St Neots is a town that I love. The bank teller and I discuss our respective elderly parents and we roll our eyes in collective despair at the Brexit fiasco. As I wait for cash, one of the other cashiers calls over to discuss the chicken that is living on the patch of green by the bank. She has been there for a while and nobody can catch her. On my way out I go to see the hen, a pretty Bantie scratching around amongst the emerging daffodils and the iron park benches.

I hold out my hand to her and she seems mildly interested. An old lady calls out to me, “Don’t try to catch her, she’s been living here for a while. Someone puts corn out for her and water too”. Indeed she looks happy, well fed and watered and is bringing joy to St Neots. Let’s hope that Mr Fox doesn’t come a calling.