We talked about the scan, how it's been very difficult to keep the secret, when the due date is, where we're going to live in the future, if the baby will be English and the death of Eight O Clock and her chicken friends.
I'll explain.
Our friends Johnny and Jo and their two adorable children live in Cardiff in a beautiful cottage with everyone's dream garden. In it is a tree house, adventure climbing frame, a never ending shed, and a chicken coup which houses four hens and three ducks.
Our conversation went something like:
Me: Hi Jo, it's Jason.
Jo: Oh hi Jase how are you?
Me: Very well thanks, you?
Jo: Er, not so great really.
Me: Why not?
Jo: Well, it's a bit superficial really, I'm all right I suppose.
Me: No, go on. What's wrong?
Jo: Well, a fox has killed all our animals.
Me: What?
Jo: Yeah, it must have been last night and our garden just looks like a greek tragedy now.
Silence
Jo: So, no more Eight O Clock.
To explain, You couldn't have made up Eight O Clock. He was the runt of the litter. A weird looking, bedraggled duck which strangely bossed all the animals around while simultaneously making humans fall in love with him. Nobody even thought, let alone mentioned orange sauce around him.
Me: How have the kids taken it?
Jo: Well, the eldest (who's 7) seems to be taking it in his stride and I'm sure will want to talk about it more in the next few days while the youngest(who's 3) keeps walking around shouting duck dead. Chicken dead. Duck dead, without any idea of what she's saying at all.
She giggled then asked how I was. I said something like, well from death to er, life. Erin's expecting and she shrieked with Joy.
Is this life going full circle?
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