Palais des poules

A delightful New Zealander has been at work here today, in the late Summer sunshine. Arden Grant (for it is he) impressed us with his handling of our bee drama a couple of months ago, so Caroline asked him back to improve the quality of life for herself and her beloved chickens, called Bridget and, yes, Duck (so christened by Ida, aged 3). Query: as a result, are our delicious eggs now going to be the most expensive on record?

Self-sown

More than in most years, our garden is hosting unexpected, but welcome, visitors. This sunflower planted itself in a chimney pot tub outside my study window. A snapdragon found its way into one of a pair of urns (they came originally from my mother's garden) and sits there amongst some pansies: cornflowers are growing up unbidden in the other urn. Violas peep between the French beans. A cabbage appeared in the lavender, and an iris and a couple of cos lettuces are bravely growing in the cracks of the paving outside our tool shed. All this contrasts with the usual failed seed sowings of course. Very mysterious.

P.S. No, it can't be the chickens, which are safely fenced in, in our otherwise "municipal-looking" front garden.

Feathered friends

Our back garden now has a new structure, so magnificent as almost - one would think - to require planning permission. It contains two chickens, much to the delight of Ida, Agnes and Caroline.