|Ding bloody dong|
Finally the hands of the church clock are counting down the last hours of my freedom in my wonderful home in France. The U.K school bus awaits my tender touch. The final apero hour with neighbours approaches. Starlings click and whistle their autumn castle tower census. Why do they gather up into flocks like this? Is it just to count each other? Is it to see who has the most iridescent show off feathers?
OK, I know my life is wonderful and undeserved. Millions of folk live short lives and find no reward, let alone a proper diet. We all want more I guess.
|Lucky the blinkers hid the romantic novelist rolling on the ground.|
My last postcard from the paradise of Saint Savinien Sur Charente embodies my own sentiments as I return to toil. Because of the narrow streets and alleys, the bin trucks are of little use. The answer is simple and noble. You use a horse. A couple of days ago as I went to the boulangerie, I came across a beautiful grey mare pulling the town refuse trailer. I asked the driver for his name and he told me in French style “She is female.” Well, to honest, I had not inspected the gender department of the beast for fear of being over inquisitive. The driver understood my Anglo Cavalleria Rusticana ignorance and told me the name which was something like “Chiche-Noix”. I did not like to ask again and in any case they clip clopped off into the distance. If you look at the photos you will also the bin man’s mate who is a dog. I did not ask for its name but a working title is Fido.
|He is a She Madame!|
Does anyone actually call their dog Fido?
It was a beautiful morning and a lovely sight. The beast only does two days a week and I did not ask if he closes down every day for a three hour lunch. I hope he does!
And on the subject of long lunches, Anglo-Americano Shoppers will thrill to the news that more and more French supermarkets are staying open all day. If you hate crowded shops; go at lunch time. The only customers will be Brits. The check-out girls all look like they have lost the will to live and cluster at the end of the tills for a kind of low calorie chat-lunch. I think they should return to the proper French lunch break. Anyway – who needs all this stuff?
Emma thinx: There’s no such thing as a free lunch, but there’s still liberty at lunchtime.
Great description. You put me in the middle of a little town in France I would love to see. I envy your being able to stay there for awhile. But I know it was good for your soul. Of course, I read your headline about “Life in Harness” and wondered what your blog might be about. You see, I've read your sex scenes in “Knockout,” and if anybody can figure out how to properly use a harness, you can.
I love the old culture of France. Beautiful country and wonderful food. You're very lucky, Emma!
How many times can you make me envious? Obviously there is no end. But thanks for sharing. I can dream.
Do you need a cleaner? Lovely post, Emma. Thanks for sharing. Almost felt I was there… I wish! 🙂 xx