As if a global recession were not sufficient cause for anxiety, I’m now faced with another pressing challenge – that of knitting a jumper for our two hens, Peppa and Minty.

You see, eight-year-old Louis spotted a photo of ex-battery hens sporting hand-knitted jumpers this week in The Times.  He immediately begged me to knit a similarly warm and attractive gilet for our own birds. 

Frankly, when we decided to give over half our garden to hens and their mountains of poo, I didn’t expect that my responsibilities would extend to crafting hand-made garments for them. Mind you, neither did I expect to find myself, Jodie Kidd-style, frantically driving round neighbouring streets searching for the hens after they disappeared. Fearing the worst – that the foxes had finally got to them – I almost broke down with relief after discovering them three hours later. There they were, scratching happily around the garden of a very bemused elderly lady who lives across the road.

The funny thing is, a little part of me (just a little mind) actually rejoices at the thought of knitting a hen-jumper. I think it’s the prospect of someone actually wearing something that I’ve knitted – publicly and without protest.  My record of knitted gifts is not a happy one.  The first attempt (since knitting a single bed sock at the age of 12) was a forest green scarf three years ago.  My eldest son Max refused point blank to even try it on.  I then presented it to Louis who welcomed it as the most beautiful gift ever.  When a cold snap descended, I was finally able to proudly offer him the scarf to wear to school. He said: “Oh no Mummy, I couldn’t possibly wear such a precious thing to a busy place like school. I’m going to keep the scarf in a special box to remember you when you’re dead.”

Undeterred, I’ve gone on to knit a number of projects including: a cushion cover that has languished unfinished for 18 months; a rather peculiar pink ‘wallet’ for my daughter; and a further five scarves. The last of these – a burgundy-hued anniversary present for Jean-Philippe – took six weeks of fevered knitting.  The first time he wore it, a ten-year-old local kid approached him and asked pointedly why he was ‘wearing a girl’s scarf’.

So, if anyone has any easy-to-follow instructions for knitting a hen waistcoat, could you please forward them to me?

Actually we had a false alarm two weeks ago. I had to make a quick call to a client from home (always a terrible idea) and was interrupted by ear-splitting screams announcing that the chickens had laid two eggs.   I bolted out the door to find Louis with a huge smile on his face, cradling two of my forlorn little green tomatoes that had dropped off the vine and somehow been transplanted to outside the chicken coup.  He had warned me that the eggs were rather small and a bit odd-looking. But, honestly, tomatoes???

Anyway, amidst much pomp and ceremony, the first bona fide egg was boiled for 4 minutes and carefully shared between five of us.  We all declared it to be the best boiled egg we’d ever tasted.

We’ll have to wait another few weeks for them to start laying the much anticipated eggs, but we can already report unexpected benefits.  Our two boys – who regularly fail to summon the strength to flush the loo after a visit – have surprised us by throwing themselves into collecting chicken poo at every opportunity for depositing in the composter.

Begging them to get out of bed in the morning is also a thing of the past.  They can now be spotted at 7.00am (even in the rain) diligently clearing poo, topping up bowls of food and water and offering the hens ‘treats’, such as remnants of last night’s stir fry.

Alas, the two-year-old – true to character – torments the hens by relentlessly whacking their home.   Peppa beats a hasty retreat to the safety of the coup whenever she spots her approaching. Minty, meanwhile, has fought back by pecking her defensively on the finger.  Definitely a hen with attitude.