Not seen Mr Blackbird this morning. Mr Robin has taken his place in the plum tree. Put some bread scraps and bacon rind out for them. Walking down to feed the chooks the wet wild wind is blowing stinging rain into my face and turning compost bin lids into frisbees. The trees are humming in it. Most of the tin roof of the shed has blown off along with some heavy timbers supposedly holding them down. Two panes of the greenhouse next to it have been smashed. Hey ho: work for another day.
A vote is taken and the chooks opt to stay in where they have a new layer of clean dry straw, fresh bedding in the nesting boxes and a bucketful of feed. The only complaints are from the ducks who like to be out whatever the weather is doing. If I let them out though they will just scumble in the muddy puddles with their beaks and root up the grass cover which, once gone, is hard to get back again and the plot will eventually become just bare earth which so many chikkin plots are. Don't really want that.