You've heard of the X Factor.......

Well we have the egg factor here in France.

Here I am on a saturday family evening, in the minority, and reminded of the impact of reality tv shows on our lives, but for the first time I think I have found a positive aspect of this genre of tv.

Not being able to elect parental control over the remote control I found myself being forcibly made to endure Strictly Come Dancing. IT; is on and there is nothing I can do about it.

Like all reality tv shows for 4O something grumpy blokes, I suppose.

But this evening I was heartened by the glimmering signs of my 9 year old daughter Amelia's complete immersion into this Country's country way of life, that not only has she become completely bilingual (but also cheeky with it - laughing at my French accent) but she has also learnt that her meat comes from animals and notprepackaged from supermarkets, but also that her tv has to be taken in context.

The other day she was helping me sort our flock of chickens into eaters and layers, we, being as we are self sufficient both in eggs and chicken meat thanks to our flock of Sussex and Rhode Island Red breeds, one being a multi purpose bird and the latter a pure egg layer.

Dependent on whether it is one or the other, certain birds can be awarded a given name and more importantly, for them at least, a lease of life. Others are just chickens for obvious reasons, with a one way to the pot.

Amelia, an avid X Factor fan suggested that we should give the chickens a chance at prolonging their own lives and reality reality was born in Mont Saxonnex, France, forget reality tv, or at least put it in perspective.

So we now have the egg factor.

You've guessed it, the ones that pass muster, laying the most and tastiest eggs before a panel of 3 judges get to survive - my daughter's idea entirely, I assure you.

Being at the same time quite aghast at her encyclopaedic knowledge of drivel like tv shows and fantastically proud of her humour and earthiness I am at a loss to decide whether to rip the sky dish off the wall of our farmhouse or tune it into the next episode of "who gives a **** as long as I have my Malcolm Mclaren 15 minutes show"

But she hasn't stopped either. She has also come up with, for our Gingers at least (yes named after Chicken run), a new competition "I would lay anything" dedicated to the tedious, in my mind, reality tv show to find the next Nancy.

Where will her mind take her next? Bloody brilliant.

I would like to point out that I am not Simon Cowell, we don't have the sister of a famous antipodean songstress on call, but my wife is a bit like Sharon and she says I am a bit like Ozzy too. Especially on saturday night.

Miles Jefferson
www.chaletdoctors.com
For all your property needs in the French alps

Editors note

No chickens were hurt in the making of this blog, unless they were designated an eater.