These were the unlaid eggs from the dead chicken. The pouch affair becomes the shell:

This was one I ate, having declined the offer of fried pouch:

I took a picture of what seems a cheap and cheerful wooden climbing frame made of poles and half cuts bolted together.

Imagine my surprise, while surveying the minutae of the vegetable patch, to find a stray husky dog leaping and bounding about the place, running backwards and forwards along the electric fence, terrorising the chickens. I clapped my hands, but it didn’t appear to notice. I started chasing it, but at that moment, one of the chickens, in  a serious error of judgement, decided to leap outside the electric fence. The husky was onto it in a flash. I redoubled my efforts to catch it, and we parried back and forth among the vegetables. I cornered the dog, and aimed a kick at its flank. I hit it well, with a satisfying clunk, but this species is made of stern stuff, because it didn’t seem to register that I had even made contact. It barely glanced at me, but shook its head violently, presumably breaking the neck of the chicken lodged in its jaws, and then legged it for the open spaces, pegging it out through the open gate, which the thoughtful postman had omitted to close.

Meeting the owner across the road, where he had prised the carcass free, we both sucked our teeth in mutual exasperation. He offered to pay, but really, the bird had only cost £1. I took it back, and the resident butcher’s assistant drained the remaining blood and plucked and prepared a cari poulet.

I discovered a new kind of pain the other day when I inadvertently stepped on a nail while perambulating around the vegetable garden. It was buried amongst some hedge prunings. The nail penetrated the feeble sole of my fake crocs, bore through my foot’s leathery outer tissue, and sank itself deep into my instep.

Close scrutiny will reveal the top two thirds of the nail cleansed of rust, which might account for the raised red nature of the wound, and the curious crablike motion I now have to make when ‘walking’.

A monthly chart of the ‘Beast’, as the GBP/JPY cross is known in the Forex world, on account of its extreme volatility and propensity to crush unwitting traders underfoot. Note the all time low reached recently! Is the tiny upward blip any more than a dead cat bounce? Or is it the beginning of a major climb?

Those knives on the wall – they’re certainly long enough!

News from the homestead:

We saw a rat in the chicken run, so I built a rodent proof feeder. Note the nifty ‘collar’ to hinder climbing:

Walking along the beach at Climping yesterday, Mama spied a live lobster in a rockpool, so she brought it back and cooked it: