Phew.

That’s Full Moon over for another three weeks, although not long enough, I have to say.

I bought my usual quota of Black Grapes which seem to help, but No Pips in this last two lots so not a lot of good because it’s The Pips that do it.

Which brings me to wonder what on earth good is a grape that hasn’t got Pips. You can’t grow a Grape Vine without Pips and so they only amount to the end of the line. The sad death of a grape.

I have so far never been tempted to murder anyone, well, at least not often. I just decline into depression for a week and sleep a lot. I do manage to feed the dog, although he has been a bit peculiar this last week, perhaps he’s got it too. But I can’t feed him grapes because they are bad for dogs. Or so I am told. I did once have a Pekinese who stole grapes wholesale and she didn’t die of anything awful, so who can tell?

Now, of course, it is back to minus something or other. Not conducive for anything other than hot water bottles and The Internet in bed.

Robin Dominic has broken down somewhere miles from anywhere, poor little soul. As he waits for the pick up truck. God knows how he will get to work tomorrow. This latest new, second hand car is fast turning into a liability. I might have to buy another one. I shall worry about that later.

I have laid the wood burner in some vain attempt to be useful and dinner is ready to go. However, I wouldn’t want live anywhere else.

Line Dancing.

Yer, I know, but desperation is beginning to set in. And I’ve been watching The Brokenwood Mysteries during forays on to Social Media. Don’t ask why I do this because I don’t know. But it has occurred to me that I would have been quite good at Line Dancing. It’s the beat you see.

So I had a bit of a practice in the kitchen this morning, silly me. The dog went loopy and tried to trip me up. He wants me down on the floor so he can lick my face for the second time in his entire life. Dear of him, but I’m not having that.

And then I got to thinking. Breton Dancing is the same thing although much older. And everyone hangs on to everyone’s arm so they don’t fall over, no matter how drunk they get. And then there’s The Gay Gordons, although nothing Gay about The Gordons, at least, not many of them in my experience. But we won’t go into that.

Not to forget The Floral Dance in Cornwall or The Maori Haka. All Line Dancing of many years gone by. But I did my bit on all fronts when I was young. It is all a glorious get together which will probably never fade away. or at least I hope not.

Join in a Line Dance at your next opportunity. That will be ancient one day. And Dancing is good.

2023 AD.

I have been avoiding this because I can’t cope at the moment, so I pretended that New Year didn’t happen. If in fact it did.

Also, I use the term AD loosely as this was when they nicked my Winter Solstice and set off all of our modern day problems, although hopefully Jesus Christ didn’t have much to do with this. Probably not. But what a horror story it has all turned into. So much for God.

However, since they didn’t write The New Testament until some 300 years after AD, I suspect that opinions may vary.

If you want to read The Old Testament, please do so. It isn’t much fun. Poor Mary, no wonder she didn’t know what was going on what with Soddom and Gomorah and all that.

Joseph? Good man but we never heard much about him therein after. It was all God after that.. Or so they say. But what a rotten thing to do to a Virgin.

Christmas Morning 2022.

I am feeling a bit more deranged than is usual for me. Probably due to The Oysters sitting downstairs waiting to be opened. This is a life threatening exercise, which is why I don’t do it all that often. Almost never, actually. I haven’t forgotten the last time.

All that remains for me to do before I die is to thank RoobeeDoo for putting my Blog up on Twitter. Or was it FaceBook? I have forgotten as they are much the same to me. But anywhere is good.

Thanks also to everyone who reads my Blog. I can only hope that you all enjoy it.

Have a really nice Christmas Day with much love from me.

NORAD NOT.

I am gutted. I cannot get The NORAD Site to work. Forget The Children. I wanted to follow this again but just for me, as I have done for many years now.

Rumour has it that NORAD has been overwhelmed, almost certainly by old people. I bet they never saw that coming. If in fact it is true. But it doesn’t say much for The Space Agency Satellite. If we can’t watch St. Nicholas doing his thing then what chance is there for The World?

NORAD!

It’s nearly that time again, Folks. The Santa Tracker. I have been watching that for what seems like a very long time. God knows why, unlesss to attempt to recover some of the magic of my now ancient childhood. I still believe in Father Christmas although I didn’t know that he was actually St. Nicholas when I was very young. Perhaps a bit too Catholic for my Protestant Welsh Grandmother.

However, I am going to take a crack at New Zealand and Australia this year for the first time. There are a lot of Mitchells in that area due to Transportation and sometimes just plain Adventuring. I have sometimes wished…..but never mind. It’s a bit too late now. Actually, I was on my way to New Zealand when I rested in Brittany and then ran out of money. My children don’t know this. They could be about to find out. Presuming they read my Blog, which I somewhat doubt. Mother always was a huge embarrassment. But I didn’t get there and nothing much lost.

And at least I might have heard of some of the places, even the Aboriginal ones. Alice Springs sounds like a good place to me, in the middle of nowhere with Camels and all. I like Camels. How on earth did they get there? Oh. And not much rain. It is peeing down again here.

Anyway, The Web Page is now up so I will just have to keep on checking in and hope to catch the start. One Day and Twenty Two hours from now apparently. Probably Saturday Morning.

A Very Joyeux Noel to all of The Mitchells in the World. And to all of you. Throw another Sardine on the Barbi just for me. I will be with you all in spirit. Lots of it.

A Passing Thought.

The Winter Solstice is playing up. Two days ago it was still night time here at 9am. Since when daylight has appeared a good ten minutes earlier by the day, so far. So The Winter Solstice happened on the 19th of December, at least in Lann Georges. But then this sort of thing ever was a matter of opinion I suspect.

This poses a question. How did The Ancients get to decide on when to thaw out those Mammoth Steaks? This could have caused a few problems. They might even have missed The Solstice altogether, unless they had someone like me watching out for it. Someone with nothing better to do mayhap.

The Winter Solstice is very important to me and I need to know when it is happening, otherwise what is the point? And for how long has this been going on? Me psyched up for the 21st and I bloody well missed it.

However, this is going to take some time, like a year or ten. Yet again another reason to stay alive. I have long known that I can’t beat Planet Earth but I do try to stay in tune somewhat, which is about the best you can do for such a glorious thing.

Happy Christ Mass to you all. And may your Gods go with you. My God is The Universe.

Confit de Canard.

My Christmas Dinner this year. Legs of Ducks cooked very slowly in Goose Grease and then stuffed in a can. About 12 Euros a can. Worth every penny and that’s just The Goose Grease. The Duck’s Legs are a bonus.

You can buy this in Britain but it is much more expensive. This depends on how much you want to pay for Goose Grease.

You stick it under the grill for about fifteen minutes while the sprouts cook. I don’t eat roast potatoes anymore because they make me ill.

Meanwhile, Robin Dominic can get drunk on more Bloody Mary’s somewhere else, after I have endeavoured to keep him relatively sober with bits and pieces of snacks. I make the Bloody Mary’s in our house.

There is something to be said for eating Christmas Dinner alone and I am well versed in that having done it for many a long year. I did so miss all of my sons but you get used to that. I chose to bog off to France, which just happens to have been the best thing that I ever did, albeit in extremity.

Such fun I had clearing Chicken Sheds in the middle of the night when I was very broke. No really, I really did. I used to think, “What the fuck am I doing”. And then I would laugh. I mean, let’s face it, it was funny.

So onwards and upwards to another good Christmas.

Now There’s a Thought.

Sardines. I bet that caught you all on the hop. For years I have searched every tin of Sardines for The Roe. Definitely the best bit. And then about six months ago The Roe vanished. Why ever could that be? Until it suddenly occurred to me. For years we have been eating half of the next generation of Sardines before they even get born. How stupid is that? But someone must have sussed it because The Roe is no more in the tins. Don’t fish for Sardines when they are breeding, someone must have said.

I don’t actually know if Sardines are in decline, or any other fish for that matter, although I have never been tempted to throw another Sardine on The Barbi. Only The Portuguese do that, I am reliably informed. But the The Portuguese aren’t known for their logic.

Google tells me that Sardines are Pilchards if they ever get to grow up at all. I didn’t know that. These can make a pretty mean Fish Pie and are even cheaper than Sardines. And No, I have never been tempted to throw another one of those on The Barbi either.

Which brings me to Sturgeon. Not The Scots version, obviously. No bloody wonder that Caviar is so expensive. Did you all know that they were catching Sturgeon for The Roe in The Ice Age? It’s a miracle that Sturgeon still exists. This is a disgrace. Especially because I can’t afford to buy Caviar.

Save The Planet. Save a Sardine.

Covid?

I think I might have Covid. Three weeks of a streaming nose, perpetual sneezing and a terrible cough,

along with sleeping too much and not feeling very well. Although hardly looking terminal at the moment.

I am 83 years old with half a lung that doesn’t work, due to Tuberculosis some years ago, so I did think that I might be at high risk. But never the less I managed to avoid any entreaties to have The Jabs as they scared me more than the Covid disease in itself ever could have done.

Is this the diminishing version of Covid which more sensible persons said would happen?

I did my time with staying at home and garden for two years, albeit lucky to have a garden. And I did grow a few potatoes. Oh what joy. There is nothing to beat a New Potato straight from the soil. Or is there?

I shall plant Broad Beans in a minute, according to The Moon, because they crop earlier. And then I will have space for English Runner Beans. God help me, who needs it?

My lovely Chrisanthemums flowered as ever. And so beautiful they are. Flowers for The Dead in France, but I have loved them for all of my life. So you can heap them on my grave. Which is what The French do. But not just yet.

The peace of my years in the long green grass is yours and yours and yours. But only when it suits me.

Live Long and Prosper. I ever was a Trekkie.