. . . outside our house in the Loire, and it could be a very, very grey, dark, sombre, frightening, depressing, worrying, daunting, disheartening, alarming, dreadful, awful, horrific, ghastly, hideous, petrifying, bleak, saddening, funeral, dispiriting, joyless, oppressive, dismal, alarming world if the American people (or half of them) vote for an ancient, sun-damaged, racist villain instead of an intelligent, empathetic, educated woman.
It's not looking hopeful . . .
It wasn't Going Out in the Midday Sun - written in 2010; it was actually the small volume (moth-soft exercise book from my junior school days) that I've been looking for whilst Mark has been building my website. as I wished to feature an early work . . .
I knew it was somewhere but just as I know that my collection of short stories written in place of a thesis for my film and photography degree is/was somewhere it stubbornly remained hidden, until just now . . . it's good to have a purge and or rearrangement of stuff - there it was clamped between Far From the Madding Crowd and a tome on retro London.
I like this one that friend Alessio took - (before he and Mark embarked on an excellent concert of their Sax and Piano repertoire) - me, trying to figure out how my old SLR works after attempting to read the Canon whatever-it-is for Dummies book . . . but actually the films and shots weren't bad - but would be better if I could retain the info - embarrassing after doing a photography/film degree, albeit a long time ago . . .
Photos below of our much loved Spanish greyhound, Bali. I've blogged many times about these elegant and much abused creatures. Have a glimpse at a 'Galgos' site if you are strong enough . . . bred for speed while chasing hares, thousands are bred every year then destroyed when their short lives are deemed to be finished through not being speedy or strong enough.
There's many things I love about living in France; one being the amount of local village 'fetes' that highlight a local product or foraged item such the 'cepe' mushroom, pumpkins, truffles, wine - bien sur!) giant croissants (less interesting - and there is a previous post about this somewhere), carrots, oysters, etc, etc, but . . . there are certain fetes I would definitely not wish to attend.
I don't particularly like the idea of eating baby cow, especially having seen certain reportages on how most of them live before being terminated - actually not so much around here - there are plenty of meadows where cows munch lazily while their offspring amble over for a quick milk top-up or laze about in the grass. But baby cow's head . . . nope, not happening. It might be a vestige of a childhood memory where I came from school and found Mum attempting to cook half a calf's head in not-quite-big-enough aluminium casserole; or it might just be that it's rather a vile idea, let alone making a celebration out of it. However there must be many other folk who find the idea wonderful judging by the poster. 50 years of it! The famous fete of baby cow head.
Think I'll stick to the celebration of the humble carrot or tomato.
Investigating the septic tank . . . not one of them.
I rarely go to hairdressers, partly because of the financial outlay but also I find the whole slightly forced chat thing a bit odd, but after noting that I hadn't been for about three months and the mop was beginning to look more than mangey I thought it was time. And it would be nice - I could go to choir practice not covered in earth or paint as usual, and stun people (mildly) with sleek and dressed hair.
The hair do done, I returned home and only got a bit covered in paint, stayed well away from the garden, and despite a windy dog walk it was all looking good. Then I remembered the guy was coming to do a revision on our reed bed system so that all would be in shape for when the more scary SPANC (no idea what it stands for) people come to check the system. He said he'd be at the house for 5.00, which became 6.00 pm. I thought he'd just turn up with hoses and check it all himself but I the reality was me finding a hose and helping out. Then I admitted that we had lost a broom head in the post de relevage (big buried blue plastic container, and of course we had to get it out - which was messy - and then we had to dig out a load of soil and stones that had somehow got into the inspection chamber - damned moles, I reckon.
Suffice to say I was by then as usual covered in soil and unmentionable other stuff . . . and the hair do had come rather undone from its grips and things. It was too late to go to choir, but the guy did help me fill in a load of complex forms that had been sent from the aforementioned Small Pink Angry Newts Corporation, so it was all worth it.
Here's the hair arrangement which had only in the end been appreciated by me, the dog and perhaps the bloke from Aquataris.
In with the new.
My adorable brother made me a website a few years back which - partly as my computer skills are rather . . . limited - I couldn't really figure out how to update properly, so it languished in a lonely corner of the internet while I concentrated on writing, moving house, painting, building etc... Now, since the audiobook of Londonia is finished everything needs a relaunch, especially the website. Thanks to him it's still out there, in fact it's the first thing to appear when googling me. Mark (other arf) has applied himself to making a new one, and, having mastered all aspects of audiobook recording, he's finding it relatively easy to put together.
It's a great opportunity to go through all my stuff, find all the associated artwork, and make up new pictures/synopsis, etc, where required. So, starting with missing artwork, here is a pen and ink of my ornate sofa whose life spans the decades, starting within the gentile atmosphere of an 18th century French chateau, to crazed parties of a rock and roll star in the 1970s, through into imagined futures set in California, a Norway island and finally a very distant future Hampstead Heath (London).
Novel: The Couch.
New website coming end October 24. Londonia, the audiobook, final tweaks and launching soon.
