It's almost six years since we went to pick the dog up as a 12 week old pup, with us, in the back of the car we took a furry toy, a duck, so that she wouldn't miss her mum ! It came complete with authentic quack, she was too small to activate the quack by biting the toy but she soon learnt that bashing it on the floor she could cause a very satisfactory quack.
That toy is still her favourite but is now a bald duck, all the fur chewed off and most of the origional stuffing, including the quacker, eaten. Much repaired and re-stuffed she will still bash it on the floor in search of a long lost quack but what she does is to hold it between her front paws and suck it like a baby will a dummy. This is what she was doing last night out on the gravel in front of the house just before I took her out for a late night pee.
Bit later than usual and the street lights went out at midnight (their usual time) so on the way back we only had the glow from the house lights to see by. I thought I'll pick up the duck and put it in the dry in case it rains. So I picked up this darker shape on the gravel to throw it under the front porch, My scream of surprise, caused the dog to bolt and hide in the barn and the dark shape to give a loud hiss and curl up, me? I just dropped the bloody hedgehog!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Saturday night--Alone
Local time, just after midnight and I've just taken the dog out, for her usual "pee-pee de minuit".
I nearly always treat myself to a bottle of the "GIGO" for saturday dinner, a bottle of Gigondas from the Rhone Valley region. Getting a bit gloomy as I'm on the last glass !!
But last week-end, before the summer visitor panic set in, I went down to the coast, didn't stay long, just TOO many people. I often, out of season, go either to a little place place called Narbonne Plage (plage being beach) or to the northest corner of the cost brava, this being in reach of the Salvador Dali museum (here I get a bit of beach and a bit of loony culture!)
Like anywhere between Tuscany and Gibralta these little places are backed by acres of little villas and flatlets, all rather reminisant of a Butlins holiday camp. Out of season there's the odd little gem that still retains a hint of it's former charm, not when mobbed out though. This silly old fart hadn't realised that the school hols start at the begining of July here.
Driving down on the saturday and pulling into a couple of service areas (these are every 25 K on the motorways ) unsuccessfully looking for coffee and dog pee I was amazed at the places a french familly can leave a car and even more so where they can balance a lunch time pic nic table!!. It seems to be a pre-requisite of a holiday, to picnic en route; I've seen them beside a six lane highway, clinging onto their table-cloth as a juggernaught hurtles by and enjoying every mouthfull!
On the way back a stop for reasons of personal comfort (as we say) and whilst I'm watering the porclain I hear this voice "quel qu'un" (anybody there?) coming from one of the cubicles. Warily, I admitted my presence, to learn that the poor bloke was trapped inside, presumably in the squat position, with NO PAPER ! However he thought help was at hand (do I mean to say it that way?????) because in the red car parked outside were his 3 travelling companions. Could I ask them to assist him. Of course, so on exit I told the 3 young people of their mates predicament and they all fell about laughing. As I drove away they were still propping each other up roaring with laufter.
Presumably the poor sod is still there to this day!
I nearly always treat myself to a bottle of the "GIGO" for saturday dinner, a bottle of Gigondas from the Rhone Valley region. Getting a bit gloomy as I'm on the last glass !!
But last week-end, before the summer visitor panic set in, I went down to the coast, didn't stay long, just TOO many people. I often, out of season, go either to a little place place called Narbonne Plage (plage being beach) or to the northest corner of the cost brava, this being in reach of the Salvador Dali museum (here I get a bit of beach and a bit of loony culture!)
Like anywhere between Tuscany and Gibralta these little places are backed by acres of little villas and flatlets, all rather reminisant of a Butlins holiday camp. Out of season there's the odd little gem that still retains a hint of it's former charm, not when mobbed out though. This silly old fart hadn't realised that the school hols start at the begining of July here.
Driving down on the saturday and pulling into a couple of service areas (these are every 25 K on the motorways ) unsuccessfully looking for coffee and dog pee I was amazed at the places a french familly can leave a car and even more so where they can balance a lunch time pic nic table!!. It seems to be a pre-requisite of a holiday, to picnic en route; I've seen them beside a six lane highway, clinging onto their table-cloth as a juggernaught hurtles by and enjoying every mouthfull!
On the way back a stop for reasons of personal comfort (as we say) and whilst I'm watering the porclain I hear this voice "quel qu'un" (anybody there?) coming from one of the cubicles. Warily, I admitted my presence, to learn that the poor bloke was trapped inside, presumably in the squat position, with NO PAPER ! However he thought help was at hand (do I mean to say it that way?????) because in the red car parked outside were his 3 travelling companions. Could I ask them to assist him. Of course, so on exit I told the 3 young people of their mates predicament and they all fell about laughing. As I drove away they were still propping each other up roaring with laufter.
Presumably the poor sod is still there to this day!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
DONT PANIC
Dont panic?? Well I am, it's about 10 days until the first batch of the family arrive for their summer holidays and I've not even started on the preparations, let alone the spring cleaning. You might think that "what does all that matter", it's only family after all. But it does to me because I know when they get home the inter-familial phone lines will be buzzing with " I told you the old fart wouldn't cope on his own.
Perhaps I should get a char lady (and the current local rate is only 8 euros an hour) but to me it's an admission of failure, so I'd rather live in shit most of the time and work my bollocks off, cleaning up , just before people arrive. Anyway it's much worse this year than ever before because me and the youngest boy have spent the winter sanding down and painting newly created ceilings in 3 new rooms in the loft. The dust is everywhere, and he's pissed off to spain for the summer!!
I had resovled to start on monday (it's thursday nite now) and did make a start by checking the water in the swimming pool, although it's been on automatic all winter/spring there was a worrying hint of green about the water. Fuffing and farting about with various tests I've had to conceed that the pump is fucked and a new one needs to be ordered, it's debatable whether this will arrive in time.
Green water could be the least of their problems, when they arrive, because I've always kept the B-B-Que in the barn as the only place that's always shaded from the sun (which can be extreme down here) but this year a pair of birds have nested in it- so B-B-Ques are off for the summer, as well as swimming!
For me the best thing about summer is that I pay for all their air fares out here, there's my 3 boys and their partners, the seven grandchildren, two of whom are old enough to have their own partners and also have produced the 2 great grandchildren. At a rough count thats 17 bodies I'm paying for this year.
Expensive? Yes! but I pay for their trips out on the basis that it's in lieu of their birthday and xmas presents. Can you see what a wonderful wheeze this is ; it means I don't have to worry about having to THINK about what present to buy for birthday or Xmas 34 times.
Perhaps I should get a char lady (and the current local rate is only 8 euros an hour) but to me it's an admission of failure, so I'd rather live in shit most of the time and work my bollocks off, cleaning up , just before people arrive. Anyway it's much worse this year than ever before because me and the youngest boy have spent the winter sanding down and painting newly created ceilings in 3 new rooms in the loft. The dust is everywhere, and he's pissed off to spain for the summer!!
I had resovled to start on monday (it's thursday nite now) and did make a start by checking the water in the swimming pool, although it's been on automatic all winter/spring there was a worrying hint of green about the water. Fuffing and farting about with various tests I've had to conceed that the pump is fucked and a new one needs to be ordered, it's debatable whether this will arrive in time.
Green water could be the least of their problems, when they arrive, because I've always kept the B-B-Que in the barn as the only place that's always shaded from the sun (which can be extreme down here) but this year a pair of birds have nested in it- so B-B-Ques are off for the summer, as well as swimming!
For me the best thing about summer is that I pay for all their air fares out here, there's my 3 boys and their partners, the seven grandchildren, two of whom are old enough to have their own partners and also have produced the 2 great grandchildren. At a rough count thats 17 bodies I'm paying for this year.
Expensive? Yes! but I pay for their trips out on the basis that it's in lieu of their birthday and xmas presents. Can you see what a wonderful wheeze this is ; it means I don't have to worry about having to THINK about what present to buy for birthday or Xmas 34 times.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Health Matters
I've been on 3 monthly check up visits to my "medicin generalist" (whom we would call GP) for nearly 10 years, when I'd had a mild heart attack. But I can't count myself a proper patient yet, to qualify as such, one has to be seen leaving the pharmicists proudly clutching a bulging carrier bag full of prescribed medicines and tablets. My pathetic haul each month fits into a small plastic bag not much larger than an envelope; I have to edge out of the door and make a dash for the car in the hope that no one who knows me will see me.
Things are looking up a bit, as this month he prescribed an extra daily tablet, an anti-allergy non sombulent pill, whilst not promoting me to carrier bag status it does have an impressive list of potential side effects. They are tiredness,dry mouth, head aches, shortness of breath, bronchial wheezing, itching skin, hives, swelling, skin eruptions, palpitations, rapid heart beat, stomach upset, nausia, vomitting, heavyness of stomach, diarihia, vertigo, insomnia, muscular pain, hallucinations, epileptic fits, trembling and inflamation of the liver.
What ever my symptoms were that caused him to prescribe this pill,they've been cured by just reading the blurb.
Things are looking up a bit, as this month he prescribed an extra daily tablet, an anti-allergy non sombulent pill, whilst not promoting me to carrier bag status it does have an impressive list of potential side effects. They are tiredness,dry mouth, head aches, shortness of breath, bronchial wheezing, itching skin, hives, swelling, skin eruptions, palpitations, rapid heart beat, stomach upset, nausia, vomitting, heavyness of stomach, diarihia, vertigo, insomnia, muscular pain, hallucinations, epileptic fits, trembling and inflamation of the liver.
What ever my symptoms were that caused him to prescribe this pill,they've been cured by just reading the blurb.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Chez Dennis
I promised Dennis (donny) I would visit and finally, yesterday, I did ! I needed to check things out first as I couldn't quite understand the relationships, when I'd first met him at Claude et Fabiennes lunch. The little girl there had called both Claude and Dennis "Papi". This is the diminutive for grandad but it's also what grown men call the patriarch of the family ( if I ever run out of things to say I will tell you the near fatal story of the "papi-mobile").
I spoke to a mutual friend, who explained that Dennis was, to my great surprise, Fabiennes first
husband, and therefore the kid his direct grandchild and how in view of his handicap, they all looked after him. He also told me of the terrible accident where he had fallen out of a window and fractured his hip.
Armed with detailed instructions to find chez Dennis I went down into the village in the valley below me; I drove back and forth, trying to find his house; his village is, in fact, twinned with mine, we share a school system, a post office service and most importantly, charity bingo evenings and telethons, so I thought I knew it well.
But I had to ask their Mr Postmaster where the "F" does he live. He directed me back to where I'd started, a little tiny bungalow, which I'd discounted on the basis that no-one could possibely fall out of a window that low and do serious damage. Obviously Dennis could !!!!
As I entered his bungalow I said what a great view he had and he agreed that the mountains were pretty spectacular . No! not there, I said, look the other way, up there , you can see my house!!
I spoke to a mutual friend, who explained that Dennis was, to my great surprise, Fabiennes first
husband, and therefore the kid his direct grandchild and how in view of his handicap, they all looked after him. He also told me of the terrible accident where he had fallen out of a window and fractured his hip.
Armed with detailed instructions to find chez Dennis I went down into the village in the valley below me; I drove back and forth, trying to find his house; his village is, in fact, twinned with mine, we share a school system, a post office service and most importantly, charity bingo evenings and telethons, so I thought I knew it well.
But I had to ask their Mr Postmaster where the "F" does he live. He directed me back to where I'd started, a little tiny bungalow, which I'd discounted on the basis that no-one could possibely fall out of a window that low and do serious damage. Obviously Dennis could !!!!
As I entered his bungalow I said what a great view he had and he agreed that the mountains were pretty spectacular . No! not there, I said, look the other way, up there , you can see my house!!
Thursday, July 5, 2007
The Sunday newspapers
The english sunday papers don't arrive to our remote little corner of france till tuesday, if they arrive at all!! So I've been looking at pictures of the Blairs leaving No. 10 and the Browns moving from No. 11 to No. 10.
The reality is that, because the accommodation in No. 11 is larger, the Blairs with their 4 (I think?) children have lived there for the last 10 years and the Browns in No. 10. So what must have happened for these photos, is this :-
The Blairs removal men must have taken their furniture down the back stairs 0f No.11, into the back garden, passed it over the garden fence into the back garden of No. 10, in through the back door and down the corridor to emerge out of the front door of No. 10 for the photo shoot and then into the van.
Meanwhile the Browns removal men are taking their furniture down the backstairs of No.10, out into the back garden, humping it over the fence into the back garden of No. 11, in the back door, down the corridor and out the front door of No. 11 for the photo shoot as they enter No. 10
Can you emagine the chaos if the Blairs front room sofa on the way down had met the Browns front room sofa on the way up, but of course they've had 10 years or more to plan for this day!!.
The reality is that, because the accommodation in No. 11 is larger, the Blairs with their 4 (I think?) children have lived there for the last 10 years and the Browns in No. 10. So what must have happened for these photos, is this :-
The Blairs removal men must have taken their furniture down the back stairs 0f No.11, into the back garden, passed it over the garden fence into the back garden of No. 10, in through the back door and down the corridor to emerge out of the front door of No. 10 for the photo shoot and then into the van.
Meanwhile the Browns removal men are taking their furniture down the backstairs of No.10, out into the back garden, humping it over the fence into the back garden of No. 11, in the back door, down the corridor and out the front door of No. 11 for the photo shoot as they enter No. 10
Can you emagine the chaos if the Blairs front room sofa on the way down had met the Browns front room sofa on the way up, but of course they've had 10 years or more to plan for this day!!.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Acacia Avenue
At lunch the other saturday, Fabienne had prepared a local delicacy as nibbles with our "aperos" as they call aperitifs. Its acacia flowers, on the twig, dipped in sweet batter and deep fried. You eat it or suck it off the twig,discarding the latter. Bit sweet for me, but it set me off on a nostalgic trip down the lane.
I have always wanted to live in an Acacia Avenue (Road, Street or even Crescent would do!), a lust prompted by envy. When I was at junior school all the posh, rich kids used to live in Acacia Avenue and the only redress we scabby-kneed impoverished snot-gobblers had was to call it " Ack- Ack- Eye- Ah Avenue!
I have always wanted to live in an Acacia Avenue (Road, Street or even Crescent would do!), a lust prompted by envy. When I was at junior school all the posh, rich kids used to live in Acacia Avenue and the only redress we scabby-kneed impoverished snot-gobblers had was to call it " Ack- Ack- Eye- Ah Avenue!
Meeting Dennis
I've met this other old fart called Dennis, of course this being france it's pronounced Don-ny; we were both invited to lunch at Claude et Fabiennes house down in the town. I'd first met Claude a few years back when he helped install the swimming pool; since then he et Fabienne have popped in from time to time so that he can put coke in my best malt whisky ! ! Still I get my own back when I'm down there by not putting coke in his cheap supermarket own brand whisky.
They'd passed by the house (as they say) during the week to invite me for the Saturday, bringing their grandaughter with them and had explained to me that she was not academically gifted but was very good with horses and wanted to work with them. Both she and and this other old fart who was introduced as Dennis, were there when I arrived.
My dog is a gold-en-re-triev-er and she will nearly always pick up a stone or stick and carry it back to the car at the end of our morning walks. By amazing co-incidence, that saturday, as we neared the car I turned and saw that the dog had found and was carrying a riding crop, which I just left in the boot with the rest of the debris she'd collected. When I got to their house at lunch time with the dog in the boot of the car, I saw the little girl there, so I put the crop in the dogs mouth and took it over to her saying "my dog has brought you a pressy".
This stupid little bit of theatre created a sensation, there were tears,cheek kissing (and that was only the blokes!) hand shakes and back slapping. This also prompted Dennis to invite me to pass by his house. No great effort (in theory) as I stand on my back terrace on top of the ridge and look down into the valley and the village in which he lives; chances are I can probably see his house from there!
It was agreed by all present that this would be a jolly wheeze, he is practically housebound, hobbling arround on 2 sticks following operations on a broken hip and would appreciate the company whilst I need to practice my french,they tell me, much more than I do. So the reason for this, is committing to print that I WILL VISIT HIM TOMORROW !
They'd passed by the house (as they say) during the week to invite me for the Saturday, bringing their grandaughter with them and had explained to me that she was not academically gifted but was very good with horses and wanted to work with them. Both she and and this other old fart who was introduced as Dennis, were there when I arrived.
My dog is a gold-en-re-triev-er and she will nearly always pick up a stone or stick and carry it back to the car at the end of our morning walks. By amazing co-incidence, that saturday, as we neared the car I turned and saw that the dog had found and was carrying a riding crop, which I just left in the boot with the rest of the debris she'd collected. When I got to their house at lunch time with the dog in the boot of the car, I saw the little girl there, so I put the crop in the dogs mouth and took it over to her saying "my dog has brought you a pressy".
This stupid little bit of theatre created a sensation, there were tears,cheek kissing (and that was only the blokes!) hand shakes and back slapping. This also prompted Dennis to invite me to pass by his house. No great effort (in theory) as I stand on my back terrace on top of the ridge and look down into the valley and the village in which he lives; chances are I can probably see his house from there!
It was agreed by all present that this would be a jolly wheeze, he is practically housebound, hobbling arround on 2 sticks following operations on a broken hip and would appreciate the company whilst I need to practice my french,they tell me, much more than I do. So the reason for this, is committing to print that I WILL VISIT HIM TOMORROW !
Sunday, July 1, 2007
No smoking, french style
So today's the first day of the smoking ban in the UK, we've had a similar ban over here since the begining of the year and it doesn't seem to have made much difference. In part this is because eating /drinking outside is part of the culture; but the main reason is that "small bars and restaurants" (which seems to be pretty much all of them!) have a 12 month excemption. As, with typically french logic, have tobacconist shops ! !
One or two of the more upmarket retaurants locally have imposed the ban; it's a very french thing to eat, with familly or a group of friends, on saturday eve or sunday lunch and on these occaisions the menfolk leave the women and children "a table" and gather outside for a drag and a chat. When the next course arrives the waitresses shout through the door " come in table 4 your times up!"
One or two of the more upmarket retaurants locally have imposed the ban; it's a very french thing to eat, with familly or a group of friends, on saturday eve or sunday lunch and on these occaisions the menfolk leave the women and children "a table" and gather outside for a drag and a chat. When the next course arrives the waitresses shout through the door " come in table 4 your times up!"
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