it's time to tell you about The Chicken.

Some time ago I was heading to the woods with the dog via the view point at Winter Hill.  Just as I got to the National Trust car park, I came across The Chicken.  A happy, pecking chicken would have been some what of a surprise but actually, this was an even greater surprise because it was an oven ready chicken (although no sign of the cooking instructions).  She was spread eagle on the grass, with all four little limbs akimbo.  Oddly, my first thought was "Lucky, lucky Foxy Dog" not "Why is there an un-cooked chook at Winter Hill".  The dog dragged me ever closer and that is when I noticed the used condom.  Now I am the product of a Newlands Girls School education in the era of Mrs. Leighton and her quite remarkable legs (water retention, as I now know). In that era, we were still referred to as "gals" in clipped Home Counties accents.  Communal showers convinced us without doubt, that each and every…