Honour.

I am a teensy bit stymied tonight because my honour has been called into question.  And  as ever with people like me, I defended myself.  I really should not have done this.

I am a Moderator on a Madeleine McCann Forum which long ago ceased to have anything to with the child herself, or anything to do with my perceived opinion of the innocence of her parents.

I don’t even want to talk about that.

But for two years now I have been trying so hard to stop these people from tearing the hearts out of each other.  I have never abused what little power I have.  And I have always hoped to be fair.  It was all actually okay for quite some considerable time.  But then I was appointed rather than elected.  So my word was Law.

And then the Forum Owner decided to get frightfully democratic, and called for Elections for new Moderators.  And it all went dreadfully down hill after that.  The new Mods are all at each others throats.  Bugger the poor bloody Posters, although you can mostly stuff them in so far as I am concerned.  I just want reasonable peace.

But Forums simply cannot be run as democracies.  It is a fool who tries to do that.

So now I have to consider whether or not I wish to go on doing this.  No one is indispensable,  Much as some of us wish that we were.  This is probably the hardest lesson of all.

Madame Merle.

Madame Merle.

Okay. We kicked Petit Merle out of the nest last week. Greedy little horror. Or was it Petite Merle? Who cares? Anyway, it was getting boring. It couldn’t half eat.

So now what? It is still only May, and I do have urges you know.

I had a look around, but this nest building lark is quite hard work. So I decided that the old nest is still okay. An upgrade en suite will have to wait.

Apart from that mad English woman who creeps past and thinks we can’t see her, there isn’t much wrong with the old nest. She called me a sweet baby today. In English, would you ever believe? Daft bint.
And of course, she spends a bomb on bird seed and they barmy grease balls, although we quite like those.

Monsieur Merle stands guard over the trays of bird seed to keep off the hoi poloi while I get my beak in. And then he bogs off for a few worms while I get back home. He came back with just one today. One? do me a favour.
My mother warned me about him, but you know us girls. Anything for a Flash Harry.

So here I am, up the spout again, and sitting on two eggs this time. But I don’t have to do much, so it’s quite nice to have a bit of a rest. Until this lot hatch, that is.

Au Revoir, for now. Or A Bientot, as we say around here.

Fete du Voisins for Lunch.

Fete du Voisins for Lunch.

I went to that one last Saturday. Very rare for me. Not a huge number of people. This is not a vastly populated area. But enough to be jolly.

I was just amazed by the number of them who actually know me since I don’t mix a lot.

Much kissing, but you really don’t notice that. And it hardly interferes with conversation anyway.

10 Euros for all you could eat and drink over several hours.

The Pig Roast was superb. Cooked up in half a battered old oil drum. I wish I could cook pork so well.

No comment on the drink since my taste buds always fail me after the first one.

I think I left at about 6pm, when I decided that I had drunk more than enough, and before I actually fell over. That would never have been forgotten. In fact they probably still remember the last time some twenty years ago.

I am told that it went on until midnight. So probably quite a lot of people fell over by then, amid much Breton Dancing.

But they certainly know how to throw a party around here.