That’s right ladies, gents and all whom are in-between; the first egg has been produced in the Lushness household. Obviously said egg was produced by one of our chickens and not by one of the homo sapien members of the family, and – unsurprisingly – twas laid by Peggy and not Barbara Bossy Boots. Barbara is the kind of chicken who, despite being older than Peg the Egg (see what I did there?), would never lower herself to pleasing the Humans. She has that look about her, and her snooty little beak is firmly in the air.

Ironically the person who persuaded me to purchase our feathered friends (namely my husband) had gone back to work when the minx finally decided to produce that which he had raced excitedly down the garden hoping for every morning since he bought them. Following his stint in hospital during a rather touch and go end to the summer, he sensed weakness in me and swindled the go-ahead for some fowl additions to the garden. But, I have to admit, I too have become smitten with the chick-chick-chick-chick-chickens, and upon wandering down the garden to check the rabbit’s water bottle, I was the lucky soul who happened upon the first eggs. E-DAY. Two perfectly formed specimens, nestled in – of all places – the rabbit hutch. It transpires that Peggy, whilst amiable and willing to please in comparison to her haughty buddy Babs, had decided to play a little tricksy and had been leaving her offerings in the dark corner of the bunny abode. Bless her russet feathers. The fact that she also comes up to me and sits down in front of me ready to be stroked just makes me love her even more. Unconditional love, garden company, and a provider of food. What more could one ask for in a pet??

And whilst on the topic of E-Day, this morning was an E-Day of another sort all together, because my husband’s diagnosis of epilepsy (the one that came on top of kidney failure, possible Lyme disease, possible meningitis, aspiration pneumonia and seizures) was lifted! A truly happy moment! Minus-E-Day if you like. The ‘smudge’ that had appeared on his initial brain MRI, which may have been an artefact, a mistake, or even a tumour, had fully disappeared by the time of the second MRI, and the seizures appear instead to have been caused fully by his poor body beginning to shut down in the face of all that it had been through. No longer must he avoid baths, ladders, power tools, vehicles, his bike and so on – and for that I am relieved – but at the same time, what an eye opener to those who do have epilepsy. The terror of not knowing what will happen and when must be all-consuming until one has begun to learn to live with such a diagnosis. My husband will gradually be weaned off his anti-seizure medication and we will keep our fingers crossed; it is still about the little things.

And so, as 2012 begins to hasten towards its close, I have much to reflect upon from the past twelve months. It’s that time of year again… the quickening of the evenings and the glow of streetlights on wet pavements as I travel home, Fireworks Week (it’s never just a ‘night’ anymore), and those berks in the jungle on ITV. I’ve never been one to take things for granted, but 2012 thus far has left me reeling for breath in its wake. What will 2013 hold in store? I have no idea. Although I suspect that much of it will involve the deep and moving profundity that is: “Scrambled, poached or fried dear?”


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