Nothing About Anything.

I need to write about something.  Anything would do, but I just can’t think of anything.

It has rained in buckets for over a week now but there’s nothing new about that.

O’Connor can smell rain from twenty metres while buried in his blanket.  He doesn’t need to go and have a look.  Nothing new about that either.  He gives me the same old jaundiced snake eye when I say, ” Come on you, out we go”.  I stand in the garden getting drenched while he lurks in the doorway and pees against the door post.  Same old same old.  Jesus, he is so funny.

Apparently we are getting a bag of presents next week from The Food Bank.  Isn’t that nice.  Let’s hope it doesn’t include Yoghourt.  Anything else will be lovely.  I remain forever grateful.

Got two Vouchers for twenty Euros from The Marie due to No Dinner for The Elderly this year, both to be spent in Melrand.  Local businesses of course.  I think I might try The Butcher.  What I choose to buy doesn’t really matter because it is free.

The Butcher Perron has been around for a very long time.  It is the grandson Perron nowadays.  What a laugh he was when he was young.  Racing Trotters.  Those horses that trot by different feet.  No use for riding when they retire, so don’t ever be tempted to buy one, no matter how cheap. They finish up living in a large field and interminably eating.

I have just cut some Camellias for the house.  How very beautiful they are and they brighten Winter.  The Roses are done now, but there is always something in my very small garden.  Heaven knows how that happened because it was never by design.  I am a very messy gardener.  I just plant things and hope for the best.  Chrysanthemums remain my one abiding love.  Flowers for The Dead in France, but never for me.

Raining again.  Will this pile of rubbish about nothing satisfy me until Noel?

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