And there's more

I was sitting next to Jan just now and she had her head deep into a crossword. She always has her head deep into something like that. She can sit for hours studying some puzzle or other and it can take several attempts to make contact. Still, I love her dearly - well most of the time. I swear I overheard her say, "four across - dull, slow and heavy - four letters. I suppose it could be 'alex'!" See what I've got to put up with?

***

I've never been bothered about kippers, that is until now. In the past (in the UK) I found them shrivelled, strong tasting and a tad dry. Well, not any more mes amis, now they're a weekly treat. For all my chums in France, check with your local Carrefour. Their kippers are large, meaty, moist, beautifully smoked and a real treat.

So much useful information and ner a picture of a door, or a turnip in sight (stop it - Ed).

Leave me alone

There I was sitting quietly, minding my own business, when Jan came up to me and told me that she had been sorting my toiletries draw. Please note that she started on mine and didn't bother with hers. I groaned inwardly. This wasn't good news. Anyway, she told me that I had enough deodorant and shaving foam to last me for the rest of my life and she had no idea where she should store it all.

Look, I don't need much to keep me ticking over and I hate to run out of anything, so over the years, and certainly each time we drive back to the UK, I add to my supplies in case of a nuclear attack, or similar. She just doesn't understand. I need to be prepared.

Then, to add insult to injury she told me that she was confiscating various unopened bottles of perfume on the grounds that a: I never wash and b: I will never use it. This is one cruel and heartless woman. Everyone thinks she's St Jan of Cannes. To me she's more Cruella de Cannes.

This tastes nice

So there I was at 10.45 last night, slobbing in front of the television and thinking about wending my weary way to bed, when I noticed my beloved working in the kitchen.

'Hey beloved', I said, 'wither goest thou?' (that's not true, you asked what the hell I was doing in the kitchen at that time of night - Jan)

Anyway, it turned out that she was cooking something for breakfast the next day. Bloody hell, it wasn't even Christmas! Nobody cooks things at that time of night for the next day, do they?

I tossed and turned all night in fevered expectation. What the hell could my beloved be going to produce that involved so much preparation?

This morning I found out. Her favourite magazine arrived yesterday and on page 101 she had seen a Quinoa pudding with cranberry compote and she was preparing the Quinoa (pronounced Keen-wah for all you less culinary types).

Now far be it for me to be ungrateful, but this stuff is full of sugar. Not really what I should be eating at all given my diabetic state (you still haven't figured out that she's trying to kill you, have you? - Ed) but it did taste good. It's a sort of fruity rice pudding, but better. I told told my beloved that I liked it, which probably means that, like my mother, she'll now serve it up every day for the next six months. Ah well, it could be worse.

No more Mr Magoo

For what it's worth, my first impression of Internet Explorer 8 is good.

IE 7 is a big fat pig. I found it slow and cumbersome but because I marginally prefer IE over Firefox, I had got into the habit of looking at some stuff with IE 7 and some other sites with Firefox. Not ideal, but it worked for me.

The other day I downloaded IE 8 and, whilst it's still early days, IE 8 is much faster and seems to work across all the sites that I use. Looks good.

***

Whilst I'm in a consumer test mood, I should mention this. I was searching for cheaper contact lenses the other day and I came across this site. OK, to be more precise, I saw their advert in a Ryanair inflight magazine. These lenses are so much cheaper than the lenses I was using and, fully aware that you shouldn't mess about with your eyes, I decided to give them a go. I've been wearing them for seven days now and they're great. Things are a bit more blurred and I keep walking into trees but I still think they're good (NB. For all those readers who think that irony is something to do with getting creases out of clothes, my lawyers felt that I should mention that the last sentence is a joke).

This beer tastes watered down

As you can see, the flood water in Sommieres got to the front step of our favourite watering hole. I hope Elie gets it all dried out by Saturday.

The Wishing Well

Even after all these years he still makes me laugh. Did you know that the big hunk at the end is Dave Prowse who played Darth Vader?

What a lot a water

The weather over the last year has been a little strange. We've just finished four straight days of heavy rain. I can't remember when it has rained so heavily and consistently. Because of the sheer volume of water yesterday, the garden was flooded in parts, but a few years back, after the big storms of 2002, I put land drains in, in critical areas, and this has been working well. No water stays too long because of the land drains and because we are on a slight incline, but the garden also gets inundated with water from higher ground and it's this water that's the main cause of the excess. With the benefit of hindsight it's certainly something to consider when buying a house around here.

Something fishy

Far away in the tropical waters of the Coral Sea , two prawns were swimming around.

One called Justin and the other called Christian.

The prawns were constantly being harassed and threatened by sharks that inhabited the area.

Finally one day Justin said to Christian, 'I'm fed up with being a prawn; I wish I was a shark, and then I wouldn't have any worries about being eaten.'

A large mysterious cod appeared and said, 'Your wish is granted'

Lo and behold, Justin turned into a shark.

Horrified, Christian immediately swam away, afraid of being eaten by his old mate.

Time passed (as it does) and Justin found life as a shark boring and lonely.

All his old mates simply swam away whenever he came close to them.

Justin didn't realize that his new menacing appearance was the cause of his sad plight.

While swimming alone one day he saw the mysterious cod again and he thought perhaps the mysterious fish could change him back into a prawn.

He approached the cod and begged to be changed back, and, lo and behold, he found himself turned back into a prawn.

With tears of joy in his tiny little eyes Justin swam back to his friends and bought them all a cocktail.

Looking around the gathering at the reef he realized he couldn't see his old pal.

'Where's Christian?' he asked.

'He's at home, still distraught that his best friend became a shark', came the reply.

Eager to put things right again and end the mutual pain and torture, he set off to Christian's abode.

As he opened the coral gate, memories came flooding back.

He banged on the door and shouted, 'It's me, Justin, your old friend, come out and see me again.'

Christian replied, 'No way man, you'll eat me. You're now a shark, the enemy, and I'll not be tricked into being your dinner.'

Justin cried back 'No, I'm not. That was the old me. I've changed.'.........

'I've found Cod. I'm a Prawn again Christian'

Zoom

This is interesting. Click anywhere on the picture to zoom in. It's spooky how much detail you can get or how much you can magnify the image.
Thanks to Will for this.

The Mom Song.

A few thoughts to help us all appreciate our moms.

Grumpy old men

These strikers really get up my nose. They're idiots. What realistically can they hope to achieve? What can their employers do about the situation? Nothing. With so many people losing their jobs at the moment, they should be thankful they've got jobs. What makes me even more angry is that they don't complain about 'foreign workers' who happily do all the jobs that they don't want to do. Jobs that don't pay too well or jobs that they see as 'below their dignity'. Where are their strikes then?

I remember a recent BBC news report when locals were complaining about 'foreign workers' and they interviewed several young men in the street. They all admitted to being unemployed and were all drinking in the street. These youths were mouthing off about low paid foreign workers 'taking their jobs'. The interviewer then pointed out that despite the labour force being filled with 'foreign workers' there was still a shortage of workers to pick produce in the fields nearby and they would drive them to the recruitment centre. The lads then walked off sheepishly saying that wasn't the sort of work that they wanted to do and it wasn't paid enough.

Look, if you think I'm grumpy you're not the only one. I was spouting off this morning about stupid 'pc' rules in the UK. Watching the BBC News snow report from a weather presenter who was standing next to a snowman I said, "I'm surprised that they don't have to paint the snowman brown, so as not to offend anybody."

Jan said, "you could go on that show Grumpy Old Men."

As we woke to the third straight day of driving rain this morning, is it any wonder that I'm grumpy. It's supposed to be bloody sunny here!

I want cake

The men's final from Australia this morning was so much more entertaining than the ladies' yesterday. Grief, the ladies' final was over so quickly (they only played 15 games) and was so one sided. Poor entertainment and not a good spectacle at all. The men on the other hand played 5 sets (51 games) and it was absolutely thrilling. The winners walked away with the same prize money. I know it's an old, talked to death, subject and I'm all for equality but somehow it doesn't feel right to me.

***

So there I was chatting to Jan about dieting (she's trying very hard and I'm not) and the conversation gets round to living longer. Like a 'bit longer' if you don't smoke, drink no alcohol, eat sparingly, eat more fruit and veg and all that good stuff. OK, that's all well and good but the extra time doesn't happen when you're young and fit. As I see it the 'bit longer' comes when you're old, decrepit and, by definition, at the end of your days. You're probably sitting in an old people's home with a tea cosy on your head, a blanket round your knees and smelling of piss. (Sounds about right for you - Ed) And it strikes me that that's when you'd rather be dead. Bugger an extra few weeks and call me irresponsible (you're irresponsible - Ed) but I'll have a nice big cream cake now, thank you very much, and stuff the extra time!

Let's have a revolution mes braves

Some things in France just don't change. Whilst I also have great sympathy with the notion that governments should stop supporting the reckless behaviour of some stupid, greedy banksters and consider letting them fail, no one has yet come up with a sensible and viable alternative. I'd support them if they did.

An Indian teacher explains

Something to enliven your Sunday morning. Thanks to Carolina for this.