Spring is sprung
Grass is rizI wonder where de bodies is
Grass is rizI wonder where de bodies is
Dey say
de boids is on the wing
But that's absoid
But that's absoid
because
de wings
is
on de Boid.
Today is the official start of Spring. It matters
not that Mother Nature - (kittle old bitch) has been sending us Daffodils,
Primroses and Snowdrops for ages. In France nothing starts before officialdom
has cleared it. It is now in the Diary and so Sarko must have cleared
it. It is wonderful that he has the time, what with 123 cars to look
after - not to mention his huge and randy wife - still I suppose that he has
underlings to cope with all these things and to make sure that he is late for
all appointments, as a President should be.
Spring in Normandy is lovely and I have been watching it all from the original
signs of Burgeoning, as I plod round the lanes in my Mobility Scooter. I now have a
proper card with a piccy to say that I am disabled, so there. I used to
miss trudging over the Cheviots, but I now have the doubtful excuse for not
doing it, but I still miss it, as I miss Foxhunting and Deer Stalking and all
the other things that have brought me enormous pleasure, but which I am no
longer capable of - Eheu Fugaces! but if I look up at the wall above my
desk, I can see the big coloured print of me hacking on with hounds to the
Opening Meet in 1974 - long ago
and very far away and me just as skinny as a Yard of Pump Water. Different days indeed
- I remember that when I took the
Dartmoor in 1963 I had a 38 inch chest. I measured it again the other day
and it is near as dammit 5 foot. Well I don't suppose I shall ever be
measured for another red coat nor mount a horse to carry it on. There is
no hunting in this part of Normandy. There used to be a pack of foxhounds
that hunted the cliffs on the Channel but Sarkozy, who I suspect of unsporting
ideas went and built a huge nuclear power station all over their country, so
that has buggered that. I did actually see a fox the other day, as I was
scootering into the town. It shot into a cundy under the road. I
was half minded to lowse the little dog who was riding on the scooter, but the
thought of having to explain (in Norman) to a French Gendarme (who did not
speak Norman) why I needed to howk up the road was just too tiresome and I was
late for lunch and I being late for lunch would have made me late for Mme
Marianne who manipulates my shoulder (but sadly nothing else) just made it all
too difficult - I am retired, after all and seeking peace and quiet. I do often think, as I
troll about the lanes, what an excellent bit of country this would be for pack
of harriers or even beagles. There is a problem in as much as this
country is wired like a birdcage - IT MUST HAVE BEEN QUITE A NICE BANK COUNTRY ONCE, but anyway the
French are funny about hares - except for shooting them. When we lived in
the Vienne, the best hunting we had was with a rather sharp pack of
harriers. The problem was that they caught too many hares and so the
local powers that were stopped them -
very strange.
I have been very impressed about how careful motorists are about me and my
scooter as we troll along at 8 kph, but I have now discovered that if you are
involved in an accident with a bicycle in France you are regarded, both by the
law and the Insurance, as being at fault. I suppose that my funny little
scooter is regarded as being an object regarded with extreme caution and
suspicion - I am not a bicycle, but legally I might be, so Prenez Garde.
Many of you readers, always supposing that there are 'Many', may assume that I have no weaknesses. Well, I agree
that they are 'gey few', but I will put my hands up for whisky and tobacco -
no, not fags; I have not smoked a ciggy since I was 17, when I started with my
pipe. I also love cigars (when I can afford them). I used to stock
up on them when my journalistic duties took me to Cuba. On the last occasion, I bought a travel
bag and put 600 into it. Now I knew that my duty free limit was 50
cigars, so when I got back to London, I went (me being a law abiding little
chap) through the Red Channel and told the man that I had some cigars: how
many? 600! He sucked his teeth! Did
I know how many I was allowed to bring in? 50, I said, he sucked his teeth
again! Well he would have to check them. This meant that he should have
summoned a boffin. The boffin would have taken a slice out of every cigar
and done some scientific test with it (600 times) - this might have taken some time;
It was late on a Sunday night; the man was tired and near the end of his
shift; he took a policy decision-
He sucked his teeth again;
'Look!' he said – “Why don't, why don't you just Fuck Off!” so I picked up my bag and did as I was
told. It took me over a year to suck my way through my legally held
contraband; It pays to be righteous
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