This weekend, we have taken significant steps towards the reintegration of FOWL into our lives.

Saturday night therefore has been dedicated to hen research, principally the baffling permutations of space per bird requirements. ‘Baffling’ because these sums require a tussle not only with mathematics but also ethics: square metres times head of poultry divided by requirement to do the right thing by our little feathered pals.

Currently I’m swithering extensively between three and four chickens, and no amount of measuring, graph paper schematics and Lego models seems sufficient to resolve the issue.

And so Saturday night passed…

What’s the whole ever-mother-lovin’ deal? A writer manages to get up a head of steam, laying down the lines, only to chug to a halt, looking in the furnace wondering why the ineffective chuffing.

With that little expensive buffet of mixed rail metaphors, let us crack on.

Works in progress:
* A magazine. An actual hard format item. It will also be made available in eBook formats, and will be splendid. It is much closer to completion than this time last year when it was mooted first. That’s what I’ve been doing of an evening. It will have short stories in it, and pictures and conversation.

* Illustrations, actually, that’s been the main thing. Comics. I’ve never drawed, sir, no I ain’t [assuming deprecatory yokel tone] but I been trying, and it’s liberating and frustrating thegither, like simultaneous reproduction in sea slugs, perhaps. Fun! Though.

* About five articles for here, which will burst into the Bath like a fragrant bombe deluxe, or a sock full of custard, more likely.

That is my ten minutes up.