Warning: The pictures that follow are not for the weak hearted. Or the weak kneed. Or cockneyed. Or Lou Reed. Or Daniel Day-Lewis. Or the Queen. Of Monaco.

The pictures contained in this blog show a very 'weak-stomached' attempt at chicken genocide.
the Deceased, Poxy, God Rest his ass on her obnoxious chicken face, was killed, plucked and (not pictured) bar-b-qued and served with cesar salad.

For the record, I never got a clean swipe with the axe and had to decapitate her using the 'drawn and quartered' method so popular in the eighties. 1380's. Also, she wasn't very tasty. She was a bit chewy and tasted a bit like spite and bittersweet revenge.

As you can see, we took the make-a-noose-with-old-string and tie-it-to-a-brick cause no-one-is-available to-hold-the-other-end method. It worked alright, except Poxy got loose of the noose and I missed on the first swipe. The second swipe amounting to little more than a paper cut and final beheading came with a firm tug of the old string.

Oh well, at least I had a laugh.

At the expense of something else. And their life.

So in the grand tally of Love-Albers versus nature, I have scored us a mighty point.

(Notice the stylish wool pull-over and gumboots)