Blood, Blood, Glorious blood!

It's a strange experience watching your very own blood coursing unhindered through you very own veins (notice an exception to, i before e). Spelling matters to me, probably not as much as coursing blood, but it do. I was really surprised that the blood I could see, dashing along at furious speed, was red. I had no delusions of grandeur, I just assumed that an ultrasound picture would be monochrome. Not so, huge gouts of beautifully healthy red liquid, full of corpuscles, white cells, red cells. I felt like cheering, but any movement was met by the stern words, bouge pas. I bouge pasd. There is a certain aura exuded by les hopitals, les docteurs, et les infirmiers, that ensures instant and total obedience. I was pronounced tres bien, and told to allez chez vous. So nous sommes alles chez nous. It was definitely red, not blue. But it were Glorious tha knows!!!

Wood,Wood, Glorious Wood! ! !

I failed woodwork GCE, I've never worked out why. I did some really good stuff. I suppose it could be that I could never see why it was important to know the difference between a "gothic" column, and a "doric" column. I could see there was a difference, there are about ten different types, but who gives a bugger which is which. I was far too practical for a mere school, probably should have gone to a special school, they do have them. I'm preparing some gates for hanging, I'd like to be doing the same for a certain arrogant Frenchman at the builders merchants, but therein lies another tale. These gates are new and need hinges and painting, and tomorrow they shall be hanged by the hinges until declared satisfactory. I love this work, I find it completely satisfying. The new gateway is taking shape, get finished with the deliveries by waggon, and it'll be done in a couple of days. Not long now and we'll have a field shelter, it'll be part of the barn, but accessed from the field. Will the horses use it? I think so. I'm sure we'll find out. They'll use the gates....

French

The trouble with foreign languages is; they're foreign. For them not to be ( bad grammer that ), bracketed words no better, is not possible. However good I become at using French, it'll always be foreign. What I'm mumbling about is the horrible need I have to get it right, must get it right, exactment precis. It can't be done, the "ations" are always going to beat me. Conjugation can be mastered, but Pronounciation, never. So why bother? We've got some English lads here building a wall, and one of the guys always refers to Piegut as peegoo, never pee aye goo. Does it matter? Well no it don't. Arsene Wenger speaks perfect English, but he'll always sound French. The more I know, the more afraid I become to use it, in case it's not exact, so in the end I say nowt. How stupid is that? I'm not alone in this, there's a lot of it about, and the French don't help when they start speaking English, just to help me out , I know. But it doesn't. It's not easy, and it gets not easier, but I'm going to get as good as I can, horrible as it will sound, and it will. The French are going to have to wear it. And they do, bless them! They 'umble me.

It wasn't me, honest!!

Long time since I wrote anything bloggish. I blame the banana. I've bought some for Dis' breakfast, but, not tried to eat one. The last one I tried to eat put me in l'hopital for three weeks. Bloody thing! I'd just had a paracetamol for a pain in my eye, spotted the banana and thought I'd have a quick snack. Peeled it, popped a piece mouthwards, but the banana had other ideas, jumped out of my mouth down to the floor, and refused to be picked up. Bloody thing! It caused mutinous behaviour in my mouth, and also in my arm and hand. The Bloody thing! It wasn't me, honest! It was the banana, Bloody thing! French hopital food is truly awful, and awful is an understatement. Inedible, unless French, they slurped it down with beaucoup de bruit, piggy sort of bruit. Fortunately ( fanfare of trumpets ), I was saved from starvation, by the angel Diane, who flew in every day with a flask of tea and some biscuits. A complete ballache driving to Limoges every day, but the girl done good. I will be eternally full of grate for being full of tea and biscuits. The medical care was as good as could be. I was consulted informed and advised, carefully examined, and then cut open cleaned out and sewn back together. The aftershock I was warned could happen, did, but again, they sorted me out. No complaints. Well done the French health service for saving me from the evil machinations of that banana. BLOODY THING !!!!

It's coming!

Went to Intermarche, faire les courses, we gotta eat. Never mind ??We just does. Got through the caisse. then, vide poche, hadn't brought means of payment. Mum suffered from Alzheimers for the last year of her life, and, I had a horrible feeling; it's coming! If it do, it do. I used to sit with her at night, on the bed, with my arm round her, and her head on my shoulder, I'd talk to her and stroke her hair, until she fell asleep. It was a quiet blessed time, which made me feel deeply sad; mum was there, but, she wasn't. She occaisionally had animated conversations with a gentleman standing by her bed, I never said he wasn't there, because, to mum, he was real, she described his clothes, always had polished boots, and I sat and listened to their conversation. It was fascinating listening to them, she always ended the conversation with, "see you soon, bye bye"She was always happy and relaxed afterwards. Whoever you were Mr invisible. Many Thanks for the happiness you gave. If I end up same road, come and talk to me.

bloody bindweed!

It deserves a swear word, I apologise not. I know it has a very pretty flower, but, it's just a front to hide it's true nature, which is murderous, and, deviously insidious. It cannot stand tall and proud, as other plants, it has to use such plants to spiral upward, and, in doing so, strangles them. While it's busy strangling the garden to death, it's also sending out, fat white runners under the soil, to colonise new areas. Each part of these unhealthy looking extensions is capable of producing a new plant. So I dig it up, leave a tiny portion of root, and, up it comes. It is an abomination before THE LORD JIM, and I curse it a thousandfold!!!

voila!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The boy be back, and I can start to relax a bit. Afghanistan is not the place I want him to be. I don't think I'm particularly worried about him, until, he's back with his lady wife, Sara, and then I realize there has been an underlying tension, niggling away at the back of my head. He's 43 now, and a lot tougher than me, in some ways, but, he's my son, and I'm the guy who knows how fragile he is, under all the army speak. Anyway he's back, safely, so I will cease with the maudling sentimentality, and proceed to other rubbish. I used to be a small engine mechanic, no qualifications, just did it for years. We have a motobineuse( rotavator) for chopping up the veggie garden, a very handy machine, BUT, I got it out yair, and it wouldn't start, I hate lugging at pull starts more than six times, after sixty there is a grave danger of the lump hammer being employed. I know it's not normal to use a lump hammer to start machines, but, it's handy for beating them to death. Today, of course, started first pull, it pluied all night, and again this morning, yair, it was just about dry enough. All I can say is, I think the threat of Mr Marteau, and a night to think about it, done the trick. Told you I was a mechanic, we know all the tricks.

Jus Tinkin

For peeps as as a camera, it's amazing, how many piccys you can take in a lifetime. I've an old praktica slr, which takes brill photos, but like me, it's now getting passed it's sell-by date. Move over darling, digital is here. I can't disapprove of the new digital camera, it is a great invention. Yet i mourn the passing of, setting the aperture, the timing, the focus, all the pissing about, but, also, the really great pictures at the end of it all. not always, I hasten to say, some piccys I took were awful, but, some, were beautiful!! I took a shot of our daughter, on the beach at Caloundra Queensland, when we were on holiday, she was, 12/13 yrs old, just reaching the change from girl to young woman. She was lying, turned toward me, on the sand, on the beach in the sunshine, big grin, and I suddenly saw her for the woman she would be. Snap! Gottcha! A beautiful picture. We had a papoose for James, the youngest, and he spent almost all the time with me, looking backwards. He had an orange floppy hat, Queensland sun is a killer, and my wife took a sequence of piccys, with just the hat in view, then his little face. He was only tiny, and he got a very hit and miss view of life as we walked along. Perhaps that's why he has a degree in computer science, and I'm an hgv driver. I'm just too practical. I think the required element to understanding computers is to have, a not quite centred view on life. It's just jealousy, I wish i was better at it, but what little brain I have, don't work like that. In this day and age, it could be deemed a terminal illness. Perhaps it is? Snow BUGGER OFF!!!!! IT'S NOT FUNNY!!! I hate laughing snow! No I'm NOT paranoid, but I will be, if the snow continues to hang around.

From the sublime to...........the more sublime!

We've two young horses, one three year old, and, Bonbon, who is a two year old. Very different animals!! Remy, the three year old, was born in the UK, and came with us as a foal, with Anky, his mum. Bonbon was born here, her mum Mel, has been retired to the yard in England. Yesterday was trailer training, we've been leading them up to the trailer, letting them sniff it, and have a look, but yesterday was the day we attempted to get them in it. Time and patience, the essential ingredients. Bonbon had a good think about it, but, said, not sure, so, I walked Corky through it a couple of times, then Di set off to follow us, and, the little love walked along behind, up the tail ramp, through the trailer, and down the front ramp, and, Bonbon walked with her, she's a little love too. Remy was a harder nut to crack. He walked up to the trailer, but couldn't work out how to get his feet on the ramp, we waited, and waited, but he just kept knocking his pasterns on the front edge, just didn't lift his feet high enough. I lifted one foot on then the second, and he stood for ages, not sure what to do, Di encouraged him all the time, and he decided to follow her, but couldn't work out where to put his feet, he looked like he'd had one training session with the Hitler youth in slow march, and hadn't got it right, but, the boy done good, and he followed Di through. That was sublime. Us babies are doing trailers. I take the dogs down the field fore an evening walk some nights, depends how boisterous they are. Last evening we were down the field, and, a beautiful, red deer stag, walked out of our stream. The dogs didn't see him at first so, I called them to me, and we watched him walk up the fence, and then jump into our neighbours field. I thought they might set off after him, but, they watched him hop off, then caried on playing. I'd heard him roaring in the rut, but it's the first one I've seen in France. Just hope the weekend murderers don't get him. That was the other sublime. Two sublimes in one day. We is lucky peoples!!!!!!!

Bits and pieces

For some reason, I suddenly had memory of a lecture I had at agricultural college. The girl who delivered the lecture, was useless as a teacher, just read out notes , which we had to copy. Years later, before I burned all my old notes, I looked at microbiology, and I still couldn't read it. She was fit, to look at, but not to teach. One of her favourite phrases was, pasturised and sterilised, it was microbiology after all, and I remember being really pissed off trying to write at the speed of light, and as she said, pasturised and sterilised, I started singing, and little lambs eat ivy, a kid'll eat ivy too, wouldn't you. Stunned silence, before everybody laughed, except Misfit, not a spelling mistake. I was also thinking, again for no reason, of a company I worked for, driving an old Bedford 10 ton van, no power steering. A Scottish company, tight as monsieur C Anards' anal sphincter, which set me wondering why it was referred to as; Monsieur canards' anal sphincter particularly. I've been swimming many times, and I can't in all honesty say, I have ever had water enter my body, via my anal sphincter. I drove said van for about three months, before they retired it, and I had arms and shoulders that Popeye would have swooned over. I admit to swooning over them myself, once or twice. Has Printemps arrived? I'd like to kid myself it had, but, I think L'hiver has a trick or two lurking.......!

Green field, Brown field

In just a few hours, that's what happened. The view from the patio, of a beautiful green field, became the view of a dirty brown one. Fumier the culprit, and though it doesn't look real purty jest now, like most things given time, it'll change. If it doesn't go back to green in a couple of weeks. Houston, we have a problem!! Yet nay I say, Nay! 'Twill be a carpet of emerald in a fortnight, or, if not a fortnight, then, two weeks, max. I said, after enduring five years of drought in Australia. "I'll never complain about too much rain, ever again in my life"So, I either, need to die, or, it bloody well stop raining, for that oath to remain unbroked. I noticed some goosey looseys flying North a couple of days ago. It must be the length of days decides them, as, the weather is hardly Springlike. Horses tootsies attended to, bale of straw arrived, more wood for fire ordered, new exhaust for Toyota expected Lundi, and the notaire has been visited. Bills paid, and minds set at rest, horses look very well( it is midwinter), garden looks fed up. It has our sympathy. All, apart from a minor aberration here and there, is ticketty boo

Les Taupes

No it's not going to be a ramble about someone called Les. Di has been stomping round the lawn, swearing, and kicking hell out of the molehills. She occasionally growls. Di don't like Les Taupe. Sooooo! I've been looking for a solution to the problem. Dog poo does keep them away for a while, but, they're determined little buggers. I've got rather a soft spot for moles. It's all down to the Wind in the willows, which I read at age 9/10. I was an innocent little chap, and I'm afraid Mr molecreated certain sentiments in my immature soft centre, which have stuck. But a stamping Di is a terror to behold, preferably not a lot, and I determined to subdue the sentiment, and sort the buggers out. There is a cunning device which fires a plunger into the run, not necessarily killing old moldywarp, but holding him until he dies(lack of worms). A really hideous system requires, catching worms, cutting off the two points, front and back, coating said worms in a poison powder, and inserting these delicacies into the run. Worms can't run away, along comes Les and, shortly after complains of bellyache, and pops his clogs. I couldn't torture worms like that. I wrote a doggerel verse about worms one day; Wormy crawly longy tube, him eaty tubey make, Wormy hermy aphrodite, So sexy piecey cake. Someone like me can envy a worm. I ended up buying some small cartridges, which when releasd down the hole, give off a gas, which will send Les into a peaceful, deep, and permanent sleep. OH YES IT WILL!!!!!!

Nose even less

Yes 'tis possible, to go faire les courses, and come back with only half the required elements. I keep saying," It doesn't matter, but it bloody well does. I know I get on Dis' nerves, but, now I'm getting on MY nerves. The future doesn't look bright, possibly even dismal, as low as bleak, or black. Can there be anything lower, other than; HELLISH!!!!!! Giving meself the shivers here, herein lies madness. I must lift this cloud of gloom, get thee hence despondency. I will not yield to thee. Fly clouds, begone; let the sun shine down upon this feeble fool, perchance to brighten his day. I'm really pleased with Remy and Bonbon. We led them up to the ramp of  the trailer, to let them suss it out, and they were little stars, a bit wary, but no histrionics, I thought Remy was going to go up the ramp, but he couldn't work out where his foots had to go. He will. Corky, who was supposed to be,"Watch auntie Corky children, this is how we do it", had a semi blonde moment, but the children weren't fazed by it at all. They're a bit special. OH YES THEY ARE !!!!!!!!!!

Ramblings

Seems to have been a bitty sort of day, Andy was well and truly Federed. He's a very good player, young Andy, but, you have to be better than the best, to beat the best, Andy wasn't. The chasse have been in the locale, toot! toot! bloody TOOT! Dogs howling, madmen howling. They irritate the hell out of Di. I've not been too bothered, but, I'll be glad when they're done for the summer. The wildlife,(faune sauvage) seem to be no less numerous for all the murdering that goes on all winter. They must shoot a few deer, and the sanglier(wild boar) can be very destructive, and very dangerous, so I suppose, like the wild life, they have their place. It's been a tres belle jour, sunshine all day, but, very cold. Snow tomorrow, says the Metteo, and more very cold nights to come. We had corn beef  hash for tea, plus!!!!!! Caike n Castard. The childrens favourite pud. we didn't have many special treats in Oz, but, that was certain to get a smile on the kids' faces. They was deprived guv, deprived they was!! But, happy with it. Correspondence, and, motor parts sorting, this coming week. Need to get the Toyota on the road; and pay he bills, of course!!!!!

Ramblings of a computer idiot!!!!!!!!!!

Diane has just saved this computers' life. I was determined to hurl it at the wall, then chuck the remains on the fire. I went down to get the fire furnace hot (burn in hell, fiend machine!!). Di asked, quite innocently, if I'd done my blog, after all, it's what I came to do. I'll not repeat the expletives I used to describe my frustrated state of mind. It'll be something simple, and of course it was. ME. I'm very good at looking after cattle, I consider that I'm as good as anyone could be. No-one better anywhere in the world. So There!! But the heading at the top sums up my expertise with computers. I always approach it, as I would a very angry bull. Cautiously! More snow! What's with this winter? It's not done this to us before. This is our fourth winter here, and the most difficult. I can understand arsonists fascination with fire, it's got a life of it's own. Once you've given birth to it, it just needs feeding, and like a child, it has no self-control, it will devour all it's supplies as soon as it can get it's hungry chops on it. Chomp! chomp! chomp! Feed me! Feed me! they all want to become the Billy Bunter of the world of fire. All fires are racing to self destruction as quickly as they can. Sounds like the human race. I need a warm, I'll go and assist the fire.

dogs

I been looking at my last musings re: buffday. Not sure I've given the correct impression of Obi dobi. So, here goes. He's a doberman, black and tan, around 60/70 cm tall at the shoulder, and weighs around 40kg. he is extremely smart, works things out, opens doors, gets the bread from the top of the fridge, that sort of smart. So, of course, at times he decides not to do what he knows as a good dog he should do. He decides to be naughty. That's Dobermans, it's what they do. If that is unacceptable to you. DO NOT get a  Dobe. All the time we've had him, he's decided to be naughty, but mostly he's a well behaved chap, loving, playful, full of fun. He's our boy and he's special, even when he's frustrating as hell. He's part of the family, and, of course, he thinks he's the most important part. His behaviour on my buffday was a shock. I understand  why it happened. I take all three dogs down the field each morning to let them let off steam, which consists of Obi diving on Elfin, biting her neck, until Elf decides she's had enough, then she beats him up. It's a female thing, all married men understand, females are very tolerant,UNTIL!!!! then, look out. He hadn't finished his game when a person arrived at the gate, and, put his arm over the gate to sneck the latch, and Obi hit his arm, with his mouth open, didn't grab hold, didn't try to savage the chap, made a mistake. Not to be repeated we hope. So,Obi is a dobi, he's a very nice friendly chap, and also very good at his job. Guarding.

buffdays

I'm not sure how many I've got left, one never is, blessed be my unknown future, never realised how many Ns there are in unknown. Started off by having a lie in, clock in bedroom needs new battery( I feel for it). Then a man called for the key for next door, Irish peoples holiday home, giving it an early Spring clean. Obi the Dobi bit him, broke skin, drew blood, drip,drip, and he burgered orft. This sort of thing is not good anywhere, but in La Republique Francaise, it can mean having the gendarmes carting off your doggie, and placing said doggie on doggie death row, OUCH! I've not been bit, 'twas the sound of my stoney old heart dropping onto my boots, hurt my foot. He eventually returned my not quite frantic phone call, he'd been to the medic, got a tetyanus shot, and had been patched up, no gendarmes required. Heart jumped back into place. Tom and Rikki called to have a drink to celebrate the joyous event, my buffday, remember! I do so like them, always really happy to see them. And so ends the saga of my buffday at year soixante-huit, 68 in English. I sincerely hope I will write something for year 69.

Frenching........

Been having French lesson visits with actual French type persons, in an actual French type home. We bought a sofa from a couple in a nearby village, and they thought we were so fabulous, they invited us for dinner,(clears throat behind hand). We went and dined with the French type persons, Jean Michel and Denise, and spoke mostly French for about three hours, gived me a headache, probably gived them a headache also, listening to me murdering their language. Interesting and necessary, but, blurdyardwork!! Didjano it costs nearly £1000 to fly to Australia?

SO! Now I've got a blog. Not sure how I'm going to handle it, but I don't think I've anything to worry about. I can write on it if I want, if I don't want, if I want! Sounds like my kind of thing. I've found with diaries, that they can become self-absorbed, self-obsessed if you like, and not even very interesting to the writer. They do have value, if, it's necessary to look back over a period of time for information. I'll see how this turns out. If anyone calls in to have a peek at me. HELLO! friends, and, SOD OFF!!! foes. XX