The silence of the sheep

help me...help me...is there anyone there?

we have no internet.

I am shouting as loud as I can, but we live in the middle of nowhere...

They have promised me a man with spanners tomorrow.

How to have fun whilst ill...

I woke up with a stinky summer cold this morning, generously handed on to me by Darling d. I decided to take a borrowed keyboard synthesizer in with me to my autist music students in an effort to save my voice. It had exciting rows of buttons and switches and one big red knob which said on and off. So at least I knew what that one switch did…

I set it up and it teetered alarmingly on its spindly stand. My three students studied it suspiciously, and I wondered whether I would be able to defend it, should it prove too popular.

I started to press buttons pretty much at random as I played it.

The boy who makes a noise like a chainsaw has recently shown no interest in anything at all, and can no longer put on his shoes (he used to be able to). He strode up purposefully, flicked switches and then seized my fingers delicately and used them to play the keys. He changed the instrument sounds until he found a rich deep bass tone, searched for the exact pitch he wanted(a low C) and held the note down himself for as long as he could, enjoying the vibrations until they finally decayed.

I hit another button and a bossa nova drum rhythm exploded into the room.

The boy who likes having his head massaged got to his feet and clapped his hands and swayed. The girl who loves keys joined us at the keyboard and we all played our own melodies along with the drums. It was probably more fun to do than to listen to…

Never underestimate the healing effect of friends...

Porridge has been off her oats, mooching about, and scared of going out of the garden gates.

On Friday we went for a super walk with Lucy and Mol, and all was healed in the company of friends. The spring is back in her step, and she is once more rushing across pathways, cannoning into innocent pedestrians and diving into anything even remotely smelly, and, oh yes, water, lots of very wet water…

There was a delicate moment when we sat on a wooden bench, Mol jumped up and sat with us, and Porridge objected strongly and loudly to this presumption, (she is a bit big to sit on benches herself). This was resolved when P was invited to sit on the bench too. She just managed to fit on, but, having proved her point, was happy to get down and lie more comfortably in the grass.

Quessoy arboretum was the ideal venue since we were able to adjourn to the PMU bar in the nearby village and sip hot chocolate, as an exhausted Porridge steamed quietly in the sunshine and Mol dozed on the back seat of her new car.

Happy days…

Thank you Dave and Annie

Lately life has been a bit bitey.

I speak from the point of view of the bitten rather than the biter.

In fact both Porridge and I have suffered physical onslaughts, come to think of it.

That and the slow attrition of hostile household objects that we cant afford to replace.

You know, they all die at the same time, don't they?

We tend to get our money in unpredictable bursts and buy everything at the same time, so it is only to be expected.

Recently we have lost the use of the incoming fixed phone (it rings, but doesnt let you answer it, then it takes a message which is too noisy to hear), my mobile phone refuses to remember missed calls, or any calls at all in fact, and the washing machine went down in metaphoric flames after a spin cycle that lasted at least three hours...

I thought about taking my washing to the stone 'lavoir' in the stream across the valley and broke out in a cold sweat.

And then, while I was doing my tax return, another deep joy, I looked at my royalty collection web site and discovered:

a big payment ( well big for me!) had just come through from Eurythmics days.

Thank you Dave and Annie, you wrote some bloody good songs, and I was very lucky to sing some of them for a while. And how wonderful that people still want to buy them!

Things are looking up.

Neck misery...

Another Saturday, but not a quiet one. An unquiet one.

It is mother's day tomorrow in France.

And where will I be? Lying pampered in bed whilst my breakfast is brought to me, croissants wrapped in bright white linen, with a glass of champagne and orange juice bubbling gently in the morning sunlight, and the delicious smell of coffee wafting up the gleaming polished wooden staircase?

No, I shall be herding anxious singers onto the enormous stage of the booming salle Robien (terrible acoustics, like a cathedral on acid), for their end of year performance.

I shall be singing, with the other music teachers, a song which we have never rehearsed together, Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade, in a key which was not intended for the human voice ( but for a brass section!) in a tempo as yet unspecified. I discovered this yesterday.

There will be no soundcheck...

Four hundred students will be performing and it will last from 3 pm to 9 pm...or maybe a bit longer.

We are on last!

But I must be there before the show begins!

But this fades to insignificance compared to the bite wound on Porridge's neck from the nasty doberman.

Gaily went we to the vets on Monday to be unstapled. The wound looked clean and seemed to be mending nicely. However there was a large wobbly lump behind it, seemingly full of fluid. It was not infected and the vet pierced it and started squeezing. She is now on yet more antibiotics and antiinflammation drugs. The lump has swollen again to uncomfortable proportions, and the vet told me this morning to find something sharp and sterile and set to myself, here at home.

I am not looking forward to this...wish me luck!

Quiet night in...

Saturday night.

The house is empty. 

Mysweet is working and the children are both out on musical adventures.

I settle into a comfy chair with guilty pleasure.

Surely it is shameful to like my own company so much.

A bit of computer, piano, think about a new music project.

Throw Porridge's plastic squeaky chicken leg across the room for her to retreive...

Wonder whether Susan Boyle has won the talent show.

Porridge's neck is stapled together after her encounter with the French doberman, but the wound is clean, and the metal work is to come out next week! 

A light melancholy settles over me, I put my feet up on a cushion and really start to enjoy myself.

If only depression could always be like this...

Savaged

I feel very sad and very angry at the same time.

On Monday, while out for a walk with my neighbour, a Beauceron (French Doberman) ran up the road out of its house, where it was unattached, and tried to attack my dog. My neighbour had one of those pointy walking sticks with her, and managed to fight it off before it could get its teeth into Porridge. Being a retreiver, Porridge just whimpered pathetically and did nothing! I am petrified of dogs with snarly voices and snappy teeth, so I joined Porridge doing nothing with my mouth open in shock, but at least not whimpering. My neighbour took us further along the road to a beautiful pathway across a long forgotten valley which wound through trees beside a fast running stream. After two hours we arrived back home, my feet hurting but I was delighted with the new path and determined to find it again.

On Wednesday, I set off alone with Porridge. 

Remembering the nasty dog I made some effort to approach the path from the other direction.

You can imagine my horror when the same dog charged out at us, and I realised that its house was at a crossroads and I was on the other road.

It went for Porridge like there was no time to waste, and I screamed blue murder. An elderly man arrived and pulled it off, saying that it belonged to his son. He said he didnt like tying up dogs, and they were thinking of having it put down anyway...

I was upset at this and pointed out very nicely that it was possible to buy fencing to keep it on their property...or even a muzzle. I told him that if he paid my vet's bill and promised to keep it under control in future, I would take it no further and not make an official complaint. (Twice in one week was a bit too much!)

On Friday I called back with the vet's bill (Porridge had to have stitches on her shaved neck, course of antibiotics etc, etc)

Man, son, and grandson were in the garden. No sign of the dog.

Son was very hostile, saying that he didnt like being threatened, and that I could have gone about things in a nicer way. Grandson had been crying for hours he said.

Because he had taken the dog to the vets ...

and had it killed ...

and it was all my fault...

I am ashamed to say that I lost my temper, and explained in vehement French about fences and muzzles. I suppose he wanted someone to blame, an excuse for doing something that he already wanted to do and was ashamed of.

They stared at me in that hostile way and I could hear them thinking "These foreigners come over here walking along our roads as if they own them!"

And with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I grieved for England in a way I havent done for years.