I appear to be suffering from an acute case of karmic consequences. Our Christmas turkey was brought around by Colin and Petra with a sock over its head, because they couldn’t bear to look it in the eye. It put up one hell of a fight, which was hardly surprising since it was engaged in a battle for its life, necessitating immense effort on my part to hold it down and prevent the kitchen looking like an abatoir; and I think I damaged ligaments in both shoulders doing this while my assistant (or was I the assistant?) administered the coup de grace. I had forgotten that that ludicrous wedge of solid breast meat was pure muscle.

Glad to have found the explanation of my aching arms and shoulders, I celebrated by climbing the chicken tree and catching the latest crowing cockerel who was quickly dispatched and cooked in Moroccan style.

Needless to say, we all played football with the head afterwards.