A Mess of Potage.

Full Moon has passed yet again, so I am more or less back to equilibrium. God knows why I had this inflicted upon me, but at least I now know why I feel so utterly dreadful for five days. And I know now that it will pass. I also know that all phases of The Moon affect me in some way or another. Sometimes I am more kind and other times not so much. Sometimes I am more articulate and other times I become speechless. But I can’t be bothered to work out which and when.

The Septic Tank got emptied and yes it was knocking on Full. But it has been six years. And t it wasn’t about to overflow.

Anyway, this really nice man phoned me at 8.15 am and said he was arriving tout de suite. I tried to put him off until the next day, but he wasn’t having it, although I have no idea of what he actually said. So it was get on with it time.

And by the time I had locked The Rotten Little Pisser in the house and unbarred the gate then he turned up. But the last thing I needed was O’Connor falling in the shit tank. Been there and done that with Charlotte The Pug.

It was a totally professional job. The first time ever in thirty years, although you would go a long way to beat your average Farmer at 30 Euros a throw.

This one cost me 242 Euros. Yes, I bounced off the wall. Thank God for The Food Bank is all I can say about that.

Every thing else is done now. Carte de Sejour, Health Insurance and my Tax Return. But only until next year. God help me if I go completely doolally in the meantime. But would this be such a bad idea, I have to ask myself?

However, when it comes to money I very much doubt that this will happen. The Mitchells always know exactly what they are worth, even if it isn’t a lot.

What else? I watered The Quince Tree in my neighbour’s garden and then it pissed down. Quinces don’t do well without water.

Fed their cat, although I haven’t seen her for a while. Just a load of other stray cats. Heaven alone knows how many. Word gets around in Cat Speak.

I am not actually a Cat Person. I lost that when my Singapore Cat died which was a very long time ago.

Hamlet, The Afghan. Never to be repeated. But in the Awful Stakes then O’Connor is running like a vey good second, but only just.

Which leads me to suspect that I will never be a People Person. But then I can’t say that I want to be.

Life goes on in this peculiar Breton backwater for where I was so fortunate to land up, albeit by accident.

The Universe has been very kind to me.

One Response to “A Mess of Potage.”

  1. Elizabeth Says:

    Lovely post! Thank you.

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