An Ode to an Ashtray.

May 9, 2019

What is an Ashtray?  Something into which you stub out fags, but only ever of the Tobacco kind.  That is what Fag has always meant to me, so I do not wish to go beyond that idea.  Okay.

Is this an amazing ashtray?  Is it good glass, or just some ghastly plastic?  Am I pleased to have this Ash Tray in my house?   Do I even care when it comes to stubbing out a fag?  Yes, I probably do.  I would much rather have something half decent.   Preferably Christlal, if you really want to know.  But I don’t have too many of those.

I have always been a snobby smoker, along with a few other snobby things.

Anyway, everyone is pissed around here tonight, so God knows where they are stubbing out their fags.  I’ve got the only half decent ashtray.

O’Connor has run for the hills, in the name of  The Sofa.  He and me had a good one tonight.  I let him sit on my lap for ten minutes, during which he made no attempt to bite me.  I think I might be getting somewhere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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What?

May 1, 2019

What have I just done?

The Angel of Life just turned up in the form of a mad and very artistic French woman for whom I have great respect.  She is actually a renown artist, albeit not quite my sort of thing.  A bit too Picasso for me.

And after much discourse she decided that Charlotte isn’t past her sell by date.  So she took Charlotte away rather than have the dog die tomorrow.  And her house is already full of pissing and blind dogs, so another one won’t make much difference to her.

I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I didn’t particularly want Charlotte to die either.

I haven’t seen sight nor sound of Marie for about two years, although she only lives just up the road a bit.  Why tonight?  Why batter my emotions when I least needed it?

So Charlotte will live on for a bit longer.  But she certainly won’t suffer, which is all that I need to know.

A Long Goodnight.

May 1, 2019

The day approaches.  I hoped it never would.  But it will be Demain.  Please God, never give me this choice again.  I don’t want to have to choose.

I so much prefer dogs who suddenly get ill and have to be put down.  This is all I have ever known.  So I am not handling this very well.  Although I have to say that Charlotte has no idea at all, at all.  It is just me who is becoming more weepy by the day.  I very nearly cried today.  What a bloody wimp I am.  But then I ever was, over things that were  even more or less important.

But this is for the moment.  Please go quietly into the long night, although I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t.  I won’t.  But I will do everything I can to make it more easy for you.  You have been a total horror story who no longer trusted anyone by the time you came to me.  I am so sorry that you never trusted me.

Easter.

April 23, 2019

Well, that’s Easter done and dusted.  Nothing frightfully special, although we did have a very nice Raclette at a neighbour’s house, and some interesting conversation.  Male dominated, as ever, which is why women tend to talk to women.

Robin Dominic has decimated The Camillia, and about time too.  It was knocking on fifteen feet high, but it hasn’t been done for nearly twenty years.  It is still glorious despite being at least sixty years old.

Robin Dominic has also acquired four really good Teak Garden Chairs.  They are a bit discoloured but a bit of loving kindness will sort that.  And he wonders why Marie’s room is full of junk?  Actually, not junk, just some  very nice stuff that I was given and will come in handy one day.

I inherited Marie when I bought the two houses.  She was about eighty at the time, lived in one room with a wood burning cooker, and moved to an Old People’s complex when she was about ninety.  I cried when her family told me that she was moving out.  She was so much a part of this place.  Once upon a time she used to ride into Melrand on the back of a horse to do her shopping.  So forever it will be Marie’s Room.  Any other name is unthinkable.

I am having Charlotte put down next week.  But I will tell you about that after I have recovered.

Notre Dame.

April 16, 2019

I was completely unaware of what Notre Dame meant to me, until I saw it burning.  But nothing much to do with a God, just such glorious architecture that is centuries old.

But the people who built it obviously did believe in God.  Two Hundred years it took to build.

I was totally in awe of The Musical, Notre Dame de Paris.  The music is splendid and the story was in itself sad.  It never quite jelled in English, but then English is not a particularly elegant language, while the French Language ever is.  I missed the sound of it around me quite dreadfully on the rare occasions that I used to visit  England.

I have never seen Notre Dame, and I almost certainly won’t now.  It will take too long to rebuild it.  But I bet they will.

I am also a bit sad that I never did The Camino de St. Iago de Compostela.  But then regrets are usually about things you thought of doing and never did.

My Plum Tree.

April 12, 2019

I thought that I had better do this while it is still relevant.  It probably won’t be tomorrow.

I bought this Plum Tree Sapling about ten years ago.  I like Plums, which is more than I can say about most fruit.  Since when I have had One Plum for about five minutes.  But yesterday I found about a dozen.  Robin Dominic, who has better eyesight than mine says that there are Hundreds.  I suspect that this is an exaggeration, but even a couple of dozen would be good.  They are the size of a very minuscule Petit Pois at the moment.

I have Googled a bit, and pruned this useless article at the right time of year.  I have even threatened it with becoming fire wood.  But last year I simple couldn’t be bothered, so I ignored it.  I didn’t even speak to it, even when it burst into bloom.  Again.  It does that with monotonous regularity, but I didn’t buy it for it’s flowers.  It said, “Plum Tree” on the packet.  That’s what I wanted.  Plums.

No, I don’t spend a lot of time talking to plants.  My neighbours already think that I have lost my marbles.

My very old Fig Tree in a pot has got Seven Figs, but then it had Seven Figs last year, and they all dropped off as well, so I am not clinging to success on that one either.

This will probably all be Rien de Tout again.  A situation with which I am not unfamiliar.

Spring.

April 3, 2019

Spring at last, I think. But you never can tell around here. It could be minus 10 degrees again in a minute.

That ghastly weed called Wisteria is showing signs of how particularly glorious it is going to be this year, for about three weeks, after which it will turn my garden into a hair grabbing, boring jungle. But this is a bad sign because a late frost will kill the flower buds. And then what? Rien de tout. That’s what.
Four of them actually. I grew them all from seed some time ago when time didn’t matter. They take on average about six or seven years from seed to flower, or at least mine did. Please God, may I have the full glory this year?

I have planted some Broad Bean seedlings, slugs don’t like Broad Beans. Although if previous experience is anything to go by I will only get enough Beans to grow them again next year. I love Broad Beans, but I have forgotten what they taste like now. The French aren’t into Broad Beans.

I wait with bated breath for Lovely Linda to give me some Tomato Plants again. I don’t know what she does, but her plants are always good. Mine degenerate into Tomato Blight just as the wretched Tomatoes are about to ripen. But if you catch them quick enough you can have a lot of Green Tomato Chutney. I’ve got a lot of that in store.

Also planted some saved Butter Nut Squash seeds from last year. I managed to grow two of those last year. God knows why. I don’t even like them all that much.

I am currently sending out air thoughts to my French neighbours who gave me so much last year. Heavy on the Italian Tomatoes and light on the Marrows, s’il vous plait. The Italian Tomato Sauce I made last year and stored in metal capped Mayonnaise Jars is still good, probably something to do with the Basil and a touch of Vinegar on top. Nope, I am useless at growing Basil. I look at it and it dies, so I shall have to buy that.

No Apples, please God. Apple Chutney is now frightfully passé. Got enough of that to stock a Chutney Shop or ten.

I might try English Runner Beans again. I loathe French Beans with a passion. But this will necessitate creeping around the garden every night at dusk to catch The Slugs. No, I never kill them by any means. Everything has a right to live.
Sadly, I can’t throw them over the garden wall anymore because I have neighbours there now, and they might catch me at it. Although I didn’t feel particularly guilty about it in the past because I have chucked over a couple or three Hedgehogs in my time.
Yes, I do like Hedgehogs. But I didn’t like The Fleas when the dog brought the Hedgehogs into the house. You haven’t lived until you have been bitten by a Hedgehog Flea. I was on hefty pain killers for a week.
So what shall I do with The Slugs?
Bucket and Chuck It in the nearest field, peut etre. Making allowances for the tenacity of the Bastard Stephen the Slug who always finds his way back. He likes it here. A bit like the cat. Yes, Mate. I know it’s you again. You ever were a Slug.

To finish on a more positive note, please God, may I have a Wasps Nest again? Wasps are my most favourite creatures.

Thank You, God, in advance.

Je ne pas.

March 14, 2019

People were passing kind but not all that interested, so I had a few years in the wilderness. I did get introduced to Chicken Sheds when it became obvious that I needed to earn money, but that was some sort of fun, once I overcame the smell, and getting up in the middle of the night. They clear Chicken Sheds in the middle of the night, so as to not upset the chickens too much. Not that it makes much difference. The Chickens don’t have far to run. And the only question is how many chickens in each hand. This is not difficult. Combien? Usually four in one hand and four in the other, depending in the average size of the chickens. You slot the chicken’s leg between your fingers, and chuck, sorry, place then in a crate. It is not good practice to damage the chicken for resale purposes. Bugger the chickens.

Things are different now, although not that much. There are two other English families living in Lann Georges these days, Both in houses that have long been here, so I have seen some comings and goings.
OMG, we don’t have a Bar or a Bakery anymore. But our Chateau remains resplendent. And much loved.

The Chatelaine is a sucker for stray cats, which I feed when she can’t be here. But that’s okay because they are nice cats. Although I did lose one last week. Dead on that awful road. 70 kph through Lann Georges? Are they mad or what? You can’t do 70 kph anywhere these days. Except through Lann Georges. I might make a fuss in a minute, but I doubt that my French is good enough.

God knows why my horrible cat is still alive. I have buried three cats to that road over the years, so this one is not getting a name. I didn’t want her and I didn’t ask for her and she just turned up on my bed one night. She only wants to eat Dog Food, and chases mice around my bedroom in the middle of the bloody night. But she likes it here. So that’s it I guess. Yes, I did have her seen to, but only because I couldn’t face a litter of kittens on my bed. I have never had a female cat before for precisely that reason. I have never had a male cat castrated. Frightfully male orientated is my world.

My neighbours will be back from Angleterre on Wednesday which I am so looking forward to. Lann Georges will be complete for a while.

The other two of us families have survived the Winter. But Lann Georges will always go on. Such a lovely place it is.

Rein de Tout

March 9, 2019

Sitting here, bored out of my mind, and wondering what to do.  This Blog is probably going no where fast.

Robin Dominic bought a new lawn mower today.  500 Euros, so not a lot.  Been there and done that, several times.  But the first time is always the best if you like machinery as much as I do.  You have to be a bit weird if you do.

And then Connor pissed on the floor.  So I shouted at him.  “This is a disgrace.  You think I am stupid?”  He ran off and hid.  So I followed him.  “What do you think that was?  You think that’s okay you little horror?”  He is still in hiding.  “Okay pissypoos, you are now in serious trouble, so watch out.”

What a hoot.  Will it work?  Who knows.  But he certainly didn’t like my tone.  So on the next occasion I will really shriek.

Can’t Remember.

March 9, 2019