Much Ado About Nothing.

Well, what? I found a teensy, baby Adder in my outside passageway yesterday. Such a little thing it was and obviously a bit distressed. It was waving it’s head around. Probably looking for its Mummy.

Anyway, not being entirely stupid, I didn’t pick it up, although I was tempted. I really wanted to give it a stroke. I like Snakes you see. But it might not have liked me. It was almost pure Silver with such a lovely head. Really neat.

I scooped it outside in the end with a stick and it shot off somewhere. I can only hope that Rotten Little Swine won’t want to make friends. And that Mummy isn’t still around. Rotten Little Swine can be very stupid now and again, although I don’t think that Adders are all that dangerous.

It was a passing glory for me. My first ever Adder in France.

And then Rotten Little Swine ate all of the Sun Flower Seeds from the low Bird Table. I hope the husks aren’t going to land me with another Vet’s Bill. Sheesh, that Dog is something else. He never ceases to make me laugh. Fucking Idiot. that he is. This dog is insane, but so much loved.

Oh, he pissed against the lavatory door yet again, but at least that is nearly in the garden. Thank God for a tiled floor is all that I can say.

Summer is now on the wane. Most people don’t notice this, but already daylight is getting shorter? Perhaps I have too much time to ruminate about nothing much at all.

Not too long for Christ Mass.

Oh Dear.

Having watched a few videos of things going on in America over these last few days, I have had to have a bit of a rethink.  They are all utterly shocking.

 
Eight white Police Officers with their hands on their guns and two guns actually drawn, threatening a lone black man cleaning up litter on his own front garden with a bucket and a litter stick.

A white woman and a white man accusing a black man of writing Black Lives Matter on his own garden wall because they knew that this rather nice house didn’t belong to him.  The fact that it does was entirely irrelevant to them.  They were both lying to create hatred and quite possibly jealousy.

There are many others of a similar vein.  All deliberately designed to humiliate.
This to me is Racism and totally sickening.  Surely this doesn’t happen in Britain, does it?

There is nothing I can do about America and don’t even want to.  America will get it’s own cumuppence eventually.  And there isn’t anything I can do about Britain either.  But if someone treated a black man like that in my French Village then they would live to regret it.  And I wouldn’t be alone in my defence.  I did something similar once in defence of a young disabled woman and everybody came out to support me.

I actually feel sick.  And I shall be a bit more careful over what I have to say in future.

Racism.

I know with absolute certainty that I was not Racist Sixty odd years ago when I was about Sixteen or Twenty.  This was the time when The Windrush People arrived in London, much to everyone’s interest and my Dad said that London Transport would have collapsed without them.   My Dad wasn’t a Racist.  Although he was staunch Labour.  I was always a bit of a disappointment to him on that one.  I had the audacity to have ideas of my own.
And I joined The Wrens where coloured sailors were ordinary.  We worked together and sang together, mostly ghastly old and often rude Rugby Songs  and often in Glaswegian back street Pubs.  We were all Mates you see.  We served Her Majesty The Queen.  Although she was only Elizabeth the First of Scotland.  That didn’t half cause a bit of bother when some idiot erected Red Post Boxes marked ERII in Glasgow.
But am I Racist now?  I really don’t know anymore.  And nor do I care all that much.
I met a few coloured people in my travels, mostly from British Army Protectorates, but whenever I showed any interest in who they were I was accused of being patronising and since I have never gone out of my way to be insulted, I stopped speaking to them.  And never have since.
As for Baden Powell, I had completely forgotten that I was a Cub Mistress between the ages of 16 and 20 and what fun that was.  There wasn’t anything much else to do in Neasden at the time, other than falling off a Rope Swing into The River Brent.  I did that myself a couple of times.  Organising these small boys was such a pleasure to me.
And then there was my stepmother who was a Jewess.  She didn’t talk about it a lot.  She was much too afraid even years after The War was over.I now know that she wasn’t wrong.  But it was beyond my comprehension at the time.
However, she loathed The Welsh and The Irish of which I was half and half.  More bloody Racism.  This isn’t a problem peculiar to Black People, although they might think that they have got the franchise on this.  They haven’t.
I know too many white people who were driven out of Africa.
Because I always try to be honest, at least with myself, then Yes, I am almost certainly Racist these day.  No, I don’t even dislike Black People.  I am just fed up with them.
I am fed up with the fact that they always manage to jump The Housing Queue and get more help.  And I am fed up with them using The Race Card to holler and complain and shout Discrimination when clearly this isn’t true.
And I don’t care if no one ever reads My blog again.  Not many people do anyway.  I do this for my own pleasure.

Fish and Chips.

I was taken out to dinner in Guemene on Sunday. Mother’s Day or some such rubbish.

And we had Fish and Chips. For the first time in thirty years of living in France. How on earth have I managed?

It was okay. The Batter was excellent. I would have preferred Haddock to Cod but The French don’t really understand the niceties of English Peasant Food. Oh, and there was no Mushy Peas. But let’s not be too picky about this.

However, I did discover something vaguely interesting. This restaurant used to be a Butcher’s Shop and Living Quarters in the days of Napoleon. Interesting in itself that the present owner knows this, but then I always did need to know the ins and outs of the cat’s backside, so nothing new there.

Sorry, I forgot to ask which Napoleon, but I have rather given up on that one. None of them actually know.

We have Le Blavet down the road a bit and since Rivers are always Feminine I did wonder about this. But Le Blavet is a Canal. which explains that. Canals are Masculine. This was Canalised by Napoleon, although probably not personally, but they don’t know which Napoleon did that either.

The first Napoleon wasn’t Napoleon the First. I have at least managed to discover that. But he was the only one worth tuppence happeny. The rest of them rode on his back. Long Live Napoleon.

Rubbish.

Writing Rubbish.  Well, there’s enough  of that to write about at the moment.
Corona Virus.  Who knows what anyone is talking about?  For certain sure most of the pundits don’t.  If anything actually brought home Fake News to me then this is it.  So I am still in the dark and staying at home while that bunch of wankers decide what is best for Me.  I have already decided that they aren’t getting my Pension anytime soon.  Fortunately, I haven’t yet been relegated to a Care Home, otherwise I might be dead by now..  This is seriously not funny.

Harry and Meghan and The Tatler.  A ridiculous article that makes zero sense.  God help Journalism.  But trying to undermine The Duchess of Cambridge was not a good idea.

Meghan?  They can please themselves.  I thought she was lovely.  I have changed my mind somewhat.  Just don’t pull The Racist Card with me.  However, I do have to mention her hair which must cost a fortune.
These two should have a look at recent history and what happened to The Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

Just as a matter of interest, The Prince of Wales inherits The Duchy of Cornwall absolutely.  It is a private inheritance to whom The Duke of Windsor had no progeny.  So Prince Charles got it by default.  I know all too much about this because my husband of the time owned a lot of the Leases when The Duke of Windsor died and it cost my husband an arm and both legs to return these properties in good order.   Nothing wrong with that.  It is The Law.
However, I currently own The Freehold of a house which is in five flats.  And you all don’t want to know about the stress that this has caused me.  
The Leaseholders know best, and have By Law the right to decide.  Forget the last time they cocked it up.  But they are at least paying The Ground Rent this time and for the moment.  Such as it is.
It will all fall apart on the next occasion that the roof leaks and the smart arse who bought the Attic Flat can’t get them all to pay.  Ha Ha, not my problem.  The house can now fall down for all I care.  I own The Land.

What else is rubbish?  The Rotten Little Swine?  Nothing rubbish about him.  He is as smart as houses.

Okay.  George Floyd.  I didn’t really want to get involved in this.  It is just another Black Man who died at the hands of another White Policeman.  Although I seem to remember another black man dying recently at the hands of vigilantes.  This is America’s problem.
It won’t happen in Britain, unless Britain wants the wrath of Britain to descend.  Which it would.

To finish on a more ridiculous note.  How’s about Recycling?  I am currently paying The French State 250 Euros a year to cart this ghastly problem with Plastic half a mile down the road to Recycling Bins that are absolutely full at the moment.  But I have to separate this shit myself.
Until I was told that I must do this I didn’t have any idea of how awful Plastic is.  It’s a bloody good job that I have my son to do this for me and that he has my car to do it.
At 81 years of age I couldn’t do this myself on a regular basis.
I do remember some obscure old lady wheeling a wheel barrow full of empty bottles to the nearest bin, but whether or not that was to keep him comatosed is neither here nor there.  He quite likely beat her up if he wasn’t permanently pissed.
Plastic is a terrible problem.  But I can’t be asked to get really upset about this.  If my children’s children can’t see this then on their own heads.
Did I say this?
Any more rubbish?  Probably not.

Now What?

You must all be bored half witless.  I know I am.  This should have been an ideal time to write a load of crap and get away with it.  Unfortunately, my brain has switched off and I am only thinking that I could be dead next week.

My dreams are bloody awful.  I can only be thankful that I don’t remember most of them.  At least not in detail.

The Sun is shining and the grass is growing so everything else out there is absolutely fine.  It’s only Humans who aren’t doing all that well.

I have taken to Painting things again.  The Garden Chairs are looking good.  I was given those because they looked awful, and I did think that they were past redemption.  But this wasn’t true.  And No, she can’t have them back.  Don’t ask me why I painted them.  I was probably feeling sorry for them.  I do this.  I credit inanimate articles with emotions. I used to pick and choose knives and forks in case they felt neglected.  Which probably says more about the Knives and Forks than it does about me.  Plates?  I am not so worried about.  Plates are just plates.

I have finally given in of The Rotten Little Swine.  He simply doesn’t understand that peeing in the house isn’t on.  So I hoik him out first thing in the morning and then a hour later.  But he does have to be told.  God knows what he thinks we are doing in the garden at 8 o’clock but I doubt that it is much to do with Peeing.  Peeing is just a passing fancy for him.  He has a pee while he is out there.

Why am I doing this?  This is just the way things are.  And there is so much more to him than peeing on the floor.

I am never going to be able house train him.  He just doesn’t get it.  And if you think about it, why should he?  Eighteen months and still no improvement.  Thank God for a tiled floor is all I can say.  Heaven knows what I would do if I had carpets.  Or where I would find a sweeter dog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogging.

What’s it all about, Alfie?

Fine if you can think of something.  Which I often can’t.  But since I largely only do this for my own pleasure then I don’t suppose that it matters all that much.

Nothing much going on around here but then we’ve all been locked up for eight weeks.

My nearest neighbours are locked up in England so I feed The Cat.  This has become so much more fascinating than I thought was possible.  She is quite a nice cat but not exactly riveting.  I think she likes me, but I am not entirely sure about that.

However, there is this offing great Ginger Tom who scares her witless.  I presume he is a Tom Cat for obvious reasons and I think he might be nicking her food.  This is not a problem because he would be hard pushed to eat it all.  Fortunately she has been seen to, otherwise God help us all.

Stray cats are a bit of a problem here, and while I am not a Cat Person I don’t like to think of them going hungry.

So back to O’Connor.  The Rotten Little Swine.  He is absolutely fine.  Never was there such a loved dog.  Oh Dear, he just peed on the floor again.  What a naughty boy he is.  What is this, I say to him, but I don’t think he gets it.  I don’t think he does it on purpose.

But thank God for French tiled floors, so there isn’t much point to getting upset about this.  I might have gotten a bit more particuliar if I had carpets.  Life grabs you as it is. So why get upset and cross about something that doesn’t actually matter.  And everyone who has ever owned a Dachshund will tell you that they are almost impossible to house train.  They give back their existence in your house in other ways that most dogs don’t have the ability to do.  And Jeezus, they aren’t half clever.

Anyway, enough of him.  I shall be eighty one next week.  Very boring and not nearly as interesting as eighty.  Eighty seemed like a land mark to me while eighty one is just the next step to ninety and then to One Hundred.  Blogging helps.

 

Brain Scramble.

Yep, my brain is not doing well at the moment, possibly something to do with Full Moon, again.  Always my Bet Noir.  I don’t bother to check anymore because I know when it is coming simply by how I feel.

No, I don’t actually want to Murder anyone, well, not often.  And I wouldn’t have the energy if I did.  So I pull the duvet over my head and sleep for three days, or I eat a lot of Black Grapes.  There is a biological reason for why Black Grapes help.  Best you Google it if you are interested.  It’s The Pips and The Skins, by the way.  Tomorrow is The Night.  I shall be fine again after that.  Until the next time.

The Moon has long fascinated me.  Did you know that it has a Nineteen Year Cycle?  The Sun is boring by comparison.  Although, “The Sun Also Rises” is not an absolute Truth because we don’t actually know if it will.

“Isn’t it pretty to think so” is one of my very few favourite expressions.

Another one is, “Thou hast committed adultery, but that was in another country and besides the wench is dead.”   What a hoot.  I often laugh at that one.  Christopher Marlow, by the way.   The Jew of Malta.  Did he write The Works of Shakespeare?  Probably not.  Christopher Marlow had a genuine sense of humour.

CoronaVirus?  I really don’t know, but I ain’t going anywhere for a good while yet.  The Second Wave isn’t going to catch me if I can possibly avoid it.  I am much too young to die.  Even if I am old.

Tomorrow is the passing night.  And then I will feel much better.  There is a very bright star to The West at the moment.  I have no idea of which star it is.

To Do or Not To Do.

I don’t really want to talk about Corona.  It will always be a fizzy drink to me;  And I don’t know enough about it, which I hope I never do, although Smoking is looking good at the moment.  Will France now ban Tobacco along with Strong Drink?  They wouldn’t dare.  Would they?

But then I never expected them to ban Strong Drink.  I would have done a bit of panic buying if I had.  As it is I am now reduced to Wine, which I don’t like all that much.  So not a lot of drinking going on around here just now.

I completely forgot about Distance when our very nice Post Lady finally delivered my New Computer and so did she.  Easily done, you see.  But no doubt they will pounce on me if she gets It.

The New Computer is working fine although I do wake up with some trepidation. Old fears die hard.  And six months of messing about was a long time and didn’t do much for my anxiety, which incidentally is only Full Moon related.  But there seems to have been a lot of Full Moons recently.

They can keep me on Lockdown for as long as they like.  I am not one of The World’s greatest shoppers and now I have got the perfect excuse.

Phew.

A New Computer and after two months I can now rabbit on again.  What a relief.  Except that I am now that stressed out I can’t think of anything to say.

That Corona Virus has got nothing on Computer Problems.  Try me.  All Viruses of course, but they come in different guises, all sneaky.

France has now banned the sale of Strong Drink.  What a laugh.  No more Pastis for you for a while.  But the illegal sale of Eau de Vie is looking good.  This is Distilled Cider of about 60% Proof from all of the Stills that went underground about ten years ago when The French Government banned that.  I never touch it, after the first and last time many moons ago.

This has not been reported in The British Press, probably because they are afraid of riots on the streets should they even think about it.

I am now exhausted so I shall retire to my boudoir and watch some rubbish on Pirate Television.  “Cardinal” ain’t half bad if you don’t mind frozen bodies all over the place.

Hi Pol if you got this.