There’s a chill in the air and I can feel the grim reaper standing over me. Daisy was in the barn again this morning chasing the chickens and she stopped by for a chat. She said she’d heard that I was losing the battle to live, despite Michael’s shot out on the radio. Personally I can’t see how standing on a radio and shouting is going to help things. We got talking about the inevitable; you know the big chop, the end, whatever you want to call it. As a turkey you know your lot, you live (luckily for me on a beautiful farm with a lovely bedroom and caring parents) you eat like a king, you enjoy what time you have, but in the end you know you’re going to end up as the centre piece of someone’s Christmas dinner, but you deal with it. It could be a lot worse. If my time is up, my time is up and I console myself with the fact that someone has taken a lot of care to raise me so that I can be the jewel in the crown of someone, some where’s Christmas extravaganza. As long as the treat me right, with a bit of stuffing, some fragrant herbs, lots of butter and roast me breast down for the majority of the cooking time, and they turn me round for a final crisping, I’ll be happy. It’s what we do, provide a hearty festive meal for Christmas day, then some sandwiches for boxing day, maybe a curry the day after, a stew the day after that, maybe a fricassee after that, then a meal for the dog. I can bring so much pleasure to so many people. Of course I’d like to live a little longer to enjoy the simple pleasures of foraging in the field then snuggling up under the heat lamp for the long winter nights. But life’s, life. Whatever you do this Christmas make sure you treat your turkey with respect and if you’re not sure how to do this take some tips from everyone’s favourite fat lipped Essex wide boy

Enjoy.