Now There’s a Thought.

Sardines. I bet that caught you all on the hop. For years I have searched every tin of Sardines for The Roe. Definitely the best bit. And then about six months ago The Roe vanished. Why ever could that be? Until it suddenly occurred to me. For years we have been eating half of the next generation of Sardines before they even get born. How stupid is that? But someone must have sussed it because The Roe is no more in the tins. Don’t fish for Sardines when they are breeding, someone must have said.

I don’t actually know if Sardines are in decline, or any other fish for that matter, although I have never been tempted to throw another Sardine on The Barbi. Only The Portuguese do that, I am reliably informed. But the The Portuguese aren’t known for their logic.

Google tells me that Sardines are Pilchards if they ever get to grow up at all. I didn’t know that. These can make a pretty mean Fish Pie and are even cheaper than Sardines. And No, I have never been tempted to throw another one of those on The Barbi either.

Which brings me to Sturgeon. Not The Scots version, obviously. No bloody wonder that Caviar is so expensive. Did you all know that they were catching Sturgeon for The Roe in The Ice Age? It’s a miracle that Sturgeon still exists. This is a disgrace. Especially because I can’t afford to buy Caviar.

Save The Planet. Save a Sardine.

Covid?

I think I might have Covid. Three weeks of a streaming nose, perpetual sneezing and a terrible cough,

along with sleeping too much and not feeling very well. Although hardly looking terminal at the moment.

I am 83 years old with half a lung that doesn’t work, due to Tuberculosis some years ago, so I did think that I might be at high risk. But never the less I managed to avoid any entreaties to have The Jabs as they scared me more than the Covid disease in itself ever could have done.

Is this the diminishing version of Covid which more sensible persons said would happen?

I did my time with staying at home and garden for two years, albeit lucky to have a garden. And I did grow a few potatoes. Oh what joy. There is nothing to beat a New Potato straight from the soil. Or is there?

I shall plant Broad Beans in a minute, according to The Moon, because they crop earlier. And then I will have space for English Runner Beans. God help me, who needs it?

My lovely Chrisanthemums flowered as ever. And so beautiful they are. Flowers for The Dead in France, but I have loved them for all of my life. So you can heap them on my grave. Which is what The French do. But not just yet.

The peace of my years in the long green grass is yours and yours and yours. But only when it suits me.

Live Long and Prosper. I ever was a Trekkie.

Voila.

It’s coming up The Old People’s Lunch again. Well, more of a marathon actually. I only went once. I can’t handle sitting on hard chairs anymore. So I will go for The 20 Euro Voucher to be spent in the Local Shoppe. Who knows, it might even have gone up a bit, due to Inflation

But how kind is this all. Rhetorical Question. A bunch of old diehards who still get some recognition for no other reason than that we are all old. It isn’t as though any of us actually do anything anymore. But still The Commune cares about us.

I will probably spend my voucher on Dog Food for the Rotten Little Pisser. Not that he won’t get fed, God Forbid, but I can then spend the money I save on the traditional Vodka for Bloody Mary’s on Christmas Day.

Three pees this morning, but it has rained a lot lately and he doesn’t like getting his feet wet. He isn’t daft you know. But you do need to be a hard core dog lover to own a Dachshund. And there is love in spades. He loves me to bits. I am sometimes not sure of how I feel about him, especially at 9am on any one morning in Winter. I swear a lot. This makes me feel better.

Robin Dominic has just gone off to The Food Bank and thank God for that. More kindness you see. And there is nothing impersonal about it. These volunteers actually care, even about an impoverished English Woman Abroad. I have almost forgotten the lack of care for anyone in England. But only almost.

Armistice Day 2022.

The French do this so very well. There will be a service at the Memorial outside the church in Melrand at 11am, as ever and at every other War Memorial in France. They never forget. And nor do I as it happens. But then the first five years of my life was just War.

There will be fireworks tonight in what passes as Melrand’s Village Square and many a sore head tomorrow. So they do celebrate as well. And no doubt The Church Bells will ring out. I can just about hear them from here on a still night. I will be there in spirit if not in actuality. Such a nice place this is. How very lucky I was to scratch up in Lann Georges

A passing thought for the memorial on the road to Pontivy in the middle of nowhere where eleven French Patriots were murdered by The Gestapo in 1945 just as The War was coming to an end. I will never forget that one.