It was now almost 11:00 pm. As he had no coffee left in his thermos, he walked over to the all night diner by the petrol station and ordered a large coffee to go. He wasn't hungry, just tired.
He decided not to drive anymore that night as his rule was to pull over to sleep at midnight. There was no point in driving down the motorway for an hour.
He pulled the Land Rover over to the area that the lorry drivers use to bed down for the night.
As he would usually be on the road for 7:00 am, he decided to start at 6:00 am because he had retired for the night at 11:00 pm.
It would be better to continue his journey at 6:00 am to avoid the morning rush hour. They had made good time and were ahead of schedule.

They should arrive in Norwich by 8:00 am as planned.
He had finished his coffee. The hens were asleep in the back of the Land Rover. Not so Martha! She was staring st him. Her little black eyes were actually smiling at him, with her head cocked to one side. He actually found himself asking her if she was excited about the Norwich show.
She just clucked at him in response.
He put head back and slid down in the seat a little to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and told Martha to close her eyes and sleep. He had already set the alarm on his watch for 5:30 am. He then drifted off to sleep.

Next thing he knew, his watch alarm was going off. It was 5:30 am. It felt like he had only been asleep for a short time, when in fact it had been over six hours.
All the hens, including Martha, were awake and clucking away.
He got out of the Land Rover and stretched his legs. The sun was starting to rise and it was cool out not cold.
It was going to be a glorious day weather wise. It was getting on for the end of August and it had been a hot summer this year.

He went and fed and watered the hens. After that he took the cages out of the back and set them down so he could clean the trays and give the hens some fresh air. He left Martha on her cushion as he made his way to the diner to freshen himself up, change his clothes and get some coffee and toast.

His thoughts turned to the competition tomorrow, the years of travelling up and down the country, his advancing years and the fact that he had nothing to prove anymore to his fellow breeders. His hens had always done well at every show he competed in over the years.
No one had ever come close to to his winning record or achievements.
He was still considered overall the top breeder in the country, hence the rivalry amongst some of the other breeders.

All the competing and travelling over the years had taken its toll. He was tired and felt worn out. He also had a farm to run and could no.longer manage to juggle his workload.
He had decided this was his last show. He was going to retire from the world of competing at the top.
He could bow out gracefully and devote more time to his farm and pursue some leisurely activities he never had time for.
He loved fishing and he wanted to take up bowls at his local bowling club.
He would now have the time.
His mind was made up, retirement and a lighter workload.
He had worked hard for over fifty years and it was time for him to enjoy life.
The years had flown by without him even noticing. The farm was his life. He had a few close friends he had known all his life.
They had been good and loyal friends over the years and he knew he could count on them and vice versa.

The farm, being a twentyfour hour, seven days a week commitment, meant he never found the time over the years to have a social life. He felt regret that he never married or had a family. It was too late now!

When he was away competing, a young lad whose father owned a farm close to his, would come and look after his farm, doing all the work that was required on a daily basis. His name was Tom Sanderson. He was a keen worker in his mid twenties, and knew how to run a farm with great expertise for such a young man.
His years of helping his father and the willingness to work hard and learn the workings of a farm, gave Mr Finleyson peace of mind leaving Tom in charge. He would also hire Tom to do the heavier work around the farm now that it was becoming too difficult for him to manage.
Tom would come by to help out at least two days a week. He worked for his father the rest of the time.

Mr Finleyson was even going to retire from breeding hens and concentrate on the hens that he had now. That kept him busy enough. With Tom helping out a few days a week and being semi-retired, he felt he would be able to enjoy life and still run his farm.
He was looking forward to a new chapter in his life.
He felt happy with his decision and began to whistle softly to himself.

He noticed he was getting low on fuel and had been so lost in thought, he had not glanced at his watch for a while. It was getting on for 10:00 pm. He was tired, it had been a long day. He pulled off the motorway and drove to the petrol station. He filled up the Land Rover with diesel and drove to the rest area the lorry drivers used.
He got out of the Land Rover to stretch his legs, then proceeded to give all the hens some food and some water. This done, he took the two big cages out of the back of the Land Rover and set them down. The hens could now get some fresh air while he cleaned the trays that went under the cages to catch the hen's droppings. This done, he put the cages back on top of the trays and closed the rear door.
Now he tended to Martha. He took her off her cushion and carried her over to an area covered in grass. He put Martha down. She always stayed close to him and never strayed. He sat down on the bench there. Martha walked around pecking the ground as she went. It was good for her to stretch her legs. He sat and let Martha walk around for nearly half an hour. He picked her up and carried her back to the Land Rover and popped her back onto her cushion.

He was always up early with his father, to do his farm chores and attend to his hens before he went to school.
His father never had to do his farm work or look after his hens. He loved the farm and the whole aspect of hen breeding and showing them.

His mind came back to the present. He and Martha had eaten his sandwich and he had drank a cup of coffee. It was time to resume their journey.
He got bsck on the motorway, where he drove at a steady pace in the inside lane. They all bounced around as they drove down the motorway.

The hens eventually stopped clucking and closed their eyes and took a nap. He didn't want to disturb Martha, who was on her cushion beside him, so he refrained from humming.
He chuckled to himself as he imagined the reaction of the drivers and their occupants, who sped past him, seeing Martha sitting next to him in the front seat on her cushion!
She was nestled down now sleeping, so she was below the the window level. Sometimes when she was awake, she would sit up and flap her wings and look out the window, sometimes pecking at it.
What a picture it must provide for the cars' speeding past. Martha was a real character, more like a dog than a hen!

There had always been a few dogs at the farm when he was growing up. When he took over the farm, he bought 2 Border Collie pups. He raised them and became very fond of them.
As the years rolled by, the dog's would grow old and pass away. He would then acquire 2 more which he would raise.
He would always have Collies through the years. Very smart and obedient dogs.
His last two, Corky and Archie, lived to be 18 and 19 years old respectively. Archie passed away 2 years ago and Corky just last year. He had taken their passing very hard and decided no more dogs!
He had his hens and of course, his beloved Martha.

Corky and Archie and the hens were the best of friends,including Martha.
The 2 dogs would round up the hens if they strayed too far and were always near to protect them.
He was now too old to start raising pups,and besides that, he would worry as to what would happen to them when it was time for him to go.
He constantly worried about the welfare of hens if something happened to him, especially Martha. He could only hope to live long enough to see Martha go first. He would be devastated but only he could provide his hens and Martha with the good life they all lived.
As he drove down the motorway, his Land Rover eating up the miles, he glanced at his watch.
It had gone 7:00 and was beginning to get dark.
Some of the hens had woken up and were clucking away,
Martha was still asleep. The engine purring and the tyres humming, rocked the hens to sleep.

They had been travelling for over 4 hours when Mr Finleyson pulled off the motorway for diesel.
It was now close to 5:00 pm.
After filling up, he pulled over to a rest stop and fed and watered the hens, including Martha. He walked around to stretch his legs. He got back in the Land Rover and unwrapped one of the sandwiches he had made and took out the flask of coffee he had wedged between the front seats. It was still hot. No point in spending money on the overpriced stale food and dishwater coffee that motorway diners served.
He had always been a careful man when it came to spending money. He could not help it as his parents' had been the same way.
While he sat in the Land Rover, with Martha and all other hens clucking away, he thought back to when he was a child.

He was one of two boys' and his father had been a breeder of hens and had also travelled the country showing them.
His father had taught him everything he knew from since he could walk and talk. His older brother was not interested in hens or the farm. His name was Edward and was 7 years older than Mr Finleyson.
Edward had passed away 2 years ago. There was only Oliver left and a nephew who lived in London. He was Edward's son.
His brother was only interested in books and his school studies. All Edward wanted was to become a doctor. He went to Cambridge on a scholarship and achieved his ambition of becoming a doctor.
He then went on to be a consultant at Guys Hospital, where he was their top heart surgeon. He was known as Mr Finleyson at the hospital and to his patients but to Oliver, he was his older brother of whom he was immensely proud as had been his parents.

So Oliver followed in his fathers footsteps.
His father gave him a few chicks to look after when he turned 5 years old. As he got older, he was given more chicks to raise himself so he could learn the business.
By the age of 10, he was entering his hens up and down the country at shows with his father.
Oliver would be entered in the Young Farmers of Britain category. By 12, his hens would win most of the top prizes at the shows he entered. His bedroom was full of first place trophies and ribbons. His trophies stood proudly on his chest of drawers and his ribbons adorned one wall opposite his bed.

As noon approached, Mr Findleyson busied himself with packing things in his old Land Rover for the long trip to Norwich.
The Land Rover was a long wheelbase model over 30 years old with over 300,000 miles on the clock! It had a diesel engine which ran as well as it did when it was new. It was clapped out looking, it's dark green paint faded with patches of corrosion appearing on its aluminium body.
He saw no reason to get rid of it as it still got him where he wanted to go. As far as he was concerned, it was good for another 300,000 miles.
He still had it serviced once a year and it still passed its MOT with little needing done.
The inside was basic and afforded little comfort.
There was no carpet, no heater, and no radio.
They would be driving for 12 hours in it, a long time for them to be bouncing around inside and breathing diesel fumes.
The long uncomfortable ride would surely ruffle a few feathers and numb a few asses!
Whenever he drove the hens anywhere, he would put all the hens except Martha, in cages in the back of the Land Rover for their own safety and wellbeing. Martha would sit in the passenger seat up front, on a cushion next to Mr Findleyson.

Martha would even perch upon a stool at the kitchen table which Mr Findleyson had provided for her.
He would share his toast with her at breakfast and other bits and pieces at lunch and dinner.
As they sat at the table, he would talk to Martha and she would cluck back at him.
He knew she did not understand a word he was saying but he could not help himself. He was fond of all his hens but he loved Martha. She was good company and would even sit with him while he watched TV or listened to the wireless. She would cluck away as they sat in the lounge.

In the winter there would be a big roaring fire going in the large Inglenook fireplace.
His farmhouse was over 300 years old and still retained a lot of the original features.
The Inglenook fireplace being one of them.
There were large wooden beams throughout the house and the original stone floor in the kitchen and pantry, with the original oak floorboards in the rest of the house.

The farm had belonged to his parents and they had kept the house as traditional as they could.
Mr Findleyson had not changed a thing and it was still as his parents had left it.

In the winter, with the fire roaring away, he would usually fall asleep in his comfortable recliner by 10.00 pm. He was tired after a long days work, not to mention getting up at 5.00 am everyday, no matter what the weather was like! Good or bad, he still had work to do.
It was 7 days a week to run a farm. He was also not as young as he once was and had slowed down over the years. He was now 73 and rheumatism had set in. So he would fall asleep on the settee or his recliner with Martha clucking away beside him!

He would usually wake up in the middle of the night and put Martha to her bed in the kitchen and then he would take himself up to bed.
During the day, Martha followed him wherever he went. She clearly loved him and was devoted to him. They had a very special relationship and a deep understanding of each other.

Sunday, 4 August 2013

Days before each show, Mr Findleyson's competing hens were given special food along with their daily diet.
He always gave Martha a special hen mash he prepared, to plump her up even more and to bring out the sparkle in her black beady eyes.
Her eyes became beacons in the night, transfixing you when you looked at them!

The day before the Norwich show had finally arrived.
Mr Findleyson and the hens were up earlier than usual.
He, Martha and the other competing hens had a long drive ahead of them. It would take at least 12 hours to get to Norwich.
The journey would be split in two, with Mr Findleyson pulling off the motorway and parking in a layby so he and the hens could get a nights sleep. In the morning he would feed and water them and then feed himself.
They had to be at the show grounds for 8am to register and get organised, as the judging of the hens would start at 10.00am.

Mr Findleyson wanted himself and the hens to be rested and fresh for the competition.
They would be setting out from the Farm at 12.00 pm that day.
There were chores to do around the farm and eggs to collect before the long journey began.
Mr Findleyson was up at 4.00 am. By 6.00 the farm was a hive of activity. Hens bustling about, getting ready for the midday departure.

Martha was relaxing, as she felt she looked her best. The other competing hens were doing some last minute preening. At 7.00 am Mr Findleyson fed and watered all his hens. He then went into his large farmhouse kitchen to have breakfast.
Martha followed him into the house. She was the only hen that lived in the house and she had done so since she had hatched.
She had a bed which Mr Findleyson had made for her in front of the large Aga.
The other hens on the farm had the choice of the big barn or the henhouse in which to sleep. They were free to roam around during the day. By night they were tucked up securely for their own safety from the foxes which roamed the countryside pillaging from the farms they came across!

Saturday, 3 August 2013

Nowadays he concentrated on his vast collection of child pornography he stored on his computer.
He sold and traded images with his fellow paedophiles who trawled the internet, speaking in code as not to get caught.
His collection of child porn was supposedly the largest in Britain and Europe.
The majority of the images were of young boys up to the age of thirteen.
After thirteen, the underground world of paedophiles who bought and sold these vile images were not really interested.
These evil, sick, twisted and sexually depraved men only liked really young boys and girls. The younger the better!

Cedric had spent his adult life amassing child porn images and had made a fortune from them over the years.
He had gone into teaching to cover up his perverted ways and to gain respectability, which afforded discretion to ply his sick and evil trade.
He was no longer sexually active but when he had been, it was with young boys, some of them his students at the time!

Cedric and Hillary didn't just happen upon each other, no they had been working as "ringer" judges together for the past 7 years. They were not friends, just co-workers.
Hillary despised Cedric's sick and perverted way of life.

They were known as the best and most distinguished looking "ringer" judges throughout the world of competitions where judges were prevalent.
They became "experts" of the theme or subjects they were judging. They could turn their hand to any competition because of their distinguished looks, elderly appearance and the fact that they both thoroughly researched the subject of a competition that they were judging. They both did their homework leading up to any competition they were judging.
Whether they were judging livestock, highland dancing, flower arranging, cooking and baking, art exhibits, hand knitting or even judging local gardens in a community, they appeared experts in that field.

The Norfolk Show was now two weeks away and George had hired and briefed the "ringer" judges.
There were two of them. An elderly woman and an elderly man.
They both looked very distinguished and above board. In reality these two people were plebeian's of a depraved nature!

The female judge was 67 years old, married, a mother to three grown children and a grandmother of 7 grandchildren. Her name is Hillary Lumsden, who lives in the countryside outside Aberdeen.
By day this "twinset and pearls" grandmother does voluntary work for the homeless and mentally impaired. She is a pillar of her community.
By night, her and her husband are king and queen of the dogging fraternity! Active participants for over 40 years.
They are well known on the dogging scene by the police in their community.
With the advent of the internet, they were the first to have a website devoted to dogging.
They would share with their fellow dogging enthusiasts, which forests, lanes, carparks and countryside clearings were the most active, exciting and frequented.

Hillary and her husband , despite their advancing years, still travelled the country to engage in dogging!
In fact they were considered "hardcore" by other doggers.

The other elderly judge was Cedric Henderson, originally from Cornwall, he had been living in Edinburgh for over 40 years.
Before he retired, he had been a religious teacher to an all boys prep school.
He had taught at the same school throughout his career.
A quiet and distinguished man who had never married.

Reclusive since retirement with few friends and no family to speak of.
This shy and retiring bachelor was really a depraved and perverted paedophile with a long and sordid past of sexually abusive young boys.

Friday, 2 August 2013

He went to her house one evening and threatened her with blackmail. He wanted her to let him and his band of betes noirs, to be allowed to hire the judges for the upcoming show in Norwich, Norfolk. Norwich was the biggest show of the year and the finale of the season.
They would not hire real experienced judges, no, they would hire "ringers!"

They would brief the ringers as to what hen would take first place, second and third places. There would be no place for Martha!

These ringers would be well paid, so they did not talk.
The breeders and farmers would have a whip round to pay the ringers, if Beth agreed to the sordid scheme.
She really had no choice as George confronted her with what he knew. As she could not face the humiliation or the loss of her job, she agreed to George's request.
Whoever George hired, she would pretend it was her doing. If anyone found out, it would be her that took the fall.

Thursday, 1 August 2013

Depression.
Tears ran down her feathery cheeks as she became weaker and weaker from lack of food and water.
Her feathers were also falling out due to her physical and mental state. Bald patches started to appear on her body.
Her mind drifted back to happier times and a more carefree way of life.
Martha was now over 5 years old and had been at the Mather's cottage for a little over 6 months.
She had been bred and raised at a farm owned by Oliver Finleyson, which was nestled in a glen outside Oban which was on the west coast of Scotland.
Mr Findleyson was a passionate breeder of hens which he also showed up and down the country.
Martha was one of his top show hens. She had reigned supreme for 3 years at the top, as she travelled with Mr Findleyson to shows all over Britain.

The trophies and blue ribbons that adorned the mantlepiece, barn and kitchen of the large farmhouse, were a testament to Martha's superiority.
Martha was a true champion, winning the top prizes at the fairs, shows and festivals they attended throughout the country.
The other breeders and farmers who competed became jealous and angry as their hens could do no better than second or third place.
They grew to despise Mr Findleyson and Martha.
They huddled together at shows and talked about ways they could knock Martha off her "perch."
Some of the shows offered large cash prizes along with the trophies and ribbons.
The shows attracted big sponsors, who put up the money to attract a large number of show entries.

Besides all the first place trophies and ribbons Martha always won "best in show" for the 3 years she competed.

The other disgruntled farmers and breeders started meeting outside the shows to dislodge Martha from top spot. Finally they found away!

One of the breeders who wanted rid of Martha, was the brother-in-law of the secretary who worked for the Breeders Association.
This man, George Atkinson, was unscrupulous in every aspect of his life.
His sister-in-law, who was in her 60's, led a double life that George had found out about and was prepared to blackmail her with.
Her name was Beth and she had worked as a secretary for the Breeders Association for near on 30 years. Her work and input was respected throughout the Association.
Beth, over the years, had personally organised shows and hired the judges to judge the hens.

Beth was his wife's sister and they were very close.
That is how he found out a about Beth's secret.
She was plain, dowdy and quiet woman, who George thought was downright boring.
She was very competent and efficient at her job but had no personal life.
Never married nor even had a male suitor in all the years George had known her.
Then one day his wife let slip that Beth is a much sought after dominatrix with a drink problem. Apparently his dowdy, plain and boring sister-in-law was really a sexually deviant woman with a hatred of men and enjoyed humiliating them, not to mention whipping them until they begged for mercy.
If only the Breeders Association knew the real Beth!

Karl's obsession with tormenting and getting rid of Martha had reached fever pitch. He could think of nothing else at all.
His hatred of Martha was apparent to Kathy, and she became increasingly worried that Karl would harm the hen.

Martha herself sensed the way Karl felt about her and that she was in danger.
She could not stand Karl and attacked him whenever she could. Better him than her she thought!

One day Karl stepped up his torment of Martha to new heights. He moved the TV with it's DVD player into the kitchen and parked it right in front of the oven door. As Martha lived inside the oven,and when she saw him, she shrank back against the back of the oven to hide herself.
Karl could see her black beady eyes shining out at him.
He inserted a disc into the player and turned everything on. He had gone and bought a "Basil Brush' DVD to torment Martha with. She was trapped inside the oven and forced at length to listen to "Basil Brush" singing away loudly. A fox, which are common throughout Scotland, are a hen's worst nightmare. Their biggest predator.
A hen would not stand a chance when a fox raided a chicken coop.
For Martha to be forced to watch and listen to "Basil Brush" sent shivers down her spine. Karl was sending her a threat and a warning through the "Basil Brush" DVD.
He took to walking round the house singing the theme tune loudly for Martha to hear. When Kathy was not around, he would put the TV in front of the open oven door and play the DVD over and over again!
He went out and bought a fox costume and mask, which he would put on and crawl around the kitchen floor and in front of the Aga, growling the whole time. He would then laugh his maniacal and horrible laugh!
When Kathy was away or passed out drunk, he would do nothing but torment and worry Martha. He took to singing the "Basil Brush " theme tune and other songs while wearing his costume and mask.
Martha was forced to endure this torture. She became anxious and worried constantly about Karl letting a fox into the house to eat her!
She took to hiding in the warming chamber of the Aga. It afforded her privacy and protection!

Karl would go up to bed at night and leave the TV and DVD player on all night,.programming the DVD player to play the DVD over and over again all night!
There was no escape for poor Martha. He was going to slowly and cruelly torment her to death.
This sick and perverse psychopath showed no mercy or any sign of letting up on Martha. Her health began to suffer as she no longer left the oven at all for food or water. Her mental health was affected as well and she had lost her spirit and spark as she fell into a deep depression.

Monday, 29 July 2013

Martha was like the "Bruce Lee" of the hen world.
She could scratch and bloody the Mathers and their visitors at the same time, sending running and screaming from the Mather's cottage!
They couldn't even get near enough to Martha to take her to a vet.
She continued to attack the Mathers while they ate, watched TV and her favourite was to attack them in their sleep! They ended up having to sleep in beekeepers suits and heavy duty gloves!

Martha quite literally "ruled the roost" which meant she kept the Mathers and the other hens in line!
Karl hated Martha. He was afraid of her but determined to make her his "Sunday dinner!"
He plotted his revenge on Martha. He became obsessed with trying to get rid of her.
Kathy was also afraid of Martha but just stayed out of her way or tiptoed around her.

Karl, whose pseudo macho image was being undermined by a hen, could take no more.
He sharpened his cleaver and dreamed of Martha's neck on the chopping block!
Kathy did not want rid of Martha and voiced this to Karl. He would have to be careful that when Martha's neck was on the chopping block, Kathy didn't find out that he was responsible!

Kathy was secretly fond of Martha and even shut down the Aga so she could continue living in the oven and warming space. She resorted to cooking all Karls meals in the microwave, which he hated!

Most of the time Kathy was too drunk or was rendered unconscious by the drink to even care about Karl's dinner or if he ate at all.
Kathy was always preoccupied with her many lovers, Karl never entered her thoughts at all!

They perched themselves on the shelves of the wardrobe amongst Kathy's homeless shelter clothes and Karl's charity shop attire.
The hens laid eggs on the clothes or in Karl's cheap, worn out plastic loafers.
The inside of the dark, warm wardrobe turned out to be the perfect environment for laying eggs!
There were so many eggs, that Kathy started selling them from her front garden. She put out a table and a sign.

Sometimes the hens would venture out of the wardrobe and onto Karl and Kathy's bed, where they would sleep through the night with Kathy when Karl was away.
She was so drunk every night, she didn't even notice some of her hens sleeping next to her on Karl's pillow!
The mess they made on the pillow case went unnoticed and was never changed. Karl would just turn the pillow over when he was home!

A few of the hens managed to find the kitchen, where they ate the bits of food and crumbs which fell from the Mather's plates.
As Kathy usually forgot to buy hen feed, all the hens just ate what the Mathers ate!
They loved to sit atop the dresser in the kitchen and survey their surroundings.
Occasionally they would turn around, hanging their arses over the dresser top and let fly!
Kathy and Karl always had hen shit on their clothes and in their hair. Would anyone notice? No!

One of the hens took up residence in the oven of the Aga cooker. The door had been left open and the hen jumped inside and refused to come out.
You could just see these two black beady eyes peering out at you!
This hen's name was Martha. A big fat speckled hen with a vicious temper and was ill nat'ered and prone to outbursts of violence, where she would attack the Mathers and the other hens in the kitchen!
No one could go near the door of the Aga or put their hand inside.
Martha had become very possessive of the Aga oven.
It had become her home and she wouldn't share it or move out!

Martha stopped laying eggs and fell into a deep depression. If the Mathers or the other hens went near the open oven door, Martha would hurl herself around the oven, bouncing off the sides, making high pitched clucking sounds!

Martha took to sneaking out of the oven when the Mathers were in the lounge watching television.
She would sneak up on them and hurl herself at them claws first, tearing the Mathers faces and hands to shreds!

The poor members of the bowling club who had to share the stone dividing wall up the Mather'es back garden, Kathy's favourite place to hang her and Karl's wet clothes.
Kathy usually forgets that she has slung the clothes onto the dividing wall and they can stay there for months on end.
They end up becoming part of the wall, covered in bird shit and moss, for all the bowling club to see!

In the winter these items of clothing freeze solid like a sheet of ice.
You can actually break bits off the clothing, like you would a piece of ice.
There are usually bits of the Mathers frozen clothes lying all over the pristine grass of the bowling club.

Chapter 6

Kathy, with her low IQ and alcohol soaked brain actually thought that if she kept hens, she would then be thought of by the villagers as being refined, upper class and being part of the surrounding farming community, not to mention thinking she could corner the world's egg market!
Kathy and would sit and discuss how they could go global.
How much land they would need and how many hens they should buy. They ordered 4 dozen hens, which Karl felt Kathy could look after while he was away.
It would give her something to do besides drinking all the time. He bought her books to read on how to feed and look after them. Kathy was excited about taking on this project!
They were going to be free range hens but Kathy still needed a large coop for them to go in and out of to lay eggs, sleep and shelter from any inclement weather.

The 4 dozen hens were delivered but there was no sign of the coop. As it turned out, a coop was never delivered as Karl couldn't afford one.
So the 4 dozen hens ran riot throughout the village and the villagers houses.
The phrase "Free range" was an understatement. A dozen of the hens had made their way to the village of Rannochglen, 8 miles away, where they settled in at Miss Brockwith's croft. They made themselves at home in the croft's coop where they lived happily with Miss Brockwith's hens!
Sadly, there were 6 of Kathy's hens lying flattened on the road outside Kathy's cottage. Another 6 of them moved to the bowling club next door.
Another dozen had split up and were living at various villagers cottages.
The last dozen were still living with Kathy. As pointed out earlier, a few roosted in the disused tumble drier lying in the front garden. Some lived inside Karl and Kathy's cottage, refusing to come out! These hens had become agoraphobic for some reason.
They took up residence in Karl and Kathy's wardrobe in their bedroom. They found it a perfect place to roost.

Sunday, 28 July 2013

You have the Mathers who are low class and dodgy breeding, with even lower intelligence, living amongst decent hard working folk who are middle class, not to mention the Douglas-Dalglish family and the surrounding farms and estates who's owner's are old money landed gentry. Expensively educated at Eton as were their ancestors.
There are some of the creme de la creme of society living in Lochglen along with countless middle class and upper class living cheek by jowl with Kathy's dirty crotchless knickers and Karl's greying, baggy, crotch hanging, stretched out elastic, skid marked y fronts hanging around the front garden of their cottage, flapping in the villagers faces as they walk by and on show for the members of the bowling club to see!
Even the Mathers sheets have skid marks on them! Who has skid marked sheets and how does this happen?
Do they double as toilet paper?
Is Karl still cruising the men's toilets of Britain wearing his skid marked pants?
Does he buy them like that? If so, where?
Were the y fronts brand new when Karl bought them and is it his ass that turns them into the soiled mess they are in?
The reason the y fronts are grey is that Kathy washes them in the kitchen sink along with discarded tea bags, spoons, mugs and the dinner dishes!
Is that why a villager spotted a pair hanging from a tree in the Mathers front garden with gravy on them along side the skid marks!

The Mathers do not have a clothes line of any kind outside. Their tumble drier is broken and is lying in the large front garden, door open with some of Kathy's chickens roosting inside. Kathy hangs the washing wherever she can in their front and back garden.

This is why over the years the younger generation of Lochglen have moved away to Inverness and further afield!
Thre is no work for them in the village and travelling back and forth to Inverness in the winter is too dangerous.
Only if your parents own one of the outlying farms is there work and a future for the next generation.
Thete are still a few elderly and original locals, minus poor Hamish McDougall, who met his demise because of Kathy Mathers. Need I say more?
The middle and younger generation have sadly dwindled over the years, replaced with holiday makers who have bought cottages in Lochglen and only use them for a few weeks of the year.
The rest of the village is made up of incomers, who have settled and respect the ways of the village and strive to keep ways and traditions which have been in place for hundreds of years.

Living in a small village is unlike living in a town or city anywhere.
The village doesn't conform to the person, the person must conform to the village way of life. You must blend and fit in or you will be an outcast and undesirable like the Mathers and their kith and kin, who are never far away despite them living in neighbouring villages over 7 miles away.
The Mathers and their family have brought "The Beverly Hillbillies" to Lochglen with a touch of "Velveeta" and trailer trash thrown in!

Once a week the library van parks in the village square to allow people to borrow and return books.
There is a small village primary school where there are two teachers. One teaches primary 1 to 3. And the head teacher teaches primaries 4 to 7.
The school house is an old stone former home with large grounds which have been turned into playing areas and a small football pitch.
The school sits on the banks of the river Grewer which flows through Lochglen. The childrens laughter can be heard throughout the village.
After primary 7, it's off to high school in Inverness.
The children catch the school bus every morning in the village square. After school they catch the bus back.to Lochglen, where they're dropped off in the square in the late afternoon.

Any amenities needed that aren't available in Lochglen can be found in Inverness. It means the villagers have to.travel on the narrow winding road leading to Inverness, which is 20 miles away.
Not really a long way to go but during the long winter months the road is treacherous.
Most of the people of Lochglen have 4x4's.
When the road is covered in black ice nor even a 4x4 is enough!
The usual 30 minute journey becomes a 3 hour drive!
There are times when you can't go over 5 mph in a 4x4.
Villagers have been out on.their journeys home, where heavy snowfalls mean you cannot see the road ahead or in an instant the road turns into a skating rink!
Where your car takes on a life of its own. You have no control as the steering doesn't work nor do the brakes.
When caught in this situation, you must take your foot off the accelerator, steer into the skid to try to get it under control. Never ever touch your brakes! Instead, use your gears to downshift and try to slow down.
Even the most experienced drivers are caught out. In the winter the road to Inverness is littered with cars which have spun off the road and are half buried in deep snow in the verges between Lochglen and Inverness.

Posted by michael j blair at 15:17 No comments:

They perched themselves on the shelves of the wardrobe amongst Kathy's homeless shelter clothes and Karl's charity shop attire.
The hens laid eggs on the clothes or in Karl's cheap, worn out plastic loafers.
The inside of the dark, warm wardrobe turned out to be the perfect environment for laying eggs!
There were so many eggs, that Kathy started selling them from her front garden. She put out a table and a sign.

Sometimes the hens would venture out of the wardrobe and onto Karl and Kathy's bed, where they would sleep through the night with Kathy when Karl was away.
She was so drunk every night, she didn't even notice some of her hens sleeping next to her on Karl's pillow!
The mess they made on the pillow case went unnoticed and was never changed. Karl would just turn the pillow over when he was home!

A few of the hens managed to find the kitchen, where they ate the bits of food and crumbs which fell from the Mather's plates.
As Kathy usually forgot to buy hen feed, all the hens just ate what the Mathers ate!
They loved to sit atop the dresser in the kitchen and survey their surroundings.
Occasionally they would turn around, hanging their arses over the dresser top and let fly!
Kathy and Karl always had hen shit on their clothes and in their hair. Would anyone notice? No!

One of the hens took up residence in the oven of the Aga cooker. The door had been left open and the hen jumped inside and refused to come out.
You could just see these two black beady eyes peering out at you!
This hen's name was Martha. A big fat speckled hen with a vicious temper and was ill nat'ered and prone to outbursts of violence, where she would attack the Mathers and the other hens in the kitchen!
No one could go near the door of the Aga or put their hand inside.
Martha had become very possessive of the Aga oven.
It had become her home and she wouldn't share it or move out!

Martha stopped laying eggs and fell into a deep depression. If the Mathers or the other hens went near the open oven door, Martha would hurl herself around the oven, bouncing off the sides, making high pitched clucking sounds!

Martha took to sneaking out of the oven when the Mathers were in the lounge watching television.
She would sneak up on them and hurl herself at them claws first, tearing the Mathers faces and hands to shreds!

The poor members of the bowling club who had to share the stone dividing wall up the Mather'es back garden, Kathy's favourite place to hang her and Karl's wet clothes.
Kathy usually forgets that she has slung the clothes onto the dividing wall and they can stay there for months on end.
They end up becoming part of the wall, covered in bird shit and moss, for all the bowling club to see!

In the winter these items of clothing freeze solid like a sheet of ice.
You can actually break bits off the clothing, like you would a piece of ice.
There are usually bits of the Mathers frozen clothes lying all over the pristine grass of the bowling club.

Chapter 6

Kathy, with her low IQ and alcohol soaked brain actually thought that if she kept hens, she would then be thought of by the villagers as being refined, upper class and being part of the surrounding farming community, not to mention thinking she could corner the world's egg market!
Kathy and would sit and discuss how they could go global.
How much land they would need and how many hens they should buy. They ordered 4 dozen hens, which Karl felt Kathy could look after while he was away.
It would give her something to do besides drinking all the time. He bought her books to read on how to feed and look after them. Kathy was excited about taking on this project!
They were going to be free range hens but Kathy still needed a large coop for them to go in and out of to lay eggs, sleep and shelter from any inclement weather.

The 4 dozen hens were delivered but there was no sign of the coop. As it turned out, a coop was never delivered as Karl couldn't afford one.
So the 4 dozen hens ran riot throughout the village and the villagers houses.
The phrase "Free range" was an understatement. A dozen of the hens had made their way to the village of Rannochglen, 8 miles away, where they settled in at Miss Brockwith's croft. They made themselves at home in the croft's coop where they lived happily with Miss Brockwith's hens!
Sadly, there were 6 of Kathy's hens lying flattened on the road outside Kathy's cottage. Another 6 of them moved to the bowling club next door.
Another dozen had split up and were living at various villagers cottages.
The last dozen were still living with Kathy. As pointed out earlier, a few roosted in the disused tumble drier lying in the front garden. Some lived inside Karl and Kathy's cottage, refusing to come out! These hens had become agoraphobic for some reason.
They took up residence in Karl and Kathy's wardrobe in their bedroom. They found it a perfect place to roost.

Sunday, 28 July 2013

You have the Mathers who are low class and dodgy breeding, with even lower intelligence, living amongst decent hard working folk who are middle class, not to mention the Douglas-Dalglish family and the surrounding farms and estates who's owner's are old money landed gentry. Expensively educated at Eton as were their ancestors.
There are some of the creme de la creme of society living in Lochglen along with countless middle class and upper class living cheek by jowl with Kathy's dirty crotchless knickers and Karl's greying, baggy, crotch hanging, stretched out elastic, skid marked y fronts hanging around the front garden of their cottage, flapping in the villagers faces as they walk by and on show for the members of the bowling club to see!
Even the Mathers sheets have skid marks on them! Who has skid marked sheets and how does this happen?
Do they double as toilet paper?
Is Karl still cruising the men's toilets of Britain wearing his skid marked pants?
Does he buy them like that? If so, where?
Were the y fronts brand new when Karl bought them and is it his ass that turns them into the soiled mess they are in?
The reason the y fronts are grey is that Kathy washes them in the kitchen sink along with discarded tea bags, spoons, mugs and the dinner dishes!
Is that why a villager spotted a pair hanging from a tree in the Mathers front garden with gravy on them along side the skid marks!

The Mathers do not have a clothes line of any kind outside. Their tumble drier is broken and is lying in the large front garden, door open with some of Kathy's chickens roosting inside. Kathy hangs the washing wherever she can in their front and back garden.

This is why over the years the younger generation of Lochglen have moved away to Inverness and further afield!
Thre is no work for them in the village and travelling back and forth to Inverness in the winter is too dangerous.
Only if your parents own one of the outlying farms is there work and a future for the next generation.
Thete are still a few elderly and original locals, minus poor Hamish McDougall, who met his demise because of Kathy Mathers. Need I say more?
The middle and younger generation have sadly dwindled over the years, replaced with holiday makers who have bought cottages in Lochglen and only use them for a few weeks of the year.
The rest of the village is made up of incomers, who have settled and respect the ways of the village and strive to keep ways and traditions which have been in place for hundreds of years.

Living in a small village is unlike living in a town or city anywhere.
The village doesn't conform to the person, the person must conform to the village way of life. You must blend and fit in or you will be an outcast and undesirable like the Mathers and their kith and kin, who are never far away despite them living in neighbouring villages over 7 miles away.
The Mathers and their family have brought "The Beverly Hillbillies" to Lochglen with a touch of "Velveeta" and trailer trash thrown in!

Once a week the library van parks in the village square to allow people to borrow and return books.
There is a small village primary school where there are two teachers. One teaches primary 1 to 3. And the head teacher teaches primaries 4 to 7.
The school house is an old stone former home with large grounds which have been turned into playing areas and a small football pitch.
The school sits on the banks of the river Grewer which flows through Lochglen. The childrens laughter can be heard throughout the village.
After primary 7, it's off to high school in Inverness.
The children catch the school bus every morning in the village square. After school they catch the bus back.to Lochglen, where they're dropped off in the square in the late afternoon.

Any amenities needed that aren't available in Lochglen can be found in Inverness. It means the villagers have to.travel on the narrow winding road leading to Inverness, which is 20 miles away.
Not really a long way to go but during the long winter months the road is treacherous.
Most of the people of Lochglen have 4x4's.
When the road is covered in black ice nor even a 4x4 is enough!
The usual 30 minute journey becomes a 3 hour drive!
There are times when you can't go over 5 mph in a 4x4.
Villagers have been out on.their journeys home, where heavy snowfalls mean you cannot see the road ahead or in an instant the road turns into a skating rink!
Where your car takes on a life of its own. You have no control as the steering doesn't work nor do the brakes.
When caught in this situation, you must take your foot off the accelerator, steer into the skid to try to get it under control. Never ever touch your brakes! Instead, use your gears to downshift and try to slow down.
Even the most experienced drivers are caught out. In the winter the road to Inverness is littered with cars which have spun off the road and are half buried in deep snow in the verges between Lochglen and Inverness.

Chapter 5.

Lochglen was one of many villages nestled north of Inverness in the Scottish highlands.
It had a magical air about it that no other village in the surrounding area had.
If you were fortunate to either visit, pass through or live there, you would always return.
It drew you back once you had glimpsed it. After that there was no turning back!

Lochglen had a long history dating back hundreds of years.
Queen Victoria had passed through to visit her old friends who lived in the imposing castle, high on a hill outside the village, surrounded by thick stone walls.
The castle has been in the same family for hundreds of years.

The family name is Douglas-Dalglish and has been linked with Lochglen for generations.
The castle is still occupied by James and Matilda Douglas-Dalglish, who can trace their lineage back to William the Conqueror.
They have the correct breeding and pedigree, went to the right schools and mix with people of similar upbringing. They are a proper old money family.

The family have always mixed with royalty, hence Queen Victoria passing through Lochglen in 1871 for a visit. Her procession of royal carriages which carried her servants, followed behind.
The locals at the time, lined the main road in the village to catch sight of their Queen as she passed through.
The men bowed their heads and the women curtsied, although they were used to seeing the Queen and her royal procession drive through Lochglen as she visited her oldest friends.

The current Douglas-Dalglish's are a regular sight in the village, with it's small Post Office, craft shop, general store, butcher and greengrocer. There are a few bed and breakfast dwellings, two small hotels where the locals and tourists drink and eat out at the weekends.
A surgery with two GPS, a Police house that doubles as a Police station and as the Policeman's living quarters.

Saturday, 27 July 2013

The clubs secretary and chairman would come into the bowling club in the morning to see small parcels in torn brown paper fluttering in the breeze, with it's contents scattered all over the pristine grass of the bowling green, along with Karl's gay porn magazines, ripped and blowing in the wind, their brown paper wrapping torn to shreds!
All the small parcels were Kathy's dildos and vibrators she had ordered off the internet, which had come out of their carefully wrapped boxes and were scattered all over the grass!
If Karl was gone a week, there were gay mags and dozens of dildos and vibrators lying everywhere, along with Kathy's crotchless knickers she had ordered, which had also become unwrapped and had taken flight.
They were hanging from assorted trees throughout the village.
Now, I am sure you are wondering why one person would need dozens of dildos and vibrators?
Could some of them be Karl's? Could it be that both.of them are losing them up certain orifices in their bodies? Could it be their intestines have become a graveyard for the countless dildos and vibrators that have made their way there over the years?

The bowling club secretary and chairman were mortified and too embarrassed to go out and pick up Karl's gay mags and Kathy's assorted dildos and vibrators of different shapes, sizes and colours.
The chairman and secretary would just leave everything until the local street sweeper was on duty and he would clean it up. Until then, the members would just play around the gay mags and dildos.
A sight to behold!!
The street sweeper kept all the gay porn mags, dildos and crotchless knickers, which he resold on the internet and made quite a tidy sum from the items sold!

Posted by michael j blair at 15:19 No comments: