Chook-watching. Or how to make a Canarian Oven

Beloved thought Jane Eyre was a film - Charlotte Bronte passes him by. On the other hand he's the only expat on this island ever to have planned and made (with Mr Handsome's help -that's his backside etc - and Mrs Handsome's too) a Canarian bread oven. He claims he will make bread in it. In which case Granny will eat it. (Possibly.) She might even admire it in the end. But herself she prefers the chickens. And eating eggs. (And roofs which don't leak. Sssh. Maybe the workers will get to that sometime.) Mr Handsome has several deep cuts in his hand as a result of this hard labour. He doesn't hold it against anyone, merely spends time in the hospital having them stitched, etc, instead of finishing the oven, let alone fixing the roof. (He and Mrs H as you can see are getting on rather better.)

Down at the chicken-run Cassie is still laying into Caron. This is not just teenage politics, you understand; this is playing at being real grown-ups. They're the only ones to have full-formed combs and wattles and to be laying. Cassie got there first; Caron is the young pretender. The others, developmentally challenged, aren't anywhere near that yet, so nothing like as suspect.

The new little chooks go cheep cheep still; not cluck cluck. The bold one - Dora - has already shown herself. Brown trumps black so far. A long time till they start laying.

Update. Blogger has now condescended to upload images. Here you have it in glorious technicolor. Whoopee.