A Confession

This is very difficult for me to say dear bloggers, but of late I have been having naughty thoughts. No, not those type of thoughts (although George Clooney in a skimpy little number does occasionally cross my mind). As you may know from my previous posts, I'm a bit of a softy when it comes to God's little creatures, but there is a certain little creature that I'm having murderous thoughts over. There, I've said it. I feel so much better for sharing this with you.

These murderous thoughts are becoming more and more frequent, more detailed and are almost preparatory in substance and detail. In fact I'd go so far as to say they are fantasies; fantasies that I enjoy! I know that the little creature in question is oblivious to my wicked thoughts. I need to get rid of this mental torment one way or another and at this moment in time dear bloggers, I confess that murder most horrid seems the most likely cure. When I say murder most horrid, I may be gilding the lily a tad, a straight forward killing will do. My favourite plan is a shooting - out of the back bedroom window (you see, I told you I'd gone all preparatory). No-one will know it was me and all I need to do is buy a gun and learn how to use it. Oh, and I'll also need some camouflage combat trousers, a masculine vest top, a bandana and will wear no make-up (we're thinking along the lines of Sigourney Weaver in Alien here).

Even as I write the said little creature is tormenting me; I can hear him. I hear him all day. I hear him at night. I hear him first thing in the morning. I hear him when I get up in the middle of the night. He's always there!

Perhaps I should explain. The said little creature is a cockerel with a speech impediment. No, dear bloggers, it's not at all funny, so please stop smirking. He moved onto the land at the back of my house a while back. He has no sense of day or night and the only time he's quiet is early evening, when I presume he collapses from exhaustion. It wouldn't be quite so bad if his cock-a-doodle-doo was normal, but it isn't. It's a sort of painful, elongated cock-a-doodle-do, with the end bit going all croaky.

So, I've been watching him recently, eyeing him up. He's not the best of specimens I'm afraid, but I reckon there's a few portions to be had off him. Nigel Slater has some rather nice recipes, but I do quite fancy a Heston Blumenthal seeing as it will be such a special occasion.

I must remember to get a nice bottle of Chianti, seeing as I'm having a friend for dinner (*smacks lips repeatedly*).

Oh, and please don't tell anyone about this, let it be our little secret eh. I just don't think the pupillage committees would understand.