20 Apr 2018

And Then A Foxy Tail...

Late last night, black o’ dark, room lights out, I spent a few minutes gazing out of the bedroom window before jumping into the crib. Just as I was getting bored I had a St Francis On-a-Seesaw moment as I spied a fox ambling along the grass verge.

I assumed he was on his way home after a late night jog when he stopped by our neighbours open garden gate. He looked up and down the deserted street and entered the garden. He then ambled over to our garden, stopped at a flower border and started to dig a hole. So, thought I, foxes do a number two like cats then. No this time, he dug the hole, momentarily stuck his snout in the hole then proceeded to refill the hole.

Job done, he sniffed the ground a while, retraced his steps and left the garden via the gate. And he didn’t close the bloody gate. Bad fox!

I really wanted to investigate his excavations but as I was attired for bed, that would be as naked as the last time I went to bed,** I decided to wait for the morrow. Thus this morning, with the  sun high in a bright blue sky, I went forth, trowel in hand to see wot was wot. You know wot? Wot he’d done was bury a chicken egg... a chicken egg with one of they little red inspection stamp thingies on it.

Several questions jumped to mind; where did he find a ‘commercial’ chicken egg? How far had he carried it, in a mouth full of hard pointy fangs, without breaking it? Why did he bury it? In a nutshell, what the hell’s that all about?

That incident made my feeble brain make a giant leap to the Merry Wives of Windsor and a number I may well have linked to before. Sorry but it would seem that the past and the present tend to merge into a soup-like fog after a certain age.

Anyhoo, here it is. Most of you will play the toon and hear something sort of old English folksy sounding; a pleasant little number from days gone by. However, Timidadians and the perpetually offended will definitely see all kinds of those double-doo-dads in there so best you just move along to the next place you suspect someone may be enjoying themselves rather than running the risk of your head exploding here.

Have as good a weekend as you’re allowed to have these days, okay?


**As the bedroom lights were out and the net curtains were drawn, no wrinkly flesh or unsightly dangly bits would have been visible to frighten the fox.

Quote;  Ron Brackin.

“The chicken came first. Now, can we please move on?”

           Douglas Adams.

“Despite the fact that an Indonesian island chicken has probably had a much more natural life than one raised on a battery farm in England, people who wouldn't think twice about buying something oven-ready become much more upset about a chicken that they've been on a boat with, so there is probably buried in the Western psyche a deep taboo about eating anything you've been introduced to socially.”

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