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There ain't nobody here, but us chickens...


Words from a Bird.  Day 96

I have to confess that I am loving being redundant in the house, as son number 1 takes control of the room where I live (other people call it the kitchen, but it's my home...)

His meal of choice for this evening's dinner is roast chicken with jacket potatoes.  We haven't been called in yet, but looking at the size of the chicken, the number of potatoes and the unexpected increase in places needed at the table, I could be going without.

The preparation of the chicken was suspect - all I could hear from son number 1 were comments such as 'Stuff that bird', and 'You have to massage the breasts well'.  It was at this point that I was questioning whether he was taking my job role seriously and what life experience he was drawing on with regard to the unfortunate chicken.

So the chicken went into the oven, with a reminder from me to make sure it went into a roasting tin.  This may sound slightly pedantic on my part, but having narrowly avoided calling the fire brigade after daughter number 2's attempt at cooking a chicken, I take no chances.  Apparently, when I called her asking her to put the chicken in the oven, I didn't tell her to put it in a tin.  I didn't ask her to take it out the wrapping either, but in some small part of her brain, she decided that it would be wise to do so...

The label on the chicken said that it would feed seven people.  Seven?  Yes, I would agree if Snow White was heading round with a few mates, or we were feeding Hobbits, but my lot?  I estimate that four people will benefit from the breast-massaged, stuffed chicken.  I will be having a chicken salad (without the chicken) and two others will be having chicken and chips (again without the chicken).

As I write, the chicken is cooked, the potatoes are ready, and a salad has been prepared for me.  However, the chips haven't gone in (suggested as back-up to the insufficient jackets) so it could be a bit of an HP meal...

Eaten in instalments....

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