Seasons Greetings, Bon Noel, Deck your balls with prickly holly, etc...
Currently we are still in East Fife, sheltering from yet another storm with an inexplicably stupid name that, according to the national press, is wreaking havoc across the country. Seemingly Brian or Eric, or whatever it is called has dropped 13 inches of rain in one day, although nobody could actually measure it properly as everyone’s rain gauge only goes up to one foot. It appears that the North West England flood defence was about as useful as England Rugby’s World Cup defence, but nobody really cared much because it was not in London where all the important people live. Dave ‘don’t-f**k-with-me-or-I-will-carpet-bomb-you’ Cameron did pop up to the sodden area and pull on his Hunter wellies for a few minutes where he patted a few locals patronisingly on the head, promised to send some rubber dingys, and then nipped into the Sheep and Garter for a pint of ‘craft’ beer.
Currently we are still in East Fife, sheltering from yet another storm with an inexplicably stupid name that, according to the national press, is wreaking havoc across the country. Seemingly Brian or Eric, or whatever it is called has dropped 13 inches of rain in one day, although nobody could actually measure it properly as everyone’s rain gauge only goes up to one foot. It appears that the North West England flood defence was about as useful as England Rugby’s World Cup defence, but nobody really cared much because it was not in London where all the important people live. Dave ‘don’t-f**k-with-me-or-I-will-carpet-bomb-you’ Cameron did pop up to the sodden area and pull on his Hunter wellies for a few minutes where he patted a few locals patronisingly on the head, promised to send some rubber dingys, and then nipped into the Sheep and Garter for a pint of ‘craft’ beer.
Meanwhile, it
is a boat that is also required here in Fife since the announcement that the
Forth Road Bridge will be closed until further notice following the discovery
that one of the nuts that hold it together was on cross-threaded. The
government has now devised a plan which will take 150 PWC consultants two
months to write down and a further year and a half to find the correct spanner
to tighten the bolt. Currently those who voted YES in September, all 122 of
them, will have a real taste of their Independence as their Southern relatives are
unable to visit the area with Christmas gifts and they get to keep all their
home-grown potatoes and oil to themselves. Unfortunately Amazon, the world’s
greediest online supermarket, also has an eggy-face after it decided to locate
its main distribution warehouse just north of the bridge so it can pay its staff
tuppence-an-hour instead of the English National wage. Obviously the book the
SNP ordered online entitled ‘Bridge Repairs for Dummies’ now has to be sent by
carrier pigeon, so should reach them by early February 2017. I cannot help but
smile at the irony that currently the only way from Fife to Edinburgh, unless
you want a sight-seeing tour of Glencoe and Ben Nevis, is across its old rail
bridge, constructed out of Meccano over 100 years ago by men in flat caps.
Based on this fact, while the old rail bridge made of steel is still pretty
rock solid, but the road-bridge they built out of string in the fifties has now
fallen apart, then I suspect the brand new one due to be completed in 2017 and made
out of recycled cardboard milk-cartons will struggle to survive a decade at
best!
Although we
are due to head back to France in a few days I have gotten quite attached to
the Firth of Forth which I can now happily gaze at while seated on the toilet.
It may sound rather strange but it has always been an ambition of mine to have a
sea-view from the kazi, so I can now add a tick in that box, since completing a
new bathroom in the attic, which includes the original old Victorian bath in
situ. I suppose I should apologise in advance to my neighbours, should they
wish to spy on me with binoculars, and even more so to the one downstairs who
got a warm shower when she opened her back door just as I was emptying the
bath-water. Well I wasn’t to notice a cracked downspout, was I?
Anyway, I am a
little hesitant about returning to the country we call home, not because of the
frequent terrorists attacks on the French, but because we have a pandemic of
Bird-Flu in the Dordogne, according to the Daily Mail, who are experts on such
matters. As a consequence Japan, possibly the most paranoid nation on Earth,
have banned imports of our local delicacy, Foie Gras, in case they contract the
disease when spooning duck pate lavishly onto their morning toast. Despite
being advised by Professors of Intelligence that implying they could catch
anything other than gout from the product is like suggesting you could catch Mxyomatosis
from Welsh Rarebitt has done nothing to quell their suspicions. So, now we will
have to run the gauntlet every time we visit LeClerc supermarche of having some
moustachioed fragrant peasant trying to sell us tins of the stuff at the door,
before it goes out of date. Call me Mr Picky but, personally, I would rather
French-kiss a skunk than eat the slimy mush that has been reared in such a
barbaric fashion.
Finally I have
to report that Louis the pointless-pointer – possibly France’s waggiest tailed
dog – has made not one but two trips to the dreaded vet this week. Firstly we
have a stomach bug, probable cause, eating too much seaweed; measurable
outcome: well, let’s not go there! Then, during last weekend’s hurricane
Norman, the garden-gate slammed shut, trapping and injuring his tail in the
process. Poor thing has been in such pain and cannot understand why it hurts so
much when he wags it. Trying to persuade an otherwise happy dog NOT to wag its
tail is like attempting to explain to the gullible American electorate that
Donald Trump is nothing more than a war-mongering racist megalomaniac who is
out to tailor himself a pair of million-dollar trousers before you have time to
say ‘oops, where’s all the cash gone!’
