Wednesday, 2 February 2011
December 2010 – Brr!
This should not be happening – Claude told me that it was impossible because of the Gulf Stream. The locals all said the same, but the sad fact is that Normandy is full of snow and frost. Last year, you may remember that three times we booked on Euro star to join the family in England for Christmas and 3 times Euro star was frozen up in the “Chunnel”. Mr Sarkozy was very cross and gave the head honcho of Euro star a right bollocking and we all assumed that that would be that. After all, as Sergeant MacFadyan used to say “Assumption is the mother of F---up!” And he was only a platoon sergeant. Still, we never did get to England for Christmas 2009 and had we tried to go to England in December 2010 we might not have got there either – you just never know, especially with all the “ Chauffage Mondial” as President Sarcozy likes to call it. Mind you, Albert, who runs the local scooter shop, says that Sarko promised to cut the burden of French paperwork – and you will have to take it from me that he has not.
Still and all, the Dragon Lady and I did get a Brittany ferry to Portsmouth at the beginning of December and I had no need of my seasick pills – the crossing being a flat calm.
I also did get my watch from Mr Collin as he had promised. Mr C is a man of many trips to (and contacts in) the Far East and he had promised to get me a Rolex watch at a ridiculous price. It works thus: (or so I am told). Many expensive watches are not – expensive – yes: - Swiss, well not exactly, them being made by highly skilled Chinese in Kowloon, or Shanghai. A Chinese businessman sets up a factory which makes watches. You can have an “A” watch, which will pass the vet as Swiss, or you can have a “AA” watch, which will pass any test of Swissness you may ask (at a price), or for slightly more you can get a “AAA” which even a snowbound Swiss watch-maker will pass as kosher – the difference being that the “AAA” copy retails at very considerable discount. It was one of these and at such a price that Mr Collin had undertaken to supply me and so, bless his heart, he did: it lies on the table beside me. It may not be a kosher Rolex, but it looks like a kosher Rolex and I would challenge you to spin it, always supposing that you got the chance, which I intend that you shall not have.
What about us wopping the Aussies at cricket then? A rotten shame I reckon, surely everybody knows that we (the English) are no longer allowed to kick the backsides of less clever nations – it is quite simply non P.C and the Aussies do not like us much anyway. But I would like to know what the Aussie skipper said to our bloke; but still I do not think either chap went to Eton, therefore nothing said by either is of the slightest importance. I just hope that nothing may make the English forget their manners to the extent of actually winning The Ashes. That would be very poor show, so come on our chaps – you may not have been to Eton either, but please just “play up and play the Game”....
It has been a bad week weather-wise and I have not left the house since last weekend. Now it is thawing like billy-o and Claude’s much vaunted weather system has put its’ hat on and it’s coming out to play.
So may I wish you all a Very Happy Christmas.
Still and all, the Dragon Lady and I did get a Brittany ferry to Portsmouth at the beginning of December and I had no need of my seasick pills – the crossing being a flat calm.
I also did get my watch from Mr Collin as he had promised. Mr C is a man of many trips to (and contacts in) the Far East and he had promised to get me a Rolex watch at a ridiculous price. It works thus: (or so I am told). Many expensive watches are not – expensive – yes: - Swiss, well not exactly, them being made by highly skilled Chinese in Kowloon, or Shanghai. A Chinese businessman sets up a factory which makes watches. You can have an “A” watch, which will pass the vet as Swiss, or you can have a “AA” watch, which will pass any test of Swissness you may ask (at a price), or for slightly more you can get a “AAA” which even a snowbound Swiss watch-maker will pass as kosher – the difference being that the “AAA” copy retails at very considerable discount. It was one of these and at such a price that Mr Collin had undertaken to supply me and so, bless his heart, he did: it lies on the table beside me. It may not be a kosher Rolex, but it looks like a kosher Rolex and I would challenge you to spin it, always supposing that you got the chance, which I intend that you shall not have.
What about us wopping the Aussies at cricket then? A rotten shame I reckon, surely everybody knows that we (the English) are no longer allowed to kick the backsides of less clever nations – it is quite simply non P.C and the Aussies do not like us much anyway. But I would like to know what the Aussie skipper said to our bloke; but still I do not think either chap went to Eton, therefore nothing said by either is of the slightest importance. I just hope that nothing may make the English forget their manners to the extent of actually winning The Ashes. That would be very poor show, so come on our chaps – you may not have been to Eton either, but please just “play up and play the Game”....
It has been a bad week weather-wise and I have not left the house since last weekend. Now it is thawing like billy-o and Claude’s much vaunted weather system has put its’ hat on and it’s coming out to play.
So may I wish you all a Very Happy Christmas.
More – November 2010
I am sitting outside the house under the old apple tree in glorious sunshine. It (the weather) really should not be like this. This is Normandy (Northern France) and it should be cold and wet. This is what our friends in the Vienne told us when we talked about “emigrating”. – Edith (local taxi) assured us that it only rains twice a year in Normandy – Once in the Summer and once in the Winter. It is certainly true that we get an Atlantic climate here. It is really very similar to Cornwall, which suits me very well. The church clock is tolling because it is All Saints day, a national holiday and a Monday, which means that the French have another excuse for shutting down everything. Not that they need an excuse for not working. It was all explained to me. The French do not work on a Monday as a way to make up for working on a Saturday. “But” I said, “Most of them don’t”; “Ah” said my friend, “But they might and anyway it’s All Saints’ day and that makes it a Public Holiday”; “But,” I said, “France is anti-clerical and it has 3 hour lunches”, “So what are you? Some sort of Anglo Saxon work bigot? – you wish to subvert the spirituality of the French soul?” “No I just want to be able to do some shopping on a Monday and between 1 and 2 in the afternoon – and perhaps in August”. August is a buggeration. I remember going to an ironmonger’s and asking for a particular widget. This was in May, Monsieur the Shop made a face; “I will have it for you in September” “But surely you can get it before then?” “Not during August, Monsieur” I left in a Saxon rage and complained to my Vietnamese neighbour. “But” said my neighbour, “you have to understand that the whole of France puts its’ bucket and spade in the back of the car and spends August on the beach with the family. “That is serious” I said, “It could be” he said, “but the French are not a serious people and nothing is allowed to disturb the family holiday, which is what August is for”. So I never did get the urgent widget and by the time September came round, I found that I had coped so well, that I dis-ordered it from the Shop and I still have managed to hack on without it. This shows that there really is nothing wrong with the French that could not be put right by a good Drill Sergeant.
A good example of the French ‘work ethic’ is demonstrated by France Telecom – the French telephone system which is so useless that even the French realise it, to the extent that it has the highest rate of suicide amongst its’ employees. I remember the Dragon Lady and I having a mobile telephone problem and taking it to the FT office in Poitiers. We got nowhere and I remember that there was a nice Frenchman in the queue behind us, who said (in perfect English) “You must remember Madame, that France Telecom is not for working – it is a government charity”.
Another example of French efficiency as we were preparing to leave the Vienne – they put up a wind farm just up the road. It did not worry us, but when a friend rang up the other day I did ask him how it was going. “Ah” he said, “not well”. It seemed that much money had been spent on a firm of experts from Germany to erect the wind farm. It was unfortunate that having had permission to erect 10 windmills, which was done and the money paid, it was then discovered that the wiring would not stand the power from 10 wind things running at once. That after all the fuss and local unhappiness the system would only allow 5 turbines to turn at the same time.
Vive la France.
A good example of the French ‘work ethic’ is demonstrated by France Telecom – the French telephone system which is so useless that even the French realise it, to the extent that it has the highest rate of suicide amongst its’ employees. I remember the Dragon Lady and I having a mobile telephone problem and taking it to the FT office in Poitiers. We got nowhere and I remember that there was a nice Frenchman in the queue behind us, who said (in perfect English) “You must remember Madame, that France Telecom is not for working – it is a government charity”.
Another example of French efficiency as we were preparing to leave the Vienne – they put up a wind farm just up the road. It did not worry us, but when a friend rang up the other day I did ask him how it was going. “Ah” he said, “not well”. It seemed that much money had been spent on a firm of experts from Germany to erect the wind farm. It was unfortunate that having had permission to erect 10 windmills, which was done and the money paid, it was then discovered that the wiring would not stand the power from 10 wind things running at once. That after all the fuss and local unhappiness the system would only allow 5 turbines to turn at the same time.
Vive la France.
November 2010
Belatedly - Emperor of Exmoor
Growing Old – Animals
Gruntled, that’s what I am, very gruntled that so many of you seem to remember me enough to look up my Blogs. I am told of this by Heather, who actually gets the stuff on-line and who keeps me writing. When I first came to France, I had given up. I was hacked off by papers and magazines closing down the columns that I wrote for them and, in some cases, had written for a long time, but there we are, nothing lasts forever and I had some good innings – so thank you all for hanging in there with me – a scribbler needs the encouragement of being read to continue writing.
I expect that many of you will have seen or heard reports of the killing of the “Emperor of Exmoor” – it may have upset some of you, but I suggest that you look at this from a practical point of view. The old boy was a magnificent stag, but he was (I understand) 12 years old – that means that he was ‘past mark of mouth’ and was definitely ready for culling. I say this because whilst I lived in Northumberland I did the deer management (all right: culling) on 12,000 acres of vertiginous forest. The deer on my patch were all Roe – perhaps the most kittle of British deer. I used to shoot 40/50 deer per annum. “But why?” people would ask me, did I shoot them, why can’t they just die naturally? That is a good point and worthy of thinking about. Without culling, the wild deer population would grow out of control. In parts of G.B it already has. “Ah!” people say, bless them, “but what harm do they do?” Deer are attracted to forest plantations; they can do tremendous damage to young plantations. Trees are a crop that has to be harvested. I am not a forester, but I have many forester friends who tell me that soft woods are a crop that is ready for a profitable harvest at 60 years. Should the young trees get damaged, their growth will be stunted. It will not be profitable to harvest. Deer damage trees, therefore deer must be controlled, but people say “can it not be left to Nature?” Yes, it can, but you should remember that Mother Nature is not a kindly old dame – she kills by disease, sickness and hunger, - she runs no Social Services. Some years ago I was stalking a steep and rocky piece of forest – out in the middle of nowhere, I had been out for 3 hours and seen nothing except a distant buck on a distant hillside. Too distant to be practical. “Breakfast” I thought. Heading back to the van, I crossed the top of a wide steep fire break. I glassed it and clocked on to a little roe standing clear in the middle of the fire break. This was the beginning of August, so the doe was out of season, but I thought I’d stalk up on her for practice, so I did. I was in plain view, but the doe did not move as I crept closer and closer. At last I spoke, “Look” I said, “I am going to raise my rifle and if you do not move I shall shoot you”. She had seen me, must have heard me and as I was up wind she must have winded me. I got the glass on her. She was in rotten condition for mid summer, her coast was ragged, her ribs stuck out, - I moved closer. I could see her watching me, but she made no move. Something was wrong. It was an easy 50 yard shot and she dropped where she stood. It was when I opened up the carcase that I found the problem. Her insides were rotten with ulcers. She must have been in terrible pain, which would eventually have brought about her natural death, but it would not have been a quick end. Not like with my bullet.
Growing Old – Animals
Gruntled, that’s what I am, very gruntled that so many of you seem to remember me enough to look up my Blogs. I am told of this by Heather, who actually gets the stuff on-line and who keeps me writing. When I first came to France, I had given up. I was hacked off by papers and magazines closing down the columns that I wrote for them and, in some cases, had written for a long time, but there we are, nothing lasts forever and I had some good innings – so thank you all for hanging in there with me – a scribbler needs the encouragement of being read to continue writing.
I expect that many of you will have seen or heard reports of the killing of the “Emperor of Exmoor” – it may have upset some of you, but I suggest that you look at this from a practical point of view. The old boy was a magnificent stag, but he was (I understand) 12 years old – that means that he was ‘past mark of mouth’ and was definitely ready for culling. I say this because whilst I lived in Northumberland I did the deer management (all right: culling) on 12,000 acres of vertiginous forest. The deer on my patch were all Roe – perhaps the most kittle of British deer. I used to shoot 40/50 deer per annum. “But why?” people would ask me, did I shoot them, why can’t they just die naturally? That is a good point and worthy of thinking about. Without culling, the wild deer population would grow out of control. In parts of G.B it already has. “Ah!” people say, bless them, “but what harm do they do?” Deer are attracted to forest plantations; they can do tremendous damage to young plantations. Trees are a crop that has to be harvested. I am not a forester, but I have many forester friends who tell me that soft woods are a crop that is ready for a profitable harvest at 60 years. Should the young trees get damaged, their growth will be stunted. It will not be profitable to harvest. Deer damage trees, therefore deer must be controlled, but people say “can it not be left to Nature?” Yes, it can, but you should remember that Mother Nature is not a kindly old dame – she kills by disease, sickness and hunger, - she runs no Social Services. Some years ago I was stalking a steep and rocky piece of forest – out in the middle of nowhere, I had been out for 3 hours and seen nothing except a distant buck on a distant hillside. Too distant to be practical. “Breakfast” I thought. Heading back to the van, I crossed the top of a wide steep fire break. I glassed it and clocked on to a little roe standing clear in the middle of the fire break. This was the beginning of August, so the doe was out of season, but I thought I’d stalk up on her for practice, so I did. I was in plain view, but the doe did not move as I crept closer and closer. At last I spoke, “Look” I said, “I am going to raise my rifle and if you do not move I shall shoot you”. She had seen me, must have heard me and as I was up wind she must have winded me. I got the glass on her. She was in rotten condition for mid summer, her coast was ragged, her ribs stuck out, - I moved closer. I could see her watching me, but she made no move. Something was wrong. It was an easy 50 yard shot and she dropped where she stood. It was when I opened up the carcase that I found the problem. Her insides were rotten with ulcers. She must have been in terrible pain, which would eventually have brought about her natural death, but it would not have been a quick end. Not like with my bullet.
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