We know a couple who are decidedly odd...seriously out of their trees actually, the both of them. One Christmas, a few years ago, they asked would we ever kill their turkeys...they'd reared them you see, hoping to make oodles of money but then couldn't bring themselves to kill them.
So Himself said we would. At least he'd do the murdering while it was my job to hold their wings down so they didn't flap about and break them...
Now Himself is swift and kindly when he needs to murder a bird...they're dead before they realise...we were much younger then anyway and had more stamina.
So we set to one afternoon a few days before the customers came to collect their Christmas dinners...we killed thirty turkeys. My arms ached fit to bust and we were covered in tiny feathers and Turkey poo and we'd hung every single bird by it's scaly feet with a bit of string from a beam in the barn...
We were hot and sweaty and thirsty...
Herself peered round the door and asked if we'd done and we said we had and she said I have something for you...
She re-appeared a few minutes later carrying two wine bottles...the labels had been almost, but not quite, scraped off...she handed them over with something of a flourish and said...'There's a bit left in this one...it ought to be alright...and this is nearly half full...I think it might be Gooseberry' then she looked at the rows of Turkeys hanging up with blue twine around their ankles and said...'Could you pluck and gut them as well?'
We went home and had a hot bath and a cup of tea and I sniffed the wine and it was so off it couldn't even be used for cooking...so I poured it down the sink and put the bottles out for re-cycling...
advice please coping with relative with severe emphysema
We are all so poorer for the loss of our dear friend Skischool
Rota power cuts circa 1979
