Balls

Back in the early days of my exile in France after Georgie had returned to Londres, I was on my own with two terriers living in a wreck of a house with a leaky roof, rotten windows, very basic (and a bit dodgy) electrics, no heating apart from an ancient cuisinier stove (operating with a small pile of damp twigs, so not really operating) and a food store that consisted of bread, butter, soup, and a tin of something called casoulet. Luckily, neighbours Isabelle and Christian used to frequently invite me round for supper where I was tested for bravery by being offered such delicacies as garlic snails which I wolfed down with gay abandon.

A common feature of Isabelle's nosh-ups was her battery powered pepper mill which she used to (and still does) operate with obvious pride. Interestingly, by way of contrast, her kitchen reeks of contemporary technology typified by that mill while ours still remains proudly somewhere in the dark ages. Never having utilised a power-driven pepper mill before, I decided to look into upgrading my/our simple and very antiquated peppery thingy. This would actually be my/our first step in the daunting task of much needed domestic renovation. Waltzed into some snazzy shop in Aubusson and excitedly exited with a small Peugeot (non battery powered) pepper mill, the Rolls-Royce of pepper mills. It may have been small, but it came with a surprisingly big price tag.

About a decade later the wooden ring 'twister' at the bottom of the mill split vertically. This meant that to grind the pepper one had to grip the wooden ring tightly. Bit of a bore, but it worked. Then Georgie had the bright idea of wrapping the split wooded ring in duct tape to make it easier to operate.

Then her birthday loomed. Bought the perfect present. A big Peugeot pepper mill - hang the expense. Been using it for a couple of months. Excellent. However, needed refilling yesterday evening. Tricky operation. Took the top off, shoved a small plastic funnel in the opening and poured in a few pepper balls. All was going moderately well until a few balls jammed. Slowly removed the plastic funnel and... disaster. Pepper balls rolled everywhere. On the table, under plates and magazines, off the table onto the floor and into my shoes. I'm pretty sure one or two fell into my vin rouge too. Heated, but brief, discussion with Georgie. I think she opined that I wasn't holding the funnel correctly due to imbibing too much of the red laughing juice. I think I countered with a riposte that she was pouring the balls too quickly. I wonder if Isabelle and Christian have the same contretemps when it's refill time and have the Peugeot pepper mill directors ever been involved in a customer's divorce case? The mind boggles.

The B word

So that was Brexit. Bye, bye Britain. Off you go. You're no longer a member of the EU community.

I still find it difficult to comprehend how so many people voted to Leave. Maybe they blamed Europe for the mass immigration of foreigners to the UK. If so, they were wrong to do so. Or maybe they fell for the lies and propaganda dished out by Cummings, Farage and the right-wing gutter press. Or maybe they believed Johnson's lies about 'taking back control' when control hadn't been lost, or 'getting Brexit done' when it would actually take months or maybe years to get 'done'. Or maybe many Englanders still have a narrow-minded island mentality and simply don't trust Johnny Foreigner, but they do trust Johnny English even though he's a proven liar. Note I said 'Englanders' - Scotland and Northern Ireland both voted Remain while Wales strangely voted Leave even though they benefitted hugely from European subsidies. Talk about turkeys voting for Christmas!

Anyways..., in the weeks leading up to the pre-Christmas general election I posted numerous messages on Facebook and Twitter advising people of the many negative aspects and dangers of voting Tory, and therefore the crass stupidity of 'getting Brexit done'. What I didn't realise though, was that many of my Facebook 'friends' were Tory Leavers while I'm a Labour Remainer. To put it bluntly, I then received some fairly unfriendly messages from chums I'd known a long time. That was when I fully understood what people meant by 'a divided nation'. Great shame, but I've now lost about a dozen or so old pals just because of my anti-Tory and anti-Brexit political leanings. And as for Liar Johnson suggesting that it's time for the healing to begin, well, that suggests he doesn't have even the remotest idea how angry we Remainers actually are.

Anyway, it's done. Now all we Brit exiles scattered throughout Europe have to worry about is our healthcare. Er, and our pensions. Oh, and the exchange rate. And, of course, the nagging worry that we may be booted out of whichever countries we reside in and ordered back to the UK, sorry, K. And that raises other problems such as selling up - if all Euro Brits suddenly put their homes up for sale the market will be flooded and nobody will be buying so the prices will bomb and the houses will probably be unsellable so we'll have no dosh to buy anything in Blighty where prices are over-inflated and sky-high anyway. Disaster. But Liar Johnson and Evil Cummings probably won't want us to return because most of us are retired and we'd be an added burden on the NHS, the Social Services, the free foodbanks, council housing, funeral parlours, Alcoholics Anonymous, etc., etc.

Or..., maybe everything will be okay. We'll see.

January sun

A new decade dawns. January sunrises and sunsets. Past the shortest day but the sun's still low in the south. Days get a bit longer. About three minutes a day so I understand. Notice it when dogwalking late afternoons. Used to get dark at around 5.30. Now it's still light at six. Good sunsets up at Sprocket Hill. And a good sunrise a couple of days ago. Took a few snaps, but they're nothing like the real thing. Chilly wind from the south. No great problem. It's when it's from the north or east that's worrying. That's when the snows could arrive. No sign of it yet. But it's coming. Ah well, soon be spring.

Valley stream

I appear to have survived Christmas. Geo and Don haven't though. They're both horizontal with food poisoning apparently. Geo reckons it may have been the sprouts. I'm not so sure 'cos I noshed bucket loads of 'em with no ill effects, apart from quietly passing wind into the sofa while watching telly. Geo said it wasn't quiet. Anyways, I reckon the alleged food poisoning may have been vaping. They both merrily puff away watching telly, totally denying it's poisonous and a killer. Covers up the aroma of my gaz de derrière though.

So, today, with both of 'em kaput and out of action, I nipped downtown for bread and bottled water then gave Hamish a walk down the bottom stream lane. Cor blimey, muddy or what! And the stream was in full flow. Gushing along. Seems only recently (August) it was almost bone dry. Stagnant. Now look at it. Took some snaps to contrast with August photo. It's a floody time of year. Big floods in Angleterre apparently. And down south in France. But we're okay up here in the hills. Water just drains off down the valleys. River Creuse is well up down in Felletin. Burst its banks in a few places. Which reminds me, my shoes leak. Timberlands. Crap items. Must remember to wear my proper shoes. Northampton-made Crockett & Jones's. Or Lowa boots. Pricey but worth it. Nowt worse than soggy feet when dogwalking. I digress. Ah well, there ye go.

Red carpet

Yesterday's dogwalk was in the forest up at the Walkers' Barn. Been a bit rainy and windy lately (an understatement) so it was soggy and damp underfoot with bits of broken trees littering the open ground. But in the forest of tall trees there weren't so many fallen branches as it's sheltered from the wind. Damp though. And the ground was covered in fallen leaves. A red carpet. So the trees were bare. So it was lighter than usual. Even on a cloudy day at dusk. Odd in mid-winter. Strangely, in summer, it's darker. That's when the leaves shield the sun. These were some of the thoughts I had when trailing Hamish. Odd too that the recent downpours have swollen the valley rivers and streams while on the other side of the planet bushfires are raging on the hottest day ever in Australia. Floods too in Angleterre apparently. Wasn't so long ago our valley stream had ceased flowing. No stream, just puddles in rocks. Cattle were parched. Farmers hauled water tanks behind chugging tractors delivering to distant fields. Tough times. But now the fields are sodden. Cattle are wet and huddled under sheltering trees. But the trees have no leaves. So the rain gets through. Ah well, that's winter. Soon be the shortest day. Come to think of it, it's today. Soon be spring. The red carpet will have disappeared. Munched by worms. New leaves will appear and the forest will darken again.

Noel nosh-up

Just survived the annual Christmas lunch for local retired old farts up at the village mairie (official town hall). Kicked off at mid-day and eventually emerged into the evening mists at around 4.30 feeling a bit fuzzy. Headed for home and took the dog for an evening stagger. Was a good do. Grub was prepared by neighbour Thingy (forgotten name) and his wife Wotsit (forgotten name) who run the restaurant at nearby Magnat-l'Etrange. They always knock up a fab menu accompanied by plenty of vin blancs, rosés, rouges and champagnes with optional cassis and jugs d'eau, not to mention a course of pear ice cream swimming in a lethal amount of delicious calvados. On the mayor's table there were a couple of, presumably, on duty gendarmes complete with guns in holsters, just in case an old fart or deux became a tad over exuberant due to imbibing beaucoup de laughing juice. Interestingly, many of the assembled dodderies burst into communal song after a few tipples and I, of course, joined in with hearty grunts as I didn't know the words, and half way through the nosh-up same dodderies began enthusiastically waving red napkins in the air while, again, singing some jolly old song as I grunted along singing 'vive la revolutution' and 'Boris Johnson est merde'. Have to say it was quite a relief to escape while still being able to assume the vertical. Shame I missed out on the fruit, choccies and coffees. Wouldn't be at all surprised if a few brandies suddenly appeared. Buggaire-moi, these old folks are a hardy bunch. Passed the mairie later that evening. Lunch appeared to have finished. Christmas lights were twinkling on the tree outside the venue.

Election

With a UK general election happening in about four weeks' time on 12th December the British media has been in political overdrive. Almost everywhere you look - television, news, press, social media, radio, etc. - you're inundated with messages designed to influence your decision about how to vote. Interestingly, the vote is not only about political parties, but also about the dreaded Brexit. So, somewhat confusingly, if you're a Tory Brexit Remainer, are you supposed to vote Tory (which is a Leave party) or, perhaps Lib Dem (a Remain party)? Similarly, if you're Labour, how would you know if the party is Remain or Leave when Corbyn hasn't committed one way or t'other? Then there's the dilemma of Johnson (a compulsive liar) and Corbyn (allegedly a Marxist, Leninist, Trotskyist, commie lefty). Which one is the lesser of two evils? It's a nightmare scenario. However, opinion polls suggest that the Tories will win, albeit with a hung parliament. That means another five years with Johnson as PM. Personally, I find this a terrible prospect. The Tories have a shocking record in caring for Britain's underprivileged society, and I fear it will get worse. And as for leaving the EU, which the Tories are intent on doing, well, it's like turkeys voting for Christmas.