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A Chicken That Shares Our Values

I knew something was wrong when I spent ages staring at poultry in Waitrose. I kept rereading the advert: ‘a chicken that shares our values,’ and thinking does that chicken really believe in a free market, democracy, in being organically grown and then butchered? Butchered, what’s more,  without the benefit of private health insurance.

A foxNo one else was bothered. The  guy behind the meat counter went on wrapping steaks,  a woman with dyed orange hair glided past with screwed up lips as if she’d been chewing wasps. A chicken that shares our values was clearly unremarkable but I was still transfixed.

When I woke up on the Avondale Ward a fortnight later,  I thought the symbols might have come to an end. They shook their quicksilver chains and I followed. They drove me up scaffolding at night to puzzle over obscure blue plaques.  I didn’t dare miss a single bulletin from any one of these dead artists. In all the confusion, they might offer a clue. Whether I should become a collector, a watercolourist, a diarist or failing all that just a lover of the arts like the plaque outside the old Kensington Spa with its list of artistic types in order of decreasing importance. Continue reading


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