All that comes with it » Eggs http://allthatcomeswithit.com Wed, 23 May 2012 21:32:37 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 Who’s idea was it to have chickens again? http://allthatcomeswithit.com/archives/1842 http://allthatcomeswithit.com/archives/1842#comments Tue, 10 Nov 2009 11:30:00 +0000 Dan http://allthatcomeswithit.com/?p=1842 I am man who likes to live life on the edge. I pick up and eat food I’ve dropped on the floor, I walk around with my shoelaces undone, and I even agree to go on hiking holidays with random weirdos I’ve met on the internet. If my middle name weren’t George, then you can bet your bottom dollar it’d be Danger. No wonder I’m idolized by millions.

However my life of excitement and peril is sometimes my undoing.

When tending to the chickens in the morning it’s become my habit to slip the eggs I collect into my pockets. This leaves my hands free to lock up the coop and perform any other random jobs that need doing. It has occasionally crossed my mind that this is a practice that may backfire on me at some point in the future, but like I say – I like to live life on the edge.

You can see where this is going can’t you.

Yesterday was a day like any other. I collected the eggs as normal and then pottered around doing my usual jobs. However whilst washing the dishes that afternoon I noticed that I had a large damp patch on my trousers. Assuming that I’d just splashed myself during a bit of overly exuberant scrubbing I just left it, figuring I’d just let it air dry (see, I told you I was a maverick). After fifteen minutes I started to idly wonder why the water didn’t appear to be drying. Half an hour went by and my suspicions were aroused enough for me to stick an exploratory hand in my pocket.

Let me tell you, it wasn’t pleasant.

So off came the trousers, into the washing machine went the wallet, and under the tap went my car keys and a rather eggy £5 note. And in the meantime the chickens (no doubt psychically picking up on my distress) made a dash for freedom, flapping over the garden fence in order to get closer to the house to crow about their victory. Two of them even got onto the roof of my car, an act of disrespect and defiance which is almost Hitchcockian in it’s audacity.

IMG_3668

They even crapped up there too, the swine.

So it seems my fine feathered fiends have won this battle, but the war is far from over. Let’s just hope they don’t find an anarchic and irreverent evil genius to lead them or they may one day take over the entire world.

IMG_3685

Oh bugger, we’re screwed.

Related posts:

  1. All 11 Dr Whos unite for a special
  2. Oh how I wish Mummy would let Daddy keep chickens.
  3. I’m not sure calling her a minion is the best idea, but…

Related posts:
  1. All 11 Dr Whos unite for a special
  2. Oh how I wish Mummy would let Daddy keep chickens.
  3. I’m not sure calling her a minion is the best idea, but…
]]> I am man who likes to live life on the edge. I pick up and eat food I’ve dropped on the floor, I walk around with my shoelaces undone, and I even agree to go on hiking holidays with random weirdos I’ve met on the internet. If my middle name weren’t George, then you can bet your bottom dollar it’d be Danger. No wonder I’m idolized by millions.

However my life of excitement and peril is sometimes my undoing.

When tending to the chickens in the morning it’s become my habit to slip the eggs I collect into my pockets. This leaves my hands free to lock up the coop and perform any other random jobs that need doing. It has occasionally crossed my mind that this is a practice that may backfire on me at some point in the future, but like I say – I like to live life on the edge.

You can see where this is going can’t you.

Yesterday was a day like any other. I collected the eggs as normal and then pottered around doing my usual jobs. However whilst washing the dishes that afternoon I noticed that I had a large damp patch on my trousers. Assuming that I’d just splashed myself during a bit of overly exuberant scrubbing I just left it, figuring I’d just let it air dry (see, I told you I was a maverick). After fifteen minutes I started to idly wonder why the water didn’t appear to be drying. Half an hour went by and my suspicions were aroused enough for me to stick an exploratory hand in my pocket.

Let me tell you, it wasn’t pleasant.

So off came the trousers, into the washing machine went the wallet, and under the tap went my car keys and a rather eggy £5 note. And in the meantime the chickens (no doubt psychically picking up on my distress) made a dash for freedom, flapping over the garden fence in order to get closer to the house to crow about their victory. Two of them even got onto the roof of my car, an act of disrespect and defiance which is almost Hitchcockian in it’s audacity.

IMG_3668

They even crapped up there too, the swine.

So it seems my fine feathered fiends have won this battle, but the war is far from over. Let’s just hope they don’t find an anarchic and irreverent evil genius to lead them or they may one day take over the entire world.

IMG_3685

Oh bugger, we’re screwed.

Related posts:

  1. All 11 Dr Whos unite for a special
  2. Oh how I wish Mummy would let Daddy keep chickens.
  3. I’m not sure calling her a minion is the best idea, but…

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