It’s a sad day in the Alstead-Mingay household because it commenced with a burial. Poor old Milly, otherwise known as the Uber-Chicken, died in the night and so our first job this morning was to dig a big hole, put her at the bottom, then plant a tree over her body so she won’t be disturbed.

She has ruled the roost with a cast-iron beak and a will to match. She’s bullied ruthlessly to get her way yet in her dotage, the other hens have remained deferential and none has ever tried to get their own back on her in her infirm state. We’ve been expecting this for a few days so although sad, she’s had an innings over 100 times longer than the life of a chicken bred for food. We had her last egg about three months ago, although she’d only laid a couple a year for the last two years.

We’d been wanting to increase our little flock earlier this year but had to hold off because we were worried that introducing new hens might have upset the equilibrium in the coop and made it more difficult for her. She was the last of my original three hens, bought from an old chap who was going into a home and could no longer look after them. I paid £4 each for them, having responded to an ad in the Free Ads. I reckon that’s some of the best value I’ve ever had out of such a small outlay.

So, partly to break away from the sad atmosphere of this morning, we decided to take a trip into Looe – a little fishing port not far from here, for a walk, where we saw this chap, sitting waiting for his Mum&/Dad. He was a patient little soul because he was tied to this post for a good half an hour or so. I hope he’s not been forgotten.

I know he's not sharp but I liked the forlorn feel of the shot.

Last year, those nuts again, this time with a big helping of English Oak.