Sunday, February 8, 2015

Where The Huskies Go ...

One of Margo's more unpleasant habits involves reading The Daily Fail and other journals of that ilk over her breakfast. I don't know how she does it, I'd be spewing coffee all over my keyboard ... be that as it may, she was perusing the august HTML of Metro this morning, and felt obliged to point out to me the headline reading "Woman Finds Jesus in Bird Poop". More than that, I did not care to ask, so I cannot tell you whether it was just a portrait or an actual figurine. (Because I prefer not to believe that anyone could have a revelation contemplating sparrow-shit.)

In other news, you may recall that we fled Savoie to find decent weather. It was, then, somewhat to our disgust that around 10am unmistakeable snow started falling from the sky, blocking the busy streets of Moux. OK, there I might exaggerate a tiny bit, but there was actual snow, actually falling and momentarily whitening our terrace, and I have enclosed a photograph or two for your viewing pleasure.

And EBK has just come in: he is not a happy kitton. He's never met snow before, and quite frankly I think he could have done without the experience.

For your edification, an article on toad erections: the irresponsible practice of toad licking, reportedly popular among the more time-rich Australian youngsters. Don't say I never do anything for you.

Just saying, but should you happen to be a Bear of Little Brain, and it comes into your head to have a Bright Idea - such as it might be sticking the tepid bottle of crémant du Loire that your dinner guest has brought round into the freezer "just for half an hour" before sitting down to eat and, what with one thing and another, and there's quite enough to drink here at The Shamblings™ anyway, forgetting about it - well, let me just ask you to consider the possibility that you might be mistaken.

On the bright side, the freezer compartment needed defrosting anyway, although I suppose I could have just scraped it out and served the contents as (mostly) champagne sorbet ... it was also the occasion to rediscover tubs of ice-cream and all sorts of other stuff lurking at the back. I'm pretty sure that normal people do not freeze over-ripe bananas.

We've had the electricians in all last week, re-routing the phone line so that it actually winds up in my office, and stringing cables all over the place on the first floor so that Cédric can finish putting up the gib-board on the walls and ceilings. The idea is that the two top floors are completely rewired, with their own distribution board, so at least part of the house will be "conforme aux normes", as they say.

Of course, it would have to have been the coldest day of the year when they had to cut the electricity in the place, which incidentally means that the central heating was off. And it was after they'd left on Tuesday night that we discovered that they'd cut the phone line (OK, no blame, they could hardly have known that it actually arrives in what used to be our bedroom, they thought it was an extension) which meant no phone and so no internet and so no TV.

We had to spend an evening in one another's company. What, in heaven's name, did people do of an evening, back in the days before Al Gore invented the innatoobz? Play Scrabble? No wonder there was so much domestic violence.

Whatever, as I was making my rounds at the market the other day I was pleasantly surprised to come across some bigarade, better known perhaps as the bitter Seville orange. I can see that the immediate future is going to involve a bit of time spent at the stove, making marmelade. I still have fond memories of Keiller's Dundee marmelade with navy rum, although I don't know where I'd be able to get some of that. I suppose that I shall have to content myself with a shot of Grand Marnier.

Also, why in hell should Dundee, Scotland, become a centre of the marmelade-making trade? It's not as though bitter oranges grow on trees, not up there anyway. (Although apparently around here, they do. The season is short - I shall take advantage of it. And if ever I happen to find bergamot as well, I shall be extremely happy.)

It is supposed to be warming up next week: I for one will be extremely pleased if this turns out to be the case. Whatever, the days are getting longer and soon the almonds will be blossoming, then the pruniers sauvages will burst out in white and rather startling pink.

Oh, we still have a few months of chilly winds to look forward to but that's just one of those things, and it certainly makes you appreciate the central heating, and a decent (and copious) hot meal. Anyway, mind how you go, now.


  1. pruniers sauvages

    Savage prunes DO NOT WANT.

  2. That Dalek poster is rather fetching, you must have reverse-inherited my good taste ...

  3. You were supposed to go all gooey over the dogs, not suck up to our robot overlords