Well, she was gorgeous and gave us eggs, but Book Book has forsaken us, and for over a week I have gathered no eggs and heard no clucks. I just hope she's moved on to another safe house.
Life sans Book Book does not lack excitement, however. On Sunday I was so busy trying to disengage a small arachnid from the silk entwined around my kebab stick, that I tipped most of the rest of my dinner onto the floor of the sitting room. It was a chicken kebab. Maybe my dinner saboteur was a pal of Book Book's?
I'm proud to have gardened earnestly this week. At the risk of sounding like the ultimate egoist, I'm really wondering whether my efforts at the weekend explain the forecast, which is for frosts and snow tonight. It's November, for heaven's sake! If we can't plant the beans now, when the hell can we plant 'em?
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