SPRING AT LAST!

Spring is sprung
Grass is rizI wonder where de bodies is

Dey say de boids is on the wing           
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