Over 70 Years Old.

And it’s that time again.  The Commune Dinner for us old folks.  How kind they are.

I am always invited but I never go.  I think I will, and then I don’t.  I don’t really know why.  Perhaps something to do with being a prat.  I am not good with people.  The French language no longer bothers me all that much.  I get by these days.  Mayhap it’s the Expats that scare me witless.  They will all be there, gossiping, as ever.

But this year I am not getting away with welshing out.  The husband of my French neighbour is 70 this year, and he’s going, and he’s taking me with him, whether I like it or not.  He will arrive on my door step and I will get in the car.  Okay.  Although he probably won’t be driving.  And his wife will undoubtedly pick him up to take him home before he gets rat arsed.  She isn’t 70 yet, so she isn’t invited, but she knows him and his penchants.  Such a thoroughly nice man he is, drunk or sober.  But she’s alright as well.

Shit, what am I going to wear that goes with The Pearls?  The only half decent jewellery I own these days, and I’m not going naked, as it were.  Must find the old Zircon Ring.  It isn’t Diamonds, but it looks as though It might be.  I sold The Diamond many years ago, although I sometimes wish I hadn’t.  It was a beautiful thing.

Does anyone think that a three string necklace of Pearls might be a bit too much for Rural Brittany at an Old Folks Dinner?  And should I care anyway?

I’ll let you all know what happens, if I remember.  It is bound to be hilarious.