Mattie, being sans bike had offered me his tank bag so the bike resembled a bactrian camel, with saddle bags, tank bag, and daybag strapped on the pillion. The main disadvantage of a tank bag is the need to remove it to reach the fuel tank (there is, in all truth, a clue in the name). Thus the pit stops became funereal in pace.
As Cathy, Lena and the anonymous tent-dweller departed I was woken but did my duty – rolled over and went back to sleep. Part of the reason for all the kit was an excess of food that would otherwise go to waste and a full dhobi bag. Because of the food I didn’t need the market but still wandered in to Redon for lunch – and did the dhobi at the dhobikhana; I had not enough clean to last and her washing machine had gone but mine not yet replaced it. The ever changeable Marie was friendly but Christian was diffident; it keeps me on my toes. Feeling the need for some movement but not taking the excessive heat of the afternoon I wandered round my four mile route in the late evening. One advantage of the later constitutional is the variety of wild-life – bunnies bouncing about near Michel A L’Ouest’s farm. There being a plethora of Michel’s differentiation can be difficult. When Michel A L’Ouest was so-named us Brits of little colloquial French didn’t know that a la’ouest is French for talking to the faeries; sometimes things just happen that are so appropriate…
Although I was once told that the flood plain is not open to farming the silage was being cut – and I saw a bird, the breed of which has excited me ever since. Eventually, talking to a British couple who live close-by I think the mystery has been solved. Cathy had suggested that my description matched a stork – although she had forgotten the English name. Her description being of the bird that brings the babies made me glad that I had a vasectomy all those years ago!
If it is not one of those it may be a Sacred Ibis (not an hotel for pilgrims) – apparently there were some imported to enhance an aristo’s house and, as ever, some escaped. The parakeets of South West London have competition.
There is an attempt being made to reinvigorate the marais (wet and boggy flatlands) and one of the streams therein has been cleaned out. In one of the now more available streams I saw one of a mammal which I had seen in a pair some years ago and not been able to identify – it is a coypu, of that I am now convinced.
It (or they) were there again and seem to be resident; it (or they) seem to be rather pleasant wee creatures. Whilst trying to come to grips with my new, super-dooper, big camera I am using the bought for a song, tax-free Andorran one; without a zoom function (as far as I am aware) it is not great for wildlife photography (as evinced by the stork, which I had to enlarge so much s/he has gone all fuzzy round the edges).
To celebrate The Lions exciting last test in New Zealand and drawing of the series, the sun beat upon us for the next week at silly levels. Fortunately the weather has now broken, the gardens watered (even more fortunately, mainly at night) and the temperature settled at a level that Geo. will be able to manage. Mind, as he and his family are not due for another 5/6 weeks anything can happen – and most probably will.
With the confusion surrounding Cathy’s move I had offered my help. She had moved many capital items to another repository as her brother was available to help but then needed to get them to the new house. Altruism has its limits – I said I would be available after the Lions game… and was waved at by one of the drivers in the convoy which passed the scene of my back-sliding spot. It being before the weather broke it became a sweaty and soggy weekend, humping beds upstairs (she has rented a town house, with garage and kitchen on the ground floor and all else one floor up.
Despite her brother, another Christian (by name, not necessarily inclination) only being available the weekend before he arranged to meet us at the new house on Sunday morning and so the whole weekend became a get her sorted time – and still there are bags and bits and pieces to go. My mega clean through has been frustrated (and that is definitely not worth holding the front page of The Thunderer).
Veolia, the water board equivalent, had written to arrange an inspection of the sewage system, for which I needed to be present. Making the appointment had an element of farce, as did the outcome. I had asked Cathy to make an appointment, which she tried to do. At the first attempt there was no time available; the second attempt was before they were taking bookings for the later date… Eventually all the problems were overcome and the survey took place. As I expected, the system does not conform to current regulations (I have had nothing done during my ownership and I don’t expect JoJo’s dad took too much notice of then current regulations when he moved in). The report, as far as I can make out without my dictionary, has threatened a plague of locusts, Bubonic Plague (despite the best attempts of the revolution) and TOMA failing to agree a new contract with Birthday Boy unless I get the system up-rated. However, there is no need for undue haste – I have four years to get something more or less agreed and then perhaps we can come to an arrangement about an extension… Hide your first-born but not too soon, they will get very hungry hiding in the attic for all that time; like British Rail, the heavens will rain blood but only eventually.
It being the months without an R – and the French schools having broken up for the summer – moules frites abound. Of all the menus in all the world it had to be this one, play it, Sam, play it. “If moules were the only dish in the world, and I was the only boy…”
To finish: a photo to attest to the smoothness of the new bike. According to Nuclear (or some other sort of weirdo) Physicists (which is a bit of a tautology), a fly hitting the front of an express train causes it to halt. The fly has to go through zero to go from forward motion to rearward travel and the two touching surfaces must be travelling at the same speed, hence the train must be at zero also. Thus the train is stopped by the fly. In similar vein, the butterfly in the air intake must have created the same effect – and I didn’t feel a thing; Suzuki will have to pay to use this one. Only one butterfly was hurt in the making of this advertisement…
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