Last month, we went to stay with a friend’s parents in Berkshire and I belatedly realised that her mother has chickens. Like having a child take a felt tip to the de Gournay wallpaper in the spare bedroom, except instead of felt tip it’s blood. Not chickens; one was painted with tits — willow tits, bearded tits, crested tits and so on, plus the word ‘tits’ in big letters. The other said ‘peckers’ and featured ringed peckers, hairy peckers and lesser spotted peckers. Off they went, with an apology card from Dennis, promising that he’d be much better behaved the next time.