My World.

My World has shrunk somewhat during this last two years, mainly due to Covid, although I don’t really want to talk about that.  I did as I was advised, albeit stopping short of vaccination, so I haven’t been anywhere very often.

But I do have the road outside my window which tells me such a lot.  It is a fast road but not a very busy one.  Except in Spring and Autumn when the farmers are planting or harvesting and farm machinery trundles by at all hours.  They don’t bother me.  I have been here for too long now.  The farmers tell me when the weather is right for them.

I always know what the weather is about.  Rain, Shine and even Snow on rare occasions.  I love Snow.  We just don’t get enough of it for me.

I also have my garden which isn’t very big, but this is some sort of blessing these days.  I plant stuff in pots.  The Broad Beans and Tomatoes are doing okay along with a few Potatoes just for fun.  I am not very good at chucking away anything so I had to do something with Sprouting Potatoes.  And they will make at least one good dinner straight from the soil.

I’ve done a lot of Wood Treating this last couple of years.  Garden Chairs, along with Garden Wood Slats to keep the wretched O’Connor from digging under the fence and committing inadvertent Hari Kiri.  Stupid Dog.  I love him to bits.

The Hydrangeas are recovering from a week of hard frost back along but I am no longer expecting any flowers.  The Fig Tree is still alive.  I thought that one was dead as dead.  But the few Figs I had have now vanished.

Forget The Wisteria.  Not even the pleasure of the glorious flowers this year.  However, the greenery is already up for strangling me again every time I walk past.  I swear it hates me.  And I can’t say I blame it.  I must have been out of my mind when I first grew it.  My advice on this one is Don’t.  Unless you know what you are doing.

Four Squash Seedlings in tiny pots, but Robin Dominic will have to see to those.

Loads of Birds as ever.  I feed them too well.  Sadly, Swallows have almost disappeared, when we had so many once upon a time.  Swallows forecast the weather.  You could tell from watching them.  They skim low when it is going to rain and they fly high when the weather will be good.  

This is amazing for a poor soul like me who wasn’t born into this and then took some fair old time to work it out.  Not that it matters of course.  You either notice or you don’t.  Nothing lost either way.

I had no idea about The  Moon before I came here.  I had no idea that it was fucking me over when it went Full On.  I simply didn’t understand the depression I went through.  I thought that there was something wrong with me.  Although I must say that I have never been prone to violence, Thank God.  I might have killed a few people in my time if I had been.

These days I just pull the duvet over my head for a couple of days.

So back to Lann Georges.  Thirty years of relative peace for which I have been very fortunate.

I just flipped one day and decided that I wasn’t having it anymore, after years of abusive relationships, to which I no doubt contributed.

Probably way too much information.  But there you go.  This was and probably still is me.  You can’t actually change yourself.  You just learn how to avoid that which is not good for you.  And believe me, it can be done.

Birthday Lunch.

Just a quick plug for The Auberge in Melrand. Always excellent and never expensive. I have been to a few restaurants around here in my time but this one never fails.

And then along came Monsieur Fi Fi. Don’t ask. He is the biggest Tortoise I have ever set eyes upon. He is twice the size of my head. And my head is big, which you must all know by now.

He plodded around the outside restaurant area saying hallo to everybody and getting his photograph taken over and over. A very little head but bright blue beady eyes which missed nothing. So I suspect he must have done this before.

Fifty Years old apparently, so not much younger than his owner, who nursed him like a baby when she had to pick him up to stop him from escaping altogether.

Huge, really. I doubt that I could do him justice. Not beautiful but jolly bloody splendid. Some things are.

Past Midnight.

I am now 83 years old. Not that this is of any great importance. it is hardly a milestone or even very old these days. Especially as I have every intention of living to be at least 100, if not only for the ghastly dog. I am definitely not dying before he does. Little Shit. I love him too much.

I am being taken out to Lunch on Saturday for some inexplicable reason. I can only hope that it rains. I can’t sit inside because I smoke too much. And I ain’t stopping now. Whether or not I drink too much is another story altogether. Actually I probably don’t drink anywhere near enough. I should be comatosed 24/7. Much the best idea. The Mitchells live long on too many fags and way too much alcohol. I was the first female in many a long generation. But don’t even begin to think that I can’t keep up with them. They are all dead now. Around 95 for all of them. So I have a way to go yet. And there is always the awful dog.

Dachshunds are a gift to the human race.

Mice.

The Bain of my life for many a long year. Throwing parties in my frying pan after I stopped poisoning them.

But who needs a Cat? O’Connor has had six of them in the last few days. Poor little souls. This is horrible. And he leaves them looking very dead. I just have to pick up the dead bodies. This is not funny.

I can only hope that O’Connor doesn’t want to do the same with Toads, although Toads seem to be a bit better at hiding.

Many years ago I found some of the Toad hiding places and now I keep them covered as in O’Connor can’t get in, or any other dog at the time. Such is life in rural Brittany.

But I haven’t had an Ant problem for many a long year. Ants are definitely not fun, especially the Red Ones.

So back to base. You don’t need a cat if you’ve got a Dachshund. Little shit.

To Be or Not To Be.

Passing big discussions this evening when we weren’t talking about Cats.

Should Ireland be united? I ran out of that desire a very long time ago, although it was important to me once upon a time when I was young and brave. But suddenly it is now a good idea because Pensions are so much better in The EU. Trust your average Protestant to find the good side of any new idea.

And then there is Scotland. Scotland never did want to be part of England. They were beaten Into it by the treachery of The Campbells. Tis time they got out.

The curse of The Mitchells. Irish and Scots. Most of us don’t actually have a Home Land at all any more. We live where we rest.

The Welsh bit is a bit more difficult. I don’t even like The Welsh so I tend to pretend that they are not part of me. This is a lie of course. But I will deal with that if I ever have to.

So, absolutely nothing English about me. Tis no wonder for why I had to get out even though I didn’t understand for why at the time. Just a feeling of panic.

I was fortunate. I already owned this ghastly hovel in Brittany which I bought for a song on a whim. How very lucky I was. It is still a hovel but you don’t get much more Celt than Brittany. It is in the air.

Another Very French Interlude.

Sitting on the back terrace in the sun of a lovely old Art Deco house which now belongs to English people. They have owned it for quite sometime. But they have been unable to come here for the last two years, due to you know what.

They have this horrible stray cat who is nearly as bad as O’Connor, but she does have to be fed. Presuming that I am only feeding her, which is doubtful. I could be feeding the entire neighbourhood of stray cats for all I know. But you can’t pick and choose with cats. In for one and in for them all.

I am not actually a cat person but she does have the most amazing green eyes. Little shit. I hardly ever see her. But the minute my neighbours turn up then there she is. It is almost precognition. How does she do this?

Back to the future.