Noel.

Noel arrived early today. A present to myself. A Royal Navy Scarf. I had one many years ago but I lost it somewhere along the line, since when there has always been something more necessary and I so rarely buy anything just because I want it.

It’s been a trifle convoluted getting there as it arrived by La Poste at the beginning of the week when I wasn’t indoors so had to be collected from The Post Office. This wasn’t easy during the latest Lockdown so I had to wait for my son to collect it for me. But I didn’t mind about that. I developed a last minute irrational fear that it wouldn’t be quite so lovely as I had so long dreamed of. And 54 Quid wasn’t exactly cheap.

During my ownership of the original scarf some idiot man once told me in no uncertain terms that I had no right to own it. He was wrong of course.

But it is, it is, absolutely lovely. Navy Blue, Red and White and Pure Wool and I am going to be so proud to wear it.

I have spent most of the day taking sneaky looks at it and can hardly wait for the weather to be cold enough without looking silly. But Oh what joy. And it might even snow this Winter. Otherwise I might have to wear it in the house.

No one around here will know what it means. That is between me and The Scarf. Once Royal Navy always Royal Navy.

Moles.

Moles are endemic around here, although I have only ever seen one and that was a dead one. This was due to a crazy English Absent Owner whose garden I looked after and who thought he had every Mole in Brittany out to get him.

So every week for six months this really nice old Breton put down traps. He caught one. The dead one I saw. The Moles moved on eventually, as they always do, taking their entire family with them. The Old Breton got paid and what I had forecast came to fruition. The Moles all came back a couple of years later. No traps this time and they all went away again.

Anyway, I found a Mole Hill in my garden a couple of days ago, not for the first time in thirty years, although they don’t bother me. But O’Connor went ape shit. Ah Ha, Badgers, he thought. The hole is now two feet deep and O’Connor is still digging and still hoping. Dear of him. It gets him out. He is now convinced that I have been lying to him about Badgers, although what he would do if he ever finds one is a mystery as your average Badger is at least twice the size of him and nasty with it.

My garden is a wreck again, but I don’t think we will see this Mole again in a hurry.

The garden lawn next door is looking pristine, so the ideal place for a family of Moles.

Life as it is.

I have had meandering thoughts on all sort. None of them logical. I know that. So what to do now?

There will be No Old Folks Dinner this year, as there was No Pardon, but that’s just passing Rural Stuff.

Will everyone get a Goodies Bag this year as those who didn’t attend always got? That would be a turn up for the Local Grocery Store who get the franchise on this one. And well deserved. They are always there for what ever you forgot to get at The Supermarket, including booze because you drank it all during some lost boozie afternoon when anything was better than thinking about dying. We will all no doubt die of Liver Failure sooner. What’s not to like about that?

President Trump. I like him, although God knows why. But I suspect that he has lost this one. But Biden is going to be a laugh a minute, if you find Dementia even remotely amusing. I do find it funny on the rare occasion that I lose the plot these days, but then I’m not looking to run America. I can only hope that Biden has a laugh while he’s at it.

Meanwhile, Harry and Meghan continue to pontificate. They haven’t yet sussed that 40 isn’t old enough to know anything of consequence. Or that hypocrisy is definitely not on. Presuming that they even know what Hypocrisy means. However, I am not so smart that I think I am no longer ever guilty of this. Hypocrisy sometimes comes in hidden guises.

O’Connor. I continue to fail miserably with House Training. In fact I am now certain that he only pees in the garden because he happens to be out there for some other reason that is known only to him. Where he pees is an irrelevance. I do have a couple of tricks these days, namely that he now knows that he will get a biscuit when he comes back in, but he has to go out first, so I hope he pees while he is out there. This dog could never be accused of stupidity.

O’Connor. The year of the “O” in France. Given to him by his Breeder because this is The Law. I could have changed it if I had so wished, to Oslo, but I liked his first given name. And I wouldn’t mind betting that there isn’t another O’Connor anywhere. Or another O’Connor anywhere. Two of him would be too much for this God’s Earth. Such a joyful little soul he is.

What else? The Winter Solstice approaches and I am that sort of person. A Pagan at heart. Any old party will do to get me through to Spring and the Rebirth of Planet Earth. Only about twelve weeks now before the Crocuses appear. Not very long, is it.

What?

I am now totally flummoxed without a single, sensible waking thought. And my dreams aren’t much fun either.

Will life ever return to what I thought was normal? Although on reflection, what was normal?

I have never been obsessed with Global Warming or the saving of Planet Earth. Planet Earth is perfectly capable of saving itself and to assume otherwise is gross arrogance. Who the fuck do we think we are?

This particular species of mammal might die but I don’t care about that. Give me another twenty years and I will be dead anyway.

My grandchildren and great grandchildren are on their own. And not frightfully interested in anything that I have got to say. Even my children think that I am not the whole schilling as I plod away amusing myself on Social Media, which is all crap as well. But at least I get to express an opinion without being interrupted halfway through a sentence. I deal with the flack when it happens and I am quite good at that, which is what Social Media has taught me. My use of The English Language has improved enormously. And No, I don’t need to know of what I am talking about. I could well be entirely wrong. I don’t care about that either.

Words you see. And Words are wonderful, such a glory, if you like Words. But they have to be said for your own sake. Therein lies the pleasure.

So I will go on wearing a mask, mainly because it doesn’t seriously upset me or interfere with my life. So why should I mind?

I do sometimes wish that I hadn’t watched that Eyham Video about The Great Plague at the very start of all of this. But it didn’t half make a point, albeit not in quite the way one might assume.

Winter approaches and the lack of daylight depresses me since we have six months of this ahead. But there is Christmas which I prefer to see as The Winter Solstice. Take your Religion as you may. And may your God go with you.

Much love to all of you.

What is what by whose thinking?

Does anyone actually listen? Or do we all now only require to be heard?

I had some very distinct ideas when I was young, but I learned that by listening that I might actually change my mind, although I didn’t actually have to. I only needed a valid reason. And you don’t get that if you don’t listen.

Some people of course, will never listen, but this doesn’t necessarily make them wrong. Maybe they got it right in the first place. End of what could have been an interesting discussion if they can’t explain why, or perhaps don’t even want to.

As it happens, my day was a long time ago when women didn’t have opinions and men were often very rude, which made it all so much more difficult. Good Night, Ladies was the cry. And no answer to that.

I have never been a feminist. Why would I want to be? I can do most things that men can do with a bit of innovation, but why should I want to?

In the end I got to dig up the blocked sink waste pipe and didn’t find it all that difficult, but I would so much rather have been cooking the dinner.

Is there a different place for men and women? Are things any different now? I no longer know because I have lived alone for too long. Well, my youngest son is here, but I wouldn’t trust him to dig up the sink waste pipe. He wouldn’t know how to even find it.

I tell him things because I will be dead one day, but I think he thinks I am crackers, when in fact I am just trying to make things more easy for him. This is where the sink waste pipe is, Darling, should it ever get blocked again. Just don’t put coffee grounds down the sink. And tip a kettle of boiling water down it now and again. The sink waste pipe is dodgy.

We won’t even go into the lavatory seal which has been held together by duct tape for many a long year.

And there is nothing I don’t know about The Septic Tank. Just don’t let the dog in the garden on the next occasion that you have the lid off for whatever reason. Hoiking The Pug out of the shit tank wasn’t funny, except that I nearly died laughing after they hitched her out. They all thought I was having a heart attack when in fact I was convulsed.

I shall leave you with the most important thing that was ever said to me.

I once said to an elderly professor that I met at a party that I didn’t suffer fools gladly. And he said to me, “Don’t you think that it’s time that you did, My Dear.” Fuck. That was a bad one. I will never forget that for as long as I live.

Shite.

I didn’t really want to do this, but my youngest son is often not even polite to me.

I don’t understand why this should be so. I have no real idea of what on earth I did to him that should make him so despise me.

Or his brothers for that matter. But there you go. The more you try then the more you will be found wanting.

But this particular little shit isn’t going to get the better me. Too old and too hard bent am I.

I tried to drive the car today but I couldn’t get the seat forward, so finished up with short legs to no where.

But I’ll tell you what, when I pay for the two new Tyres I will get that seat sorted. This is My Car. And my son can stuff himself up where ever he pleases.

My only mistake was that I thought he was on my side. Silly old me.

Don’t try me, our kid. Your Mother isn’t quite past it yet.

The French Language.

Oui. Non. La. La La. La la la. All different with inflections. As though that would matter to me. Anyway, let’s not get silly about this. These will do if you have nothing better to say.

There are always ways by which, or whatever.

When I first arrived here I had no conception. I didn’t even know what a foreign language was. Or that other people didn’t speak English.

Life was hard for a bit. What? But you only need to now me when push comes to shove.

I only ever learned Proper French, so never quite got the Coloquial thing. But then I don’t need to. All French people speak proper French when necessary. Meanwhile, your average Brit can’t even speak English.

Definitely Some Ado About Nothing.

My Leaseholders have kicked off yet again, just when I thought that they had all buggered off to get on with it with their Right to Manage.

Coupled with my Managing Agent who never quite understood that they had lost.

So now they are both threatening me. They are both going to see me, Jimmy. They have all missed who Jimmy actually is. My name is Jimmy.

More lost sleep and stress that I can do without. For Fuck’s sake, I am eighty one years old and a bit more smart than any of them. And at least I can still read a Lease, which most of them seem to be incapable of doing.

All odds to no one. The Freehold belongs to me. Try that one for size. I own the land on which they live. Which is almost certainly the root of the problem.

So they can all fuck off. I lost my marbles about three years ago. Take that one to Court.

Distress.

You can’t actually write about Distress on a Blog, can you. Rhetorical Question.

Especially when you don’t even know why you are distressed and so have no means by which to explain.

Everything is awful? No, that won’t do. I only ever have a problem at Full Moon and I am well able to cope with that. But that is past, at least for a while.

And what is Everything? I don’t even know what this means. Nothing is ever Everything.

It can’t possibly this horrible Virus, can it? I have about a Nil chance of catching that, so why would I have just about given up the ghost?

I am permanently moribund these days and often can’t even be asked to get out of bed, beyond feeding The Dog, The Cat and The Birds. Oh, and picking up The Dog Shit. Rotten little shit. He shits a lot. If I can’t find at least three then there must be some of them lurking in the house which I am going to stand on eventually.

So I stay in bed and say horrible things to people who say horrible things to me on this misbegotten Forum which makes no sense to me at all. But at least I am articulate and don’t have a problem with Grammar. I know the difference between, well, whatever. Is that a Win? Probably not. Besides, it is considered to be frightfully bad manners to point out Bad Grammar. God knows why. I mean, kill the barstards. Why not? They don’t play fair, so why should I? But I don’t have an answer to that. Probably something to do with all things being equal eventually.

Horses for Courses.

I would so dearly like to write something frightfully intellectual, but I suspect that I am a bit too close to basic ordinary.

I have thoughts and ideas that are a bit beyond my norm, but then I have trouble putting them into coherent speech. And any real intellectual can spot a chancer. That much I do know. Although I doubt that too many of those read this Blog.

Oh, believe me, I have had my What The Fuck Moments, but they only last for about five minutes before they become common place. And almost certainly someone else thought about it long before I did. Like back to Stonehenge or even longer.

I don’t really want to consider the pointlessness of Human Life. You might as well give up and die if you go down that road. And I have absolutely no intention of dying anytime soon, mainly because I intend to screw as much money as is possible from The British State Pension System which is bloody diabolical. So obviously my intentions are not altruistic, which might be a bit of a pity. But there you go. At least I am not a hypocrite. Or at least, I hope not.

I do have a few favourite expression, but those are the thoughts of other people, and not my own, so not actually pertinent.

In fact I doubt that I have ever had an Original Thought. Or if I ever did then I have forgotten it.

No. I am not a sad person. I always hope that people will be a bit more kind to each other. But only because thoughtless cruelty is so much more damaging to those who dispense it.

Meanwhile, Rotten Little Swine doesn’t have a nasty bone in his body.