twitchers ahoy

Any twitchers know who this beastie is?
He/she is slate grey/green with a dark green/black cap and
was hanging off the feeder outside the studio this morning.

It seems that Tilling is more than capable of partying without
me: reports of last nights jolly had me gnashing my teeth that
I missed all the fun.

Heard on the local radio that our Post Office is in deep jeopardy.
There is a petition against the proposed closure in the 8 à 8 -
do sign, though as Brits know once this stuff is mooted, thats it -
end of rural community and hello dormitory town.

Bloke on local radio rang up the local council offices and had a
miserably harassed official say, twice, that he had never farted
in the street. Apparently its an old law. Interviewer was trying
make the point that it was silly to pursue archaic laws. Harassed
of Carcassonne missed the point.

germ-encrusted

Oscar, Jill, Hilary and Kate have had birthdays recently or today.
My ghostly presence has partied with them. Me and my germs
have stayed indoors.

Quelle bavadage, photos?

If not for the blog, for me -missing y'all.

On the plus side, a health drink; one banana, 4 strawberries,
one apple, juice of 2 oranges, 1 kiwi (plays havoc with the colour,
so you might prefer to miss this out). Whizz up in blender with
as much blanquette as you can get in without it fizzing over.

Doesn't make you better but you care less.

a wheezin and a sneezin

I hate to moan - honest - and now the virus has left me for richer
fare there is only a chesty cold. Nothing to moan about, I hear
you cry.

I have been tiding my study. All I can cope with with the cold.
Behind a stack of unsorted books was a mummified mouse, which
shows how overdue that task was.

No problem. No winging. What has sustained me through the
tedium was a recipe in this weeks Aude Flyer (see toolbar of links,
down there, on the right- and while Im at it, hats off to Steve who
every two weeks manages to put out a useful and interesting rag)

The recipe called for garlic, spicy sausage and peppers and in the
course of the day became What I Will Have for Dinner.

There was some garlic sausage in the fridge, some garlic, some
peppers, spring onions - no Armagnac. So I chucked in hoy sin
and chilean red.
Hmmm.

And I can't taste a thing. The taste buds are AWOL. I feel so
CHEATED!!!

before the virus

Before the virus hit, I took these pix of Tilling, so thrilled to be home -


one features the prop that has appeared in the cafe du Pont since they started work on Marcos flat.



Then, bosh! Flattened by 'flu; it seems several guests at the Dublin party are ditto.
Here I am catching my death of cold



I plan to be out and about tomorrow though. Jolly galling to lie and bed and watch the sunshine, not being able to go and walk in it -

dublin

Here is dawn over O'Connell Street. It was raining - the rain
didn't let up all weekend - but the wind did eventually die down.
The same wind caused a terrifyingly bumpy landing on Friday
afternoon and then whipped my glasses off my face as I got out
of the 'plane. Had not some sweet young person raced after them
they would be crushed on a runway. Shudder. Blessings on sweet
young person xxxxxxTwo big parties, not enough sleep, and a deal of something called
Tat which is a bit like Blanquette but not as healthy; great weekend!

Catholic Truth Society wants witches

Catholics always did want witches, of course - for firewood.
This article culled from the Torygraph says that a new CTS
pamphlet wants them to convert because they offend god -
the almighty will not change his plans if you cast spells.
Which is fair comment (though they dont say HOW they know
this) The article is very droll on the subject.
It avoids mentioning the burnings, claiming witchcraft is a
Victorian construct.

http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/damianthompson/100074609/how-to-convert-witches-to-catholicism/

(sorry I haven't cracked how to link properly, you have to cut
and paste - highlight the link and carry to the top of the toolbar)

I remember as a convent girl being warned against thinking
for myself; it was 'spiritual pride'. The nuns reckoned that the
Fathers had done all the thinking a girl could need - presumably
they hadn't read any primary sources, many of which are a deal
dafter than next doors eco-goddesses ideas.

Did another Hobbits Night Out last night with Kat and Pete, dead
good fun. After the galette of kebab we had crepes suzettes at Petes
in front of the (english) tele. Hence we know what shocking news is
in store in Midsommer Murders, broadcast here to a willing audience
as Inspector Barnaby. Certain french friends follow this blog so I
will not say. The usual terms apply for bribery.

quandaries in Tilling

Captain made it away on Sunday, the snow didn't settle for long;
on Monday Kat and I devoted ourselves to the task of welcoming
Margaret and John back into the fold. Which is to say that after
a three-day drive they were sweet enough to give us dinner and
enough blanquette to drown lesser women.
Recovered now, though had a little too much apero last night to
celebrate almost finishing a difficult painting which now turns out
not so much to be finished as destroyed. Ah me.
There are photos- but where? And how appropriate?
The quandaries of life continue to oppress.