Category Archives: Living in France

It’s nearly tax return last date for filing time

14 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in blogging, family, humour, january, Living in France, Parenting, Parenting and family, procrastination, Raising boys, tax returns

≈ 3 Comments

Hi Blog,

Following on last year’s successful post of ‘Things that I have done to put off doing my tax return’, here we find ourselves again. This means that it is January.  I am not in full procrastination mode yet as I do in fact have weeks before the deadline of 31st Jan-submit-your-Self Assessment form – and- pay-tax- owed – else-you-will-incur-a-100 (british) pound-fine.

This might suggest that you, my dear blog, shall be fully exercised as a blog between now and that deadline.  I shall become a prolific blogger…..temporarily.

It might also suggest that my house, during my Self Assessment Submission Procrastination Period,  will get a shake up and shake out of all things unnecessary ………..’Do we need two dogs? One would cover it. I probably don’t need three children – especially as two have the same colouring and they are all the same sex. I’d better keep the Husband as there is only one of him along with the one teenager.’

The Prodigal

He lives with my brother.  This brother could be likened to Sherlock Holmes – not for his drug proclivity but for his sharp, analytical mind. He also doesn’t care for people nor parties involving people. He’d probably attend a party of him, his dog and maybe his incredible shrinking and expanding and shrinking friend whom he also refers to as Fat Pikey…..to his face.

Now – this brother (and I’m not even going to touch on my deep, deep, deep, true gratitude for him and his wife – the most laid back woman within the Northern Hemisphere but don’t cross her especially if she has her knitting needles out) is the one person that seems to tie the Prodigal up into such intellectual/spiritual…physical (?maybe – I’m not against it if it’s for the good of the Prodigal) knots that the Prodigal appears to be in control of his ……what to call them…….indulgences for self destruction.

In short, the Prodigal, is going well and in no little way is, my brother, his wife – their family, to thank for this.

The Face

As the Prodigal rises from the ashes of despair, the Face seems to be about to trip into the pit.

Did I tell you, Blog, that last November he was suspended from school?

Voicemail from the school secretary:

‘Bonjour…., blah, blah, blah..et je ne suis pas certain that I want to say zis on ze telephone but when ze Face’s teacher told ze class and one pupil in particular to be quiet, ze Face shouted out zat ze teacher should:

‘Shove a dick in ‘is arse’

Please call me back to deeiscuss.’

 

I’ve deduced (like it? The Sherlock reference?          no? ok) from data that the Face is in a gay relationship with his best friend.

The facts:

-They spend lots of time getting ready to go nowhere

-they share the same bed when sleeping at the friend’s house

-they send kisses emotions  emojis (?) to each other

and by no means the most compelling evidence:

-I found a used condom rolling around my tumble drier (I was lucky it was rolling and not indelibly attached to the inner wall of the tumbling part. I still remember how long it took me to pick off the bits of melted plastic when my husband decided to ‘help’ by putting an anti-peepee mattress protector into the machine).         

This used condom had fallen out of his jeans.   His jeans that he had worn to spend the night at his friend’s house.  And I know he stayed there  because:

Mobile phone ringing.  It’s from the Face. I pick up –

‘Hi Face, what time do I collect you from training tonight?’

‘………..’

‘the face? Are you there?’

‘……’

‘The face??? You rang me. It’s your mother.’

‘Mum? Mum?’

(it goes like this every call)

‘Yes, Face. What time do I collect you?’

‘Actually, I’ve decided not to go to training. All my friends just happen to be in the Town of Nowhere at the same time ‘

‘What a coincidence.’

‘yes, anyway, can I stay at my friend, L’s house?’

‘What? Well, how do I know that you aren’t making this up and are actually going to a pre-arranged all night drugs and sex party (or about to have physical relations with girl(s), put the used condom in your pocket for me to retrieve from my tumble drier)?’

‘Ok I’ll get my friend to confirm’ – because of course, I would believe him ?????

scramble scramble, friend arrives

‘Oui, c’est L et oui ze Face, il peut rester avec moi ce soir.’

Well, that’s ok then. Why would they lie?

As they were both telling the truth it can only mean that he spent the night with his male friend and it involved a condom.  what else can I be led to believe?      This is a piece of wind up material that both myself and my husband have pounced on and have as yet unleashed.

 

The Professor

Continues to get 20/20 or thereabouts in his tests. Continues to enjoy little maths puzzles that the husband gives him – these are normally questions from the Face’s text book. The Face is now 16.

Has stopped talking to me about football. I think this is because he has realised at the age of 9, how intellectually inferior I am to him so our exchanges are now mostly limited to

‘Where is my Barcelona shirt?’ and ‘What can I eat?’

His love life remains complicated – the girl in question loves him as well as his best friend.  I’ve found her letters to him…and you’ve got to hand it to her – she declares her love for him and him only whilst at the same time demanding that he never shows the letters to his best friend.

I need to give the Professor some singing lessons. What he lacks in melodiousness, he makes up for in volume. He has started to sing hymns. One hymn in fact. Over and over and over and over. I’m sure that the Angels in Heaven can hear him and are delighted.

The Lips

‘When can I have my sleepover that you promised me for my birthday?’

This is now becoming a daily question.

To be fair, his birthday was in September.

As honesty is the best policy (or in other words, the fobbing off was only accepted by him for 3 months), I suggested:

‘The thing is, Lips, your friends are basically a massive pain in the arse.  If they were well behaved, I would have had them over ages ago.’

He nodded his head and agreed.

Does this mean the end of the question? Probably not.

Fatty

Youtube – we watched it together a few weeks ago.  I have to admit that I have an interest in all things slapstick so FailArmy normally gets a viewing from me.  One clip showed an angry faced, big boned American woman stomp up to a car and shouted in the open window:

‘DO YOU HAVE CIGARETTES ?’

Shocked and surprised, the passenger replies ‘No, and I don’t even smoke.’

‘WELL, FUCK OFF!’

We all laughed. I felt a moments shame as I was the responsible adult in the room and I laughed harder than my four children whilst trying to convey that you must never say that and it is bad, bad, bad….

Fatty laughs

he runs out of the room to my husband, sitting at the table:

‘Papa? Papa? Papa?

‘What, fatty?’

‘FUCK OFF‘

to my continued shame, I laughed again and harder but tried to cover it up with my hand and jumper.  Very convincing.

 

 

So anyone who has managed to get down this far – WELL DONE! Don’t I go on?

Here’s a photo of something that made me laugh and at the same time, compelled me to buy it……..actually, as my procrastination is not in Full Mode yet, I can’t be bothered to load the photo.  It was a bar of chocolate called ‘Sports chocolate’.

Here is another photo of the Pyrenees at dawn (2 hours drive away hence the dodgy photo with my 200mm lens when in fact, I need a 2,000,000mm lens). Relevant? not very.

Thank you for reading. And expect another blog tomorrow or as soon as I start my nightly Self Assessment Form panic attacks.

DSC_3535

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Various from the re-Crippled

19 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by in accidents, family, holidays, humour, Living in a village, Living in France, osteopathy, Parenting, Parenting and family, Raising boys, renovations

≈ 2 Comments

(For anyone that i’ve emailed this week, don’t bother reading this blog as I’ve already exhausted your sympathy with my moaning about my back. For anyone else, read on and sympathise!!!!!)

Blog, good afternoon and a g’day to all of my followers especially Story time with John and Felix O’Shea (maybe not a follower but now that I’ve applied some pressure…)who between them have given me some (blog) laughter on an otherwise pain filled Sunday (except when Fatty ran into my room, stumbled and 3 of his toes ended up inSIDE the posterior of the sleeping Lidl Supermarket Dog… rude awakening indeed. Entre nous, I also laughed whilst watching the Gumball cartoon on Cartoon Network even if the kids weren’t there. Bloody funny that show).

Crippled Again

Life can be cruel.

So, as I knew that Fatty was about to start school (and I’ve been waiting three years for this to happen), I ordered some new running shoes expecting to be able to run a marathon in the way that some men of a certain age still believe they can fit into their 20 year old, size 28 waist jeans? Actually, no. Optimist I may be; deluded? I wouldn’t say never but only rarely.

However, my super duper run like the wind shoes remain unused as:

5 months on from The Stone Steps Bounce and near Ruin, I find myself immobile again. At least it’s different this time. If my spine were representing a letter from the alphabet, it would be an S…….could be worse….could be a Z …heaven forbid, a W.  Funnily enough, I’ve learned from the tongue yanking, ear shoving, coccyx tickling experience with the local osteopath (see post The long road to recovery) and will try a new guy on Tuesday. Watch this space.

s shape spine

 

The 5 boys – an update

The Prodigal

Out of sight out of mind. Sounds harsh? Ok, he is in mind but as I can’t see or hear what he is getting up to, I can’t worry too much about it (except in the long, dark hours of middle night).  He has moved into a flat belonging to some person who lives somewhere in London. ‘I’ll give you my mobile number when I get it. mum’ and ‘yeah, everything is great.’

As with the osteo appointment; WATCH THIS SPACE

The Face

Has been gallivanting in style. Most of his summer was spent in England and he enjoyed two weeks in Sri Lanka.

‘How was it, Face?’

‘yeah…..it was ….erm…….yeah, it was hot.’

I’m hoping that at the start of this new school year, we reach a break through on the understanding of what is homework and what is revision and the difference between the two.

‘So, Face, do you have lots of homework AND revision for this weekend?’

‘Nah, I did it on Thursday.’

Start as you mean to go on, why don’t you.

The Prof

Has started a new school.

It is a Catholic school, in fact but that’s not why he chose it (unless, there is more to him than meets the eye. Mother WOULD be pleased to have, if not a son who is a priest but a grandson).

Although I was brought up Catholic (and let me tell you that one day soon I shall blog about my childhood memories of our family praying together activities……yes, all 8 kids and parents – especially during the month of MAY), the Prof has only been inside a church a handful of times so I’m fully expecting to find him doing some Mass research from the ‘R.C. guide to Mass Etiquette’ prior to his school’s welcome mass next week.

child and bible

The Lips

Still making dark paintings and drawings. Spends lot of time alternating between cuddling Fatty (and who can resist all that softness? All that softness yet what a very foul mouth) and punching him. I guess it’s good training for Fatty’s introduction to Ecole.

 Fatty

‘Mum, your legs are SOOOO SPICEY!!!!! You LOOK.LIKE.A.PLANT!’

A picture of me, second one in from the left:

cactus legs

 

Well his Dad (whom he revealed was actually Michael Jackson) who lives in England now has a wife………yes……called Mum.  Fatty was talking to them both on his plastic telephone and passed me over to them.  It was very much a one sided conversation which I terminated after a few pleasantries.

The next day:

‘Hey Fatty. How is your English dad and mum?’

‘They’re dead.’

—

‘Eye spy with my little eye, su’fing that is yuk’

‘We don’t know Fatty. What is it?’

‘Papa’s arsehole’

I’m relieved that at our local school, the English speaking teacher isn’t there until January.

Upcoming posts:

Catholic family prayer (not to be missed)

The nearly drowning dog, part II

and my thoughts on the recent scientific achievement of brain to brain transmition of thought……actually, I won’t write that down, I’ll just think it to you.

Blog and readers, happy Sunday to you and hope that you don’t get that Sunday evening ‘Haven’t done my homework feeling’ that some decades after leaving school, I still suffer from………unlike my eldest children…….they haven’t done their homework but they don’t suffer from the feeling!

 

 

 

 

Happy holidays

19 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by in family, humour, Living in France, Parenting, Raising boys, renovations, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 1 Comment

Bonsoir Blog,

Slack?
Very

Promises of regular blogging?
The road to hell is well paved.

Here in the year 1904, summer is being enjoyed.
Oh!
Hang on – did I say 1904? What I mean is living as if I was in 1904 -when this house was built – but without the conveniences of staff….. And a well kept holeless roof – it could be called old fashioned air conditioning?

Still – a summer holiday washing up for 6 at a sink which is so low, Im already resembling a hunchback (yes, a very old fashioned idea – washing up by hand!) 3 times a day is a change from loading a dishwasher for 7 (yep – you’re on the ball ce soir; Le Prodigal has removed to Angleterre) and we do have electricity and 4 channels on the tv but no phone or, horror above all horrors, no internet.
We threw a bed away today. The mattress was stuffed with horse hair – you get the scene?

This evening we tried for the 9th time to try and catch the sunset at the beach.
There have been various obstacles which have prevented this simple yet fulfilling and soul refreshing activity.
Tonights?
Lidl Supermarket Dog enjoyed her first freestyle swim in the sea.
She swam.
She swam further.
We felt a bit uneasy.
She swam further perhaps to make the first canine attempt at swimming the Channel.
The husband stripped down to his underpants – ‘im going in’
We screamed her name.
She swam.
He waded.
She swam.
LIDL SUPERMARKET DOG!!!!
Fatty screamed as i pulled him from the water to strap him into the buggy to avoid a 2nd near drowning as I had to go in too – with a leash.
I must point out that I did not strip down to my pants as by that time we had an interested crowd.
I left Maisy the now very smart looking dog in charge of the kids and in I went as The Prof incessantly chanted ‘she’s going to drown. I told you she would’ and Fatty roaring ‘i want to go in with you and Papa!!!’

It has a happy ending. Although that walk home in our clothes soaking wet as the storm started behind us, felt LONG:
Finally she saw the leash and swam near enough to be grabbed.
By way of thanks, she left me a sea enema deposit in the sand to clear up and I suspect similar greetings in the morning.

Sunset tomorrow?

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Sprung Sprang Sprong Spring

10 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by in family, humour, Living in a village, Living in France, Parenting, Parenting and family, Raising boys, renovations, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 2 Comments

Well Blog,

What a day. Has your day been like that? IS your day currently like that?

Let’s have a photo of something peaceful to calm down any unhappy spirits:

Image

 

Did that work?

Not even a little bit?

Then we’re all doomed to depression.

Anyway, moving on:

In this old stone (crumbling) abode, we have had a (half) week of peepee and caca.

If it wasn’t Lidl Supermarket Chain Dog with a urine infection? Bladder control? Bad manners (certainly) then perhaps it was Fatty pushing the limits of his Freedom of Nappy Bottom Phase. There has been wee every-where. I have been walking around with an old rag (actually, the husband’s favorite item of clothing – it would be hard to distinguish the two) and disinfectant spray. It’s got so bad that I think the villagers are dropping in just to pee on the floor. I exaggerate NOT.

We’ve also had more poo munching by the said dog; taking toilet paper (used and a deep shade of …..brown) from the toilet (‘but I always flush the chain, mummy’), a bare bummed Fatty squatting in the garden and releasing his bowels without getting any on his trousers …….or so I thought.

Until,

‘mummy, I wet my trowlers’ as Fatty comes in with his feet apart and his lower body resembling a triangle.

‘all right (feckin feckin feck). Come over here and I’ll take them off…..and your wet shoes and weewee socks”

‘are you cwross, Mummy?’

‘no, fatty but next time, tell me.’

So I cuddle him as I put him up onto my knee, lift up his bum to pull down his ‘trowlers’ and ‘oh, but what’s this on my hand and jeans? I didn’t give you any chocolate, Fatty? AGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Yuk!’

“mummy, are you cwross now?’

The Husband

has gone to Paris.

Yep.

AGAIN.

I know.

The other one is far more demanding and alluring than moi.

Never mind, it’s not like he left half the garden wall pulled down and unfinished and not like he left a power drill switched on in the area that Fatty plays. No…..not like that at all.

Normally, when the Husband is gone, the Prodigal behaves.

I said normally.

But not this time.

The Prodigal

If I could package him up in a box and another box and another box and then cellophane (industrial strength) it, put a chain around it and padlock it and then send it (the box) to a destination 1,000km west of, say,,,,,Sydney……then I would!

I get home at 10.30 this morning:

‘what’s wrong with you, Prodigal?’

‘You’ve come home.’

Great. I can’t say our exchanges got much better from there. Still, it beats him tapping his fingers on the kitchen table (incessantly) for around 15 mins on Sunday when I accused him of having drunk alcohol.

He denied it.

But then he always does.

He gave me some words of wisdom. In his denial of having drunk alcohol and generally tripping over his sober…..yes, sober words, he told me: ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’

Yep. My 18 yr old said that to my 41 year old self.

The Face

Has fans.

Yep. Two girls from the village who hung around (for at least an hour) the (broken, unbuilt, unsecured) garden wall JUST to get a glimpse of him…….. I’m presuming it’s of the Face they’re interested in and not say, the builders bum showing, half naked, wild haired husband. Well, there is no accounting (none) for taste.

The Prof

Has yet to edit his latest love letter to his amour. Currently, he signs off saying:

‘It’s been ages since you rubbed me’ – we need to work on his spelling – it’s not what he meant to say (I hope).

The Lips

Told me not to worry that I couldnt’ remember something as ‘you don’t sleep too good.’

what an understanding child. Funny though, because as he said it, I swear I saw him smile towards his father in a ‘check out the mad old bat’ (yes, each insult has it’s own facial expression).

My parents

Visited us.

I enjoyed that.

We even left the house and ate in a place called a restaurant. Not once but twice.

Fatty

yes, I know that I covered him (and he covered me) earlier but I’ve just realised that he has been asleep for 40 minutes and it’s 5.20 p.m. MERDE!

I’m signing off dear blog/readers/weirdos

but I shall leave you with these wise words:

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

(that’s here as in the village of Nowhere, SW France).

Who will edit this post for me?

 

 

 

 

 

Exchanging wine for a boomerang?

12 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by in current affairs, humour, Living in France, Parenting, Parenting & family, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

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Howdy Blog and a very warm welcome to my new followers – may we enjoy 1,000s of blog entires together….

I’ve just lost you haven’t I?  You can’t answer as you’ve already spaced out and moved on to a better, brighter, funnier, more insightful Blog – in case you’re waivering, I’ll insert an extraordinary picture (which truly has nothing whatsoever to do with this post):

Image

Things we now know that we didn’t know last week:

-Passenger planes can just vanish OR Governments/Army/Navy can not tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth….or nothing at all, as in this case.

-When large lorries, travelling at speed in the middle of a country lane where the road narrows, break hard and quickly, they skid for about 20 metres…..you can also smell burned rubber for about two miles further on up the road…….or was that coming from my foot as I JAMMMMED THE ANCHORS coming against the said lorry, with no where to go but a wall or a river?

-Bob Crow died. Who are Daily Mail reading London Tube passengers going to moan about now?

-When you invite lots of people to your house, perhaps consider that they might all turn up so be prepared – that showed me, didn’t it? And them…..

-When people (moi?….jamais) say ‘I’m going to sell this baby’, they don’t really mean it and the person they are having this lighthearted exchange with, REALLY shouldn’t take it as literal……because….I wouldn’t have sold the baby, I would have given him away.

The Family

I can feel that you are all desperate to hear news of the 5 boys and the Woofy?

So are the local police.

All right, all right:

The Prodigal 

I’ve not managed to find ONE empty alcohol container over the past 3 weeks. This means that

a)he has turned a corner and given up or

b)he is getting better at hiding them or

c) my eyesight is getting worse

d)he sneaks back into the neighbour’s house and ‘steals her wine and leaves his boomerang’ (her very words to me via a charming email about teenagers and alcohol and the dangers and how my son is leading her daughter astray….I should probably return the favour and reply with a charming response warning of the dangers of teenagers and say….oh…..marijuana and how her daughter is leading my son..if not, astray, then stumbling slightly off the Path towards the Righteous Parent? But I’m not enough of a bitch…actually, I am….but my Level of Bitch in French is pas bonne.  In English or French, I still cannot grasp what she meant by the boomerang – it’s probably the same case for her).

Image

The Face

‘Prodigal, does that make me Jesus as I cured your jaw when I kicked a football at it?’

Image

The Prof

Dunno as I’ve not seen him for nearly two weeks

The Lips

ditto – i do hear though that they (the Prof and Lips) have studied hard and are getting more serious about knocking the hell out of each other.  I’m very much a stand back (and block my ears and eyes) and let them get on with it . Up until blood is spilled or worse,  they’re about to break something I like, then I’ll step in.

Fatty

Turned 3.

‘So Fatty, remember we said that on your 3rd birthday, you are going to throw away all of your dummies (soothers)?”

‘I DON’T WANT TO BE 3!!!!!!!’

He made me think of how his father is when he has run out of Nicorette gum. I found him searching under things; lifting things up;looking looking looking looking with that crazy, addict look and yearning for his drug of choice (sillicone in his case).

He found one in the car and knew he had conquered and crushed my No Dummy Phase I stage (little hands clamped around a dummy have a strength that surely goes against all physiological possibilities).

Later, I found him face down on the floor under his little table……face down to hide what he had in his mouth.  No Dummy Phase II stage destroyed.  In the Tug of Dummy which occurred after this:  Fatty’s grip 1  Mummy 0.

Things that Fatty says:

‘Can I open more presents now?’  on waking up the day after his birthday.

‘if a shark wanted to eat me, I would turn into a snowman.’

And,

‘Fatty, where is your other shoe?’

” is it behind my ear?’

The Woofy

She’s getting a bit porky around the middle but that’s not surprising as she spends most of her time hanging around Fatty who has an extremely generous  nature especially with a packet of biscuits and his breakfast, lunch dinner, knife, spoon, fork. He is also generous with sharing his sword with the Woofy ‘see she likes being hit with it.’ and sharing his sense of fun as he pulls her tail and goes ever so near to her ‘what’s that mummy? is that where her baby comes out?

‘GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THERE NOW< FATTY!!!!!’

OH and better not to forget, The Husband

Is still away. yes, I know, he has been away rather a lot but at least this time he took 2/5 with him. I know that you are wondering if he’ll buy me another family pack of chocolates by way of a present from his holidays. I’m feeling lucky. I think that he might.

—

Ok, thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a comment – if I don’t like them, I won’t approve them…..I HAVE the Power!!!!  Also, as I’m not going to edit (EVER) feel free to make the corrections. I’ll read them, take note and then empty my brain of them.

So, I’ll leave you with a line by one of my all time favourite characters (plus he reminds me of my brother, Fingers):

You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be led.

Batty Woman’s Day

08 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by in humour, Living in France, Parenting and family

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

old-lady-2

I stopped to fill the car with petrol.

This takes some time…….and money…. in fact, so much money that it would probably be cheaper to hire a chauffeur.  And yes, this time I did remember to use the right fuel. I know that I did put petrol in a diesel car once – I remember. My husband reminds me regularly (EVEN THOUGH it happened 3 years ago).  He remembers with fondness….I can tell….that day that I turned up in a taxi, barged into the house and said:

‘there’s a taxi waiting outside to take you back to Nowhere town.’

‘Quoi!!!??????’

‘The car isn’t working. It’s full of shopping. It was making a really funny noise’

Pause as he takes this in.

‘Oh and I think that I filled it with unleaded……I realised so stopped driving (after about 2 miles). Can you go and sort it out? ‘

ah….such lovely memories.

Anyway, getting back to today –

So I queue behind one woman at the pre pay pump (as of course, I have a right hand drive in a left hand drive country and she is at the pump I need).

She is having difficulties with the instructions. Do I help? No I blardey don’t. I change pump terminals (you know what I mean).

An oldish lady pulled up to use the other side of my petrol pump terminal (what is their proper name?).

She got out, looked at the pump, looked at her car, looked at the pump.  Here we go, I say to myself.

She opened the boot. She pulled the petrol pump towards the boot full of shopping. The celery shuddered. The baguette sagged. I thought to myself ‘ooh, very novel. That car takes petrol via the boot. Nice idea’  (hang on, which one of us is batty?).

Meanwhile, the lady on the pre payment pump is trying to stick her card into the paper dispenser….

My old lady, looks at the pump, looks at her shopping. Looks at her keys. PUts back the pump (yep, it does take this long to fill my car. Indeed) and then ………well, I was done so we’ll leave you with that cliff hanger. Suggestions via the comments section would be gratefully received. A ball of string and a pair of marigolds to the funniest answer.

Happy Woman’s Day!

Liberty, equality, fraternity – anyone?

13 Thursday Feb 2014

Posted by in current affairs, Living in France, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

≈ Leave a comment

Bonjour Blog,

Comment ca va?

Impec-ca-b-le and glad to hear it.

A quick thank you to my new follower, Cristian Mihai and for the L(y)ikes I received from people I don’t even know. I will never cease to be amazed that anyone (who isn’t a friend or family or whom I have no power of blackmailing) will even bother to read the rubbish I publish on this site. I am, however, grateful. Fame at last…..

Ok, so making news in France this week:

-Floods, floods, floods together with aerial footage of the same blardey wave-battered phare (or lighthouse to vous et moi) that the news programmes have been showing for WEEKS (and that’s ALL the news programmes). I guess they have the budget for a collective chopper but not enough euros for one each. They also seem to be scrabbling and scratching around for news stories as they dedicate around 25 mins to weather news.

-the return of Sarkowzy. Now, timing is everything and mon Dieu, would you believe that his return to the  flashbulb focus of the political press just so happened to fall on the same day that Flanby (or President Hollande) arrived in the U. S. of A. ?

-Taxis of France (that’s not their official collective name but it will do) want to have a law passed which means that private taxis or chauffeur taxis as they are known can only collect their Fare (if ordered online or by telephone and Fare representing the actual person or thing being carried) not before 15 minutes after the booking. Yep – because it’s not fare…..I mean, fair to the taxis which are available to be hailed on the street. Very equality. Very liberty. And extremely fraternity.

-oh and finally, I think I heard something about a law being passed which makes it easier for shops to make their staff work on Sundays.  Now, this is progress. Down here in Nowhere, some shops (and not just little ones) still close for 2 hours at lunchtime. So if you are in one of these shops and about to spend 2 gazillion euros on something as the clock strikes 11.59, you will be asked to leave. I kid you not. Welcome to the France of the 17th.. 21st century.

– actually, finally again – neknomiate has yet to reach France. If it does, I can imagine that it won’t take on. I really can’t see any respectable French youth downing a pint or a litre of wine mixed together with some blood of a virgin..oxo cube..raw egg…snot of a toddler (I can help supply this). Unless……unless the wine is say, English or Californian. The blood of a virgin would also have to be non French. From what I hear, there aren’t too many of those who reach their teens…

News from the family

-The Prodigal returned from England with, if not quite his tail between his legs, then definitely trailing on the floor.  I don’t watch Crimewatch UK but if you do…….   We had a good few days since his return – if that can be measured in the empty alcohol containers I have found in his room – only 5. Onwards and upwards.

-The Face – well he is outperforming (a brain dead piece of roadkill) at school. Last week we had marks of 9/20 and 1/10.  This week he has made great effort and scored 1/20 in French:

‘Do you have any HW the Face?’

‘No, remember I have study period for 20 hours today and yesterday and the day before that….. Also, my maths/french/science/English/Geography/history teachers are all sick/’

‘Right but you have been telling me this for the entire term. Do they have a terminal illness…each? Are they also all blind so perhaps unable to see their un-brailled keyboards to put in your 18/20 marks?’

GIT.

Lying GIT.

The Professor – well, this charming 7 year old continues to help me help the Lips to do his homework. Yep. And when I don’t understand something, he takes over. I don’t feel any shame…..just pure delight after years and years of battling with the Prodigal and the Face to do work, I have ONE (out of five) willing (and able) child. Yipp yippppppeeeeee. The downside?  As I typed an email reply the other evening, he sidled up to me (silently…of course) and after I had pressed ‘send’ said ‘what do you mean ‘only two hours until bed’?’

‘what do you mean, what do I mean, only two hours until bed? have YOU been reading my emails?’  Bugger. I didn’t think his reading in English was very good. That showed me.

‘yeah, I sometimes read them.’

whooops

The Lips – him and Fatty could be compared to Coyote and Roadrunner…actually, that isn’t true. FAtty isn’t fast (unless I am shouting at him to ‘STOP AND COME BACK HERE NOW!’ Ok so it could be compared to Coyote and a legless (literally and not drunk), fat roadrunner or better still, two coyotes. It is in-cess-ant. The winding winding winding up up up………….

FAtty – will soon be three. I asked him what he wants for his birthday:

‘erm…an orange hoover……a motorbike…..a poo…that’s a toy poo…..some paper….some letters. Actually, I don’t want the toy poo… I’ll have a sword instead.’

The Husband is still in Paris. The Husband is having a go at being a down and out but within the walls of a nice if bare apartment in the centre.  What I mean, is that the Husband looks like a squatter who has found a nice apartement….  Unwashed, unfed, unloved? There is no talk of the sex shop down the road this time. He may have thought about it but I doubt they’d let him in.

Sleep

Yes, I just had to get in a quick moan about my sleep situation. Even the dog refuses to listen to me now. So, I shall pick myself up from my near delierious state and say that SLEEP IS FOR GIMPS…..WIMPS……and the soon to be demented.

Ok, so I’ll probably post this UNEDITED AGAIN – one day (far off from now) I might stop chucking around commas and semi-colons and colons and full stops and be less flippant with my grammar……..but I’m making no promises.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”