Come five o’ clock in the afternoon the Farmyard farmstall on the busy R27 appears deceptively quiet. It’s closed its doors for the day. But outside the butter yellow building life continues.

The resident chickens take over. A group of hens cluster on the stoep, and cluck-cluck companionably in Chickenese. Two cockerels patrol the grounds.

The older of the two stalks purposefully towards the hens, while the madcap younger one heads off towards the petrol pumps to do who knows what. Off on some punkish errand, no doubt!

A paltry tale about poultry? Of course not. This is the secret savoury life of poultry we know nothing about.