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!!!!!!!