Corréze cottage

Bought a wreck of a cottage back in 2013(?) in a tiny hamlet down in the Corréze region. Made sense at the time, but old age, Brexit, poverty and a million other issues have meant it doesn't really make sense any more. And besides, the roof desperately needs renovating as it probably won't survive another winter. So, we contacted a roofing chum of the chap who cuts the grass (the cottage is a couple of hours' drive away so we're really fortunate to have a local man who's willing to keep an eye on the triffid growths in our absence). Arranged to meet the roofer last Monday at 6pm.

Had a very pleasant afternoon drive there, stopping off at Egletons Lidl to stock up on essentials such as vin rosé, vin blanc and vin rouge plus some other stuff. Being elderly and afraid of death we wore our face masks and so did most of the other shoppers, young 'uns included. Interestingly, when I nipped down the local mini Carrefour supermarché in Felletin yesterday, I was the only one in there wearing a mask. Ah well, better safe than sorry. So, shopping done, we headed for the cottage well ahead of schedule. To kill a bit of time we detoured, on Georgie's suggestion, to the nearby touristy village of Gimel-les-Cascades. It's a pretty little village perched on the side of a steep ravine and is famous (apparently) for its waterfalls. Unfortunately, due to my inability to walk far and lack of vacant parking spaces, we didn't get to see the watery bits, but we did drive down the tiny lane to the bottom and back up again without running over any of the ambling tourists who seemed oblivious to the imminent danger of a vehicle being driven by bad-tempered geriatric who was convinced that this deviation to a tourist hot-spot was not a good idea.

Having escaped Gimel-les-Cascades we stopped off at a nearby lake which appeared to have what looked like a café. Maybe it was shut due to this Covid-19, or coronavirus, or whatever it's called. No, it appeared to be open as there were a couple of gents at a table. But, there was a 'no dogs' sign, so Georgie waited at the lakeside with Hamish while I ventured inside to consult the management. No problem, small dogs okay. So we had a pleasant Orangina each and I had a small black coffee too. Looked up the café/restaurant on the internet when we returned home and it turns out to be quite a gem. Look it up - Bistrot de Ruffaud, Saint-Priest-de-Gimel.

Next stop, the cottage. Breathed a sigh of relief that the roof still hadn't collapsed after yet another winter of rain and snow. But, when we opened the front door, part of the interior ceiling had been holed by water from upstairs. Leaky roof. Where was the roofer? 6pm came and went. Still no roofer. Maybe he's not coming. Panic ye not, just as I was about to suggest we pack up and return home, the roofer turns up. He went inside to survey the problem with Georgie. I stayed outside with Hamish. Georgie said "you know that sharp intake of breath that builders do when they see the size of the task they've been asked to quote on, well, this chap did a few yelps instead". Be interesting to see what he quotes for - I suspect a new roof, rather than a touch-up job.

Anyways, we hit the homeward trail at about 6.45pm and enjoyed a sunny evening gallop over the Plateau Millevaches, a glorious bit of French countryside (look it up). Stopped off near home for a dogwalk and arrived home at about 9.30ish. Still light. That's what I like about summer. Sat outside with a cheeky little rosé as swallows swooped overhead. Good stuff.

      

Flowery stuff

When we first came here the garden was a jungle. Now it's not. All due to Georgie's hard work and know-how. It really is wonderful. Nowt to do with me. Though I have been known to mow the lawn occasionally. And water a few blooms. Anyways, I have loads of snaps of flowery stuff and I've only just realised that I haven't loaded any on this bloggeau for ages. So I'll do it now.

Moto Guzzi Nevada

For future reference, this 2016 750cc Moto Guzzi Nevada (1490kms) arrived yesterday. She's a beaut.

Saturday 30 May. Having donned my anti coronavirus mask I risked almost certain death by visiting the local insurance office a couple of days ago to get the bike insured and therefore legal for road use. Been brilliant weather recently so I dug out the dusty old bike riding clobber, donned the skidlid, swung the steed into action and galloped cross-country for a most enjoyable twenty mile evening jaunt. Encountered two cars and two tractors. Must have been the rush hour. 

Connie Francis

As of yesterday there were globally 2,348,953 cases of, and 161,221 deaths from, coronavirus. Or, as I jokingly called it some time ago, Connie Francis. But it's no longer a joke. People are being imprisoned in their homes. Escape is only permitted for a limited number of government approved reasons and timings. Social distancing is compulsory. The wearing of surgical facemasks and gloves is advised, if you can get hold of them. Apparently there's a world shortage.

Interestingly, some countries prepared for the onslaught of this plague and some didn't. The UK didn't. While others were stocking up on personal protective equipment and introducing lockdowns at an early stage, the British government was sending stocks of PPE to China and elsewhere whilst adopting a King Canute attitude to the imminent danger. An island mentality. Now, of course, as they're running out of PPE for their own medics, they're regretting this generosity and looking a bit stupid. This morning stupid Gove appeared on TV and admitted his government's stupidity. Too late mate, it's just another example of your Tory party's incompetence. Similarly, madman Trump was way too late in recognising the danger and introducing defensive measures. Instead he's blaming China for his nation's deaths. Never his fault. Shift the blame. Accusations? Fake news. Bad reporting.

Trump and Johnson have both been completely irresponsible in their reactions to this epidemic. Seems they're both more concerned with its devastating effect on their economies rather than their people. While Trump huffed and puffed in denial, Johnson was busy having another baby, missing five vitally important Cobra meetings, generally going AWOL and leaving a bunch of other clowns to run the nation. Then he was conveniently smitten by the plague, ending up hospitalised and being saved from death by, ironically, immigrant medics of the NHS - the very institution that he and his Tory sidekicks had earlier reduced funding and support for while promoting private healthcare.

Another interesting thing. Before Liar Alexander de Pfeffel was rushed off to hospital with Connie Francis, his demonic advisor Cummings was seen slithering out of No.10 by the back exit. A bit earlier No.10 had denied Cummings had opined that the disease would kill off a million or more geriatric pensioners thereby saving the nation a considerable sum. Good for the economy. Shortly after, it was announced that demonic Dominic was self-isolating after showing signs of catching the bug. Ironic or what? Unfortunately I understand he's recovered.

I wonder by how much those figures in my first sentence have increased since I started this posting. But I doubt if Trump will be interested. The only figures he'll be looking at are his popularity ratings. And he'll see that they're falling due to his bad handling of the epidemic. Hopefully he'll be booted out at the next election. And as for de Pfeffel, well, according to a Tory insider he doesn't work week-ends. I gather that he's still convalescing at Chevening, at taxpayers' expense, with his pregnant lady friend, presumably blissfully unaware that UK deaths have now passed 16,000 with 600 being added in the last 24 hours.

Lastly, I'm pleased to say that Connie Francis is still alive and well. Unlike so many others she has not succumbed to this vile disease. Yet. 

Facebook

I signed up with Facebook (FB) years ago despite my understanding that it was mainly for kids. Curiosity I suppose. I quickly twigged that these kids (and maybe some grown-ups) were intent on racking up huge numbers of  FB 'friends' while I only had a paltry half dozen or so due to the fact that most of my chums chose to steer well clear of this childish stuff. After we moved to France I soon realised that quite a few old pals and tribal members had joined so it became a useful way of keeping in touch. Then came Brexit and I used FB as a vehicle for venting my spleen about the result. A few chums disagreed that Brexit was bad. Then came the general election. In the run up I again used FB to warn my 'friends' not to vote Tory. A few of them disagreed with my 'leftie' stance. Arguments followed. And a few insults. Ditched some chums. Then the result was announced. Tory landslide. Realised then that many of my 'friends' were Tory Brexiteers. Idiots. So I resigned from FB in a fit of pique. Another reason I left was that FB had become notorious for gathering info about its members' political views and other stuff. Re-joined a couple of months later with a much smaller number of 'friends' who apparently weren't too bothered about my occasional political rants. With this new FB membership I tried desperately hard not to give any clues about my political leanings to the FB spies. Didn't last long. I was soon opining negatively about Trump, Alexander de Pfeffel Johnson, Dominic Cummings etc. Back in the old routine.

Recently I posted a Mirror article on my FB page which featured the above photo with the headline caption 'Corner shop offers free hand gel to elderly customers to help fight coronavirus'.

My comment to this photo was "Excellent. Racist Tory Brexiteers take note."

A very dear 'friend' responded with (sic) "What has this to do with brexit reading the lefty Mirror sums you up you are demented I no longer want to listen to you, you are the one that’s racist."

I responded with "Been mulling this over. Couldn't work out why I'm accused of being racist. Maybe it's because I appear to be anti-British. I'm not. However, I am anti-Tory. That's political, not racist. I'm aware also that I appear to be a 'leftie'. Again, I'm not. If anything, I'm Old Labour which, of course, no longer exists. With the current Labour party in chaos and being led by extreme lefties, and the Tory party being led by extreme righties, the current British political system consists of two extremes with nothing in the middle. That's bad. I, like many others, now feel disconnected. Lost in a political no-man's land. Furthermore, this right-wing extremeism is being supported by a right-wing press owned by right-wing billionaires who contribute loadsadosh to the right-wing Tory party while stashing their tax-free cash in obscure foreign tax havens such as the Cayman Islands. The Tories, naturally, turn a blind eye. That's bad. At least Jeremy Corbyn threatened to do something about that injustice before the last election, but the right-wing press unsurprisingly shot him down. So..., while the Tories are in power, probably for the next ten years or more, the UK will continue to miss out on tax income which could be used to finance the NHS, ease poverty and support a whole host of other initiatives that would benefit the nation. Now, to answer your question regarding this Mirror article: it refers to a shopkeeper who may or may not be 'foreign', a Muslim and/or an immigrant. I'm led to believe that many people who voted for Brexit did so in response to various untruths such as Dominic Cummings' warning that the EU was about to allow thousands of Turkish immigrants free passage into the union with many of them aiming for British shores. Completely incorrect of course, but it caused panic and increased the Brexit vote. At the same time there were hundreds (or maybe thousands according to the right-wing press) of refugees queueing up at Calais ready to jump onto lorries heading for the UK. More panic. More votes for Brexit. "We have far too many foreigners already and it's far too easy for these people to gain entry, be given a nice flat or house, state handouts and free access to the NHS" opined Brexiteers who blamed the Brussels gravy-train, champagne-swilling, EU bureaucrats for this terrible state of affairs. The right-wing press agreed with this fallacy and encouraged even more people to vote Leave. And they did so. Anyway..., my point about that Mirror article is that the British press rarely has a good thing to say about someone who could be a Muslim and/or an immigrant. Hopefully that article may convince someone who may have voted Leave because of their fear or dislike of Muslims and/or immigrants to reconsider their prejudice. Not all Muslims and/or immigrants are bad or bombers or anti-Brit. Many are highly trained professionals such as medical practitioners who, unfortunately, have been forced to flee the UK because of Brexit. And that's bad. Very bad."

So..., that's probably another old chum off my FB 'friends' list. Great shame but ç'est la vie.

I understand that many people post up fairly mundane nonsense on FB such as photos of what they had for breakfast, or eyebrow selfies, or other fascinating imagery with a brief word or two.

Maybe I should seriously consider doing the same.   

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.