Dear Blog,

Happy New Year?

I don’t know about you, but I am struggling this year…..the all what? two weeks of it.

I feel laden. Heavy under the weight of what? Life? the family? the pile of washing? broken new year’s resolutions (erm…..pelvic floor exercises and learn one more swear word in French – the new swear word that I will scream when, after NOT doing my pelvic floor exercises, my womb slips out at the supermarket check out)? the incessant demands of SuperGit (previously known as Fatty)? the unfinished and not soon to be finished house(s)? the fact that the kids need to be fed decent food at what seems every minute of every waking hour (note:check their bums tonight for worms)? the irresponsibility of the Prodigal to the point that I have to insist he goes back into the bathroom each work morning with the instruction to wash his body with soap and not just throw water onto bare shoulders to ‘trick me’ into thinking he has had a shower – a ploy he has been using (and the Face) since he was about 11? In fact, I feel laden and heavy from being inside my own head. I’m boring myself with my constant (internal) moaning. Jesus. I wish I’d just SHUT UP!

Right, so a quick look at the past two weeks:

1.NYE – a nun, Super Dupont (the french superhero who can laser gonorrhea, carries his own wine and a baguette), a funkster, Elvis, Dracula and a cow, headed out for the night. We were met by a sheik and a lady dressed for a masked ball. Also present were a (poor) bunny girl (guy) and a rather knackered looking pirate. Mix these types up with a load of alcohol and you’ll likely to make a nice amount of FUN………until the dawn arrives and a looooooong, difficult day with children hangs-over (you see what i did there?) your achey head.

2.I made the best cake I’ve ever made. It was the complete opposite to my usual FAILS.  

3. The visiting puppy jumped up and clawed away and ate half of my best cake that I ever made, 1 minute before her owners turned up to reclaim her. The bump on the dog’s head still remains unexplained. Fatty was mumbling about hitting the dog with a wooden sword…..perhaps…

4. Having a play room out of action for 10 days. This is bad. This means I have to sit down and entertain the FAtty all day every day.

5. Re-aquainting myself with driving a manual ickle car. First try resulted in me rolling back into the car behind as I couldnt get the blardey gear into first and the Prodigal getting out to push me forward again. There was a witness but we’ve warned him not to say a word……or else.

6. The prodigal unravelling on Sunday night and throughout Monday. He also unravelled my sense of humor, bottles of vodka, whiskey, cider and wine.  I unravelled him yesterday evening when I decided that having a monster hangover was the BEST time for him to tackle his school filling system with Mummy…..at the table until around 9 p.m.  This means the AA meeting is back on the agenda even if I don’t think he is an alcoholic. What he is, is a chippy, self obsessed teeanger…..interesting typo….teenager, who thinks the world owes him (more than he already has and he has a lot) who decided- nah, who took a conscious decision in fact, the press the f’ck it switch so that his parents got angry enough to send him back to England. We’ve seen this before. He WILL finish this course.

Life in the Village

So it’s all be quiet as I’ve hardly left the house. I’ve yet to find out if Gnasher managed to sell his house (remaining in it until his dies which, although he is 76, he is unlikely to do for another 20 years). I’ve been receiving glares from the Non-Arab woman after LF went to kick her dog (who is constantly barking and running over the street to attack our dog when it ran aggressively towards the Fatty). Still haven’t caught the dog who shits outside our door but give it time, give it time (actually that can be resolution number 3).  Our nearest neighbour booked herself into hospital for the christmas holiday. Absolutely NOTHING wrong with her but she thinks there is. She did the same thing last year too. In fact, she is probably the one person who currently moans more than I do. There, that’s made me feel better.

FAtty’s moaning has reached new levels. Once I close this laptop, he’ll stop and walk off and do something else but whilst there is a chance to wind me up, he’ll do it.

Enjoy your days……….especially you, Dazzles. Sounds like you are having more than your fair share of the FUN CAKE of LIFE!

 

 

 

Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin ran away……..

Yo ho ho dear blog,

This Christmas Eve here in Nowhere finds:

-sickness

-lack of guests – well, we have one guest who keeps peeing underneath the Christmas Tree but the other expected guests called to say they won’t make it (how I wish I’d known this last night as it would have meant that I didnt have to drag my sick and tired body out of bed EARLY to take off the sheets, to wash them, dry them and put them back on again).

-lack of christmas cheer?  Well, I’m trying to work on that by opening the Ikea mulled wine bottle, heating it to a scalding temperature, scalding my mouth to check that it was in fact at a scalding temperature………it is.. but as I’m sick and have a sick Fatty sleeping (yes, I am letting him sleep even though it is 4.30 p.m. and yes, I do know what this will bring later…….PAIN), I need to go easy on the Chateau Ikea.

-Plenty of unwrapped presents to wrap

-A family of tasmanian devils, ripping up the playroom………funny, as I thought it was only The prof and the Lips in there, sitting quietly, reading books and revising….

 

Other matters:

Oh Bonjour to SutffedBudgie, my new follower. Plenty of snow on the Pyrenees. 

 

Bloody ‘puter is on go slow. So I’m typing and it’s like magic ink – nothing appears in writing for about 20 seconds.

 

I’ll sign off now and wish everyone a (very much more) Merry(ier) Christmas (than moi) and I’ll be back tomorrow when my laptop has got over it’s seasonal hangover.

Peace to all men…women and other species such as children, teenagers and turkeys.

(Father) Blog,

It has been (about) 15 days since my last confession……

My sins? Well, I’ve committed a few minor ones which include:

swearing, swearing, swearing, thinking bad thoughts about my husband and children, more swearing, further bad thoughts of family, swearing…. oh and I smiled at a man who isn’t my husband in Carrefour.

I shall say 500 Hail Mary’s but I CANNOT promise that I won’t continue to sin along the same lines……..in fact, just a minute ago me and the Courier Post guy broke all rules of Nowhere etiquette and are now on first name terms. So that’s two men who aren’t my husband receiving smiles from me on consecutive days.

Howdy to Texas, one of my new followers. I saw both mails. I am now in email debit to you.

Family Life

So we left the blog of Day 14 on the AA meeting cliffhanger.

The Prodigal and I struck a deal: He has to run EVERY lunchtime which should prevent him from purchasing 32 cent beers from Aldi (and then willy nilly cutting people’s hair. Never a successful marriage – alcohol and sharp scissors).

How does he prove it you ask?

Well, Mapmyrun app uses GPS to position the runner on a map (and send the evidence to the runner’s mother).

IF he doesn’t carry on doing this, then off we go to the Nowhere AA meeting. From what I see of driving skills (lack of) in Nowhere, during these meetings, the roads around here must be deserted.

Gems from the Face

Part I

I took all 5 of THEM to a supermarket. Whilst we were there, rather untypically, I spot a 6 foot plus tranny, of a certain age but giving it a go so fair play to him.

The Face has previous for pointing and shouting the bleedin’ obvious and has regularly  found my hand pressing down around his gob to stiffle his observances.

I was too late this time. I just hope the Madame Guy Bloke was French and his understanding of English, limited. His understanding of pointing and gawping? well, maybe he had poor sight….

Anyway, telling the husband about a man dressed up in women’s clothes, loitering around the meat section,the Face cries out:

‘yeah, it was a brilliant disguise!! Brilliant!’

Part II

The Face had a couple of friends over on Saturday evening.  Bearing in mind this is his 14th birthday, his best friend (also 14) bought him some condoms. I would imagine that in France, this is probably correct etiquette as they do like to start their human biology, section The Reproductive System, practical lessons early.

Whilst the Husband the Friend had a discussion about the price of condoms and in particular machine dispensed condoms, the Face told me that it was sensible to use condoms to avoid getting ‘Sida’ – that’s Aids in French. He said this with a straight face and I agreed up until the point he said:

‘yeah, also stops us getting rabies.’

HE IS PRICELESS!! The comedic value of that child is priceless.

 

Ok this blog is running on a bit. Next time, I’ll try to do less and more often? Or just less and less often……like my french homework, housework, food shopping, exercise………being a model human being……being intelligent……..

Until next time. G’day all my charming followers.

 

 

 

 

 

Gems from tonight’s dinner table

Starring: The Face

With no introduction to any particular topic:

‘yeah, so Mexicans don’t have chocolate at Easter.’

-‘oh really? what do they do or have?’

‘they crucify themselves………… with ropes. They don’t use nails any more.’

Closely followed by:

‘they (the mexicans, I can only assume), have a river where fish swim up your penis.’

What a show stopper that was!

And good night from me again.

Howdy blog and new follower from Texas!

November, like February, is one of those rubbish months. Rubbish in terms of weather; rubbish in terms of it’s not yet Christmas (but the threats   bribes encouragements to the kids begin in earnest) and rubbish as it begins with a remember the dead day which is then followed by a remember the war dead day (both important and right but I think it would be nicer to have these days marked during spring).  I think the word I am looking for and which sums up this month is sombre……merde, or is that somber….the dementia: 1 memory: 0.

November, here, down in Nowhere, means beaucoup of rain. So much rain that it makes the grassed areas particularly muddy. So much rain that the mud becomes widespread and slippery. So much rain that when you are trying to park your two tonne….ton…(here we go again….dementia:2  memory: 0) car, the wheels and the mud experience a moment of polarity which almost results in the car ending up half way down the 10 foot bank.

Almost.

(And when it almost happened…..when I applied the breaks and was not met with the car stopping, my first thought was ‘shit. the husband is going to go mad.’ Not, ‘am I about to kill myself and the child sleeping in the back’ (who has probably choked anyway as he fell asleep with a mouth full of baguette and peanut butter). I did also have a fleeting fantasy of a farmer arriving on a tractor to pull the car out and me driving the tractor…..yep, that’s my fantasy…..to DRIVE a tractor and not to enjoy a moment with the farmer in a hay stack)

The Prodigal

Well, I have to say, for one who is gifted in telling fiction, he has been slipping somewhat recently and actually admitting things (after only denying them 3 times before the admittance). This is progress.

I have found, in addition to the empty wine bottles (of last friday), an empty bottle of whiskey, 3 beer bottles, a beer can and a water bottle which smelt of vodka. This is NOT progress.

Operation Rayleigh – I’m going to send him on this next year. I need him to be in the most remote place of the planet. IF only they offered a Space Escapade – he’d go.

No escape. no lies. no booze. If it’s not the making of him, at least we’ll have a break from each other for 10 weeks (yep, I checked. There are other boot camps but this one offers the longest stint at this point in my research).

Love’s young dream

I’ve received messages from the Prodigal’s girlfriend in the past. I received one today.

Is it me, or is it odd for a 17 year old girl to seek relationship advice from the mother of her boyfriend?  KEEP ME OUT OF YOUR NONSENSE, THE PAIR OF YOU!

Religion anyone?

Now, I was brought up Catholic. I consider myself a Catholic – a BAD catholic (along with millions of others) but one nonetheless.  To say that over the last 20 odd years, I’ve slipped somewhat in my devotion, would be true. To say that I have lost my faith? Well, entre nous, I actually haven’t. What I have done, however, is question (myself first but also the idea of the Church as an intermediary between me and my God (whatever/whoever that is) what my faith is etc etc.

So, after spending the last few years in the Faltering Faith Wilderness, I’ve noticed that the preferred reading material (or page turning material) of the Prof and Fatty is the New Testament Bible. Now, this is a little odd in itself. What is odder is that (without my knowledge) we have two NT Bible knocking around the place and one or the other child has selected one or the other to have a flick through.  The Prof, in addition, has been asking to say prayers. NONE of this has come from me and certainly not from the Husband. They don’t spend enough time with my parents for that to have had any effect – so where is this coming from?  Should I take it as a sign to bring the kids up as I was?  The Prodigal and the Face spent most of their childhood in Catholic schools – surely, from how they are turning out, I should take that as a sure sign NOT to do that with the last three? The Face, when questioned last year, told me that the name of Jesus’ earthly father was Bernard!

Right, I’m going on (and on and on and on) with half of the dinner on the table and half still in the oven, so I’m saying a bientot without editing (yet again – yes, I promised myself not to do this and yet, here we are). Someone edit for me?

 

 

Bonsoir Bloggy and my 9 followers……

Hang on – need to turn down LBC radio as I don’t really need to hear the traffic update for London (including two people knocked down by the 252 bus in Romford today……outside the Liberty Shopping Centre. I hope they weren’t jumping over the barriers to cross the road. Mind you, who could blame them. That underpass is not only grotty but a bit like a Muggers Parade) living in the Department of Nowhere in France.

Concentrate.

So, today or rather, the last couple of days:

Good things –

tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock……erm, I’m thinking…..surely there were some good things……… i’ll be back about this.

oh yeah, I saw two camels, a lama, a cow (thing) with horns and some other animal tethered to the grass verge in front of Carrefour supermarket this afternoon.

I also managed to not wet myself on the front doorstep after being away from a toilet for over an hour and having to carry the Fatty, a baguette, my bag, his coat and my dignity, to the front door AND unlock it AND avoid the dog with a shoe and soft toy and dirty sock in her mouth. You see – it’s a great day after all.

oh and the oven which is in my kitchen – a novel idea – has been switched on (AND i remembered to remove the hard liquor, hidden from the Prodigal, in the steaming oven BEFORE) until March. Well, whooooop de weeeeeeee.

Other things –

Oh yes, the Prodigal.

So I cleaned his room (shared with the Face. I HAD to clean it as I have a family staying in there Saturday night and I would hate for them to think that I have reared two disgusting pigs…….even if it is true). Shall I tell you what I found?

I found about 8 socks (not matching, in fact, matching in their filth and stench), shoved into any crevice in that room that would support them; I found a plate which had once held some lasagne (and a bit remained) in a desk drawer (obvious place to keep it); a banana skin which looked like the skin of the Ancient Man found in the Bog; several serrated coke cans; half pack of biscuits; 10 million sweet wrappers; my best (unchipped) cups; some scrunched up toilet paper (I didn’t pause to study that piece for too long); dirty underpants but in drawers of clean clothes; two bottles of wine (empty); an ancient (was it the Bog Man’s?) ham sandwich in a bag etc etc.

What I didn’t find was a nice smell.

I told myself that I should be glad that I didn’t find more empty bottles (one of them was a bottle of chardonnay, so I didnt’ mourn its passing but the other one was  half decent).

French and understanding

So my (ongoing and failing) battle with the French language continues. Today, however, I had one of those moments of clarity. I understood everything that was being said on a radio call in /chat show.

This radio show is on mon-fri between 2-4 p.m. (so my husband now admits to tell me). It covers relationships (but what they actually talk about is RUDIES! What a show. I reckon I’ve increased my vocabulary too. Now, if they used this show as the Listening and Understanding curriculum for 6th form French, EVERYONE would be fluent.

French and misunderstanding

the Face: ‘Can you pick me up at 3p.m. today?’

Moi :’ probably not but you never, ever know, Face.’  We play this verbal dance Mon- Fri and 99.9 pct of the time, I don’t pick him up…..as I’m evil. It means he has to wait until 5 to take the school bus.

Today, however, emboldened by my new understanding (of French sexual language), I arrive at his school, gain entry, walk up to the Vie Scolaire desk and just as I say:

‘Bonjour, Madame!’

Am met with a woman (of a certain age, to be true) screwing up her face, DETERMINED to NOT UNDERSTAND ME.

‘I’m here to collect the Face of Blah blah blah class.’

More screwing up of face.

Conferring with her colleague (who clearly REFUSED to be pulled into this episode of some person who was not making ANY sense at all). The colleague spoke to ScrewFaceOldBag avoiding any encounter avec moi (you see, I CAN do french) to tell her that the Face was in a study period class and finished at 4 p.m.

The ScrewFAceOldBag then re-told me this information (the room really isn’t that big and we are the only three people in it).

‘So, he has to stay in school? He cannot come out?’

‘NON. Il va finir a 16.00 heure.’

‘Ok. Il peut prendre le bus.’

What they told the Face, when they saw him, was that his mother came to school at 15.20 heures to leave a message with the Vie Scolaire, to tell the Face to take the bus? Well, of course I did. Of course, I would go into school JUST to leave a message to tell my child to take the bus he takes every day!!!!!!

And this is the problem with people learning another language. It’s not the fact that you are getting that language wrong or not making yourself clear – far from it (or very close to it, in my case), it is the fact that people, when they don’t recognise an accent  easily (i.e. that you don’t sound like you were born within 5 miles…or km in this case, from where they were born), they absolutely refuse to allow themselves to understand you – I’ll go as far as saying, they don’t WANT to understand you. It takes a bit of effort.

I now look back on my early teens, in the house of KK, meeting her Greek father.  He would speak to me in perfect English but because I wasn’t used to his accent, I actually thought that he was speaking Greek. I remember him asking me something, turning to KK and saying (in front of him), ‘what did your dad just say?’  – well, that showed me!!! Sorry, Father of KK.  To be fair, when I met my husband, I understood 60 pct of what he said even though my favourite character was Inspector Clouseau………..

Meanwhile

Gems (yes, that is gems and not germs…..yes, I know, you could get those too) from the dinner table – this week – starring (yet again) The Face

‘Yeah, I did an experiment today and got a good mark.’

‘well done, Face (with NO sense of irony……none……it’s not like he hasn’t already done this year and is repeating it…).’

‘yeah. So I stuck a straw in its hole and blew in it.’

And that’s it.  He didn’t mention what it was that he stuck a straw into. He didn’t even care to mention which hole. He just wanted us to know the basics. This happens all of the time. I’m presuming it was a science lesson and not……..PE or something. Better not to ask.

A few weeks ago (and I mentioned this on another blog entry) where the Face, presented me with a list of names.

‘yeah. you need to choose one for the parent rep.’

‘ah, so which one shall I choose as I don’t know any of these people.’

‘yeah. I don;t know them either.’

‘but Face, you might recognise the surnames of kids in your year? any names on this list belong to any kid you know?’

‘erm…………..no.’

‘are you sure?’

‘what about Fernandez,Virgenie?’

I choked on my burned dinner because what he actually said was ‘Fernandez, Vagina’!!  And on we continue with this, probably, comic genius…or not.

And one from Fatty, in the car:

‘That song makes me sick!”

yep, he is two and a half. It worries me too. It makes a change from him telling ANY adult who coos at him to ‘GO AWAY YOU!’

Right – I’m off. I’ve got a right mob appearing here tomorrow for what? well to spend time in my company. why else would they come….. And I need some beauty sleep…..or rather, beautiful sleep.

Bonne nuit everyone.

Blog,

Listen, when I tell you that I’ve missed our exchanges…….or rather non-exchanges as it’s one way (thank goodness computers can’t answer you back……YET!).

Radio 4.

The Archers. Omnibus.

They used my favourite poem for Jolene and Kenton’s marriage ceremony!!!!!!!!! I found this quite shocking. I don’t think it has the same resonance? sense? feeling? spirit? as it once had (W. B. Yeats – He wishes for the cloths of heaven – put that in for you Bogster, as I know that you …..well, like to know). I’ve loved that poem since I was 17 years old.

Doggy business

So,

I’m incredibly sorry to tell you, Blog, that that incredible farting dog is now farting in another realm…..releasing spiritual gas to celestial beings.

Entre nous, when I heard the news, I did cry.

I then took our very alive woofy for a walk and had ……another cry.

I then found photos of Farting Dog and enlarged the part of the photo that had just her in it.

Connected to this or not, I also became Doggy Broker and have placed a potential Farting Dog of the future from a home where ‘the puppy goes or I go’ (guess which sex of the partnership stated this?) to the home of my cousin. I’ve enjoyed great times with my cousin and family…….but…..what if …… ah well….. perhaps they’ll ask for their commission to be refunded.

Ageing

Whilst I’ve been having my little…….rest….from blogging, I also accidentally became AGED. Jesus. I’m now OVER FORTY. I DON’T FIND IT….hang on, better with the caps off… a wonderful experience getting older. I’m now a bit like a vampire……the mirrors and daylight avoidance thing? Well, it’s simple – JUST AVOID MIRRORS IN DAYLIGHT. In fact, just avoid daylight. But do……BUT DO LOCATE ALL PUBLIC TOILETS in any area you are likely to go. And start comparing adult nappy prices/styles  (yes, brother number ….hang on…1,2,3,4,5..yes, brother no. 5, I know that you once said the worst combination of words in the English language is Adult and Nappy but these Pampers clad Elephants in the room, need to be addressed).

Bad behaviour

So, get this:

Me and the husband find some charming lunatics who agree to come to our house and stay there (with the children) whilst we go out.

Our very first night out together in Nowhere is at F’aussie’s house for her birthday.

We get there and as she had lots of ‘gay people’ visiting, the house looks Party-tastic-fab-u-LOUS!

We’ve even agreed beforehand (along the lines of Me suggesting: ‘YOU’RE DRIVING!!!! As you’re always getting drunk and I never am’ ) that I can have a few drinks and let my hair down.

We’ve confirmed to the couple who (we’ve tied down to the chair) are babysitting, that we’ll be a couple of hours…….

…………

Camera 1: Me singing at the top of my voice when I stop to ask myself ‘what is that strange light i can see coming over the hill?’ And

‘where is everyone?’

I stagger around, have some memory of my husband shouting some abuse at he as he left (v v late) and I DUG IN MY HEELS IM NOT GOING HOME AS IM HAVING TOO MUCH FUN… when I see one of F’Aussie’s kids who is COMING DOWNSTAIRS TO BREAKFAST.

Yes, not my finest moment. I did however manage to pour milk onto her cereal without falling headfirst into the bowl.

the strange light I could see coming from over the hill?

It was the dawn.

Here’s a tip – NEVER EVER GO TO A PARTY AND TAKE OFF YOUR WATCH.

I had to sit on a sofa and wait until I was better (yes, I wasn’t hungover but not well……) to drive home. And how pleased to see me, they all were when I did crawl in through the front door……at 11. 30 A.M. especially when I went to bed (I was sick, remember), got up at 2 p.m. to have some lunch, get sent back to bed ‘you look like you are 100 years old’ and stayed in bed until 7 a.m. on Monday. Oh, my husband just ruffled my hair and said ‘oh, you are a one, aren’t you?’ but he must have said it in French….it;s what he meant to say  but somehow  it sounded like he said ‘putain. merde. la vache.’

Blog, so much rubbish to tell you and so little time (management).

Au revoir, my good friend.

Until……. well, actually, demain soir we have been invited for dinner to a French household in the village.

It’s ok though, as it’s the ones I mentioned in blog 4?….you don’t recall? The ones who came to pick up their kids and we drank 4 or 5 bottles of wine? yes, it’s them. With wine, I am fluent in french.

The family

Well in case you are wondering, they are all still up to their usual nonsense (some more than others). We did have a new soon to be made classic the FAce moment, involving some names on the classroom parent representative list. His pronounciation of Virgenie was inspired!

ok, i’m off.

until next time, Bloggy.

Hey Blog,

How has your day been? Up and down? Too many exclamation points giving you a headache?

Now,

My family are well and truly onto me.

Not the family I have haphazardly produced…..no, the original of My Family. The mob who created, molded, fashioned the person that I am today. Which means, I molded, fashioned and created them too ? Don’t shake your heads!

I used the term MOB in it’s truest sense. 8 of us. 6 boys and two girls. Wild, as a collective (some of us may have been wild individually but I can’t comment on that). Could have been wilder had we not had Mother who ruled over us with love, care, devotion and a lighting quick ability to whack 5 of us with one swipe of the arm.

Don’t think that Father was absent. Actually, in the physical sense he was, as he disappeared to work before the birds woke (you know how we all knew what time the Father left? He gave us his own, particular wake up call – longer and louder if he’d eaten onions the night before) and came back around the time dinner landed on the table. We felt his presence through his absence. This materialised in the form of ‘Wait until your father gets home! I’ll tell him what little [x[”0= you have been.’ It was a good threat too. He had and has, very large hands.

Anyway, my family all know about you, Blog. They all know because I’ve told them. So, I’ve given this some thought:

-do I self edit what I put for fear of the Family not liking it? No, else the blog is pointless.

-are they allowed to disagree with me? Of course.

-will I publish their comments? Only if they agree.

Welcome Family. May we take many blog journeys together.

Big Boy Bed

So for the past two weeks or so, Fatty has been uncooperative at bedtime.

Still uncooperative at 10.30 p.m. in fact.

You’d think, this being the youngest of 5, I’d be able to nip this behaviour in the bud?

Well, he showed me a thing or two.

I’d used up all my best bribes (sweets, new toys, stories, films,…..PLEASE FATTY….. burning his favourite teddy, throwing his dummy down the toilet…mummy is leaving now…FOREVER….) during the first night which meant, on night II of Phase Ultra Git, he definitely had the upper hand and knew it.

It dragged on and on until we asked if he would go to bed nicely if he had a big boy bed, just like the Prof and the Lips.

‘of course.’

Like the good parents that we are, during the day, we forgot all about our promise…..idea and as we never, ever learn, forgot for a few more days/nights (the difficulty being that the parts to change the cot into the bed were……..in a box……..of 50 boxes……somewhere ……..in the barn of our neighbour…….in a place with no electricity). This HAD to be done in the day.

‘Fatty! Stop crying like a baby. I thought that you were a big boy now?’

‘no!’

‘why not? come on, this is what a baby does.’

‘…..I don’t… have a big boy bed.’

Translation: How do you expect me to behave when you make me sleep in a baby cot?

Parents: 0        Fatty: 1

The cot was transformed. He got into bed. He laid down. He didn’t kick up a fuss………for an hour.

‘I don’t like baddies.’

I brought him up his toy gun, put it on his big boy bed and told him to shoot them  (great parenting tip number 2).

He slept………….like a baby.

Driving in the department of Also Nowhere, France

Every,

single

time

that I get into the car and drive

I am putting my life, and those of the passengers, in danger.

No, no, no, I’m not criticizing my driving (I’ll leave that to others and ok, yes I reversed into a boulder and made it roll under the car and yes, I took off some piece of metal on a tree stump – also from under the car but……other than that….and driving on the wrong side of the road…..very RARELY these days…). I’m talking about the driving style prevalent down here. Even for the French, these folk drive like the breaks have gone, their feet are glued down on the gas pedal and there is a Win a Baguette Every Day for Life competition at their destination.

Overtaking on blind bends

crests of hills

narrow country lanes (in fact, PARTICULARLY on narrow country lanes)

Better still – narrow country lanes…one lane only in fact….then waiting for a blind bend at the crest of a hill and THEN taking over….I see this DAILY.

All of the above happens whilst they chat on their mobiles, are doing 120km/hour and smoking a cigarette.

This, the department of Also Nowhere, is a pays of Near Misses!

Mother – KEEP UP WITH THE PRAYERS. THEY ARE WORKING!

The Village of Nowhere (and of no one)

This will be a topic that I’ll cover regularly. But as I’ve already bored you to death interested you sooo much with my other topics, this evening, I’ll just make a quick mention.

Monsieur Felix.

It’s actually not his name.

His dog is called Felix.

I can never, ever catch what his name is and now, as it has been 3 years since we have been having our (lost in translation) discussions, I just cannot ask him.

He ambushes me when I take the dog out for a walk. He used to catch me regularly and stand and talk at me for 30 minutes but (after a year), I caught on and now sidle along walls, crawl under bushes, jump over hedges, walk after dark (and it gets DARK here. Walking along the back lane with a black dog (helpful) with your hands out in front of you to avoid (the black dog?) trees and other villagers) to avoid him.

And,

What do you know?

He only bloody knocks at the door the other day.

30 minutes later (still at the door. If I let him in, I’d be finished) and much jumping up and down and making throat slitting actions (yep….who KNOWS what he understood me to have said. I though I was talking about the weather) and I only got rid of him by saying that our dog had fleas (true). He stepped back but not before he asked me which sign I was. I answered. He stepped back again – obviously crossed a charming Scorpio before.

The prodigal and I drove back into the village the other evening. It was a balmy night but still light. We saw 8 people wandering around the village (this is unprecedented unless there is a funeral in the village church):

‘Reminds me of 28 Days Later.’

We laughed so hard that we nearly (not quite so nearly, as she is a large presence) knocked over the village hairdresser who was standing in our (muddy, grassy banked, dog turd littered) parking place, holding one of her little (bastard) dogs and giving us bad……although, not quite zombied, looks. She owns another (bastard) dog and I hate the pair of them as they make my dog, CRAZY. They are also ‘put out’ of the front door to come and shit down where we park our car DESPITE the Mayor indicating (by letter and signs) that dogs should be kept on leashes and to PICK UP YOUR DOG SHITE YOU LAZY BASTARDS…or something like that, all around the village.

Anyway..trying to park the car (whilst checking the mirrors in case any of the people wandering around the village, were zombies. Hard to tell them apart)..

She did move, eventually. Probably in the confusion of working out exactly what I had said to her from my car window (I thought I had stated that we were about to park there but only she can tell you what I actually said) but continued to stare back at us in a not very welcoming, happy, smiling way.

Turns out, little (bastard) dog the smaller, was run over and left to die along that stretch of mud track.

Clearly, she though it was me.

(I’m convinced it was a tree stump I reversed over the other day……………)

Farewell

actually, I should say, good night. Farewell makes it sound like I’m off to Switzerland on a one way ticket to end up in a better place?

Blog, my friend (my family, my followers and others), sleep tight and remember:

Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking

sweet dreams.

Dear blog,

In my case, things drown out of sight, fade in the shadow of closer people……ie my family.

Just to say IVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOU.

I have forgotten lots of other things but not you , dearest blog.

Since I last blogged we’ve had more dramas than the Archers Omnibus.

Now, as I’ve finally decided to blog, Fatty has also decided to roll his motorbike up and down my arm and across the keyboard.

Bugger – mobile ringing. I shan’t answer it in case it is the vet I just called. He is probably ringing to catch the Husband to ask if the lunatic who just called and who said that she was a labrador in need of a vaccination but couldn’t spell out her own name, is anything to do with him…….

right – I’m off. I shall return ce soir.

A bientot.