Alice is a poorly bird. And there’s often not you can do with a poorly chicken, so today Emma took her off to the vets sure that she would be coming home with an empty basket. We don’t don’t really know what’s wrong with her but she is quite badly jaundiced. The decision was made to put her to sleep, because as I said, there’s not much you can do for chickens.

The thing is Alice is only six months old and hasn’t even layed her first egg. The vet decided that there could be some things to try and as she was generally quite perky, she’s had a reprieve. She lives to see another day, and we are left to medicate a chicken twice a day for I don’t how long.

Had an awful journey back from work on the bus today. Getting the 4 o’clock one from town because of finishing early on Fridays, which I had to run from I went upstairs. I try to get a seat on the front row because of having a little more legroom. Three of the four seats were taken already though, with one being taken up by some girl’s shopping bags. I asked perfectly nicely if the seat was free, whereupon she looked like I had asked to murder her mother, and grudgingly moved her bag. She then spent virtually the entire time from the centre of Oxford complaining that I was sitting to close and that she had no room despite the fact that I was well within my space on the seat and if anything was falling off the seat. She was completely unreasonable and petty – so much so that some girls sat across the isle had a go at her for all her moaning. If she’d been nicer about it, I might have relented and moved to another seat, but I thought, no, I’m fine and I haven’t done anything wrong, I’m staying. I like to think that she built her stress and anger up within her and made her really miserable.