This will be my last menagerie update as tomorrow we head to Palma for a couple of days of culture and (hopefully) clear PCR tests, before heading back to Deepest Sussex.

There is not much to report on the hens and cock – they burble and he crows though his timing is a bit off now and then. 

When he has missed the early morning or post-siesta call, he rather embarrassedly makes up for it with not one or two crows, but a ten minute repetition.

But all is drama on the rabbit front.

She was in our room when the maid came the other day so I mentioned we had a rabbit under the sofa, and what was she called?

Well, she is called Coco, she said and I thought that was that. I assumed Coco was a regular in the room(s) and was treated with indulgence on that front.

But that night at dinner, Andreas, the hotel owner, mentioned Coco and said she would have to be taken ‘to another farm near here.’

What? Rabbit transportation, early morning rabbit catchers patrolling the grounds – and all because we had inadvertently snitched on her.

We pleaded her cause and said she was no trouble, didn’t cause mess or a fuss, we hadn’t fed her etc etc.

‘But the next guests might not be pleased to see a rabbit in their room,’ he said.

Andreas was polite but firm on the issue. And to be fair as he and his wife are running a hotel which is fully booked next week and she is having twins delivered tomorrow, you can see that they have a lot on their plate.

The Best Beloved spent the evening planning a petition and a social media campaign but of course that came to naught in the light of a day with a bit of swimming planned, and lunch, and a siesta and all sorts.

So for the last couple of days we have woken with trepidation – will Coco be here or has she been bundled to a ‘farm’?

Andreas had assured us this was not a euphemism and there would be no braised rabbit on the menu, but we were anxious rabbit-befrienders.

So, far, all is well and Coco has been there at the door shortly after the cock has crowed and spent her time in and out, under this and that and not looking worried.

But once our backs are turned tomorrow, who knows?

In our Mallorcan ex-orange-farm oasis, there is little of drama or wild adventures or day-long mountain hikes, but there are menagerie reports.

So, last time I mentioned the chickens who burble about. There are three of them, with the black one clearly bottom of the pecking order. 

She chases after the other two burbling fast and high, ‘ Wait for me, wait for me, please wait for me….’

We feel sorry for her as the other two clearly treat her with whatever disdain hens can muster, and these two it seems have channelled disdain from a master – they must have seen how Jacob Rees-Mogg thinks of people who can’t afford nannies.

The Best beloved saved a crust of tuna empanada for her to give her a much need treat and boost to her self-confidence, but it was rapidly confiscated…

The cockerel has taken it upon himself to come round to our’s and remind (particularly the BB) there is time to rise in the morning – about 7am – and a point after which siestas should come to an end – apparently that is 3.45 – how very Spanish.

And the rabbit, who had kept its distance, had a change of plan – and it appears, has developed a new, very firm plan.

Being under our sofa or bed is a cool place to be in the heat of the day and that will do fine thank you, is the long and the short of it,

When I got back from the market this morning and Nick was poolside, I was rather surprised to find shortly after putting my basket of provisions down the rabbit was taking a professional interest in its contents.

When I tried to shoo it out, it rather determinedly I thought, turned tail and went under the sofa.

As I wanted to go to the pool and not shut it in our rooms, I tried to get it out. It came out and went under the bed, out from there into the bathroom, out from there under the sofa…..

I tired a trail of cucumber but the rabbit clearly has the same views on cucumber as the BB and Roald Dahl, so the trail went cold.

Whilst I was getting changed, it made the mistake of deciding a breath of air on the terrace might be in order and I shut the door behind it. 

Some time later, as they say, when I got back to prepare our picnic on the terrace the rabbit was waiting.

Getting lunch provisions out of the room and onto the terrace was a woman and rabbit game of me having to bring out one item at a time so I could shut the door behind me.

After lunch it seemed to have disappeared so we could leave the door open.

As I write this I was wondering whether the rabbit had taken itself off to another more promising human location when out of the corner of my eye, I saw it emerge from our room – no doubt being reminded by the cockerel that siesta time was up.

For the second year running we have (hopefully) slipped between Covid clutches to make it abroad.

(I would quite understand if that sentence was enough to make you want to stop reading instantly and indeed there is nothing much to this piece, so feel free.)

Last year it was a last minute trip to Florence and Tuscany after lying in bed one night and hearing on the radio that Forence was ‘deserted’.

It was marvellous but when we arrived at our agri-tourism place in gorgeous sunshine, we listened to the other guests saying how much they were looking forward to a break in the sweltering weather – due the next day. It did.

And, no spoiler alert necessary given our track record, the lovely taxi driver who took us from the airport to our exceptionally lovely hotel, said,’ Well it has been very, very hot and there is a drought – but thankfully the weather changes tomorrow.’

And there is rain and thunder popping up in the forecast all over the show.

Now though it is cloudy and sunny, with a nice breeze and no rain (as yet) and warm enough to be sitting on ‘our’ terrace in a t shirt and shorts ‘talking’ to you.

We are staying in a converted orange farm. (A lot of Majorca has been given over to tourism as you might have expected.) 

We have one of the converted outbuildings which gives us a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, terrace and our ‘own’ bit of the extensive grounds.

I hear your exasperated sigh at this litany of privilege and luck and the feeling of how unnecessary it is to gloat – and I know.

But with all that, we have more delight. We have chickens and they along with the long-eared rabbit have free rein.

Whilst we have only seen the rabbit on the main terrace (during dinner and breakfast), the chickens and cockerel have been over to make their introductions. 

The hens have a quiet, rather high pitched burble and they burble very pleasantly, pottering around and mentioning they are just a tiny bit peckish (sorry) and the cock decides pragmatically that a ear-splitting cock-a-doodle-do right this minute might be a little tactless.

They get some crumbs from our terrace-picnic and then they wander off, wander back in case another picnic crumb feast is available, and repeat.

Not sure they will bother in the rain……