A Year Down the Line is Rosie’s blog about her life in the Dordogne.
And, of course, there is the obligatory post about French Customer Service! I went through exactly the same experience when my local Champion became a Carrefour overnight!
Everything in the wrong place and everyone rather stressed. As my colleagues (at the time) used to say “The staff were better when they were Champion.”
And so they were but, we mustn’t let that distract us because we’ve got A Early visit to St. Cyprien Market this morning and we mustn’t be late!
And when Rosies says… “Another wow; we live here! day” I know what she’s talking about. Even after seven years, I still get those feelings; great, aren’t they?
Life gets interesting when The Chickens Arrive! and improve even further when (in Chickens Again!), the next day they lay their first egg! And I know what Rosie mans when she says that it’s… “Ridiculously exciting”
And talking of chickens….
I just love it when someone starts a blog post with the words… “Well that was a lovely morning. Which I’m surprised about because I thought killing chickens was going to be unpleasant.”
That should go down in history with other great opening lines like..
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York.” or
“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.”
I mean, how can you top that?
By slaughtering some chickies, perhaps?
And in Chickens, Rosie does just that! Good on you girl! More people should understand that chicken don’t get born lying on a polystyrene tray, plucked and wrapped in cling-film!
And when it’s time for me to do mine (soon now, just a few more weeks wait. I’ve started salivating already but am trying not to drool too much in front of my chickies!), I’m certainly going to try some of that sanguette – I’ve never heard of that before although it does make sense (and Black Pudding is my middle name!)
Actually, I lied about Black Pudding being my middle name. It’s Michael but that’s only because my Mum wouldn’t let my Dad have me christened Keith Lucius Alouiscious Pig’s Trotters Danny Blanchflower Black Pudding Eckstein!
I love my Mum dearly but I wish she hadn’t interfered.
I can and do understand, though, why she was reluctant to have me named after Sebastian Flyte’s teddy bear in Evelyn Waugh’s novel, Brideshead Revisted!
But, I digress….
And, if that’s not enough chickie slaughter for you, well… that Rosie is at it again!
In It’s a good job they make me smile she says…. “Up, breakfast, out to the chicken run and grab them.”
And then the deed was done! They don’t hang around in Dordogneshire, do they?
But I do have to ask (and I hate to be the negative little bunny here) what fate would be waiting for them if they’d upset Rosie in any way?
Enough of the chicken slaughter, lets move on……
Moving swiftly on….
Let’s try and be sociable and learn How to meet the neighbours. I do so hope that Rosie has learned, as I’ve had to learn (and re-learn many, many times, it must be admitted) that the language barriers fall (and this is a little know fact that is almost 100% true!) in proportion to the amount of Pastis consumed!
That’s right – there was a lengthy and costly United Nations study of it a few years ago and, following the necessary rehab and drying out, all of those involved in the study concluded that it is Pastis that makes the world go round! They all got sacked shortly afterwards for being absolute drunkards but… C’est la Vie!
Now, I’m really not going to mention the chickie thing any more so I’ll get straight on and talk about something else.
Something artistic? Something where “the local British ‘posh’ contingent can get dolled up and go to?”
Not sure it’s my scene though; if you ask me it’s Beaucoup de bruit pour rien!
Mind you, I never was posh!
Anyway, it could be one of those parties where (as Rosie puts it) “everyone we spoke to was looking over your shoulder to see who else was there.”
Not my scene either, Rosie and I entirely understand why, into your third summer, you get more reclusive by the day.
Then again, they might just be watching out in case you whip out an axe and top another chickie?
Oops, I wasn’t going to mention that, was I?
Trying desperately to change the subject I’ll mention that occasionally Rosie admits to having Not a very good day. In this case it’s because Arthur has got worms – nasty wiggly white worms, in fact!
In case you’re wondering, Arthur is the cat. Yes, I thought it was Rosie’s husband at first but it’s not!
Rosie’s husband doesn’t have nasty wiggly white worms - or, if he does, Rosie’s not mentioned it!
And, if that is the case, I think that’d be rather remiss of her!
By the way, Rosie’s Husband, if you have got worms it might be worth checking to see that it isn’t the Mung!
There’s a lot of that going about in rural Dordogne, or so I’ve heard. Mainly amongst the American expat community it has to be said but, you never know, with all this handshaking and bisous going on, who’s going to catch what!
So, summing up…..
Apart from the blatant and gratuitously violent chicken slaughtering bits (and I don’t really think you can kill chickies without being a little bit violent, can you?), this is a nice gentle blog by a lady who might have the occasional Major Rant before Breakfast but on the whole seems to be enjoying more than her fair share of time sat in The Happy Corner!
And why not?
So, why don’t you pop down to A Year Down the Line and say hello from me.
And if you do visit, just make sure you leave your chickens in the car!
And me? Well, I’m going to attend The Trials of Raymond Blanc’s Apple Croustade! After all, it only takes 2 days to cook!
And apart from doing the chickie thing (which I promise I won’t mention any more), what else has Rosie got to do?
All the best