There’s a free book exchange box on the wall next to the estate agents. This time of the year a lot of English reading tourists are setting of home and before they leave they fill the box up.
It’s a good time to vist, there can be some reach pickings.
Today, after cycling tho the garage to pick up the car that had broken its auxillary power belt,something I didn’t know it had, and then running (the car) to the village tocheck that the repairs were complete and hopefully buy some yoghurt, I had a look in the box.
I picjed up; The Cold Six Thousand, Old Men at midnight, Mister Pip, No Time for Goodbye, Walking on Glass and The Good Suicides.
My neice – lets call her Ruby so that we don’t know which of the trhree that I have she is – said that there was a theme running through these titles randomnly selected.
I’m not so sure.
My doctor is not so siure that she is my neice.
When I visited him with one of the others – lets call her Charlette to keep everything unclear – I introduced her as my neice and he said so is this the daughter of your sister or brother.
I said she’s the daughter of my wifes brother.
He said then she’s not your neice
I said she’s my neice in English
He said she isn’t
I said she is
To save time-we could have gone on for days – each of us is stubborn we decided to start the session that we were there for.
The session involved some revelations and tears , both of which are accounted for elsewhere on this blog
I could add a link, but it’s late, it’s dark, and all I can see are these keys and those not so well as I don’t have my glasses.
They are far away, not in distance but in ability or desire for me to move from this deckchair, this caorner, this breeze which touches me gently in the night and from the music that I am listening to –something jazzy, salsa fusion.
In fact Lee Morgan and his tune Sidewinder
I wish I could play like that.
The breeze is on the other side of the trees and the leaves are letting just enough to pass to let me know that there is an ocean out there.
In two days I will be ther.
In there.
Under there (sometimes) but coming up for air.
There is a festival-it’s-not-a-festival-it’s-a-party festival happening here at the weekend, it’s the reason my niece-who-is-not-a-neice is here, abd the reason why I won’t be
Though the preparations have been fun.
The preperations have included the building of a triumphal arch , an outdoor toilet that looks good enough to live in and a barried parking area in the meadow
Apparently two soundsystems are operating , one at the top of the meadow and one at the bottom
There are food stalls
A chill area
Something with straps and rigging
At some point someone will get stung by a hornet, someone will try and burst the balloons on the triumphal arch and the toilet door will fal off.
I hope there will be no forest fire because eif there is the house will burn down and the village will be pretty pissed off
Not because eof the house
But because of the forest.
Fingers crossed.
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