Polly-wolly-doodle all the day

Rose called me over to listen to her hen Polly.  “She’s trying to crow!” she said.  Polly puffed herself up, sitting on the fence, but she wouldn’t crow again.  But Canasta did, a couple of weeks ago.  I heard that.  She made a decent fist of it too, if that isn’t too dodgy an expression.

There are just three hens and one cock, and Jenga the cock has been very interested in the three black Newbies recently (from outside their greenhouse), so maybe Polly, Scrabble and Canasta have felt neglected.  I’d never come across hens trying to crow before, I don’t know how common it is.  There’s no sex change – even more unlikely – as Polly and Scrabble are laying and Canasta has become broody.

I finally got around to planting out vegetables today.  I’ve grown very little this year so far.  The weather was against me and this is supposed to be a hobby.  Tomorrow, it’s the street fair: I’ve spoken about them before.  There are three every year, the May one being gardening, the July one is antiques and the December fair is Christmas.  The street is closed and there are lots of stalls.  It’s all good fun and they’ve been going for many years – the Christmas one started it off, some 35 years ago.  Then, it was an evening do, but eventually it changed to all-day, and the others were added too.

I’ve got a few tomato seedlings, but otherwise no greenhouse veggies at all, so hope to get a few plants.  And otherwise, whatever catches our eyes.  First, I’m going to Norwich to take Ro and Dora and young Rufus to the local airport, because they’re going on holiday.  So I’m not playing the organ tomorrow, which is no loss to anyone at all.

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