I have made an enemy more menacing than any Bond villain. His aim is not to take over the world, but to wake it up. He struts around the garden crowing at all hours. His most favourite crowing time seems to be 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am, 5am, 6am and then just when I’m settling in for an afternoon nap at 4pm.
I have tried to scare him off by running towards him shrieking in Italian but he just stands there, crowing at me. Rupert threw one of my flip-flops at him which at least got him moving. He was shaken though, not stirred.
Nick the charming South African who runs the place has a healthy big-game attitude to irritating fowl and has ordered his liquidation, but the villain remains at large. I think he must have friends in high places.
Before I came here I had an email from my friend Rita. “Avoid the Jamaican Jerk Chicken,” it read. I don’t want to avoid this one. I want to meet it, on a plate, covered in BBQ sauce.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007