The Chicken House Blog

Having opened the second chimney, I couldn’t wait, impetuous as always I brought a wood burning stove for £30 loving crafted in and imported from Vietnam. It was purchased from a bloke in a cravat who was trading from his garage on the outskirts of   Cranbrook. It came in a box, in bits, which I had to bolt together being  advised to smear car exhaust repair putty (not supplied) between the joints. (more…)

Cindy and I  like open fires, but it has to be real trees, not anthracite or some plug in Disney effect. (more…)

Three little faces and a bike wheel poked through the curtain of willow throngs that acted as the frontier  between us and our posh but very nice neighbours  “What’s wrong with Gert” they were asking having been summoned by the continuous, very vocal and urgent  bleating  emanating  from our normal very quite, very laid back, Gert the goat . (more…)

I was eleven when an older lady gave me my first adult thrill. (more…)

Six thousand pounds we borrowed over five years to buy three acres, which  at the time  was well over double the price paid for good agricultural land, let alone a tatty slab of clay and some tired blackberry trellises.  (more…)

Hurriedly stopped in the lane outside Forsham Cottage stood a little grey van. The driver, farmer Humphrey’s was skewed awkwardly across the passenger seat. His attempts at gaining our attention being hindered by an assortment of dogs and a seat belt.” Has he still got all his bits”, he shouted, “has the dog been cut“ he re-phrased his question, now able to indicate he was talking about our Dill the dog, who was rapidly circumnavigating the little van, his hackles up, progress punctuated by a succession of ‘pee stops’ up each and every mud encrusted wheel.

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Cindy and I  have always had a hankering for an old house with beams and an inglenook fire place. We wanted a house that smelt of stew, wood smoke, old church and bees wax polish.  But properties like that came at  a premium  ( over £30,000 in 1976 ) (more…)

For years the front garden of  No3 Forsham Cottage  looked like a builders yards . We had turned an idyllic little bit of  Sutton Valence into an obstacle course, red sand stained the lane as the lump  was eroded by the rain and  washed into the road..

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It was snowing hard, the garden was filling up, the harsh edges being smoothed under a blanket  of the white stuff.  Then and now, as a so called adult I get a childish thrill  watching the snow cascade from out of the heavens, especially at night thought the light an unveiled window. (more…)

Our posh but very nice neighbours ( Mike & Pat) were happy to have our goats on their grass, and we were happy to oblige because it saved our grazing. Therefore there was nothing untoward when one morning Cindy said “I’ll put the kettle on if you put the goats out on Pats lawn. Gert’s (the mum) got her tether chain with her but Oscars ( Billy kid*) chain is still out with his tether spike, and as Oscar might not follow you out you’ll have to lead him by his collier.”

( * Yes, we did eat the Billy kids, but this one is another blog) (more…)