between a rock and a hard place

Or perhaps between a rock cake and a Jalapeño sandwich.

Poor Mark. He is the placid bowl of gazpacho between two troubled soles (souls), probably with hidden turbulent depths, but he remains calm at all times; able to retreat into his shed (music room) when necessary.
Me, the rock cake at the present time . . . mmm, actually a hybrid rock cake with added fondant au chocolat interior: mostly pretty sturdy and reasonably sweet with the occasional nasty overcooked raisin but with unstable centre - likely to collapse at any given moment.
Ezra: Overfilled sandwich stuffed with millions of ingredients, mostly interesting ones, but with a Russian roulette-style lurking chilli here and there.
One of the chillis emerged this morning after a quiet start when Ezra ejected his toothbrush into the loo resulting in much stomping and screeching.
The rock cake is feeling stale today. Will tackle list of things that are becoming urgent and head out into the wilds for a bit. The morning is dark grey: a seeping sort of weather, but good for poetry, song lyrics and melancholic reflection.

Translation

Just had a two minutes look on the net for translation mistakes having come across many in a piece writing I was correcting yesterday.
I Rather liked a notice in a Honk Kong dentist: Teeth extracted by the latest Methodists.

One of the restaurants in Limoux attracted many English tourists a couple of summers ago mainly because of its google-translated? menu board.

 Bread with side idiot of tomato: (pain con tomate)
Paving slabs of salmon: (pavé de saumon) etc . . .

We did tell the owner . . . after a while.
Mind you, God knows what I've said over the years. I may have mentioned this one before, but it is my favourite personal language mis-comprehension.
I used to work with a very belligerent French chef years ago. When he got furious and red-faced, jumping up and down in his clogs, gesticulating crazily he would shout: "Oh bord de la mer." Or so I thought - poor thing, he needs a break at the coast . . .
He was actually saying: bordel de merde or brothel of shit to be exact, or - fucking hell, holy shit, and other assorted commonly used . . . things.
Here is a clip by Cyprian a young French gentleman of the Youtube school that we rather like. He covers many topics with a scattering of such previously discussed words with lots of hand and body gestures that you will be familiar with if you live in France.
This one is about coffee and in particular the capsule variety. I love the bit where he describes - in his mind - what coffee with no sugar really tastes like.

Building Number 12

Something to with wine making I think. Planted on the outskirts of St Hilaire, this could be the perfect restaurant, along the lines of Le Potager - a very favourite restaurant in Sigean. Sunny courtyard full of fig trees, a fountain and rescued slatted chairs. Jazz in the evenings, fresh local produce, interior full of bistro tables, ancient grand piano, open fire, interesting lighting and brocante china . . . future project? if it ever stops being something to do with wine making.

YES! Forget prozac, alcohol or coffee

Instant cloud-lifter and new clearing up music. Well, it works for me.
Great album: Beach Boys with twiddly 21st century electro knob twiddling, African/Samba percussion and Rockabilly guitars riffs. Actually, Mark's just told me it's 'surf guitar' rather that Rockabilly, d'accord  . . . maybe I'll ask the Django's.

Belcaire

Today Mark and I went for our annual walk.
When we came to live here we said we would go for a proper - meaning walking boots and maps sort of walk every week. Nope. Then it became every month and we failed at that. So, once a year or so . . This year it was 'Le Plateau de Sault' a stunning piece of the Aude, way way up into the mountains before the real Pyrenees. It was so wonderful: no mobile signal, no cars, no adverts, no shops, just birds of prey, a few cattle, sheep, and lots of vast open spaces. We followed a very out of date walking guide and got lost and it was great. Had a nice lunch despite the woman looking at Mark as if he had come to do a tax inspection her when he said he was vegetarian. The P de S is famous for potatoes and we hoped to do some spud tasting and possibly buy a sack but no one seemed around at the various farms with signs suggesting the purchase of said tubers. In fact there didn't seem to be anyone anywhere.

Went on to Belcaire which has a strange outcrop of rock behind the church with an exciting crop of antennae and no messing iron cross complete with Christmas star.

Postcards from Sete

Ezra and I left Mark to get on with some work yesterday and went to a favourite place.

On the way we called at Meze and Bouzigues as we had never been to either town before. Meze . . . unremarkable, Bouzigues would have been idyllic on a warm spring day sitting outside a café eating oysters, but it was cold with a vicious Northerly wind. So on to Sete. 

Found a brilliant cheap hotel with friendly hostess and whippet on reception, and set out to explore, re-explore and eat pancakes.

The following morning was as ordered: sun, cloudless blue, never ending sky, no wind and perfect for photography. We visited the panoramic spot on top of the hill: stunning views of the town, the port and the oyster beds across the bay. I could imagine living in the slightly unkempt terracotta villa hanging onto the hill edge, the garage of which is pictured below. The view would be enough to fill a day, just watching the boats coming and going, the trains and the changing weather.

Another part we always visit is the 'Quay Mistral' a strange little offshoot of the main town, full of tiny fishing houses, nets and mangy cats. This time there were Christmas decorations in the form of trees full of found debris, nets and the odd nod to the festive period.

Home via Medieval Pézenas with it's pretty streets, pale stone buildings and towering church. And through Capestang with its equally towering church.

Not sure what this at the back of the church . . . but it looks like a stone rendition of Christ going "WAHAAYY," to me anyway. 

N.Y resolutions

Oh, not that again.
Actually I'm just going to stick to last year's which is simple: try and smile more generally. The other one I always start and then fail within a day or two is just do it meaning if the hammer is in the shed and I'm trying to hang something on the wall, go and get it - don't try knocking a nail in with a shoe or a cup as it won't work.
I was trying to find - and the net failed me this time - a memorable piece of performance art film we saw in the Ikon gallery in Birmingham years ago - a man trying to drill a hole in a wall and the cord was  . . just too short to reach. So instead of going to find an extension lead it became a eternal loop of him plugging drill in, reaching for spot on wall and plug coming out. Human behavior, or mine anyway.
Anyway, this year will be different. I've already cleaned the tidemark off the bath where I washed the dog some time ago, and hoovered behind the TV: life is good. Next I will unearth stuff in the bowels of the in-tray and make all those phone calls that I should have done last week - tomorrow.