The stick was easy to come by because, like all mothers of small boys, I have a considerable collection just outside the front door. Sticks are, after all, essential equipment for dragging along railings, poking older siblings and jamming the front wheels of the buggy.
The chicks I bought ages ago having learned from experience that if you don't buy these tiny, multi-coloured and slightly sinister looking chicks the moment you see them there won't be any left by Easter. The reason they look so bedraggled is that when they haven't been driving convertibles, they've spent the best part of their time living under a bed in a clearly labelled and dated freezer bag. I think sometimes it's just best not to ask.