How does a chicken?

Am thinking of writing a new book. It will not be fiction but will be brainy and philosophical in nature. It is because I seem to spend huge swathes of time trying to think up answers to increasingly ridiculous questions. For example:

  • How does a chicken know it is a chicken?
  • When I’m dead will my eyes be shut?
  • What is poo for?
  • Why don’t chickens have duvets?
  • What if I want a drink of water when I’m dead?
  • Why don’t cats wear pants?
  • How does Lola fit in the telly?
  • Why does bees not make Marmite?
  • Why is Afghanistan?
  • Why does the Eggheads always win?
  • Can I shoot water up Diver Dan’s bottom?

The trouble is I don’t the answers. I mean, how DOES a chicken know it is a chicken? I don’t even think ours does. It eats rich tea biscuits and pancakes, tries to nest on a doormat and flies. Even without the worrying slightly cannibalistic tendencies of eating egg-based products, what kind of creature is that? Ideas on a postcard please…

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About Joanna Nadin

I write books for children. And teenagers. I like London, New York, Essex, tea, cake, Marmite, Metric, mint imperials, prom dresses, pubs, that bit in the West Wing where Donna tells Josh she wouldn’t stop for a red light if he was in an accident, junk shops, crisps, Cornwall, St Custard’s, Portuguese custard tarts, political geeks, pin-up swimsuits, the Regency, high heels, horses, old songs, my Grandma’s fur coat, vinyl, liner notes, the smell of old books, the feel of a velveteen monkey, Guinness, quiffs, putting my hand in a bin of chicken feed, the 1950s, burlesque, automata, fiddles, flaneuring, gigs in fields on warm summer nights, Bath, the bath.
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