Pheasant’s nest

We discovered a pheasant’s nest in the Rectory garden yesterday. Actually the furniture men discovered it as they staggered round the corner with a couple of recliner armchairs for our old age. We’re downsizing, so they took away the old and totally clapped-out suite and we now luxuriate in soft leather, which we’ll take up to the bungalow with us when I retire in August.

As the men unloaded the armchairs they said, “And you’ve got eggs as well.”

“What??”

“Eggs. There’s a nest, against the wall of the house.”

“A nest? What sort of a nest?”

At this they shrugged helplessly, but took us round to see it. And sure enough, there it was, right against the wall of the house with ten eggs in it. They’re no good, though. She’s not sitting and we have no idea how long the nest has been abandoned. Probably some time as there are masses of baby pheasants emerging from every twig of undergrowth.

I blame Melchizedek. The cat, not the High Priest.

Yesterday evening I drove to Norwich to teach Readers (they’re like lay preachers in the Church of England) how to take a funeral service. Quite enjoyed it, so hope they did too. There’s nothing more rewarding than a good funeral.

Today is crammed. I’m just off on a post-funeral visit (two, if I can fit another one in) then it’s the meditation group this afternoon followed by a governors’ meeting at the school followed by a wedding rehearsal (I have a wedding the day after we return from Singapore, so hope the jet lag is going out rather than coming back) followed by a PCC followed by packing.

I think I’ve decided to ditch the PCC and concentrate on the packing instead. Then tomorrow it’s off to Singapore.

Bye! See you when we get back!

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