The chicken survives! Plus I go to a party x
Esme Gordon-Craig
I want to begin by reassuring you that Bootsy, my little sister’s favourite chicken who recently found itself very close to an untimely death, is now very much alive and well. Brining Bootsy back to full health involved various different medicines, multiple feedings of scrambled eggs (yes chickens do eat scrambled eggs, no, it’s not considered chicken cannibalism), and an unsuccessful chicken water bath. If you’re wondering what an unsuccessful water birth is, I’ll tell you. According to Chat GPT Bootsy was apparently egg-bound meaning Bootsy had eggs stuck up her ‘vent’ which she was apparently unable to push out. Lucky for us, my older sister is a doctor who delivers babies all day long so, of course, it took no time no time at all for my little sister to suggest our older sister should be the one to ‘deliver’ these bound eggs from Bootsy’s bottom – in fairness she was the most qualified. Unfortunately for my elder sister – and my dad who played scrub nurse – no eggs were stuck up Bootsy’s bum, hence unsuccessful chicken water birth. Bootsy is now once again roaming about the garden, most likely recalling its near-death experience to its fellow chickens in a similar style to the ‘did I tell you about my gap year’ lecture. Conclusion to the story? Don’t diagnose yourself or your chicken using ChatGPT, and also, my position in the family pecking order now officially lies below a chicken.
Anyway, that’s hopefully the end of the chicken fiasco, meaning its back to me. This week I managed to escape the comforts of home and make it to London for the night, where, thankfully, I have a sister who not only lets me stay with her but also allows me to encroach upon her social life whenever I’m feeling tired of the social circle that I run in back at home - a circle so exclusive it only consists of me, my parents, my sisters, and the many animals adopted by the youngest sister, Bootsy included. What was the purpose of said trip to London you may ask, besides needing a break from my parents? The answer is I had a Halloween/Birthday party meaning for the past week I’ve been battling with the question of slutty vs funny vs no effort given. Feeling like I didn’t want to be rude, I decided against the latter, leaving me with slutty vs funny. Annoyingly funny tends to involve some sort of financial investment whereas, surprisingly, I did have access to slutty. Just between you and me, I despise Halloween and everything that goes with it. Call me boring or a wimp, which I am, but I can’t stand horror movies, scary parties, and the scary/sexy costumes that inevitably follow, even the decorations make me want to recoil back to the countryside not to be seen until at least Guy Fawks Day. Nevertheless, despite this aversion towards all things spooky, I had a fantastic time (lucky for me very few were actually dressed up) and, best of all, the night out led to my most favourite activity which I tends to occur at the end of every night out post-party. I’ll give you a hint, it starts with the meeting of a stranger, leads into a happy though occasionally bumpy ride, and ending, hopefully where you both intended but always with a rather awkward goodbye – I’ve found that saying ‘see you soon’ or ‘that was great’ actually adds to the awkwardness and, whatever you do, don’t fall asleep half way through!
Yes, you’ve guessed, my most loved post-party ritual, the end of night Uber home!