Nuclear fried chicken

The chooks had managed to get out into the front garden, and were busily scratching through several centimetres of leaf litter around the sewer vent. "I love it here" said Leghorn, "it's so cool and shady, and there's lots of nice little tid-bits". "Tid-bits is all we've have lately of outside news" grumbled Red Hen "I don't know what's happened to the newspapers". "I think there's been problems with the internet link" said Boy Bantam, who was now growing some beautifully irridescent feathers and feeling quite self-important.
"Prince Charles has been and gone" said Mother Bantam "and attracted some very nasty bile from the republicans, but it seems that everyone else has been quite happy". "Well", said Speckles, "Blue Feather said that all the top people in her department went to the royal reception, and from all reports they were all pushing each other out of the way to speak to the man". Blue Feather was a cousin who worked as a cleaner in a state government department in Parramatta, and on her last visit had once again shown herself to be sooo cosmopolitan and knowledgable. The chookyard was both admiring and a little resentful of her airs and graces, although the younger ones loved her sophistication. Blue Feather had recently visited for a weekend in the mountains, and had been appalled that Fowlfax had recently put out an editorial supporting nuclear power to reduce greenhouse emissions. Everything was turning upside down lately. The chookyard was feeling unsettled. Nuclear fried chicken - it had a nasty ring to it. How could anyone seriously contemplate creating an even worse form of pollution when the whole country was awash with solar and wind and tidal power. "No doubt about it" said Red Hen "the coal companies have Carr in their pocket, and they want to keep him there while they diversify into uranium mining".