The real reason why I gave up driving.

 It was one mid-to late evening that I was driving from St Astier down towards Tocane St Apre....I am not sure of the distance between the two county towns but I have always been aware of the speed on the road between them that I finally gave up driving....

Then - I forget which year - the budget for local road improvement had a rush of tarmac to the head.    Yes, the road was widened, its surface was smoothed, weeds and encroaging small trees removed.   In short, much fun was had by all - except for this 80 year old driver who gave up the steering wheel.

Sometimes as I go to collect the post and watch the thundering hords  go by....I have noticed that - at about dusk - there is always a car about to leave the woods and venture fast on the road ...then suddenly there is a sort of hiccup as the traffic slows....it seems that a car is venturing out from the woods onto  the main road.   The traffic slows...

Some clever person has put head lights attached to his trees - these are spotted by passing, slowing traffic.    They are only head lights - no car attached - but it does the trick.   The drivers slow down....

A question once asked - now answered.

 Sometime ago I found I had scribbled on one of those lovely tiny orage note pads;...?when does one become irrelevant???...

At various times I posed this question to random passersby as well as to friends and family.    I never verbally got a straight answer. But the answers came  nonverbally - I was ignored, information did not come through to me...

But I have my revenge:  (I was always a control freak...). I am not signing ANYTHING that asks for a direct debit to my bank account for its services..

 When your house number is four successive digits ,  pushing at a long verbal name for the road on which it sits, you would think that somewere there must be an indication of public transport services.  Wrong!  This is London, London is different....

Other people's oddities...

 Are so much more interesting than my own - at least to me...As I eventually ended up in my 80th year, I was worried about any possible oddities in my behaviour....

Yes, alright, I gave up driving my car - that seemed sensible all round, not just because of possible accidents caused by me - but more seriously because the  occasional driver of my car (which he wants to buy) is a Very Attractrive Young Man...with blue eyes to die for..

Also he speaks Dutch - I was born Dutch over 80 years ago but I seem to be able to express myself, and understand what he  says, with very little problem...also he smokes Dutch cigars - just as my Dutch grandfather used to - and the odor takes me back to my childhood....Grandfather in his terrace chair, smoke rising from his mouth and the birds hovering for the grains from ....whatever he was eating.

So far, so good - but now I have found myself wondering about the difference btween two different types of breakfast  cereal....there are the rectangular blocks of mixed grains and there are also ones with rounded edges....I study the contents description..which is the better, are the tastes different....fortunately finding yesterday's newspaper usually distracts me from this absurdity...

And now this obsession has transferred itself to fire lighters which also come in different shapes....of which I use a lot as both my Rayburn cooker and the sitting room fire are lit by such...

And that is probably a comment on the quality of the TV programmes whether in English or French -  I now live mostly in France...

Fortunately there is always a glass of wine close by...

The France is still there..

 As I was wandering up the path to my post-box - strategically situated on the main road between Tocane St Apre and St Astier, almost equally between the the two. ... I stopped and looked - as a good Dutch girl I can recognise St Nicolas anywhere, the long white beard was perfect...But this was a little odd - he was coming from the Tocane end and it was not nearly official postal delivery time 

Now, take a breath every dear reader - France is no longer a casual, almost Latin like, form of administration. There are rules about what can delivered where - and when - There are rules about the delivery of bills - say electricity - and the date limit by which it they should be paid, with possible penalties. Demands are made for the customer to permit direct debits from their bank accounts.   My instinct says ' no way, not ever' - never mind the possible discounts.

Then the wood delivery man arrived just before lunch - trailing a large cart with chunks of coursely cut but very dry wood.    My own wood is not yet dry enough to use for heating and cooking - it  takes over two years at least.  We greeted each other as old friends - I buy from him regularly as my own wood dries.  

From behind his ear he drew a rather battered receipts book, thumbed over the pages until he found a blank one.   He then quoted me two rates;   one would be handwritten on dublicated paper and would include a charge for local tax, to be paid by cheque.  The other book would produce a different total - one without tax  - to be paid in cash.

We looked through my cash wallet and decided on the latter.  The real France is there somewhere.... 

Elephant give- away....

 Today I gave away two elephants....no ..obviously not the literal animal but in various materials and sizes.  The object was always the same:   to bring good luck, happiness...or at least comfort to the recipient?   Why elephants?  Reader, this story dates back to my very earliest days .....back to when about 6 years  old I sat at a strange desk, in a strange country with a strange language - and looked at the pictures in my 'Babar the Elephant' book....the original one published way back in the 30's...my first comfort in a strange country

A rural romance?

After some 40 years living in rural France, land and woodland in the deepest Dordogne I am gradually coming to the conclusion that one cannot own -in the proper sense of the word -  land in France.

This latest support to my theory is (I think) quite funny. Half of the land I 'own'  ( as widow woman)is deeply wooded land - the rest is scrub pasture that needs to be mowed by humans and shit fertilised by four legged  domestic animals of some kind.  

My most recent employee (Dutch like me, with blue eyes to die for) is in charge of both fields and woodlands. He uses chain-saws, electrical log splitters, 'my' tractor for transporting it all which I appreciate.....Then we sit side by side at the long kitchen table as we discuss things and scabble notes onpaper.  He says his litle prayer, thinks of his childrem

Today, as I opened my eyes I found him sitting at the head  of my table...looking at me with those blue eyes...I shut  my brain down very quickly....