Past Midnight.

I am now 83 years old. Not that this is of any great importance. it is hardly a milestone or even very old these days. Especially as I have every intention of living to be at least 100, if not only for the ghastly dog. I am definitely not dying before he does. Little Shit. I love him too much.

I am being taken out to Lunch on Saturday for some inexplicable reason. I can only hope that it rains. I can’t sit inside because I smoke too much. And I ain’t stopping now. Whether or not I drink too much is another story altogether. Actually I probably don’t drink anywhere near enough. I should be comatosed 24/7. Much the best idea. The Mitchells live long on too many fags and way too much alcohol. I was the first female in many a long generation. But don’t even begin to think that I can’t keep up with them. They are all dead now. Around 95 for all of them. So I have a way to go yet. And there is always the awful dog.

Dachshunds are a gift to the human race.

Mice.

The Bain of my life for many a long year. Throwing parties in my frying pan after I stopped poisoning them.

But who needs a Cat? O’Connor has had six of them in the last few days. Poor little souls. This is horrible. And he leaves them looking very dead. I just have to pick up the dead bodies. This is not funny.

I can only hope that O’Connor doesn’t want to do the same with Toads, although Toads seem to be a bit better at hiding.

Many years ago I found some of the Toad hiding places and now I keep them covered as in O’Connor can’t get in, or any other dog at the time. Such is life in rural Brittany.

But I haven’t had an Ant problem for many a long year. Ants are definitely not fun, especially the Red Ones.

So back to base. You don’t need a cat if you’ve got a Dachshund. Little shit.

To Be or Not To Be.

Passing big discussions this evening when we weren’t talking about Cats.

Should Ireland be united? I ran out of that desire a very long time ago, although it was important to me once upon a time when I was young and brave. But suddenly it is now a good idea because Pensions are so much better in The EU. Trust your average Protestant to find the good side of any new idea.

And then there is Scotland. Scotland never did want to be part of England. They were beaten Into it by the treachery of The Campbells. Tis time they got out.

The curse of The Mitchells. Irish and Scots. Most of us don’t actually have a Home Land at all any more. We live where we rest.

The Welsh bit is a bit more difficult. I don’t even like The Welsh so I tend to pretend that they are not part of me. This is a lie of course. But I will deal with that if I ever have to.

So, absolutely nothing English about me. Tis no wonder for why I had to get out even though I didn’t understand for why at the time. Just a feeling of panic.

I was fortunate. I already owned this ghastly hovel in Brittany which I bought for a song on a whim. How very lucky I was. It is still a hovel but you don’t get much more Celt than Brittany. It is in the air.

Another Very French Interlude.

Sitting on the back terrace in the sun of a lovely old Art Deco house which now belongs to English people. They have owned it for quite sometime. But they have been unable to come here for the last two years, due to you know what.

They have this horrible stray cat who is nearly as bad as O’Connor, but she does have to be fed. Presuming that I am only feeding her, which is doubtful. I could be feeding the entire neighbourhood of stray cats for all I know. But you can’t pick and choose with cats. In for one and in for them all.

I am not actually a cat person but she does have the most amazing green eyes. Little shit. I hardly ever see her. But the minute my neighbours turn up then there she is. It is almost precognition. How does she do this?

Back to the future.

Ghosted.

What’s new about this? Anyone over sixty years of age, especially with white hair has always been ghosted. So don’t tell me what it means in this supposedly modern world. Unfortunately it tends to apply mainly to women.

No, I don’t know what to do about this, other than to keep my mouth shut. No one wants to know about what you have to say. Even if you are a real smart arse like me. Acres of experience suddenly become irrelevant. You’ve lost your marbles, Mate. Keep quiet and smile enigmatically. I am going to have to work on my smile. Raising an eyebrow might help, although no doubt someone will think that my face has gone lopsided due to the expected brain aneurysm. Try the other eyebrow. Alternate. Now that could give me something to do.

Funnily enough it took me quite a while to actually raise an eyebrow. I stood in front of a mirror for ages doing just that. God knows why. But I only did it with my left eyebrow. It is looking a bit more difficult to do it with the right one. Sinistrè, eh what. Or Watch Out because somedebody is getting shirty.

I once said to an elderly Professor at some silly party of supposed intellectuals that I didn’t suffer fools gladly. And he said to me, “Don’t you think it’s time you did, my Dear.”

I will never forget that. And I never have since.

A Very French Lunch.

We were invited to lunch last Sunday by a very nice French family that Robin Dominic works for. They own a very old Mill that was a complete ruin thirty years ago, when first I washed up here.

It was bought originally by another French family that Robin Dominic also previously worked for. And he rebuilt it almost from scratch. What a lovely place it is now, but it’s a bit on the big side, hence the need for a gardener.

Three large fields, a couple of horses and a lot of trees. Not to mention the garden close to the house. And of course, the necessary mill stream. Mills don’t come without streams. This stream has now got Trout and the occasional Salmon after Morbihan cleaned up The Blavet some twenty years ago and cleared The Salmon Leaps.

Oysters for starters for Lunch. God, how I love Oysters. I chew them so at least I know what they taste like. I never have done this pleb thing of swallowing them whole. And since they are almost certainly alive on the plate, they are definitely dead when I swallow them. Oysters taste of The Sea of course.

The rest of Lunch was equally as good. Although the cup of tea was hilarious. The French simply don’t understand tea.

The climb up the stairs to see upstairs was a bit fraught. I don’t do well with stairs these days. But it was worth it. They have this beautiful Dresser. The best I have ever seen. And I have seen a few really good ones in my time here. I won’t forget that one in hurry.

Such a pity that I couldn’t take O’Connor with us. He would have had a ball. I could actually see him racing around like the maniac he is. Mole Hills and all. But he still doesn’t know how to behave in polite company, if he ever will. Probably hopefully not. He has such joie de vivre.

Oh. And the kissing hasn’t stopped. I worried about that for a while because it is inherent in who these people are. But then I haven’t been out for lunch for a long time either.

Buses?

No sooner does one Bus come along……… We have all heard that one before. I meant Blogs, of course.

We don’t get Busses here. I haven’t seen a Bus in thirty years. God only knows what Marine Le Penn is going to do about that. Probably Bus all of us ExPats to Ruwanda along with all of the other immigrants that no one wants. I mean, let’s face. I am an immigrant. Does that make me an Immigrant to The UK as well? I can only hope so.

Do me a favour. Back to UK? I would rather go to Ruwanda. At least it gets a bit hot there now and again

In the meantime The Guillotine looms. Oh Really? No such thing even exists anymore. I think I just felt sick even thinking about it.

She has definitely lost the plot on that one. Phew. Thank God for that. I did suspect that she might have half a chance for a minute. You never can tell with The French. They are all as mad as a box of Frogs.

Oh God, I spat my mouth full of Tea when I wrote that. Presuming you all think I am actually drinking Tea of course. Try getting Tea Bags. Gin is cheaper and far more readily available.

However, back to everyday life in France. I doubt that it will matter who ever wins. But at least Macron has never shamed himself.. Unlike most of them before him. Think on that before Britain wants to do the same. I like living here.

Full Moon tomorrow night. Always a bad one for me. But of course there is always Easter. The first Sunday after Full Moon. Although what on earth that has got to do with Jesus Christ completely defeats me. Especially as His death seems to vary somewhat. And they want me to believe this shit?

I am so sorry if I have offended anyone, but a least let us be logical.

You can’t take the death of Jesus and then make it happen when it suits you, according to The Full Moon.

I do believe that Jesus existed, although just how raving nuts he was might come into question. Whatever he thought he might be trying to do obviously didn’t work.

I might be a Pagan, but I don’t know what that means, beyond The Moon. The Moon is all that I understand. Three weeks of being absolutely all together. And then one week of being utterly useless and fit for nothing. It will pass yet again tomorrow night. It just happens to be happening right now.

Right now I was never fit for anything. I was always a complete waste of space and never fit for anything at all. Next week I will be bloody marvellous again. I hope.

Okay. Enough of this shit. This isn’t something that I actually want to talk about. But it happens. And probably not only to me.

The Dog.

Oh God. Not again. Dreadful article.

He has found something under The Barbecue Stand. I think it could be a Wasps Nest. He has been licking all around it. Wasps do make honey. They just don’t share it. And why should they?

I do so like Wasps. In fact they are my passion and every bit as interesting as Bees. But telling that to people doesn’t quite cut it.

Four times in my life now I have lived in total peace with a Wasps Nest and watched them with total fascination. And never once been stung. But then they know that I like them. I always miss them when they aren’t around.

Tis a strange thing with dogs. My lovely birds aren’t afraid of O’Connor, while they all fly away if I am in sight. So perhaps The Wasps aren’t afraid of him either. But then O’Connor is one of natures lovelies. You need to own this awful little shit to know what I mean. But he does only pee in the house these days, so probably much ado about nothing.

Sleekit Beastie.

RIGHT. WRITE.

This Blogging thing isn’t quite what it might seem to be to you. Although you can all do it if you want to. You all might be as thick as houses, but who cares if you want to put words on paper.

I have a great love of words, most of which I had never even heard of, so it all came a bit hard to me. What little I did know about Gor Blimey Mate was hardly the epitome. But It might even have been a bit more fun. I am no longer the person that I was. And I might be a bit sorry for losing that person.

But I wanted to be a bit more upmarket. Although God knows why. Words is Words.

But I discover Shakespeare in my early youth. Not that this was a great deal of use in Neasden.

Funnily enough, John Betjeman thought that Neasden was a joke. He didn’t know the half of it. He should have tried living there.

I remain besotted with Shylock. The best part in any play that Shakespeare ever wrote. This was the real brave. I played that part once upon a time.

What I was actually trying to say was that some of you must have a desire to Blog. It can’t just be me. I can’t be the only person in the World that needs to talk a pile of crap.

There is this thing about “Is”. and “Are”. But I don’t suppose that it matters if you want to say something

The French.

My French is still pretty appalling after thirty years, although perhaps not quite so bad as I sometimes think. I do mostly get the gist of it.

But oh my goodness, I caught a really good one yesterday.

Jamais Vaincu.

I had a bit of a problem with Google because I didn’t know how to spell it, so I used a bit of common sense related to the circumstances in English.

This didn’t help either.

Never Die? Nope. Never Give Up.? Nope to that as well.

I did get there in the end.

It means, “Never be Defeated.” This is so me that I could hardly believe what this glorious statement means. This is everything that I am.

And could be you all as well.

Jamais Vaincu.