Chicken Surprise...

And so to the humble chicken, which as you certainly already know, is the owner of an extremely nervous disposition. So it won’t surprise you when I tell you that a chicken’s heart pumps away at an impressive 280 beats per minute. This, presumably, contributes to its scorching 102 degrees F average body temperature.

If humans had chicken physiology we would not have to worry about the egg laying aspects because we’d internally combust.

I also need to furnish you with another useful (possibly) chicken fact. The chicken, even with a following wind, travelling down a 1:10 hill, can only achieve a maximum speed of 9 mph.  This means anything other than hedgehogs, and my fat friend from Thailand, become potential predators. All of a sudden the heart beat fact falls in to place.

So you will be even more surprised to learn that, despite almost everything on earth being a predator, the world’s chicken population stands at 3000, 000,000 – depending on how you count that many noughts, that’s at least 1 chicken for every human being on the planet.

So now I must make a confession. I’ve eaten mine.

And many others, I regret to say. People are going without their chicken, because since I arrived in Libya its all I’ve eaten.

Every evening I have dinner cooked for me. It’s chicken. Sometimes the chef tries to disguise it with a sauce, or by moulding it into craggy boulders and deep-frying it, but without success. If it tastes like chicken, it’s chicken.

At lunchtime, the office lady comes around with rolls. She has an extensive selection, providing you like chicken. For variation she alternates the hand she passes it to me with.

One evening, in a futile attempt at chicken-less-ness I opted to cook for myself. The only ingredient in the fridge I could cook with any confidence was egg. Chicken eggs.

At a conservative estimate I reckon I’m eating three chickens per week. I’m here for 5 weeks…

I’ll leave you with another amazing chicken fact: the chicken is the nearest living relative to the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Remember that when you sit down to your Sunday roast and your mother offers you the leg…