Admission

Weeelll alright, I admit it, I owe a great debt of thanks to Google Blogspot Webcam snapshot app, because it makes me look how I feel.  I don't know how it takes weight of the face, smooths the skin and gives vitality to the eyes.  But, for the sake of honesty, here is a wrinkly eye...

The Day

Midnight and one minute,  June 13th.   I would just like to be the first to wish myself Happy Birthday.  I am glad I was born.  I am finally starting to Be Here.

Geezer, The Sequel

I was changing from my floor-stripping clothes into my collecting the children from school clothes when I was arrested by a noise.  The unmistakable noise of geezers discharging from a geezer van and swarming my garden. I threw on some clothes and threw open the bedroom window.  I looked down on the Head Geezer and he looked up at me.  I have trained myself to remain silent.

After assessing the emotional state of the householder as best he could, Head Geezer took the cigarette nub out of his mouth and informed me that he was going to leave some "material"  in my garden.   I continued to regard him with cocked head.  So he said that he would be starting the work...on Thursday (8 days after the scaffolding was put up).    I continued to say nothing.  He was not fazed by this.   He told me he was going to prepare the windows and tape them shut.  'As in, I can't use my windows from now until  Thursday?" I said, it being Monday.  "Yup, so we can make an early start on Thursday"  he said "And be sure to finish - will that be alright".  "I can't open the windows anyway"  I said, to myself mainly  "the painter has painted them shut."  "Oooh, he shouldn't have done that".  I shut the window and withdrew from the scene.

I'm not convinced I will ever see them again, I've lost faith.    The scaffolding is becoming a part of my life.  I dream of painting it sage green and covering it with trailing geraniums, pink and red.    However, even the scaffolding has now disappeared behind swathes of plastic groundsheet, and I am entombed within.

Garden Apothecary

Our cherry tree has given us 4 kilos of cherries, we picked them this weekend, two more to come next weekend if the weather be fine and the starlings don't come.

 These cherries are BITTER, yes they are as BITTER as I am about my neighbour's request to cut down the cherry tree because it has roots.  We've had the undergrowth hacked next to his house, but I'm not going to cut the cherry tree down unless he persuades the local council to prosecute us for having the cherry tree 2.5 centimetres nearer the fence than it is legally entitled to be.  Instead, I am going to build a massive fence and SHUT HIM OUT (Down, inner Rottweiler, Down!).

R&B were enlisted to help us stone the cherries, by squeezing the flesh and pulling the stalk gently so that the stone pops out attached to the stalk.  The jam I've just made with them is DIVINE, orangey-red with a rich dashing flavour, you just can't buy jam like this.

Cherry Stalk Infusion

JC has sorted out all the stones and cherry stalks.  He is making an infusion out of the cherry stalks which is very good for easing water retention, he is drip-feeding me in the hope it will make me less bloated and grumpy, and he is saving up the stones until he has enough to stuff a small neck pillow.

Geezer update

We heard they were coming back at 7am this morning, but the entire day was geezer free.  We did notice that there was a Portugal-Germany football match on TV which may or may not be relevant.

I'm a bit famous today

I'm in the regional press, at last, I'm someone!

I'm stopped in the street by everyone at school because I'm in the regional press, hooray!  The photo's not too bad, but I wish I'd said I was 52.

I got accosted by a journalist in the middle of a pedestrian crossing.  He wanted me to tell him three things I liked about living in our region.    I told him he was asking the wrong person, that I'm only here because I married a Frenchman and I want to go home.  He was most insistent that I find three things I liked so I asked if we could get off the pedestrian crossing first.    One of the things I find most irritating on a daily basis about living in the Paris suburbs is the wretched behaviour of the French on pedestrian crossings, the list is long:  standing expectantly carrying a small dog and having no intention of crossing, chatting in groups on the edge,  parking buses and lorries upon them,  dashing out from behind the aforementioned parked buses and lorries shaking fists, and for motorists, not stopping at them.  Where was I?  Oh yes, so I said I liked the international life, choice in education as the French Education system often does not suit the English (understatement of the year) and the nearby ecological riverside developement.

Well, he printed none of that needless to say.  He said I liked our school because the children could do intensive English which they don't, so thank goodness I'm not famous and can remain in my own little world where truth resides.

The Shocking Truth - Flasher at Perceval Carnival

We enjoy the scaffolding