Today’s good thing was a trip, at sundown, to Friesland Farm for eggs.
Last time I’d visited Dawn had told me the story about big-breasted chickens that even though they were indeed free range, in that they ranged free, their tits were so big they couldn’t stand up for falling down.
'They weighed 15 kilos, but I had to give the meat to the dogs. The blood was all clotted up,' she said.
Or something similar.
I won’t eat an egg now unless it comes from Dawn’s farm.
I’m eggist.
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The above slide show contains images from my scribbled version of Tamara and the Martyrs’ track, Hang my Picture.
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