Oh My.

I somehow managed to get frightfully drunk tonight, although it wasn’t very difficult. Even the wine wasn’t all that cheap. But then cheap wine is hard to come by, even in Brittany.

Brittany is somewhere else you see, and not France at all. Or so they say.

I don’t know much at all about France proper. And what little I do know didn’t impress me all that much because The Bretons are nicer by far.

Real stone built houses with slate rooves seem to stop existing somewhere around Nante. After that it is all pale stone and red tiles. Actually okay, but they don’t ever half go on, and on, and on, for interminable kilometres. If you are on a train. And eventually you get into The Vichy Country.
This is not good because you can smell it.

This must be something to do with available material, as in prehistorics days. Slate stops at Nante. Okay.

But why did I manage to get so drunk? That old bug called Loneliness. Give me a conversation and three litres of wine, and I can go on until I fall over, which I very nearly did.

Why am I still up and writing? EX WRENS. Wrens never fall over. And we all somehow manage to fall on our feet.

A demain.

Dogs.

Okay. Dogs. I know quite a lot about dogs, having owned more than several during the Fifty odd years of my adult life.

Pekinese. Alsatians. Shar Peis. A Couple of Mutts. A Lhasa Apso. A Greyhound. And a number of Afghans. The latter being my one abiding, spiritual dog love.

I loved them all, and they all had something of note to make me smile at the memories.

But there was only one who totally grabbed me. However, I don’t want to talk about him just now because it makes me cry, and I don’t feel like crying today.

His name was Hamlet. Sheesh, tears already.

I have a wealth of dog ailment remedies lodged in my brain. And I am not a fan of over vaccinating them.
Nor am I a fan of commercial dog food. But that’s another story.

I was recently without a dog for six months while I waited for the right dog to fall into my lap. This happened when I rescued a seven year old Pug late last year. But a lap dog she most certainly isn’t.

It was hard being without a dog, six months being the longest time ever. But I was sort of getting over the last one. And still in hope of a reincarnation of Hamlet. I will never stop hoping for that.

So tell me about your dogs. Or cats if you like. I’ve had a lot of those as well.

Amazement.

I thought that I had disappeared into the ether.  And I was a bit embarrassed anyway.  I must have been drunk when I made that first Blog Post, although I don’t actually remember being drunk.

My children can’t have read this Blog because thy are still speaking to me, occasionally.  But then they don’t know that the real me is Eleanor Mitchell.  As was.

They think that I am just plain Mitch. Or their mother.  Or their father’s wife.  Or my father’s daughter.  Nothing strange about that.  Just a bit demoralising at times.

Okay, enough about that.  Let’s talk about Dogs.  I like dogs.  I am a dog person.  I treat all children as I treat recalcitrant puppies.

A demain, if anyone is interested.