I go to get the eggs out of the chickens' nesting boxes. There are three eggs. As I pick them out my reading glasses fall off my head and down in between the nesting box and the lid of the hutch onto the floor of the cage. So I balance the eggs on the plastic corrugated cover under the blue exterior sheeting and reach down: but there's no way I can reach my glasses.
I go inside and get the barbecue tongs. I come back out, remove the bricks and wood that are weighing down the blue plastic exterior sheeting and roll it back up over the nesting boxes. Then I remove the plastic corrugated cover underneath the blue exterior sheeting. The eggs which I'd forgotten about fall off the corrugated sheeting down alongside my glasses and then blue plastic sheeting unfolds and drops down covering my glasses with snow.
I finally lift up the wood frame and chicken wire lid to the chicken hutch. I retrieve my glasses and the eggs with my barbecue tongs. My cardigan gets caught on the chicken wire. I am stuck with my head inside the chicken coop with my glasses and two eggs in one hand and barbecue tongs delicately holding a third egg.
The lounge window opens. Master Sam leans out.
Have you got any money for the car park?
Try my purse.
In my handbag.
In my study.
The window closes.
So I am fixed to the chicken coop dressed in my pyjamas, a cardigan and pink wellies holding barbecue tongs, three eggs and a pair of reading glasses. There is snow everywhere and the chickens are distressed.
Apparently this is quite normal behaviour for me so no one thinks anything about it.