Mon ami.

If you don't have a driving licence, then this could be for you!

These funny little 'cars' are appearing all over France. They are the latest version of France's very sensible policy of having cars for people who don't have driving licences; in other words for people 'who can't drive'.

The Citroen Ami is a two seater electric car that has a driving time of about four hours and can achieve around 45 Km/h; giving a round-trip distance of around 180 Kms.

In France you can drive one of these from the age of 14. Years ago all young people whizzed around on Mobylettes, making a horrible noise. The spotty youths gathered in large groups in town or village centers, and revved their machines en masse until they almost melted. Of course, making them sound as loud and as sporty as possible was de riguer, and 'go-fast' kits were available everywhere.

The 'Ami' will not have the same appeal to the spotty 14 year old as a moped, but at least it will give him an option. They cost about 8,000 Euros. Cheap!

I suspect they will mostly be used by the elderly who live on isolated farms; just as the previous versions of 'sans permit' cars had been.

 

Sick as a Parrot.

 

I'm not very well at the moment. There are five of us here at present, and it's only me who is unwell, so I'm not sure what I did to myself.

I was vomiting through last night, and still feel very rough this morning. I'm sure you have no desire to hear the grizzly details, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

I cannot remember the last time I was sick; it must be well over ten years ago, twenty even. The human body has two MAJOR faults. Firstly teeth made of a material that rots; and secondly vomiting.

We keep an old enameled 'gazunda' upstairs in case of such rare occasions. I MUST add that it is NOT there for its intended use.

On hearing ghastly noises from above, the lovely Nurse Kimbo came to my rescue (as he always does), and heroically emptied the receptacle; TWICE! How many sons would do that??? It really is beyond the call of filial duty.

To add to my woes, my internet connection is almost at zero. It's like going back to the bad old days of Dial-up. I spend my time waiting and waiting. I think there are simply too many people using the miserable service. We are looking into a different type of connection.

Pomegranates.

I'm always rather surprised and amused that I am able to grow Pomegranates here at the cottage.

They have never managed to become edible, but I live in hope. I don't think our climate is quite right for them to ripen fully.

Still, they look nice, and maybe one day I'll even be able to eat one; although I'm not holding my breath.

Pomegranates were always regarded as a very exotic fruit when I was young; Mother might possibly buy just one or two a year at Christmas. The seeds were like jewels, we loved them.

This bush/tree is outside The Tower and offers just that little bit of fun to friends and family who stay there.

The name 'Pomegranate' probably comes from the Latin Pomun (Apple) and Granatum (seeded), or even from the French Pomme (Apple) and Graine (seed); or it could even describe an Apple coming from Granada. Whatever it's origin, it's a fascinating fruit.

 

 

You thought it was all over; well it isn't yet!

No-one seems to have mentioned the 'Rubbish Mountains' of Birmingham recently. Well, they're still there, getting ever bigger; Rats-n-all. It's now been 4 months since the strike began.

The continuing problem is between the hard-left Birmingham Labour Council, and the hard-left bin-men's 'Unite' Trade Union.

In the UK, it's the Trades Unions who established, and fund, the Labour Party, and they always want something in return. That 'something' is usually higher wages (as with the Train Drivers).

So the rubbish piles up, the locals don't really seem to mind, and the Rats are getting bigger and bigger.

I'm sure The Army have lorries and bulldozers that could deal with the problem in no time. Perhaps they could also dump all the sh*t on the steps of the very grand Birmingham Town Hall. That might get them off their arses; unless, of course, they're all at their second-homes in Tuscany for the Summer!

You really couldn't make it up, but the hard-left 'Unite' Union, who represent the bin-men, have now suspended hard-left deputy Prime Minister; the fragrant Angela Rayner. Things are getting heated in Rubbish-Land; no more so than at Unite's annual conference in BRIGHTON. They don't 'slum-it', do they?

 

Cro's Quail Soup © 2025

Method: To make Quail Soup, take some freshly made Chicken stock (made from the carcass of a very expensive organic, maize-fed, free range, chicken), add some vermicelli, then add a quail.

Et voila! 

 

Klaus Nomi - Lightning Strikes

I'm sure I've posted this wonderful video before, but it's worth posting again.

Klaus Nomi at his very best.

It's July 14th; Bastille Day. France's National Holiday. So, have a good one!

Lost and found

It's amazing the things that I worry about. I mean REALLY worry about!

Last September I returned to England with an antique glass Mustard pot. I've had it for years and use it often. It's a lovely thing, with a little glass top (below). I thought it would more useful in Blighty than sitting unused in France.

However, I couldn't find the little old hand-carved bone mustard spoon that goes with it (I presume it's bone and not ivory). I looked everywhere, but no sign. In fact as you might see I had even started to use a small silver spoon instead; not at all the right thing. I had begun to think the bone one was lost, and finding another would be nigh impossible.

Anyway, Lady M has just found it. It had been put away 'safely', but no-one could remember where. It should never have been separated from the antique pot.

I'm not sure if you can tell by the photo, but the missing spoon is about 3 inches long, very fine, and with just a small carved detail on the back, it's beautifully made (the photo doesn't do it justice). It is as all mustard spoons should be; a little classic.

When I return to Blighty this September it will be reunited with its rightful partner, and hopefully never leave its side again.

I cannot tell you how happy I am to have it back. Mislaying it had really preyed on my mind.