It did occur to me recently that my best friends right now are actually chickens. I can't see that this is a great state of affairs. I'm living on an island with my husband, we're perfectly sane and capable of making friends (without feathers) but some days, poultry will do fine. August is for me, a completely shit month. Every year since I moved to Tassie I've been hit with a bout of bronchitis. Barking like a dog for weeks on end leaves me depressed and exhausted. The weather is equally depressing and exhausting with grey skies, wind gusts and a push to get the temperature into double figures. The idea of staying in by a crackling wood fire sounds romantic, and is a novelty for the first few months but by August you're completely over the ash, the constant need for kindling and the fact the you've been living in the confines of a two metre carpet mat shared with two inert cats and a bored Cocker Spaniel for too long. So for a reprieve, with any glimpse of a parting through the clouds and some sunlight, I'll grab a cup of tea and sit on the church pew out under the verandah. I'm always joined by my goods friends. Doris loves to chat about her day. It's a bit of a one sided conversation but it doesn't put her off. She just thinks I'm a bit limited with my excitement about her efforts of the day. None the less, friends are welcome on the church pew and we look to the sky for some sun. A few home baked crumbs from an excuse to use up some eggs never goes unwelcomed and I find myself a little richer for having such good company. As I look out the kitchen window right now I see my friends are waiting for me. Will put the kettle on.
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