Chicken coop for the soul...

So, I'm assuming there's no-one here. Poetry can have that effect. As can disappearing for a couple of months without the faintest explanation.

Actually, I think it was the silence that drew me back here: the thought of a quiet little corner in which to mutter pointless grumpinesses at myself for a while, while no-one's looking...

But I'm not really grumpy, it turns out; I'm disappointed. What about, I'm not sure (I tried to work it out, but didn't get anywhere, which was a bit of a let down and hardly helped matters); as much as I can tell, it's just free-ranging and general.

I prefer the battery-reared kind.

You know where you are with battery-reared disappointment. It doesn't run around. It probably would, but it's just not bred for it, and it's wings have probably been clipped. Instead, it just sits there and lets you steal its eggs, which aren't fertile in any case. All round, it's much the safer emotion.

God knows where I was going with that. I don't even approve of animal cruelty. Emotional cruelty, on the other hand... apparently I'm all in favour.

(I'm going to just stop writing now, before I discover that I'm in favour of self-help seminars for turkeys. I'm fairly sure I'm not, but it might be one of those nights).