There's another gold-en-re-triev-er in the village and the two dogs play well together when they meet on the morning walk. Jean-Claude and Adrienne,who take turns in this sometimes onerous duty are friendly and we have exchanged a couple of meals and looked after each others dogs from time to time.
In the long dry season we intrepid dog walkers are much plagued by little tiny flies that seem to go for the moisture in the eyes and this season Jean-Claude has taken to plucking a large fern like leaf of bracken and using it as a fan.
I have read somewhere that the pollen or spores of bracken is one of the most carcinogenic naturally occurring substances known. I have no idea what part of the plant produces this deadly substance nor at what time of the year but wondered if I ought to warn him of the danger he might be facing. In the end I decided not to- because I quite fancy his wife.
In matters of the heart (or in this case a bit lower down) it is necessary to plan ahead !!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Hunting Season
With the end of summer comes the hunting season, which starts off with the wood pidgeon shoot. The locals build hides high in the trees in the depths of the woods which they reach with the aid of immense hand built wood ladders and well supplied with wine,bagettes and sausage crouch there all day. It seems that mankind having origionally decended from the trees is returning to it's origins !
The other old farts tell stories of octobers in which the skies went dark as the birds passed over on their annual migration and bemoan the fact that so few arrive this year. In fact the son, who lives in Toulouse,of one loacal old fart comes down and spends his 2 week annual holiday crouched in a hide with his dad; this year he hasn't seen a single wood pidgeon. When I put it to him that it was because they'd killed them all in previous years he vehemently denied the allegation, putting the blame firmly and squarely on "Les Espagnols" who massacre them for pleasure rather than the pot.
They go to great lenghts to compensate for the scaresity of prey, their cars are hidden
The other old farts tell stories of octobers in which the skies went dark as the birds passed over on their annual migration and bemoan the fact that so few arrive this year. In fact the son, who lives in Toulouse,of one loacal old fart comes down and spends his 2 week annual holiday crouched in a hide with his dad; this year he hasn't seen a single wood pidgeon. When I put it to him that it was because they'd killed them all in previous years he vehemently denied the allegation, putting the blame firmly and squarely on "Les Espagnols" who massacre them for pleasure rather than the pot.
They go to great lenghts to compensate for the scaresity of prey, their cars are hidden
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Summer's Over
The summer is over, all the summer guzzlers have been and gone. July and August were for the kids, children,grandchildren and ,this year, great grandson. September and into October other family and friends, although these two seem to get fewer year on year not by natural selection but by choice. As well as restarting here I shall also start restocking the wine cellar.
The two early teen grandsons stayed on for a futher two weeks after their parents returned to the UK and fancied camping in the woods. Not brave enough to actually go down into the woods but at the bottom of the garden NEAR the woods.
The youngest lad Andrew arrived back from a summer in Spain and took his one man tent down there to join them. One night they were all sitting around their camp fire when 2 badgers came out of the woods, making lots of screeching noises and chasing and fighting each other, or so the grandsons thought ! Andrew explained to them, probably in the smutty vernacular beloved of early teens, that far from fighting they were doing something else.
Days later, after I'd taken them home, Andrew came out of the shower room and said "go and look at the mirror in there!" You know how when a mirror has steamed up you can write in it and then the message disappears when the steam evaporates only to re-appear when the mirror re-steams. Well the message left by one of the grandsons read " Andrew is a badger shagger!"
The two early teen grandsons stayed on for a futher two weeks after their parents returned to the UK and fancied camping in the woods. Not brave enough to actually go down into the woods but at the bottom of the garden NEAR the woods.
The youngest lad Andrew arrived back from a summer in Spain and took his one man tent down there to join them. One night they were all sitting around their camp fire when 2 badgers came out of the woods, making lots of screeching noises and chasing and fighting each other, or so the grandsons thought ! Andrew explained to them, probably in the smutty vernacular beloved of early teens, that far from fighting they were doing something else.
Days later, after I'd taken them home, Andrew came out of the shower room and said "go and look at the mirror in there!" You know how when a mirror has steamed up you can write in it and then the message disappears when the steam evaporates only to re-appear when the mirror re-steams. Well the message left by one of the grandsons read " Andrew is a badger shagger!"
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Clear Water Revival
A clear water revival, that's what the organisers of the tour de france had been hoping for when they test the riders samples. As in 1998 and again last year, this year the tour again ends amidst embarrassing scandal, positive drug test and confessions of corruption.
Again the designer drug EPO has been found in team wide abuse. I think it safe to say that the first sportsmen to shave their heads were the cyclists, they had long depilated body hair. Some say to reduce wind resistance, some that smooth, bronzed, muscular legs are a real turn on for the ladies, others of a slightly more cynical nature, knowing that the best test for EPO measures irregular growth patterns in the hair, wonder just how long EPO has been around !
However some sort of macho vanity precludes the depilation of the pubic region and this is how the Gendarmes get them, by the short and curlies one might say ! Can you imagine a suspect rider, standing in a dank, dark cell with his lycras round his ankles, faced by 5 burly Gendarmes all brandishing the wifes borrowed eyebrow tweasers, of course they are going to confess.
It's common knowledge that no Gendarme leaves home on the morning the tour is passing through his patch without borrowing the wifes eyebrow tweasers in the hope of making a significant and promotion earning arrest. They obviously don't tell the wife exactly what or where they intend to probe with her tweasers and this is leading some of the wives to question what is going on down at the station, that an otherwise exemplary husband needs to pluck his eyebrows for.
I understand the powers that be are considering offering counselling !!!
Again the designer drug EPO has been found in team wide abuse. I think it safe to say that the first sportsmen to shave their heads were the cyclists, they had long depilated body hair. Some say to reduce wind resistance, some that smooth, bronzed, muscular legs are a real turn on for the ladies, others of a slightly more cynical nature, knowing that the best test for EPO measures irregular growth patterns in the hair, wonder just how long EPO has been around !
However some sort of macho vanity precludes the depilation of the pubic region and this is how the Gendarmes get them, by the short and curlies one might say ! Can you imagine a suspect rider, standing in a dank, dark cell with his lycras round his ankles, faced by 5 burly Gendarmes all brandishing the wifes borrowed eyebrow tweasers, of course they are going to confess.
It's common knowledge that no Gendarme leaves home on the morning the tour is passing through his patch without borrowing the wifes eyebrow tweasers in the hope of making a significant and promotion earning arrest. They obviously don't tell the wife exactly what or where they intend to probe with her tweasers and this is leading some of the wives to question what is going on down at the station, that an otherwise exemplary husband needs to pluck his eyebrows for.
I understand the powers that be are considering offering counselling !!!
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
The tour de farce
The first lot of grandchildren left today and I've 3 days till the second and much bigger bunch arrive.
We did have the tour pass through our village on the day it was dubbed the tour de farce, because of all the drug taking. Double farce for me; I had planned a TV appearance, the juxtaposition of the road and my garden would be exactly right to be face on to the helicopter camera ! I had both my not very legal UK TV system and the French one set to record and as the eye in the sky followed the main bunch towards me I stepped forward, with a cherry wave, at that instant the bloody machine veared off down into the valley to join the leading group ! Foiled!
The racers always work this very transparent ruse, for the first part of the days stage a few (but never a rider who might stand a chance of gaining the lead) are allowed to build up a substantial lead. During the latter part of the stage the pellaton (main bunch) push to catch up, creating considerable tension and excited full pitch commentary and coincidently all finish together !
They are probably a bit more blassée in the big towns but out here it is made into quite an event, a buvette (portable bar) was set up outside the town hall and a B-B-Q organised in a nearby field and of course the roads are closed hours beforehand.
I was quite surprised, on taking the dog for it's morning walk, to see at least 4 camper vans parked on the green across the road, the greenis no bigger than an average municipal bowling green. Given that the riders pass a given spot at 40 kph (drug assisted!), they are through in seconds, so these happy campers spend their 3 weeks hols
We did have the tour pass through our village on the day it was dubbed the tour de farce, because of all the drug taking. Double farce for me; I had planned a TV appearance, the juxtaposition of the road and my garden would be exactly right to be face on to the helicopter camera ! I had both my not very legal UK TV system and the French one set to record and as the eye in the sky followed the main bunch towards me I stepped forward, with a cherry wave, at that instant the bloody machine veared off down into the valley to join the leading group ! Foiled!
The racers always work this very transparent ruse, for the first part of the days stage a few (but never a rider who might stand a chance of gaining the lead) are allowed to build up a substantial lead. During the latter part of the stage the pellaton (main bunch) push to catch up, creating considerable tension and excited full pitch commentary and coincidently all finish together !
They are probably a bit more blassée in the big towns but out here it is made into quite an event, a buvette (portable bar) was set up outside the town hall and a B-B-Q organised in a nearby field and of course the roads are closed hours beforehand.
I was quite surprised, on taking the dog for it's morning walk, to see at least 4 camper vans parked on the green across the road, the greenis no bigger than an average municipal bowling green. Given that the riders pass a given spot at 40 kph (drug assisted!), they are through in seconds, so these happy campers spend their 3 weeks hols
Monday, July 16, 2007
Suck a duck
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!
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!
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!
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