Sunday 28 March 2010

Chute

Chute is a useful French word - Chute means a fall whether it be from a horse, a quad or a hay loft. Over some 30 odd years, I have had an awful lot of them. I have been blessed with good luck in as much as although I have had some real crumplers, I have never yet been injured seriously. Well yes I did break my collar bone when I was 10. My worst fall was about 18 months since, when my tricycle and I were run into and over by a white Citroen van - I do not know why - it never stopped to ask. I did not become conscious for another fortnight and for some months there-after; I was sunk in dreams - some pleasant - some not; It seemed that my head had had a good clattering, which is really not recommended and which has rather buggered up my memory, so when I go to London in April, I am to be shipped off to see Dr Kennedy at the Lister Hospital down by Chelsea Hospital. He is said to be good at disentangling muddled and scrambled brains. As my son says - I must have a huge mental overdraft and now it is 'payback time'.
How did you enjoy the recent windy weather? A real bugger was it not? We had damage to the roof. I had been to the market in the town and had just avoided being blown into the fish lady's stall.
When we got back home I got out of the car to close the yard gate. The wind was howling around the buildings and I had great problems standing. Eventually I managed to force my way out of the door of the front passenger seat. The wind came howling down the passage way by the building. It caught the car door, snatched it out of my hands, and slammed it shut. I had been leaning against the door for balance. The wind suddenly gusted and dropped. There was no wind against the door or supporting my balance, the door shut and removed my equilibrium. I fell flat on my back, dropping the back of my head on the concrete floor - not recommended procedure nor much fun. Nor was it much fun when I found that I could not get up: my knees are frankly buggered these days. Mrs Poole came to help, but, bless her heart, she is a little scrap of a woman and can no more shift me than I could shift a bullock, so she jumped in the car and shot down the road to where Gerrard and Josette live - they have picked me up before. They were not there, so she shot up the road and collared Laurens our other neighbour. He came at once bless him, wrapped his arms round me and hoisted me up so that I could grasp the top bar of the yard gate. We have good neighbours bless them. It took me two days to get my twisted knees working again. So that was a Chute and in all honesty, I do not recommend them. All you will do is to increase your physical debit balance - rather painfully.

Keep Orf

If you trot about the French countryside you will often encounter signs warning you that " La chasse Is guarded" by the ACCA. In other words - the shooting is private. ACCA stands for various long French words, which mount up to " Keep Orf ". The shooting probably belongs to some local toff, or even, more probably the shoot run by the local Commune. Either way, the English translation will be - " Keep Orf ." The CCA carries some considerable political clout in its area. I have friend, a man who has been very kind to me. He keeps and hunts a small pack of Boar Hounds. I used to follow the boar hounds a bit, but gave it up as they could very seldom find a pig. When I started boar hunting, back in the 1980s, pigs became a bit scarce because they used to dig up the fields of maize and the farmers used to get a bit huffed. It was not that they were against the pigs being shot and then eaten. It was just that they reckoned that if anyone was going to feed and eat the pigs on their land, then it should be them, the agriculturers and their friends. This was very much the line taken by Mme La Comtesse, with whom I hunted. She reckoned that her family owned most of the woodlands where she hunted the pigs and de facto that the pigs belonged to her as well. That was a point of view that you might argue with, if you were a braver man than I was or am very likely to be. And anyway I am a great believer in the rights of private property owners. I put this theory to my friend with the pig free hounds. In fact it was just after a pig free day with my friend that I raised the matter. He looked at me mournfully and said: ah! but it’s not so easy. There had been three pigs in his wood until the day previous, when the ACCA people had walked his wood and had shot 3 pigs. I raised this with another friend and he told me that the ACCA controlled all the shooting rights in and around and if my friend complained they could take his rights away. I found this very hard to believe. But this is France.
Madam and I have just returned from Normandy. The reason for the trip is that we might move there. We both liked it very much. So - watch this space. Normandy is very beautiful and pleasant. We went to stay at a little Hotel - not very far from Omaha Beach. We had stayed there before about 20 odd years ago. Unfortunately it has changed hands and the wonderful food we remembered was not available - the cook was ill and the restaurant closed. So we moved to a very smart Chambres D'Hotes. It was very good except that the bed was a problem for Madame and I. The proprietress was a lovely lady who had been christened France - born in 1942, her father did not know what her country would be so he called her France for the memory. She and her family have a stable of Trotters - a big thing in Normandy. The Normans are very friendly and the country reminds me somewhat of Cornwall and is very mild. The other French will tell you that it rains all the time. This is not so says Edith the local Taxi Owner (this makes her "Edit - Taxi"" - she says that it only rains twice a year in Normandy - once in the Summer and once in the Winter so it is very mild. Its great advantage is regular ferries to England and more hope of seeing our family again - we shall try Eurostar once more and hope for better things. One good point for French railways. It is very good with the ancient and lame. I was wheel chaired onto the train, put into my seat, and then wheeled between every train (4) thereafter. We were stabled very comfortably with the 'Trotters’, except that the bed was too small - this gives Madame an excuse for complaining - not that she needs one. We looked at some houses; one particularly we liked - it is in the village that John Steele made famous and has a bar named after him. He was in the 82nd Airborne and was dropped during the D Day Landing. The Airborne Drop zone tended to wander a bit in the run up to D Day and John found himself on the roof of the church at St Mere L'Eglise. It was perhaps unfortunate that he was discovered by the padre, who went about ringing the bell, by way of welcome. John said that he would rather have been shot at, as the noise was quite literally deafening. Any way he now has a bar named after him, which must provide a measure of consolation. So are we going to buy the house? It depends on whether our house, which has been bought, has been paid for. So watch this space - we are.