Old Habits Die Hard

There’s a storm here in the city. They call it Xaver. We made a joke about how there may be a powercut, and we will all talk by candle light and in nine months there will be lots of baby boys called Xaver. What’s the female form?
But joking aside, the wind was setting me on edge. Country boy that I am, there’s a lifetime of experience nibbling at me.

“Go and weight down the hen house”

“Stop the gate from slamming”

“Check the neighbours houses and move loose things into their wood store if they aren’t home.”

“Take the dog for one last walk, you never know how long its here for.”

“Puts your ropes, boots, saws and axes by the door so you can clear things uo in the morning.”

And despite living in an upstairs apartment, I’ve just gone round for a little walk, so my eyes can tell the rest of me that there aren’t any chickens here to look after.

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