Another beautiful, brilliant, freezing day. The sun shines hard and yellow, the fields are rimed with frost and the little water around is both frozen and starting to raise a mist.
As usual, Clochette doesn’t care about the weather, though she did shiver some when sitting.
In honour of the cold I’ve picked a hot steamy number. Bouncy, fun, sexy, Love Shack has me thinking of the hot wet heat of Atlanta, the Love Shack rammed to the gunwales with sweaty, happy, dancing people. Of course, my only experience of Atlanta was a missed flight and an overnight in a hotel. I recall a long wait in the airport bar, chatting to a guy who ran church programmes for youth and being unable to sleep in the hotel and finding a waffle hut 3.30am and having waffles, bacon and coffee. As it was late September, it wasn’t hot and steamy out either.
My usual routine when getting up is to drag myself to the kitchen, get the kettle started, go out back and let out the chickens, give them a feed. Back in the house I fill the cafetiere, portion out porridge and water into a pan and set that to heat up. Meanwhile I will put some milk into Phylly’s mug and nuke it in the microwave. A quick stir of the porridge to keep it loose and stop it sticking and then I’m ready to pour hot water (never boiling) onto the coffee grounds. I stir the coffee and stir the porridge again. After a moment’s contemplation the porridge ready to serve. I add a little milk and cut a banana into mine. Everything onto a tray, giving the cafetiere an extra twirl as I do so and then upstairs.
Awoke this morning to a power cut, giving the pair of us a small panic about not having paid the bill. The last bill was peed on by Alan Backwards (I will explain) and so Phylly did not send it off. Because we have a gas hob fed by bottle all I did was switch to the stove top kettle and put the milk into a pan to heat.
Alan Backwards is the new name of T.C., who I have mentioned before. We found out the cat’s real name is Nala from our neighbour. She looks after and re-homes cats for the Brigitte Bardot charity so she has a whole gang of cats around, staying both long and short term. A few weeks back I was having a chat with her and mentioned we have a new addition, unwelcome, to our flock. I told her how for a while we were hearing noises from the Grenier (attic) and then started to meet this little beast on the stair. I described Alan’s milky eye, ratty fur and deep suspicion of everyone and everything, to which description she said, “Oh, really? I lost a cat a few weeks ago with a milky eye, what colour is its fur”? A little amazed that she should be asking in a hamlet of eight houses as if the cat trooping up and down our stairs could be some other one eyed cat who wandered in from somewhere else, I described Alan’s shoddy looking, greenish fur with white booties. With a smile she says, “That is Nala, may I see”? I take her up. She coos that this is her Nala, who was kept originally in a cage because of the need to administer drugs for an ailment. As we had a couple of friends staying with us, one of whom is called Alan, it seemed sensible to call her Alan Backwards. To be honest, Nala is a stupid sounding name anyway. Although she belongs to our neighbour, we have not handed her back. This is because she was kept in shelter for seven years and is very far from socialised with humans. It would be hell on wheels to get a hold of her and traumatic for the cat to be grabbed and carted back. We have agreed to look after her but our neighbour will have to get her to the vet if she falls ill.
A friend of mine has posted on Facebook a couple of items about toddlers in the U.S. killing themselves or siblings with household guns. This is terrible, a sad indictment of American society that it cannot see its way clear to proper gun control because of some cockeyed notion of what the 2nd Amendment truly means. I know this is an old argument but it is nonetheless still true, the West Wing tackled this and pointing out that the right to bear arms is about the creation of a proper, regulated militia is what the founding fathers both meant and specifically wrote. Here’s the quote:
republican: Why when the second amendment clearly says that the federal government will not infringe upon citizen’s right to keep and bear arms.
toby: Because it doesn’t say that. in fact it doesn’t say that at all. the only way it says that if you remove some words from it. it says a well regulated militia being necessary for the security of a free state, the government shall not infringe. The words well regulated and militia are in the first sentence. I don’t think the framers were thinking of three guys in a Dodge Durango.
republican: you don’t really know what the framers were thinking do you?
toby: No. But i know that if you combine all the populations of Great Britain, France, Germany, Japan, Switzerland, Sweden, Denmark, and Australia you’ll get a population roughly the size of the united states. we had 32,000 gun deaths last year, they had 112. do you think it’s because Americans are more homicidal by nature or do you think it’s because those guys have gun control laws?
What Europeans cannot understand is how it is that the U.S. is happy to have cars registered, drivers licensed, a recognition that vehicles are large, heavy and potentially dangerous items which need education and training to use but that is impossible for that process to be applied to guns and those who own them, as it would ‘infringe on their rights’.
I wonder whether there should be a fit and proper test for any person wishing to enter any service which makes use of firearms in any capacity, a test or exam that grades them on their responsible use of guns, requires them to be licensed in their use and that their guns are registered with the proper authorities and that they take proper care of their firearms at home, lock boxes etc. A Venn diagram of gun users and those who admire or wish to be a part of such a service must show a large correspondence, surely.
I popped out the back door to open up the coop this morning and was greeted by a cacophonous susurration in the row of tall fir trees behind our property. There were hundreds of starlings everywhere chatting and squawking with each other, making quite a racket. The funny thing was they were practically invisible in the dense foliage of the trees. To add to the noise, the chickens were making a fuss about being let out later than usual. Loud complaints, muffled by the pop hole door became a huffy set of moaning hens, waddling down the ramp and giving me the evil eye like they were Northern extras in Open All Hours. Today’s song of the day is here almost entirely for the line, “cheap Korean monster movie scenery”, which becomes hilariously (really? you think that joke is hilarious?) obvious once you continue onto to the next paragraph. Having said that, the song is a fine example of Costello’s wit and scabrous humour.
I have been watching a good few movies of late, as is my wont. I go on little themed film jags, getting interested in a particular genre or theme. Recently I was chatting with the daughter of a friend about Korean horror movies, something she is a fan of. She was extolling the virtues of them so I thought I would watch a couple. I have seen “Old Boy” in the past, the most disgusting scene in that being the eating of a live squid by the main character. I have also seen a few Japanese horrors, such as “Battle Royale”, about kids abandoned on an island who must fight to the death. Note: it came, as both book and movie, before the whole Mockingjay movie franchise. One other was called “Audition”, I think, about a director who auditions women to be his wife, although they are unaware. The perfect woman comes along and turns out to be a raving psycho who enjoys cutting parts off people using a wire saw, especially those who have abused her, like her old music teacher. I grabbed a couple of movies which had decent reviews and settled down to watch. One was called “Thirst”, about a priest who is accidently turned into a vampire by a blood transfusion. He fights his nature as best he can until he falls in love and turns her. She embraces the vampire life wholeheartedly which sets them both up for tragedy. I enjoyed this one for its altered view of the vampire oeuvre and for the twisted love affair at the centre. Another, “I Saw The Devil” about a policeman whose wife is killed by a serial killer. Having found it is one of four men, he discovers who via his fiance’s engagement ring. On his own time he then proceeds to attack and release the killer, interrupting him each time he attempts to rape or kill and by turns damages him further each time. I Got the whole ‘the policeman is as bad as the killer’ point way too early to be bothered about the film. The problem I found was the amount of gore in the films. Once you are past the initial thrill of viscera being splashed around the screen, of the change in shape that can be wrought on the human body, you are left with a tiresome set of bloody scenes where I spent half my time wondering about how much work the make up and model men had done and thinking of how much cleaning would be required to remove all this Kensington Gore off the floor.
If you want a scare, I thoroughly recommend “The Babadook”, an Australian movie. It concerns a young widow and her 10 or 11 year old son. He is obsessed with the Babadook, a storybook monster and the possibility of harm coming to his mother, natural if your father died in a car crash whilst taking her to your birth. She is tired and harried and clearly not coping with the boy, who is screechy, annoying, seemingly deranged and constantly making weapons to protect her from danger. I admit that for the first half hour I wondered why I was watching a doormat of a woman and her irritating kid but stuck with it, and very happy I did. I won’t go into the whole plot, suffice to say the boy is not as crazy as you think, there IS a monster who scares the bejeesus out of you with very little blood being shown and I literally (btw, when I say ‘literally’ I mean literally, not figuratively ) had chills up my spine watching it. This is an old fashioned scary movie, creating an atmosphere which draws you in and proceeds to give you frights of the ‘I can see a shape on the bedroom wall and in the wardrobe in the dark” type. Go see it and prepare to say shakily afterwards, “No, I wasn’t scared” And remember to take an extra pair of pants with you, you’ll need them. I’m amazed it has received no Oscar nominations, especially for Essie Davies, who plays the mother with all the emotional power and practicality you expect from a desperate woman.
As an antidote to the horror movies, I watched Tampopo last night, a very sensual, philosophical film about food and love. I remembered it as a great film and in many ways it is, with striking set pieces and beautiful shots but it looks wildly sexist now. The story is of a truck driver who helps a woman running a noodle bar to become a great noodle chef and although she begs him early in the film to be her teacher and says she will do anything, from then on he makes all the decisions about menu, interior decor etc.. to the point where all she becomes as a character is a cypher and a simpering, nervous, manically smiling one at that. Her influence is minimal, she is directed by men throughout, and the movie is more about the little scooby gang of men around her. For all that it is a lovely film to watch and give you a whole new way to look the uses of an egg yolk, or the best thing to dip into whipped cream 🙂
Having had a good break it is hard to know where to start on a review of the Christmas period and events, there seems so much to be written of. I had intended returning to SOTD on Monday, the start of the working year for most people but that day proved difficult for me, as you will read later in this post. Whilst I gather my thoughts, here’s the SOTD. This came entirely as a result of the shuffle function on my ipod, allied with the benefits of the walk this morning. There is nothing better, in my opinion, for stimulating the little grey cells than a good walk in the open air. For example, this came on my ipod this morning and I immediately heard how the spoken rhymes are echoed in the early work of Red Hot Chili Peppers. Their first couple of albums were a stab at a rock/funk crossover, which was interesting, sometimes entertaining but ultimately not really successful. Back then was when they were the most fun (also the most preachy) and now I lump them together with bands such as U2, stadium rockers who make rock and roll lift (Americans, by lift I mean elevator:)) music.
It was interesting to see a woman from the Office National des Forets, the french version of the Forestry Commission up at the nunnery today. She was tapping trees with a mallet, taking photos etc. She had a map of the nunnery in a wooden frame and a big leather tool belt. She tapped, or banged a pine tree near to a spot I sit and took a picture. I guess it was because it was leaning over so much. The pines here have a habit of taking odd forms on their routes to the sunlight, some even touching down first before rising again, forming a low arch. Looking at the arch, I imagine an alternate world the other side, one only accessible on a one or two days a year.
Here is a few vignettes from the Christmas period:
24/12
Scattered high cloud today with the sun appearing every so often, the light is high and bright, not exactly crisp but colder than of late, the kind of weather they have been predicting for us for a week or so now.
Last night we had Wendy over to help us dress the trees and to have supper. I roasted a chicken with roast potatoes, chipolatas, bacon, leeks, carrots and broccoli, gravy and bread sauce. A lovely meal if I say so myself. Of course it could have been a disaster. When I took the chicken out of the fridge in the afternoon, to get it to room temperature I made the mistake of leaving it on the side uncovered. I come downstairs from a quick cup of tea to find the breasts and the central chest bone had been chomped on by one of the cats. I quickly cut away some of the meat and washed the area but the poor bird looked like it had taken a gunshot to the chest. When it came to serving up, I dismembered the bird, sliced up the breasts and served it all on a separate plate, which helped to disguise the damage. I wait nervously to find out if Wendy is lying in a pool of her own vomit. Her neighbours will pop over to say Joyeux Noel so I expect she’ll be found today….. I discover she’s fine so I’m not a poisoner.
Clochette is wearing her new present, a harness. It is, for the smallest design they had, a little on the loose side. Better than too small I suppose. She is wary of it because the design demands she lift a leg to get into it, the previous only requiring her to put her head through the neck part. The weird thing about this dog is that when I put it on her at home, adjusting the straps etc. she acted as if I was punishing her, telling her to sit still while I worked. It then occurred to me that the few times I get her to still still at home she is getting drugs or being told off.
Wendy bought her a chew bone for Christmas, one of those constructed from tendon etc. Trouble is it is huge and heavy, she can hardly get it into her mouth and she certainly cannot pick it up. We gave it to her last night and she looked at me like I had played a trick on her. She is very disappointed. I shall endeavour to cut it up into bite size pieces for her but I don’t hold out much hope as I have tried similar before and they tend to be pretty tough. Maybe I’ll get the jigsaw out and try that. That’s my Christmas day sorted then, shovel gravel, sort out the last bits for the potager fire pit, jigsaw a bone for the dog. What else would I be doing?
26/12
First of all, success with Clochette’s ‘bone’. I managed to saw it in half with an ordinary wood saw, noting that the centre of the chew was a fibrous mass and easier to cut. Now she has two halves, simpler to transport but more difficult to protect.
Today is Boxing Day, of little significance here in France. At home the various hooray hunts will be up and running, here the farmers are out, as they have been most days over Christmas, with shotguns and dogs. Clochette is attempting her own hunt of rabbit but their jinking runs and speed are a bit too much for her. She still squeals and yips as she chases and she comes back bright eyed and alert from her efforts.
I imagine Jesus would be most pissed off that the church, in its successful campaign to proselytise him and the religion, picked the middle of winter for his birth. This famous Palestinian, actually born in the summer must be freezing right now. Artificial constructs for the sake of selling the brand and taking over the market can be a bitch.
A better day today, cold but calm, no wind, a high blanket of pale grey across the sky. Clochette is rocking her new harness, looking very stylish.
27/12
Is today the start of what one Guardian journalist has irritatingly called Twixmas? The period between Christmas and New Year. Who cares.
Christmas jobs so far: took delivery of eight tonnes of gravel last week and have been gravelling the stretch either side of the back path and the front left side of the house. The delivery guy put the gravel where we told him, right side front but I know he has fatally cracked one paving slab and may have cracked others. Trouble is we probably don’t have spares of the right size; I have completed the digging and lining etc. of the fire pit in the potager and it looks pretty good, if I do say so myself. The pit is around a metre across, lined with slates (which may crack in the heat) and topped with a decorative layer of stones. There is room to sit around it and to prop one’s feet on the rocks to get the benefit of the fire; the rest of the gravel has to be moved to the back garden for use later (we don’t have time to gravel everywhere we want before guests arrive); we need to clean generally out back to make it look less like a ‘chavvy’ dump, having said that, a nice broken sofa would set the garden off nicely.
This morning I got the spray cleaner out and sprayed down the front and back paths. As the hoses connecting to the outside tap and at the base of the sprayer both leak, the whole process is one of trying to not get completely soaked whilst cleaning. Fortunately, being soaked through means no one can see my nose drip from the cold. It is much more fun in the summer.
Today is bright sunny with cloud and dry and as we are past the shortest day already, Phylly is convinced it is pretty much Spring now and Summer shortly. On a day like this, although not warm, it does almost feel Spring like.
28/12
An absolutely beautiful day today, crisp and clear with brilliant sunshine. The walk is a real pleasure.
Yesterday was a solid working day, I shifted the remainder of the gravel from the front of the house to the back. As is my OCD wont, I counted the shovelfuls as I went which was eight hundred and twenty four. Added to the previous gravel movements and it comes to some fifteen hundred shovelfuls of gravel moved, approximately one hundred wheelbarrow loads. Needless to say I ache a bit today.
As it is the end of the year I suppose it is a time for reflection, to look back on the year and see what we have learned. The most obvious thing would be that I stand testament to the argument about regular testing adding to the burden of an health service and offering extra stress to people. My regular post cancer scan threw up two anomalies, one a growth on my colon, the other a lesion or growth in my chest wall. Thanks to those I had extra scans, an exploration under anaesthetic, two punctures with scanning of my chest. The results in both cases was negative, neither object was dangerous in any way. I understand the need for scans for me to check on whether my cancer returns but the net result of these scans is two unnecessary extra scans and three unnecessary surgical procedures. Being the optimist I am, I wrote a valedictory for myself in case it all went pear shaped, I contemplated the loss to Phylly and, perhaps worse, the loss to my mother; I cannot imagine what it could feel like to lose a child. So, whilst I am grateful that I have the all clear on those objects, without scanning I and the world would be none the wiser, no poorer and less stressed.
29/12
Another brilliant day of sunshine. It was bitter early this morning, in fact the chickens’ water bowl was frozen solid. This sun bodes well for our trip with friends to the beach on New Year’s Day. The plan is to drive down to Quiberon and enjoy the large emptiness of the pristine beaches. We’ll set up a BBQ and take goodies. The dog loves it at the beach so a walk is on the cards for her. The only issue might be getting everyone up in time to take advantage. Four of the friends are Keith and Cathy’s and we have no idea of their capacities when it comes to booze.
30/12
Another brilliant day. I won’t go on about it but the fields of silvery frost were beautiful. Collected the long tables from the salles des sports this morning, putting them on Keith’s roof rack… Our little NYE fete de voisins will have around twenty people attending. Dan and Kate’s daughter and son-in-law are going to help out with the cooking and Phylly’s done her slow cooked beef cheeks as the main dish. She tested out a recipe on me a week or so ago and it was lovely. The cheeks are marinaded in orange, star anise, oil etc. and cooked for a minimum of four hours in a low oven. The meat by then is falling apart and just tastes terrific. The irritating part when prepping is removing the membrane on the cheeks, which would seize up and go rubbery if cooked. At least I had my new I.O. Shen kitchen knife to use for that. The knife is great and scary sharp, I got through the seven kilos of cheeks in no time.
31/12
A wonderfully foggy, frosty day today.
Phylly has gone off to Foir Fouille with Alan and Susan, partly to show them the wonders of the tat shop and also to get some further supplies for later today. We have already bought some decorations, coloured paper tablecloth, napkins etc but there is always something that occurs to P that is needed. After walking Clochette I shall be polishing the playlist for the fete de new year. We shall be in the bread oven and this afternoon we will be starting a fire in the oven itself which, we hope, will warm the area where we set up the long tables. Some of our Christmas decorations will be going up in the rafters and we will run a power line for lighting and the speakers. Jak and Allie have been over to discuss the ingredients for today and P will also be shopping for those. [menu].
01/01
Last night, though cold, was fun. We tricked out the bread oven with lights, boughs of eucalyptus and bay, set up the two commune long tables and dressed them with paper tablecloths, centre pieces of greenery mixed with strings of lights. Everything looked festive and cosy. We started a fire in the oven itself which looked great but gave out very little heat. Most of that went straight up the chimney. We augmented with two chimeneas and a paraffin heater so it wasn’t too bad. Also we hadn’t taken in to account how much warmth twenty five people in a small space generate. The food was really good, Jak and Ally’s starters of chicken bits in various marinades, the pork belly Phylly had cooked to a Ken Hom recipe was great, especially with the glazes Jak added. The slow cooked beef cheeks went down well too.
02/01
The day at the beach with Alan and Susan was lovely. A bright clear day, a sea that gave us white tipped breakers and a dog that ran and gambolled with salty delight.
05/01
Yesterday afternoon we had a visit from a hunter’s dog, lost from the local ‘chasse’. A sweet little dog, absolutely filthy, some raw patches on his body from scrapes etc. and stinking to high heaven. He was very affectionate and not particularly fearful but he did need some care and attention. We gave him a bath/shower which turned the water black and afterward he stank only to the outskirts of heaven, perhaps where you might find some light industry or warehousing. Phylly fell in love with him straight away and we had some debates about the possibility of keeping him. Clochette was somewhat fearful of Badger, as P had named him, but she was getting used to the dog being in the house. It’s a tough one to work out morally, despite what some may say. The dog, although definitely underfed and filthy, is affectionate, shows no sign of beating or fear of humans and likes to put his front paws up on your leg for strokes. Of course he is probably kept in a pen or cage outdoors, won’t be let out except on hunt days and probably has to fight to get to the meals they are served and all of those are reason enough to want to take him over and give him a pet’s life rather than a hunt dog’s. But he is also tattooed, looks like he has been castrated, so has some value to the owner. The owner probably only has two or three dogs so the loss is not insignificant. We took the dog down the road to Gildas, who has hunt dogs of his own and he recognised the dog as belonging to a friend of his. We have left him with Gildas. I feel guilty leaving him, knowing that he will go back to a life of cold, some hunger and being cooped up most of the time but we are not a dog charity looking to save every dog we come across. I am thinking about it as I write and so far I can find no reason that justifies leaving him. If this were England, we would be calling the RSPCA and the owner would face a prosecution and fine for mistreatment, the dog would be taken and an attempt to re-home it made. We have returned it because the locals would not look kindly on us trying to keep the dog, because we realise what the local culture is with dogs, either they are working animals or pampered, food or family. Also Phylly has pointed out if he is one of only two dogs, as Gildas indicated, we leave another dog without a partner and warm body to sleep with. Regardless, I feel we have done the wrong thing.
07/01
We all make compromises in our lives; It is in the nature of all our relationships that we do. I have done so and I don’t feel good about it. A wit once said compromise is where everyone agrees and where no one is happy and it seems true. We agreed to hand the hunt dog back to it’s owner on Monday and we have done so; I am desperately sad about this because I don’t think that is any life for a dog. I recognise the difficulties we would have in taking on another dog now but all the reasons I have come up with feel inadequate, weasly and mealy-mouthed. The decision is made, I have to live with it. I blame no one but myself.
donaldmv 