a morning with my autists and then mountain time

I have decided to leave you with something deeply intellectual to study in my absence.
A provocative post, perhaps touching on politics or some aspect of daily life which affects us all.

Ah yes, of course...hairdressing.

I came into the kitchen to find Drummer boy wrapped in a plastic bag and looking rather like a large piece of defrosting chicken... shall we call him Drumstick from now on?

His delightful girlfriend has added another duty to her onerous roster (roadie, chauffeur etc). She is official wielder of the clippers (and scissors).

There is something about a fringe isnt there?



Perhaps there is more work to be done...

Yes ...Perfect... all he needs to do is grow a little moustache and the third reich will be happy to receive him as substitute leader. (I told you that politics would be featuring).

Tomorrow afternoon we are heading for a romantic stay in the mountains after a morning with my autist musicians. The house will become party head quarters be looked after by the children.

I spoke to the owner of the gite yesterday. She said that the weather forecast was very cold and wet, and we should bring lots of warm waterproof clothes because they are 1000 metres above sea level... I never thought I would find myself writing these words "Just as well we have a wood stove"...

Curates egg

We have joined an exclusive club. Now, I too, every morning and evening, have to clamp a dog’s head between my knees, squirt fluid in there and poke about with cotton wool whilst trying to avoid head shake fall out. Porridge’s ears are then unbearably tickly itchy and she races to the nearest field to squirm about in and acquire burrs.

I staggered to the music school carrying about 2 kilos of paperwork and discs representing my career up to the present, and have a mild sense of anticlimax after all the work involved. Worthy and learned jurists will be listening, reading and judging and might even deign to reply by November as to whether I will be accepted on the course…

We have a “new” kitchen god. Yesterday, we left at 11 am and drove so far south that we were amongst fields of vines. Triumphantly we returned at 6 pm, towing the heavy beast wobbling in the trailer. After struggling and pushing and blackening our hands and screwing ramps on and unscrewing them, it was placed in the corner of the kitchen on its plinth available to be worshipped or just generally admired.
“What on earth is that?” says Drummer boy in horror.
“It is a secondhand woodburning cooking stove,” I say bravely with lip trembling as I contemplate a return to barbarism.
I can still remember with a shudder that moment 20 years ago when we first came to Brittany looking for a house to buy, and a farmer’s wife was showing us her kitchen and garden.
“Look, here is the lavoir”, she said proudly, pointing to a pond with a large flat stone beside it where she did her washing.
Am I at the top of a slippery slope? I ask myself.
Will My sweet H suggest a little pond when the washing machine breaks? (which is likely to be soon…)

My relationships with wood stoves up to the present have been complex and generally filled with animosity on both sides. I usually play Casey Jones to their locomotive, interrupting whatever I am doing to shove wood into the hungry maw at 5 minute intervals only to have them go out or smoke everywhere. I note with alarm the tiny wood box which looks as though it will require nourishment at 1 minute intervals…


I think I will call it an AGA, it sounds more sophisticated…