A Flapping in the Bedroom

Dear reader, it's been a quiet time, which is why you've not heard from me.  We've pottered along in subdued suburbia this past week. I did take a sneaky visit to Little Venice one evening. This is where the Grand Union canal ends, in London, after its journey from the 'Northern Powerhouse.'  Don't call me not topical, I do listen to the news!

This morning my quiet was shattered by 5 am.  I awoke suddenly to a great flapping in the bedroom, not flopping please note. Mr Him had lurched across the room, flapping energetically, thrust open the window and screech-sqwark-barked out of said gaping hole  (I'm talking of the window but his mouth is equally fitting). 

I asked, dear reader, obviously I asked. 'You have taken the tablets haven't you?  You know the ones the doctor gave you for your indigestion?'  I really didn't want this to become a new habit. I was determined to stamp on this early. 

Then I heard it.  There was an answering sqwark from across the garden. My immediate thought was that Mr Him had attracted a mate, ah isn't that sweet. My second thought was along the lines of 'other woman' followed quickly by the plotting of the banishment of Mr Him. 

 All of this happened in the space of a slowed down minute. Barely had I mentally sent Mr Him packing when he said 'there's a darn fox in the garden. Big bugger, the size of the width of the ('omlet cube' ) coop. The chickens are going beserk.'  So was I, I can tell you. 

Mr Him's thrusting of the window with accompanying flapping and screech-sqwark-bark made the fox literally jump a foot in the air and it bolted over a fence leaving the hens to lay another day. They continued to make a cacophony for a good half an hour afterwards and I eventually went out to bribe them to silence with  bread.  That worked and is a trick I shall use next time Mr Him starts his own cacophony.