That Time Again.

The Dinner for Old People.  I decided not to go this year.  I did it once but that was enough for me.  I can’t sit on a hard chair for four hours anymore, while listening to some delightful old man practising his excellent English on me.  And I don’t think he wanted to Marry me.  Never a word do I get to say in my still ghastly French.  So no gain there.

This is the way things are these day.  Long gone are the days when absolutely no French person spoke English in any shape or form.  Although I suspect that at least some of them were fibbing.  Probably because they were afraid of making fools of themselves.  Haven’t we all been there.

So I was decidedly in the wilderness for quite some time.  The best I knew was Ouvrez la Porte.  Portes being feminine, as if that matters.  The genders are no joke.   There are no rules pertain to that.  I won’t go into the EZ on the end.

Anyway, back to basics.  I then got this lovely food parcel, which I have had in the past.  I just didn’t compute it to not going to The Dinner.  I can be a bit thick sometimes.

Two very nice jars of excellent Pate.  A box of lovely chocolate biscuits.  A bottle of not half bad wine.  Bugger, my brain has just switched off again.  I can’t remember what else.  But at least I have decided that senility in what ever form is going to be a laugh.  Why should it not be?  It doesn’t offend me.  It’s only other people getting cross that is the worry.

I have a vast wealth of words in my head, some of which I now find hard to retrieve, so I guess that my brain has put some of them on the back burner.  Perhaps because they weren’t important in the first place.  I can always think of something else, albeit not frightfully well educated at times.

Meanwhile, my OCD remains supreme.  Just so long as everything in my world sits in straight lines then I will be okay.

O’Connor?  Rotten little horror.  What did I do, God?  My garden is wrecked and still no Badgers.  He has the occasional run in with The Hedgehog, but he won’t win that one, and he probably just wants to play anyway.

This is actually a lost cause.  Robin Dominic encourages O’Connor to be silly when I never would have done.  Dogs, like children, have a place in my house, and more or less the same.   What can possibly be wrong with that?  Behave yourself, okay.

My Leaseholders continue to bamboozle me.  Okay, fine, burn the house down with incompetence.  I no longer care.  Managing a Leasehold Property isn’t easy, but I no longer have any Rights, so they will have to get on with it.

In the meantime my Managing Agent isn’t frightfully happy either. Tough shit.  Nor am I.

Leaseholders Rule.  And there is nothing to be done until it all goes tits up, which it always does.  Why would anyone want to spend endless hours running a Leasehold Property  for no financial gain when the cost to a Managing Agent is not much more than peanuts?

I really don’t understand this.  But for the moment it is no longer my problem.  It took me a while to get there.

Noel will be fine here.  It always is.  I do so love France.  I would have preferred  to live in a similar hovel in Scotland but that was way out of my price range, so here it had to be.

Bonne Noel.  Did I get the gender right?






2 Responses to “That Time Again.”

  1. Elizabeth Says:

    The other day I was wondering when languages with masculine and feminine words would come under fire from the anti gender and sex activists. We already have “fisherperson” instead of fisherman or other such alterations. Someone will yell that doors shouldn’t be female. Or that the fact that they are is the result of white, privileged males. (Claps right hand on forehead!)

    It’s all absurd.

    I think you are safer there than in Scotland considering they are trying to be a free nation again. But at least, near me, there’s the Roman Wall already constructed so we could just pop Customs on top. The wild Scots had a great time raping and pillaging the town in which I live. We have forts around to prove it.

  2. elenamitchell Says:

    Sorry, Computer Problems.

    I bet you didn’t know that Vagina is Masculine, and probably didn’t want to. I thought it was a laugh. While a Chain Saw is feminine. I’ll go along with that.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: