Any road, as they say in Sheffield, I’m also now determined to be a bit more pint half full and won’t talk about PD unless relevant.
But first I just have to tell you a true story from my local Post Office where the man in front of me in the queue had a ferret on a lead tucked under his arm. He got to the front of the queue where the counter clerk said ‘excuse me, Sir, but the sign says no dogs’ (pointing at the sign which clearly stated this fact: not only no dogs but also no cats, though why anyone would want to take their cat to the Post Office defeats me). However, the man replied ‘it’s not a dog, it’s a ferret’. To which the clerk said conclusively ‘well, the Post Office regards it as a dog’, then he sold the man some commemorative stamps. Both parties looked perfectly happy. Not sure about the ferret though.
Back to PD, where I’m undoubtedly getting more clumsy. For instance over the weekend I spilled a milk jug all over the bedroom carpet, spilled red wine over the arm of a chair and spilled a bottle of mineral water over myself. The latter event occurred at the wonderful Olympic Studios cinema in Barnes while we were watching the Kray Brothers film, Legend. The water went over my lap and legs and my seat some 20 minutes from the end around the time they were killing Jack the Hat McVitie, so the damp patch I was sitting in allowed me to deeply empathise with McVitie in more ways than one. Try it for yourself.
But first I just have to tell you a true story from my local Post Office where the man in front of me in the queue had a ferret on a lead tucked under his arm. He got to the front of the queue where the counter clerk said ‘excuse me, Sir, but the sign says no dogs’ (pointing at the sign which clearly stated this fact: not only no dogs but also no cats, though why anyone would want to take their cat to the Post Office defeats me). However, the man replied ‘it’s not a dog, it’s a ferret’. To which the clerk said conclusively ‘well, the Post Office regards it as a dog’, then he sold the man some commemorative stamps. Both parties looked perfectly happy. Not sure about the ferret though.
Back to PD, where I’m undoubtedly getting more clumsy. For instance over the weekend I spilled a milk jug all over the bedroom carpet, spilled red wine over the arm of a chair and spilled a bottle of mineral water over myself. The latter event occurred at the wonderful Olympic Studios cinema in Barnes while we were watching the Kray Brothers film, Legend. The water went over my lap and legs and my seat some 20 minutes from the end around the time they were killing Jack the Hat McVitie, so the damp patch I was sitting in allowed me to deeply empathise with McVitie in more ways than one. Try it for yourself.
Meanwhile PD in France is much the same a s PD in the UK: for example, I swam across the Dordogne river and back and was completely cream crackered by the effort which meant I came ashore about 100 metres down river on the current and landed in mud so deep and sticky that I was planted like an Anthony Gormley beach statue, until pulled out by wife and friends on the end of a rope. Result: a win for PD which has turned my swimming back to the strength and endurance of a 5 year old.
The wine in the Bergerac region was cheap as chips and good quality for the price, and drinking lots of it decreased my shakes considerably. Result: a win for me and the wines of Bergerac, particularly the sweet Monbazillac.
We took the dog with us on her new passport, turned up at Eurotunnel in Calais and were rejected for not having a particular injection you have to have more than 24 hours before travel but not more than five days before. It was 8.30 pm. Raced off to the nearest vet via dangerous streets, some of which had been closed by police and rioters. Asked a local how to get to the vet (GPS failing) and he jumped into his mate’s Deux Chevaux and led us there just as the grumpy vet was closing. Vet jabbed dog and insisted on cash payment of Euros 95. Hotel in Dunkirk had last bed in town and was full of hookers and other shady characters and me, wife and dog. Hotel cost Euros 90 plus 7 for dog. It all seems like a scam to the benefit of vets and hoteliers and the restaurateurs/tourist trade as we had to wait all day to catch the shuttle on a very busy bank holiday. Wife and dog not talking to me.
Leaving wife and dog at home, I also spent a weekend at the fabulous Brussels Beer Festival (in the middle of Grande Place) with a side visit to Antwerp where we drank in the most amazing bar, possibly in the world, called the Kulminator, specialising in aged Belgian beers. Range, quality, atmosphere, service, like nowhere else on earth. Visit it.
Finally there are fairies at the bottom of our garden. See photo. My wife has had the great (ha ha) idea of dressing the unsuspecting tree on our bit of pavement with a fairy door about a foot above the ground (as there is no ladder to get a foot up it’s obvious that fairies can jump!), together with fairy trinkets, and other shiny stuff. House prices have tumbled as a result, and now people have started leaving things such as a watch and two cowboys on horseback, though the cowboys have subsequently disappeared, probably to a neighbouring grotto.
Not sure how I got from PD to fairies. Perhaps it’s magic?
