I Want to Dress Like a Flower

In the garden this morning and, in between letting out the chickens, shovelling up the dogs’ business (lovely) and making sure there were no toads or lizards drowning in the pool skimmer, I took time to appreciate this lovely bloom and it really, really made me fancy having something to wear in these colours.

Bizarre really but there you go.

I’ve just heard that my French lesson is cancelled this afternoon.  I say’ lesson’ but I go along to my French friend’s house, I mangle the language for 40 minutes or so as I tell her about what I’ve been up to and, with a slightly strained expression on her face, she makes what she can of it.  Then we speak in English for a while as she wants to practice her accent which is as appalling as my French one.   What to do instead?  I could go shopping and replenish the fridge so that the girls have something to devour when they come in from school like teenagers with more diligent mothers can do.  I could finish my project for the sewing group.  I could do some housework – but, I jest of course.  I could do some more of  the quilt I started making for my daughter over a year ago.  I could do some ironing  - another jest.

Speaking of lessons – which I sort of was – my daughter is taking driving lessons here in France.  I can’t help feeling I’m throwing my money down the drain.  Last week, the driving instructor told her that she reminded her of some woman driver who had carried out a parking manoeuvre so badly, somebody had filmed her and put it on YouTube.  If that were all, it wouldn’t be so bad but, the week before, the instructor took anti-stress pills during the lesson.  I know when I first learnt to drive, I found it quite difficult and failed my test, then I went back to live in London for a while where it’s not really worth having a car in my opinion.  A couple of years later, I resumed driving lessons and it came to me much more easily and I passed first time (well, if you don’t count the first first time).  In any case, as I keep telling Madamoiselle T., some of the most stupid people you could ever hope to meet manage to drive a car and a lot of it is down to having confidence which, unless I’m mistaken, the instructor she’s got at the moment isn’t doing much to instil.

This ‘so true’ card (well, of me anyway) is from Goodgosh on Etsy who makes very funny and sometimes slightly ‘rude’ cards.

Off to find an outfit in purple and gold!

Nature Doing Its Thing

Just when everything is lush and green, when the tiny buds are forming and some delicate flowers are already blooming, out of a sudden dark sky, icy lumps the size of walnuts fall and smash it all to pieces.  Not to mention Mr. Tialys’ greenhouse.

The birds look confused…….

 better carry on feeding them until the weather sorts itself out.

Bring on summer.

What Next?

I’m feeling a little ‘directionless’ at the moment.  Is that even a word?  Anyway, I feel as if I’m sort of doing stuff in no particular order and not prioritising tasks properly and, although this is not a new thing for me, it’s sort of started to hit me how much more efficient I could be if I would only get a grip on some sort of time management.  I obviously don’t take after my father who is so committed to routine that, not only could I tell you what he will be doing at any given time of the day but I know what he will be having for breakfast, lunch and dinner.   This really only started in earnest for him once he retired and the ‘counsellors’ told him to make a routine and stick to it.  Well, he has taken this to the nth degree and, 17 years later, you could, literally, set your watch by what he is doing.  Pavlov’s dogs had nothing on my dad’s dog who is ready for his walk at exactly the same time every day and gets quite stressed if it doesn’t happen.  Unlike my poor dogs who are subject to the meanderings of my mental and physical vagaries and have given up having anything at any set time.  Still, it makes for a bit more excitement!

Anyway, you will be pleased to know that after 5 days of deprivation, I now have my taste buds back in full working order and am making the most of it.  The clotted cream, specially driven down from the U.K., was defrosted and slathered over home made scones which, with the addition of some strawberry jam, was absolutely heavenly.  Not to take away from Madamoiselle Tialys the younger’s achievement in making the scones but they are so easy and quick to make I am never going to buy shop ones again as they tend to be a bit dry.  Not that they sell scones here but, you know what I mean.

I know I haven’t said much about my trip to the U.K. but it was mostly about shopping, eating stuff I can’t get here, seeing friends and family and shopping again.  Unfortunately, my pocket sized camera had been mislaid by my daughter so I could not record any of these meetings or shoppings as my big girl’s camera would have taken all my cabin bag allowance  so I left it at home.  However, above is one of the things I knocked up using some scrummy fabric I bought whilst there.   What is about beach huts?  They are so cute.      

Then, today, instead of doing something more useful, I decided to make another of my coffee sack owls as the last one in my shop had gone off to Russia and I always like to have one on the go.  I spotted a very light coloured sack in the cupboard and thought I’d use that one.  Big mistake!  The weave is very close and the whole thing very stiff so trying to turn the owl right side out after sewing was so difficult I nearly gave it up as a bad job.  Also, I couldn’t even think about putting a box seam in the bottom but I perservered and she turned out quite well but I will stick with the more ‘floppy’ sacks in future so this one really is ‘one of a kind’!

 Speaking of routine - I have got one I stick to on a Sunday, which is watching ‘Dancing on Ice’ so I’m off.                                                

Sulking

 I am back from England but in a huge sulk.  I have no sense of taste.  I don’t mean I’ve started wearing shell suits or listening to Justin Bieber (sorry Beliebers) but I have no working taste buds.  My lovely ginger boy, Henry, is demonstrating their usual whereabouts for you above.

I had a fairly heavy cold at the end of last week which lasted a couple of days but realised something was wrong when I drank some of my daughter’s tea without realising there was sugar in it, the slightest grain of which I can usually detect in a heartbeat.  Also, I was able to stick my nose in a jar of Vicks Vapour Rub without reeling back with streaming eyes and nasal passages as cold and clear as the Cresta ski run as one would normally do. 

So I haven’t tasted any food since Friday – it’s Tuesday now – and I’ve started to get worried.  What if it’s permanent?  The irony is, I seem to be getting very hungry all the time probably because my brain thinks I haven’t eaten anything.

We asked some friends, who drove over from the U.K. a few weeks ago, to bring us some double and some clotted cream as it freezes well and is non-existent here in France.  The plan last weekend was to rustle up some home-made scones and smother them with cream and strawberry jam.  I banned it!  No way is everybody else going to sit round eating scones without me.  Some things would be just too hard to bear.

On the plus side – instead of having a glass of wine with my tasteless dinner I am having an equally tasteless (but healthy) glass of water instead.

I’ll be back when I’m feeling more cheerful.

A Flying Visit

Off to the U.K. tomorrow for a quick visit.  It is Madamoiselle Tialys the younger’s birthday on Friday and she and Mr. T are off to a concert at the O2.  I am not going.  Here is one of the band’s album covers so guess why!

I will, of course be indulging in some retail therapy and visiting some friends.  On Saturday we will go to my favourite place – Brighton – and meet a good friend for lunch.  She lives there and I missed her last time I went so that is a priority.  Unlike rural France, the restaurants stay open outside of 12 – 2 at lunchtime so we are having a late lunch in order that I might forage in the Laines for a few hours first.  I am going to set off earlier than the other two who are not such avid shoppers as I am!  I think that’s a good plan.  My favourite restaurant in Brighton is ‘Terre à Terre’ which is a vegetarian restaurant but, even though I’m not a veggie, it is sooooo gorgeous I can forgo a meat fix.  The trouble is, the menu is so interesting – they describe all the ingredients of a dish so thoroughly and it all sounds so amazing – that it takes me half an hour just to decide what I want.

Might be a little cold for the pier at this time of year – maybe I’ll stick to the shopping and the eating.

A priority also, is to visit my parents – I will be staying with them for the first couple of days and my two sisters are coming over to see us which will be great as I don’t get to see them much especially my younger sister who lives in Wales.  I want it to be a little bit of a family party because my dad is going to start palliative chemotherapy the following week and, even though he isn’t saying anything, I know it must be a daunting prospect.

What about Madamoiselle Tialys the elder, I hear you ask.  Well, she is going to be looking after the house and the animals which I can hardly bear to think about really.  Her boyfriend will be moving in with her for the duration so, between them, I am sure everything will be fine.  I am taking her food shopping today so they won’t starve and will be typing a list later on which I will pin on the fridge starting with ‘Let the chickens out’ and ending with ‘Put the chickens away’.  There will be lots of other things in between and I’ve already stuck a note on the inside of the front door saying ‘Have you got your key?’

See you when I get back!

Excuses Not to Do The Man Chores No. 1

As a supplement to my occasional ‘Excuses Not to Do the Housework’ feature, I have now discovered that Mr. Tialys has entered into the spirit of the thing and is finding his own excuses not to do things that normally come under his domain, for example, grouting tiles in, unblocking plumbing pipes, putting up shelves to name but a few things outstanding at the moment

As it has been so cold here lately and we had not been quick enough to think about emptying the huge water butt outside the back door, the water inside froze and cracked the plastic.  Mr. T. emptied the huge block of ice out into the garden and I thought no more about it.  I heard the sound of the chainsaw and thought he was preparing more logs for the fire but then I was called to admire this

Bless ‘im!

(If he asks – just say you knew it was an eagle)

Excuse Not to Do the Housework: No. 465(ish)

Another entry in my occasional series of good reasons not to get on with the housework is also a brilliant vindication of whittering away about everything that occurs to me on my blog.

Apparently, according to a study in California, women who regularly write about things that matter to them lose more weight than those who don’t.  

 Using a test group of 45 women, the researchers asked half of them to write for 15 minutes every day about something that was important to them and the other half to write about things they had no particular interest in.  Four months later, the first group had lost, on average, 3.4lbs, the second had gained 2.7lb.  If you are writing about something you care about, you are happier, thus less likely to snack – allegedly.

Now, whilst I would like to believe that sitting on my backside in front of the screen is a form of fat burning exercise, I can’t help but think that pushing the vacuum cleaner around and wielding a duster  might actually be more effective.  So, after serious consideration, I don’t think I would be able to present this evidence to Mr. Tialys when he asks why he hasn’t got any shirts ironed again so it might not be my best ‘excuse not to do the housework’ entry.

Also. Haven’t these researchers in California got anything better to do than this?  Shouldn’t they be finding a cure for Alzheimers or something?  

*Wonder if I can have another slice of cake now*

The Bells, The Bells….

I’ve just returned from taking my parents to the airport after their week-long Christmas visit.

My dad’s a fidgety type.  He is never happier than when he is fiddling about with something mechanical – I should say ‘fixing’ rather than ‘fiddling about’ but he tends not to have a 100% success rate and, as he’s not listening……..    

I always worry he will get bored when he visits.  My mum is fine – we catch up on the gossip, she brings her knitting, she reads, she gets waited on hand and foot, as is her right,  but my dad always looks as if he is missing his own armchair and his man shed back in the U.K.

I have found the perfect solution.  I find and buy all the non-working vintage clocks in a 50 mile radius, give him free access to Mr. Tialys’ shed and the can of WD40 and he’s like a pig in the proverbial poo.  Then, if he manages to fix any of them, I can put them in my shop.  Everyone’s a winner!

Well, actually, Mr. Tialys, my Mum and the two Madamoiselles Tialys might not consider themselves winners as they have had to listen to the sound of very loud alarm bells going off all week as the clocks have been on test.  My Dad, of course, is almost stone deaf so this has not been a bother to him.

Still, it was Christmas and you need bells at Christmas.  I hope you had a Christmas with bells on too.

Putting Up The Tree

After some wasted trips and just a little bit of panicking, I found our Christmas tree which means that the festivities can begin.  We always put on the ‘Best Christmas Songs Ever’  CD while we decorate it which drives Mr. Tialys mad but, it must be done.  It’s that time of year when good taste and any attempts at minimalism go completely out of the window – in our house anyway – and, after a preliminary dust and vacuum, I can use the excuse that ‘I can’t get to things’ , to forget about anything too rigorous in the housework department for a week.

Time for light up santas..

and handmade baubles

Time to be helped up to the highest heights by your boyfriend….

……or your dad.

Time to dress up the animals again.    The real ones…..

………and the not so real.

Now I’ve really got to find a turkey in the next few days.  Not so easy here in France and, when you do find them, they are only the size of a large chicken.  This is because the French don’t seem to understand that, being British, we need to buy a huge turkey and then eat it in various manifestations for a week afterward…….and then make stock.  That’s not weird is it?

The Only Robins I want to See at Christmas Have Wings

What are your feelings about round robins?  You know, those letters that arrive with your Christmas card updating you on the goings on of the sender over the past year.  Perhaps you can tell by the title – I don’t like them.

At the risk of offending some of you here, I’m sorry but  I just can’t help not liking them.  I appreciate that it’s a quick and easy way of updating people you don’t see very often with what’s been going on in your life but, really, I have to ask two questions.  If you really wanted them to know, wouldn’t you telephone them, email them or write to them (individually!) at some time during the rest of the year?  If they really wanted to know, wouldn’t they telephone you, email you or write to you at some time during the rest of the year?  In other words, if you were that interested in eachother, why would you wait a whole year to tell them your news?

What has sparked off this tirade, of course, is that we have just received a round robin which starts of  ‘Dear (in type)  ‘our names’ handwritten which of course is supposed to be more personal but just means a whole load of them were printed off and the names written in afterward for which, I assume, we must be grateful .   Then the author apologises for the impersonal letter but says it would take her hours of handwriting to inform all her family and friends what has been going on over the past year which implies a) we are a mere drop in the ocean of the vast network surrounding this very important person and b) we give a crap. 

After apologising for the ‘impersonal nature’ of the communication, we are given some extremely personal information.  Which boyfriend is history, and why, and what the new one does for a living. What medication is now being taken.  What surgery has been carried out and on what body part.  How busy, busy work is and how she deserved her holiday in the exotic location on the other side of the world.  If she had kids, which she doesn’t, I’m sure we would be told how well they were getting on at school and that their teachers suspect they might be ‘gifted’ .  I think it could be statistically proven that all children of round robin writers are exceptionally clever.

You might understand my rant a little better if I tell you that the giver of this particular annual information is Mr. Tialys’s sister who has our postal and email addresses and our phone number but not I hope, for the sake of future family relations, the link to my blog.

I do appreciate the irony of my complaint when here I am blogging about the trivia of my own life and people, most of whom don’t actually know me, come and read it just as I go on to other blogs and read about them.   But that’s different ………isn’t it?

So, if I haven’t offended you too much, my lovely, possibly round robin writing readers, what are your views?   Do you like receiving them/sending them/ranting about them?  I’d love to hear.