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That's it. The final day. I'm exhausted.
It's so tiring watching Jan pack boxes but I'll soldier on bravely. She is working so hard and doing such a good job that I'll postpone today's performance appraisal and the usual resultant corrective interview. All I've got left to do is tell her where to put all the boxes and how to pack the cars. That shouldn't take long!
We leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow, OK, 8.30 feels like the crack of dawn to me, to get the dogs to the vet for their final jabs and then wend our way to the first stop near Troyes.
Under normal circumstances we'd drive further but the restrictions imposed on pet movement into the UK means that we can't cross until 24 hours have passed after the dogs jabs and not more than 48 hours. What's all that about?
Stupid English rules are already getting to me and I haven't even got there yet. I guess there'll be lots to rant about in the coming months but I suspect that 'the rules' will be minor in comparison to the rubbish that French citizens have to put up with.
Anyway, to follow the story you will now need to click on this link.
Thanks for reading and see you again soon.
Jan accused me of having more than a touch of OCD this morning.
As she rolled over for her morning cuddle, you know the sort where she lies on your left arm and sticks her hair in your face, I have to continue reading until I reach a certain point.
I can't put in my bookmark until one of two things happen. I have to stop reading at the end of a paragraph on the top left hand page or the end of a chapter.
This morning I could see the end of the chapter so I couldn't give her my full attention for about four minutes.
Jan, on the other hand, has a much more disorganised mind and can stop reading anywhere. To my horror she said that it doesn't matter if she reads a bit twice. I'd hate that.
She has a similar take on the packing that she is doing for the move. We tend to fall out because we can't agree on how to do things and, as she always gets her way, I just leave her to it.
There are boxes all over the house in a seemingly random fashion. Me, I'd finish one room at at time and boxes would be stacked neatly that would avoid double handling. I hate double handling anything. Do it right first time is my motto. Which does lead to me to spending a bit too much time thinking about things and not getting as much done as Jan.
Anyway, my fingers have been in contact with this keyboard for far too long so I need to go and wash my hands. Again.
So the conversation goes like this.
ME (in France): Hi love, how ya doin'?
JAN (in England): Fine, I'm getting on well. Do Max and Minnie miss me?
ME: Yes, they mention it all the time.
JAN: Don't be sarcastic.
ME: Talking about M&M, some bad news, they caught and killed a cat last night.
JAN: Oh no, oh no. (Jan likes puddy cats.)
ME: What exactly did you think they were going to do when they caught one?
JAN: Are they OK?
ME: Well Max was looking a bit funny at my leg last night but I don't think he's got the blood lust yet.
Bla, bla bla, twenty minutes later.
ME: OK, I'd better go now. I need to see what little delicacy I can rustle up for tonight's feast.
JAN: Give the dogs a kiss from me and tell them not to be naughty and that I love them.
ME (trying my hardest to sound sincere): Sure honey, will do.
Twenty minutes later I had to stop when I found myself telling the dogs that Jan didn't approve of their killing but that she loved them anyway.
See what a lack of nourishment does for you.
The weather was miserable, cloudy, cold and wet so I decided to have an afternoon off (what another - Ed) and watch a film.
Dances with Wolves was on so I sat and slobbed whilst Jan busied herself as usual around the house. The film got to the part where they named Costner, 'Dances with Wolves'.
I said to Jan, "do you know what they call me?"
"No," she said.
"It's, 'Still Waiting For His Dinner'," I said, "what do they call you?"
"Living with a prat," she said.
Life throws up yet another eerie coincidence. We're sitting having an excellent dinner in The General Tarleton and mum and Jan are chatting. They get on really well and mum has always told Jan all kinds of things that she would never tell me. The conversation gets round to me as a baby (they were obviously getting bored - Ed) and mum told Jan that Ripon is where I was conceived. Just a tad too much information for my liking but there you go. Jan finds it hilarious.
How weird is that? Not only mentioning it, but that we are now moving there. Obviously an eerie primeval instinct took us back in that direction a bit like salmon returning to their spawning grounds.
Anyway mum starts to talk about me as a baby and mentions that the first time the nurses brought me to her, after my birth, I smelt 'wonderful.' Jan took a quick sideways look at me and said, "Are you sure it was the right baby?"
Take a long hard look, this isn't something you will see very often.
Looks like we got out of England just in time. I called Harrogate this morning and was told about the huge fall of snow they've just had. Phew. We flew out of Leeds yesterday which was icy but clear and landed in a fairly warm Barcelona.
It was a real pleasure driving back from Barcelona last night. Stick the car in cruise control, point and go. Motorway driving is quite pleasurable in Spain and France especially on Sunday night with few trucks around. Even local roads aren't bad with the exception of a few idiotic drivers. In the short time it took for us to drive from the house to the supermarket and back this morning we saw two dangerous incidents. Unfortunately par for the course.
The roads in England are much less of a joy, being jammed full of traffic, but at least they feel safe. I drove a lot of miles last week in and around Harrogate and Ripon and even though the roads were packed I never once saw anything dangerous or stupid.
Anyway, as we were sitting on the tarmac waiting for take-off yesterday Jan, who was looking at a girly magazine, asked me which of the following categories she fell into, 'prom queen,' 'uptown girl,' 'hollywood idol' or 'disco diva'?
I replied that she reminded me more of a 'land girl.' Even she thought that was funny. It's a good job she's got a sense of humour. (Careful, you'll get Jean on your case again - Ed)
Jan and I are somewhat different. I think she's very admirable because as a general rule she just gets on with things whilst I take my time and think about the issues and try to figure out the smartest way to do something. I hate double handling something, I've always been like that and I suspect that Jan has as well.
The net result of our behaviour is that Jan gets things done quickly and I take my time. If she was being cruel she might also say that I don't do anything whilst she slaves away. She would probably say that I over think things.
With all this in mind there are a mountain of boxes to unpack and, in order to get on quickly, without too much thought delay, I'm sent out on inconsequential little errands. I don't really mind, I understand. She manages to plough on regardless and gets things done and I'm half useful as well. From her point of view at least I'm out of the way.
Anyway, I get back back from my little errand yesterday and notice some of the stuff that she's put into the airing cupboard, but it wasn't until this morning that, in a very delayed blinding flash, it dawned on me. In her admirable haste to put things away, the first items in this cupboard were some old blankets. One of which looked like it had been used to keep soldiers warm in the trenches of the 1914 - 1918 war.
Now you can call me pedantic but I'm definitely not stupid. I stopped to consider the last time that we'd ever used a blanket, never mind a very old soldier's blanket, and it didn't take me long to figure out that not only had we (as a couple) never used a blanket before but that we were never likely to use or need one.
The other thought that I had was how much more rubbish lurks in this mountain of boxes stuffed around the house. Look, I know that I over think things, but we had just paid someone a lot of money to collect, store and deliver it from France. There were nine huge crates of the stuff (with more on the way.)
My next very difficult thought was how to deliver this message to my beloved without starting a blazing row. This will take some skill but I'd better think about it first! I might mention it tomorrow.
So we're lying in bed this morning (do we really want to know this? - Ed), I'm watching the BBC news and Jan has got her head buried in a book.
One of the news items was about terrorism and how the US Sate Department is warning its tourists to avoid crowded places if they travel to England.
'Well that rules out London, Stratford and a few other places that I could think of,' I said to myself.
Anyway, as part of this item they happened to show a very attractive female police officer, with all her armour, holding a big mean automatic rifle. Me, I quite like this bizarre combination and said out load. 'Hmmmm, a good looking woman with a big gun.'
Without lifting her head from her book and without skipping a beat, Jan whispered, 'I'm sure that can be arranged!'
And there I was thinking that women can't multi-task?
Jan does make a fuss about this packing lark. Her natural instinct is to keep everything whilst mine is to chuck stuff away. The house we're moving to, whilst having the same number of bedrooms, is smaller than the present one and based upon the number of boxes already packed I have no idea where we're going to put it all.
I might even have to throw away some clothes that I haven't worn for 10 years. Now that's a sacrifice. I'm particularly thinking about a pair of jeans that are so patched and delicate that I almost dare not put them on. They're so soft and silky that they could actually be made of the stuff.
Mind you, having the reputation of being a chucker has its advantages. Jan does most of the packing herself. She can't stand the thought of me throwing away that priceless kitchen gadget or ornament that we haven't used or looked at for years.
Take the broken down chest type box on the kitchen terrace which I've been instructed to tackle (see how much I'm trusted), it's full of rubbish. Old tennis racquets, bits of moth eaten tennis equipment and towels for the dogs. When I pointed out that we are giving away lots of good towels, the thought that we might want to keep old, torn and manky dog towels didn't make a lot of sense. 'Just chuck the lot', I said.
That didn't go down too well.
Given the results of our preferred political parties, I suggested to Jan that we should get into bed and 'form a coalition', and that 'anytime this afternoon would do.'Typically, she replied that as she holds all the bargaining power she'd consider my proposition at a later date.That's not my idea of how a hung parliament should work!
After reading this article, this morning, Jan turned to me and said, "Stephen Hawking said that I shouldn't be talking to you."Charming!
During our recent trip to England we were standing around chatting (sorry, I can't remember the exact circumstances) when the subject of our non stop car journey came up.
Jan was talking to one of her feminist friends (the multi-tasking variety) and happened to mention that I drove the whole way because, 'he's nervous when I drive. You can tell from his white knuckles! Ha ha.'
Being a pathetic male, of the broad shoulders variety, I let it pass but mentioned quietly afterwards that, if on a long journey I'm tired, then she's likely to be tired as well. A bit of the old, pathetic, male, common sense coming to the fore there, mes braves.
Anyway, about half way through the fourteen hour journey back I remembered Jan's kind sentiments and, because I felt sleepy, I asked her to drive for a bit. She was less than enthusiastic but agreed.
Being a kindly soul and sensitive to my truelove's feelings I sat on my hands so that she couldn't see my knuckles.
An hour or so later later, whilst sitting on my hands and listening to the radio, I noticed that the car had drifted over the rumble strips, at the side of the road (meant to wake you up in case you fall asleep), and was heading at about 90 degrees off the motorway. Being unable to contain my excitement I turned to her and woke her up.
Now, when I first met Jan she took great pains to mention that only women could multi-task and that men were generally the inferior species. I suspect that she had been talking a little too much to her feminist friends because 'my dears' I can say with all honesty that driving and staying awake is not one of those multi-tasks.
Not only did I save her life which, in my book, is worth a load of brownie points, and should keep me in maid service for the rest of my life, but I suspect she'll never mention my nervousness at her driving again. I rest my case.
She never even said, 'thank you - Sir!'
Ever since MP Stephen Milligan died when his 'game' went wrong, I've wondered about auto-erotic asphyxiation. This was the first time that I'd ever heard of it. Evidently Milligan was found with a plastic bag over his head and an orange in his mouth.
Reading this article the other day raised my curiosity again. I was chatting to Jan about whether I should try it (cos I like fruit and particularly oranges) and would she help me?
My mind was finally made up when she said 'would you trust me to remove the plastic bag?'
Anyway I was reminded this morning by Robin that you can still have sex at 74 and, as I live at No 68, there wouldn't be far to walk home afterwards. Boom, boom.
Alex 'Gasper' Hampshire.
We were lying in bed watching the news this morning when a sports presenter mentioned that the next England (football) game is to be against Egypt.
I mumbled sarcastically 'that'll be a real test of their skill then.'
My beloved, who isn't really interested in football, preferring rugby instead, said, 'but they've just won the Africa Cup of Nations for a record breaking seven times. It shouldn't be a walk over.'
Well, I'm not usually short of words, but you could have knocked me over with a feather.
I suggested that we should celebrate that knowledge, in the usual fashion, but she wasn't having any of it! Bugger.Still, there's lots of rugby and football on television this weekend so that's something to look forward to.
So we're lying there in bed watching an interesting late night discussion on the the subject of banning the burqa. That's how exciting our lives have become! The discussion wandered around 'the panel' and all gave their view on whether or not it should be made illegal, like they are trying to do here in France.Anyway, at one point, Jan turned slowly to me, looked me up and down, and said, "I think you should wear one."
See what I've got to put up with.
There's been quite a lot written recently in the English press about spaghetti bolognese. There's actually no such Italian dish and the name and the dish is an English invention. That was basically the controversy.
The dish that most closely resembles spag bol' is a meat ragu made in the bolognese style, but with tagliatelle not spaghetti.
Anyway, various Italian chefs have got involved and I asked Jan if she'd make the version as suggested by Antonio Carluccio. She wasn't particularly happy with the finished result, 'not enough meat, tastes too much of carrot, whilst I was very, very happy. Real Italian food.
Jan's version of a minced beef tomato sauce, which was given to her in the late 60s, by someone who had never even been to Italy, is the English version, and very nice it is too (he said quickly).
I've never been that bothered about turkey, especially at Christmas. Even though I like turkey, my consistent line has always been let's have something different, like a stir fry or Peking duck. Given that we only ever have turkey once a year I must admit that even I found my attitude a bit puzzling.
This year we had turkey. Jan, a traditionalist, likes turkey and as she's cooking the bloody thing then turkey it is. But yesterday it all came together.
Lunch at this time of the year usually consists of a warming soup and a sandwich. So I'm sitting there waiting to stuff my face when all became clear. Jan had made the most enormous pot of turkey soup.
Now don't get me wrong, I like turkey soup. I like all Jan's soups. But seeing the size of this witches cauldron sent a shiver down my spine. I'm going to be eating the stuff for several weeks. That was it. Having to down litres of turkey soup at this time of the year had obviously buried into my subconscious. I linked a turkey meal with weeks of turkey soup!
Bingo, another problem solved, or not.
Anyway, it cheered me up when I read yesterday that one of my heroes, Van Morrison, had had another child at the age of 64. Well done that Van the Man!
I was lost this morning. As part of a planned outage (they're burying the overhead cables in the village) we had no electricity for three hours this morning. I didn't know what to do with myself.
When I get bored I usually read the news on-line or some such but this morning I've even had to write this rubbish by hand. How uncool is that? I don't normally do retro!
It's funny how much you depend on electricity and how much you miss it when it's not there. Whilst my beloved finds lots of things to do (they're funny like that aren't they boys?), she's not very sympathetic when I sit and whinge!
One day, I'll find lots of things to do, but easy does it.
Since I started using Byetta in March this year, I've now lost 14.5 kilos (32 pounds). Since this equates to a bag of the dog food that we buy, and I know how heavy that feels, that's one hell of a lot of fat. It's difficult to imagine that you can carry so much excess weight. I was obviously kidding myself about the amount of food that I was eating. It's all a bit scary.
Anyway, talking about food, when we were in Italy recently, Jan took a shine to some beautiful looking small, red, bell, chilli peppers (about golf ball size) in the market and made some enquiries as to what to do with them.'You stuff them,' said Pia, who, understandably, knows a lot about Italian cooking. We were led to believe that they might be 'sweet,' so Jan insisted that I bring a load back on my last trip.
When Pia started to make enquiries of her friend Lena, who also knows about these things, Lena's husband was dispatched to buy a kilo, a handwritten recipe was delivered along with several jars for our tasting delight. Trust me, they're not 'sweet' they're hot! Bryan and I demolished them. Excellent.
Over the last few days Jan has been cooking her peppers and stuffing them with a tuna mix before keeping them under oil, in a jar. Whilst all that was going on she also found a recipe for these chillies in Jamie's Dinners. It's not the same as the recipe that I brought back, the stuffing is different, but it looks interesting anyway. Here it is (minus roquet and parsley in the ingredients list). I've not tasted them yet so I'll let you know.
