During the dish of tea ceremony that accompanies the biscuit delivery we discussed quaint French driving rules. I had noticed that FMC will almost stop when a car appears on her right despite being on the larger road, which I thought was a throwback to older rules and life preservation as older drivers do not necessarily appreciate the new-fangled ideas (especially when they are rustics driving tractors). According to the biscuit recipients this is not so, old rules still rule; I have lived a charmed if highly risky life.
Having popped back to LTC after watching Scotland beat France at rugby (for the second time in a week VIPBox let me down with rugby not being broadcast, fortunately Bruno took pity) I saw twice in quick succession how other drivers also believe it to still be relevant. the road past the front of the cottage is only a country lane but the side road is barely more than a farm track and a car screeched to a halt to give me precedence. as I stuck the bike’s nose out. Then, at the top of the hill, the same thing happened – a car approaching from my left slammed on its brakes to allow me out when that road appears to have the right of way; I must remember these incidents for future action.
With self-preservation on my mind I thought back to being at Rattus Rattess’ and her pressing the power button on her flying insect exterminator (an exterminator for flying insects, not a flying exterminator for sedentary insects) as she was touching the killer bit and her reaction to it. In Tanzania some years ago Joseph, the manager at the project where I was volunteering had a similar, electrified looks like a tennis racquet for killing insects; I thought he was swatting them rather than electrocuting them. Recently, when in the Poundshop I noticed they were selling similar and invested in one then, ever the doubting Thomas, tested it; it packs quite a shock Hence my laughter when she did it inadvertently (and [she] swore vehemently). Had I not done it myself (deliberately) I would have wondered what sort of eejit would do a sill thing like that…
There is, perhaps, a parallel with what sort of eejit would get a friend’s husband to shear one side of a fruit-bearing tree so that, once in fruit, it would be so one-sided as to resemble a football fan discussing the merits of his/her team! There is no wonder that my poor apple tree cracked under the strain.
Having started clearing the mess from the bottom – and harvesting the just ripening apples as I go – I can now clearly see the cause and the effect. The poor tree is so out of balance (like the perpetrator!) that as the fruit increased in weight, had it been less well rooted, the whole thing would have fallen over. As it is, what looks like an anaconda readying itself to swallow its prey is actually the damaged bough. No wonder Alchie Annie has kept herself hidden for a whole week now; long may it last, says I.
And so it did – for nine days but then it blew a hooley and she was round grizzling for me to cut even more of the tree as it was scraping against the roof and disturbing her sleep! As ever, she cannot ask for something without offering an exchange – as usual, she invited me in for a dish of tea. A disadvantage of using the bike is the inability to transport large items and one gas bottle had expired during my last visit. Fortunately D and C had acceded to my request over trial by my cooking and collected a new one for me during a trip to Redon later in the week; with the out of proportion, non-refundable con of a deposit system it entailed them collecting the empty, conducting the exchange and then delivering the refill.
With them working for me I was able, on their return, to give them the news of Bozo’s coup d’etat; it was but a short while later that D had forwarded the on-line petition to me. Eric Arthur would be turning in his grave if he was alive today; liars, liars everywhere and all the truth did shrink; liars liars everywhere who help the proles not think…
On the point of non-thinking, ever the numpty, ever more evidence – WassUp? has given up (on me at least); apparently there is a new version but my phone has rejected such impertinence. Hence I am incommunicado on one channel but contacts won’t know. At least, should anyone break the habit of a lifetime and try to establish non-originated by me contact they will know that I have not read their message rather than just ignored it.
With my oldest brother still, presumably, being in a hospice there is, unusually, some contact between my other brother and myself. From him I learnt that SENGO, whom I knew to be on holiday with M’s family in Menorca, happened to be staying in the same hotel for some of the same time at least as one of my nephews. As his father wrote, “small world, innit?”
It seems a moot point whether one should feed or starve a cold or flu. Whatever, with the summer snuffles originating from the bike ride over and still present eleven days later, I am liberally dosing myself with hot toddies (not all laced with alcohol) but still short of energy whilst full of grot and snot; at least the ‘cure’ makes it (almost) enjoyable. It was only on LRB market day that I realised how little i have been eating – it made for a short market shop.
From the heady days of hope when LPM opened it is degenerating into a dusty dream that was. The WiFI is intermittent, there is in-fighting between members of the original committee and those now controlling its destiny. Ah me, what a lesson in life for the Anti-Bozo factions…
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