Passing a local market bakery the other day, I did a double take when I saw a couple of dark bundles perched on the metal frame of one of the tables outside.
It took me a while to register exactly what they were but when one of them clucked, I finally realised.
“Why are there chickens roosting on your table?” I asked a young lady who was putting bread into the large oven nearby. She shrugged. “Where did those chickens come from?” I tried. More shrugs, then eventually, reluctantly, “They’re someone else’s.”
Ah. There you go, then.