The world from my window

In a greasy spoon not far from Liverpool Street Station, word reaches us that Clint Eastwood is in town. According to Mrs Bancroft's Daily Mail, the man with no name is taking over several streets around Spitalfields for his latest film. I am sitting opposite Number One Son and Mr Grigg and squeezed on to a bench seat next to Mr Sheepwash. Cue the music for The Good, The Bad and The Ugly . Tumbleweed blows along the pavement, the Eastern European waitress freezes in mid-frame. Mr Grigg lets out a gasp. We look around. From the collective corners of our eyes, we see a sinister reflection in the pub window across the road. The shocking, blood red logo on the side of a delivery lorry moves slowly towards Mr Grigg like the truck in Duel , the shark in Jaws , the alien in Alien . Mr Grigg shudders. He is afraid, very afraid. He shuffles on his seat. 'I think I'll give that pasty a miss,' he says. That's about it Love Maddie x

Pelly is like a cooing new mother. And all because of five French pullets and a Light Sussex named Jane. We picked them up in a cloak and dagger operation yesterday, armed with three cat baskets and a wadge of cash. We weren't sure where we were going, only that we were meeting at an agreed location and taking it from there. Our contact, a 6ft 5ins former banker we knew only as Piers, apologised for the secrecy and explained in an incomer London accent: 'I've been having trouble with pikeys. They nicked 200 birds last year.' It occurred to me that Piers could in fact have been a very clever pikey and the birds he sold us were someone else's. But it was clear he knew a great deal about hens and good animal husbandry. And as soon as we saw the lavender marans, that was it, Pelly and I were in love. They matched our tops. Darling Loggins, however, reserved judgment and her money. She is rethinking her hen strategy and may well end up at the Gaggle of Geese at Buckland...