That’s it; we’re now the proud owners of The Grannary, which comes complete with its own owlhole, although it’s now glazed over and inaccessible to wols of all shapes and sizes. The previous owners haven’t got all of their clobber out yet, but since they’re only next door and we’re not in until Monday, we’re not bothered. (And they are giving us a toaster and a sofa-bed to assist in the furnishing.) The removers have decided that we need four men and two vans to move 200m. Her Maj (very bravely) will be at work on Monday when we move and is leaving the direction of operations to me. She’ll come home and find beds in the kitchen, desks in the bedroom, goodness knows what. At least she would if I didn’t know what was really good for me.
It’ll be a shame to leave the chooks and geese, although I expect we’ll keep an eye on them until the next folk move in, which will be a while yet. It was raining heavily this morning and there’s nothing on this earth that looks as bedraggled as a wet cockrel; both Charlie and Chalky looked complete sights in the rain. Chicky doesn’t seem to mind it a bit – Her Maj, rather late in the day, has decided it should be called Pipsqueak, which is sweet. Eddie next door is now firmly of the opinion that Chicky is a hen and not a cockrel, having firmly been of the previous opinion a couple of weeks ago. Still, who am I to disagree with an old highlander and confirmed chook-keeper as himself. Time will, as it always does, tell.