Lann Georges.

The Land of St. George, in English. Who was he I wonder?

Lann Georges is just a Hamlet in Southern Brittany. I don’t know if St. George ever came here.

All of the old stone built houses were built about 130 years ago, mine being one such. I haven’t been able to find out who built it. But I do know of who bought it around 1947. He gave away and sold most of the land to relatives, including two of his grandchildren who still live here. It must have been much the same when he bought it and hasn’t changed a lot since, mainly due to lack of serious money on my part. I did get around to cementing and tiling the old dirt floor, but that’s about it. which is probably why I don’t worry too much when O’Connor forgets where he is and pees in the house. Perhaps he can smell the old dirt floor and equates it with the garden. Dear of him. He is such a bright little boy and so funny. Ha Ha Ha, look at that, he’s peed indoors again.

We still have The Fete de St. Rivalain although nobody has ever heard of him, except around here. You can’t even find St. Rivalain on Google. But he must have existed. The very old church and the shrine say that he did.

Time hasn’t moved on a lot at all. Which is nice. Everyone knows everyone, including me and everyone helps when needed.

I have now lived here for longer than I have ever lived anywhere else. Who’d a thought it when I came here in desperation all those years ago? It has been a good life. Mayhap I was always a peasant.

Phew.

That’s Full Moon over for another three weeks, although not long enough, I have to say.

I bought my usual quota of Black Grapes which seem to help, but No Pips in this last two lots so not a lot of good because it’s The Pips that do it.

Which brings me to wonder what on earth good is a grape that hasn’t got Pips. You can’t grow a Grape Vine without Pips and so they only amount to the end of the line. The sad death of a grape.

I have so far never been tempted to murder anyone, well, at least not often. I just decline into depression for a week and sleep a lot. I do manage to feed the dog, although he has been a bit peculiar this last week, perhaps he’s got it too. But I can’t feed him grapes because they are bad for dogs. Or so I am told. I did once have a Pekinese who stole grapes wholesale and she didn’t die of anything awful, so who can tell?

Now, of course, it is back to minus something or other. Not conducive for anything other than hot water bottles and The Internet in bed.

Robin Dominic has broken down somewhere miles from anywhere, poor little soul. As he waits for the pick up truck. God knows how he will get to work tomorrow. This latest new, second hand car is fast turning into a liability. I might have to buy another one. I shall worry about that later.

I have laid the wood burner in some vain attempt to be useful and dinner is ready to go. However, I wouldn’t want live anywhere else.