I have a confession to make. It’s been one of those little parts of me that I’ve had to carry around, only revealing it to a select few people who need to know, usually around that first morning when they try to make me breakfast. I don’t like eggs. Fried, Scrambled, Poached, said with a Benediction – I was just never a fan of eggs. I never order a “Full English” anywhere, be they pricey hotels or greasy spoons, because I don’t want all that one has to offer (I also hate Baked Beans but I consider that more normal because I'm not 5.) Confessing to my distaste of this British cuisine staple often, if not always, leads to the same incredulous reaction. “You don’t like eggs? You what?” I stand firm. I don’t like the taste. I don’t. Eggs taste like they smell and they smell...eggy. But now I have chickens. Chickens are fascinating. They are just a wonderful addition to your lives and I can spend hours watching their behaviour. It doesn’t bother us whethe