Jo Barlow is Batty about ex-bats
The girls of Rosewarne have had a Very Important Mission recently. Laying eggs. And not just any eggs, these needed to be special eggs to go into a cake to celebrate their grandparents’ golden wedding anniversary.
Some people may say that a chicken laying an egg is nothing to write home about, but here, down in sunny Cornwall, the girls of Rosewarne do not often count egg-laying among their many and varied talents.
Luckily, the humans of the household do not normally require eggs, and any occasional egg that has the rare fortune to be laid is fed back to the girls. In fact, they now insist upon this. This was my fault (naturally). One day I was so shocked to discover an egg in the coop that I dropped it onto the floor, where the girls, who were circling me like ravenous sharks, hoovered it up in seconds. Now just to prove how clever they are, every day when I go to the coop to check for eggs, I am joined by many brown feathery missiles who have discarded their lunchtime treats in favour of a potential egg-fest. How can I resist?
Anyway, back to the cake. A friend was making this special bake and we wanted to use our girls’ eggs. We had all bought gifts for my parents but the girls felt they needed to contribute to the event, even though, as they pointed out on more than one occasion, they were not invited.
So we all sat down and had a talk about the chances of actually producing six eggs in a fortnight. It was a tough call, and one that would demand a great deal of practice and effort from the girls. But, the Rosewarne ladies are nothing if not conscientious and, true to