On Monday we leave The Chookery to pastures new. Well, not new, no pastures and only three doors away; we’re buying a house of our own at long last. We’re very glad to be staying in the village and are buying some converted outbuildings from friends, who will be our closest neighbours. There is only a pocket-handkerchief garden, so the chooks will have to stay where they are.
I’ve been thinking about the future of this blog and nickname. I use the same nickname in a few places, so it seems daft to close the blog down – I’ll continue blogging about the usual sort of rubbish and ephemera that has characterised the place so far, so don’t go away. There’ll still be chook news, although less frequent and second-hand.
Oh, there is a nickname for the new house as far as this blog is concerned. It’ll be The Grannary, in honour of my status as step-grandfather. All right, it’s a demick of Her Maj.
Incidentally, the gaelic for granary is An Sabhal, which might also make a public appearance in due course for another project.
Go on, tell me whether you’ll stick around without all the tales of chookyards and goosepoo. You know I’ll stick by you, even if the other stuff does eventually wash off.