Clucking nightmare

One of the favourite songs that we sing with the children is Old Macdonald had a Farm. (In the same way that dogs in France say ouah ouah rather than woof woof, the animals here also make different sounds. As far as I can make out, dogs say hong hong, pigs say oowt oowt and cows - or buffalo to be precise - say boooaar.)

As I lay in bed this morning, reluctantly but irrevocably awake at 5.30, it occurred to me that the street where I live is coming to resemble more and more Old Macdonald's farm, with all its attendant sound effects.

And on that farm he had a dog: not just one, but many and various. There's the persistent barker and howler next door; the two horrible, yappy dogs which for a time had been moved to their back yard where I could not hear them have now reappeared at the front, as horribly yappy as ever; and then of course there are the myriad street dogs that roam at will. I was woken at 3.30 one morning last week by a whole pack of them rushing headlong up the street, barking, whining, howling and baying as if the world was about to end.

And on that farm he had a cat: recently arrived in the neighbourhood is a ginger tom, who appears to have selected my front yard as one of his favourite places to hang out. At night, I am sometimes treated to the violent hissing of his manly fights, and at other times to the ghoulish caterwauling of his amorous activities.

And on that farm he had a gecko: not one that is usually included in the UK version of the song! My resident Tokay has been very quiet lately. I think it is too cold for him at the moment, but I'm sure that as soon as it warms up he'll be back, calling away for all he's worth at all hours of the day and night. The same goes for the cicadas, who also seem to be taking a winter break.

And on that farm he had some birds: the dawn chorus here is not the gentle, melodious easing into the day that I am used to. The bird calls seem mostly to be harsh squawks and whistles, which are not particularly soothing to listen to.

And now for the latest addition, and the reason I was awake at 5.30 on an otherwise remarkably peaceful Sunday morning:

And on that farm he had some chickens: the neighbours directly across the road have invested in some chickens, which they are keeping in a large wicker contraption in their front yard. The chickens themselves are not really a problem. They run around clucking during the day, but at night they go to sleep. No, the problem is the COCKEREL, whose existence I had not suspected until I was rudely awoken this morning by his vigorous and persistent cock-a-doodle-doo-ing.

Is it any wonder I feel permanently tired and have developed bags under my eyes that never used to be there?! I am beginning to make mental lists of "things I will miss when I leave" and "things I am looking forward to about going home". Being able to get an uninterrupted night's sleep is definitely on the second list!