Foxes, Foxes, everywhere.

This, below, is one of the Foxes that I feed in the mornings here in central Brighton. He, or she, is given a handful of dog food at about 5.30 am every day (after I've had my own breakfast). It's such a beautiful animal, and very healthy looking.

Mostly he/she comes alone, but occasionally brings a friend. I have no idea how many there are living nearby, but Lady M invariably sees a few when she takes Billy for his final evening walk of the day. Billy and the Foxes have an 'understanding'; they just sit and look at each other.

Meanwhile in France we also have Foxes; or at least I know that we have one. Here he/she has triggered the surveillance camera (below), whilst walking across the lawn under the Quince tree.

We don't see many Foxes in France, in fact I was very surprised to see this one. However, we did lose a whole run-full of 15 Chickens to a Fox one night, way back in the late 70's. I took the shotgun out into the woods quite often after that; but no sign.

I do like Foxes, they are beautiful animals. Of course they have to eat, and unfortunately they tend to enjoy the same things that we enjoy, Chicken, Duck, Lamb, etc; so one cannot be complacent.

We have plenty of Wild Boar, Deer and Badgers around the house in France, and it's good to know that we also have Foxes. A good variety of wildlife is a sign that all is well with the world (apart from Putin).

14-Year-Old Hero Saves Toddler Trapped in a Well

We probably all remember the heroic action of 14 year old Cristian Becheanu back in 2012. But it's worth reminding ourselves.

So, what became of him? He's obviously taking his heroics in his stride, as little is known about what happened to him over the past decade or more.

However, we do have this one photo of him now, with his own little boy.

Happy Christmas Cristian.

Bertrand Russell - His Message To Future Generations (1959)

With the world as it is, it is timely to listen to this man.

Bertrand Russell was without doubt one of the world's greatest philosophers. 

When I was up at my senior school, in the early 60's, I read two of his books. 'Fact and Fiction' was one, I can't remember the name of the other. They were impressively logical and informative works, and influenced my life enormously. He was so clear and precise about everything he'd researched, and it rubbed-off on the young reader (me).

Here he is, back in 1959, being as coolly logical, reasoned, and analytical as he always was. His words are as important today (if not more important) as they were then.

May I suggest watching the short video TWICE.

Bottoms everywhere!

Sussex (The Garden of Eden) has some interesting place names. Above are just a few.

Peculiar to Sussex is the upside-down nature of certain place names. For example, East Grinstead is to the West of West Grinstead, Upper Beeding is lower than Lower Beeding, and, of course, The Downs are hills; which go 'UP'.

I cannot claim to have visited many of the villages above, but I'm looking forward to spending some time in Poverty Bottom, Bushy Bottom, and Loose Bottom. All delightful I'm sure.

 

With God on our Side.

 

I am not a Church-goer, nor am I ascribed to any religion.

However, I have absolutely nothing against anyone believing whatever they wish. I don't hate Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Jews, Jaynes, Hindus, or the members of any other of the countless different religions. They all have their imaginary gods and devils, and that's fine by me.

I don't like members of certain religions who use their beliefs for terrorist reasons, but that's a different matter. Nor am I too sure about priests 'Blessing Guns', as above!

Most religions teach their followers to love one-another. To be kind and generous to our fellow man. Yet many extremists ignore that, and are determined to kill those who believe something slightly different to themselves.

I suppose the most bizarre extreme of this attitude must be between the Catholics and Protestants in N Ireland. They use the exact same book, yet they seemed to hate each other because one group reveres one character more than another..... For goodness sake!!!

All religions have their own festivals, ceremonies, and even dress-codes, which I'm happy to accept as a bystander. I even take part in certain religious ceremonies myself.

So please, may I plead with members of religious groups and congregations. Keep believing in your own ideology if you must, but leave others to believe in theirs. There is no reason to hate or kill people simply because they worship some different non-existent god to yours.

I hate to suggest such a thing, but have any of the religious terrorists ever 'suspected' that their deities may not actually exist? Just because someone tells you that there are gods and devils out there.... it ain't necessarily true.

The Greengage Tree.

I've been wanting to prune our Greengage tree for years, but not being there in the Autumn/Winter pruning months, I haven't had the opportunity. I didn't want to cut branches down that were covered in leaves.

Luckily Kimbo is at the cottage at the moment, and he offered to help. We discussed via WhatsApp exactly where and what he should cut, and here is the result. He's done a great job; exactly what I wanted.

I asked him to cut much higher than it will eventually be. I know exactly where I want the three main branches to end, and how much of the young growth to retain. I want it to be 'goblet' shaped, and 'airy'. I shall exercise my Chainsaw, and Secateurs, when I arrive next June.

The poor old tree had become old and ungainly over the years, and many of the higher branches were dying. It will now be given renewed vigour. Now that's it so much smaller, I might even give it a wee dose of diluted Tar Oil, to keep any bugs away. 

The Greengage Jam I made this past Summer was delicious, and I'm hoping to make a lot more in 2026.

These are some of the lower branches that have been retained. As you can see there is plenty of fruit on them. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that we haven't stopped its 2026 fruit production totally; I'm confident that we haven't.

I'll let you know next August.

Al-d Advert (Parody) - Britain’s Cheapest Chaos

I promised myself that I would re-visit the new Aldi store that has recently appeared en route to my usual weekly shopping destination of Sainsbury's in Hove.

I did visit once before, but only very briefly, and I wanted to make a more 'detailed investigation'. I don't wish to ignore it without having seen what's on offer.

I got there early; just after opening time. A lot of the shelves were empty, so I began to peruse the aisles; ignoring my strictly detailed shopping list.

It's a strange set-up. They have most things inside cooled cabinets, and a 'Middle Aisle' with all sorts of 'bargains' that you don't want, which apparently change from week to week. Mostly cheap rubbish.

I bought more of the Australian wine that I'd bought previously, they didn't have any Caulis, but I did buy some nice looking Medjool Dates; I haven't tasted one yet, but they are favourites and I'm sure they'll be delicious. I'm still a little dubious about the quality of many items.

At the checkout there was no-one at the only aisle that said 'open'. I had to hail someone who looked as if he worked there. He didn't speak much English, but pointed us to a different row. We all moved and were seen-to. Not very impressed!

I don't think I shall visit again. Verdict: a generous 3/10

Daffs

Down here on The English Riviera (Brighton), we have Daffs.

It warms the cockles. It must be nearing Springtime!

 

House Coats; remember them?

The human mind is a strange thing, I have no idea what made me think of this. I was saying to Lady M recently that 'house coats' must be a thing of the past.

I had an Aunt in Shropshire (she died back in the 80's) who always wore a 'house coat'. She put it on in the morning, over her normal clothes, and wore it all day long. I think at that time most of her neighbours did the same. It was a housewife's uniform.

This lovely looking lady (below) is French, and shows the classic apron previously worn by most French housewives; again it was like a uniform.

Just as a matter of interest I looked on Amazon to see if house coats still existed. I came across plenty of Aprons, and short things called 'tabards', but no actual house coats.

I'm not sorry they have disappeared. They were not something we saw down south; they were more of a northern style, and frankly I found them bizarre.

Under 'house coats' on Amazon were plenty of toweling after bath/shower coats (I even have one myself for post-swimming) but now't else.

Traditions come and go. Where would you go these days to see a housewife scrubbing her front doorstep wearing a house coat?

 

Turner winner.

This is the winner of this year's Turner Prize; Nnena Kalu, a neurodiverse artist from Glasgow. 

In case you didn't know, The Turner Prize is an annual award given to a British Visual Artist.

Her work not only includes scrubbing-brush swirls, but also suspended bundles of old coloured rags.

Was she a worthy winner? I'm not sure; I wouldn't like to judge. What I do know, is that sometimes I feel that my nearly five years spent at Art College, plus my 1st Class Hons degree, were all a bit of a waste of time.

I've had my moments, of course, but a little more recognition would always have been nice.

I don't wish to denigrate Ms Kalu's work, but it all seems a bit 'old hat' to me. A bit like a 1st year Art Student from the 1970's, who was looking to do something 'different'.

The 'runners-up' included Rene Matic, Mohammed Sami, and Zadie Xa.

'Boudang' (Boudin)

 

The accent in my area of France is quite pronounced. Take the word for Black Pudding for example; in French it is Boudin but where I live it is pronounced Boudang. It takes some getting used-to.

I have a love/hate relationship with Black Pudding. Most of that sold in the main stores here in the UK is tasteless, with the texture of cardboard.

Considering that Lancashire is renowned for it's Black Pudding, one would have thought that it would be easy to find a good quality product. But no!

The one above, that I buy in France, is called Boudin Landais (Black Pudding from the Landes area), and comes from my Leclerc supermarket. It is delicious, and I can't understand why I can't buy something as tasty here.

Kimbo knows all about my love of the product, and on a recent trip to a nearby Farm Shop (in Firle nr Lewes), he bought me the home made BP below. I think he was fed-up with all the nasty stuff I keep offering him on Friday mornings.

Well, yesterday I tried it (below), and it was probably the best I've had in Blighty. The egg was a Duck Egg.

I am perfectly aware that Black Pudding is not to everyone's taste, but it is one the oldest forms of charcuteie, and is actually very good for you.

Kitchens

As you might imagine, our bijou Brighton home has a bijou kitchen. But it contains everything that one needs.

Oven, hob, big fridge, washing-up machine, washing machine, microwave, sink, and a reasonable amount of cupboard space. We also have a separate outdoor larder. I'm not complaining.

Some of the nicest kitchens I've known have been small and primitive. A very good friend of ours, who lived in a huge chateau, had a two ring, bottled gas, camping stove, and an old wood-fired oven. She was a superb cook, but her kitchen was from the dark ages. It never held her back!

On a TV country home search programme that I occasionally watch, I am stunned by people who, having been shown a very large and over-equipped modern kitchen, declare it to be too small, not light enough, or doesn't have the right type of island. 

WHO ARE these people? One has to presume they are women who don't cook, but just want a kitchen to flaunt in front of their friends or family. A good cook can always work, and produce gourmet food, in even the tiniest of spaces. Some of the most memorable meals I've ever had have been from outdoor kitchens. Rusty BBQ, old table for preparation, bottle opener, and good company.

Intermittent rain.

One of the most annoying things about wet weather is not being able to dry one's washing outdoors.

We don't have a Tumble Dryer, but we do have a heated indoor rack-dryer, which takes up a lot of space. We also have several radiators that are constantly draped with damp unmentionables.

We have a neighbour in France who hangs out her washing, then simply waits as long as it takes to dry; this can be a week, two weeks, or even more, depending on the weather. I think she has the right idea. No panic!

I miss having our washing line full of flapping sun-dried and warmed clothes. To me it's as much a part of life as eating and sleeping.

I don't like rain. I have plenty of waterproof clothing, and Billy has a towel waiting for him after a wet walk, so we cope with the inconvenience.

It's having that smell of damp washing around the house which is not very nice. Can't Unilever make a washing powder that smells of Apple Pie or Roasting Turkey? It's that 'detergent' pong that I don't like.

Last year we hardly had a drop of rain; this year we're making-up for it.

 

Moving 'abroad'.

I took this photo of Lady M on the very day we left to live in France, in September 1972. Buying our house hadn't been easy; it was still pre-Common Market days, and they made things as difficult as possible. 

To buy property in France, I was forced to buy 'Investment Dollars' in order to buy French Francs; this was known as The Dollar Premium, and it didn't come cheap!

It must be remembered that in 1972 the UK was still regarded as the enemy by France. Having captured little Napoleon back in 1815; they'd never really forgiven us. 

We had stuffed a rental Transit Van full of all our goods and chattels, and filled my VW Beetle with two children and our scruffy mongrel 'Hamlet'. With not a care in the world, we set off on an adventure.

At Dieppe I was ordered to park overnight, then was literally conned out of about £50 (a lot in 1972) the following morning, in order that I could continue my journey South. Lady M, the children, and the dog, also spent the night at the port as I was 'leading the way'. It wasn't a good introduction to our life in France.

The big old Farmhouse that I'd bought hadn't been empty for too long. It had water and electricity, but no bathroom. Luckily there was a room that was perfect to create one, and that was my first task.

On the day we arrived at the house (above), the previous owner's wife was there. She fetched a bale of hay from the huge stone barn, stuck it in the 'inglenook', and lit it. I honestly though the whole house would burn down, but she just laughed and said it would warm the house quicker that way. We were being introduced to a very different way of life.

Lady M learned to bathe the children in the kitchen sink, and we quickly bought oil filled radiators, and a few 'storage heaters'. We visited a local 'white goods' shop and bought cooker, fridge, and a freezer. It didn't take long to get things in shape, and comfortable. Luckily the previous owners had left behind a huge kitchen table, and several big cupboards. Our own furniture filled the rest of the house. 

It was quite a big property, and luckily all the roofs were OK. There was just over one hectare of land and a small wood of Grafted Chestnuts. I just needed to establish my vegetable plot, build a chicken run, and plant fruit trees. By the following Spring of '73 we were in business.

Lady M mostly looked after what was indoors, and I looked after the outside. The children just played amongst the hay in the barn, with the dog. Life was quite idyllic. It was exactly what I wanted for my growing family. We had one lovely farming family as neighbours, and hundreds of acres of open countryside to play in.

Was I bonkers? No, just foolhardy and adventurous.

Eventually we joined the Common Market, and subsequently the EU, and life became easier. Then in 2020 the British people decided that the EU was becoming too bureaucratic, and we should go it alone. We, of course, voted to 'remain', but the 'leavers' won. Luckily we had still a couple of homes back in Blighty so we now spend our time between the two countries. Three months in Southern France, and nine in Southern England.

Lady M puts-up with all this madness, and Billy our current dog (who is French) takes it all in his stride. The children (now adults) all speak French, and over the past 50 years (more than half my life) we have adopted French ways. Our strange life now seems perfectly normal, and we hardly think about it. I even have another building project for France in 2026. I'm a glutton for punishment.

 

Aldi Shmaldi

A new big Aldi store has just opened in Hove. It replaces a dreadful DIY store; Homebase.

It just happens to be en route to my usual shopping destination; Sainsbury's. So yesterday I popped-in to see what it was like. It had been open for just two days.

It was all a bit confusing with row upon row of chilled cabinets, which makes it difficult to see what's what. No doubt if I became a regular customer I would soon get to know my way around, but for a new-boy it wasn't particularly 'user-friendly'.

I bought a big Cauliflower, 2 bottles of Prosecco, a bottle of Aussie red, and some Bok Choi. The very pretty slightly-Oriental-looking checkout girl was nice, and nobody stabbed me or hurled abuse. I shall return when I've got more time to have a really good look around, but I don't think it'll ever replace my usual destination.

I was pleased to get to Sainsbury's where the layout is so much friendlier. And, frankly, if things cost a tiny bit more than they do at Aldi; I really don't mind. As usual, I filled my trolly.

Maybe I'll go to Aldi again on Tuesday and do a proper assessment. I know it's good for fruit and vegs, but I'm a bit more suspect about cheese, dairy, tinned things, and meat. I prefer quality than 'cheap'.

I now have a choice of four supermarkets on the road to Sainsbury's. Lidl, Aldi, Waitrose, and Sainsbury's itself. No prizes for guessing which two I prefer.

 

Afternoon TV

 

Fans of Crossroads Motel, will love this equally intriguing programme which airs on BBC1 on Friday afternoons. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, up pops 'Hope Street'; an Irish 'soap'.

As with all 'soaps', life circles around an empty Pub. As with the much-missed 'Heartbeat' it also involves a Police Station, with the cops solving silly weekly mysteries.  

Hope Street really should be called Hopeless Street. Not only are the story-lines absurd, but the acting is dreadful; all reminiscent of Crossroads. The only thing it lacks are the wobbly sets.

Since 'Doctors' (and its permanently empty surgery) disappeared, there has been a vacuum in the 'Cheap, badly acted, badly written, and badly produced' afternoon TV slot. Hope Street is doing its best to fill the gap, and one has to admire their determination to keep us groaning. It's a laugh a minute.

I don't want you to think that I actually watch this drivel. I always have a short nap after lunch, and the BBC News. And now on Fridays (when I wake) I'm treated to Hope Street, The empty Commodore Pub, and a few hapless 'Guards'. "Turn that bloody thing OFF". 

Verdict: 1/10. Dreadful; the end credits are the best bit! 

Doctor's appointment.

 

Firstly I must say that I hate visiting the Doctor, but not as much as the Dentist.

I reluctantly agreed to a Diabetes Review appointment for 8.15 am on Thursday the 4th of December 2025 (yesterday).

As I always do on such occasions I prepared myself well in advance. I made sure my feet were well scrubbed and my toenails cut (they always look at my feet), all my underwear was clean, my hair washed and brushed, and that I was in an overall presentable state. 

It was pouring, so I got soaked as I walked the kilometer or so to the surgery. I arrived a tiny bit early and the door was still locked.

When I was allowed inside, the receptionist couldn't find any reference to my appointment; eventually discovering that it had been cancelled. 

"Didn't they inform you?" he asked.

"No!" I replied, biting my tongue.

"I'll make another one for you" he said in his thick Indian accent, and scrolled down his computer screen for about 5 minutes. "How about 10th December at 9.10 am?"

"That'll be fine" I replied. He then gave me a piece of paper noting the date and time.

When I returned home I looked at the bit of paper and saw that he'd written 4th December 9.10 am. 

I instantly wrote an Email to them to confirm that my appointment was actually for the 10th. A reply came quite quickly, and confirmed that it definitely was for the 10th. They failed to mention that the receptionist was an illiterate plonker.

I really wish they would leave me alone, and devote their time to people who actually need to see a Doctor. As long as I have my pills, my Diabetes is fine. 

I shall go back, reluctantly, on the 10th. I'll sit in their horrible waiting room, filled with cough and sneeze, then have my feet pricked, my blood pressure taken, and (if they remember) to have my Flu Jab. 

After all that I should be good for another 12 months.

Logic!

 

I think I missed my true vocation as a 'Project Manager'.

We've had pipe-laying road works in the road behind the church since September (although it feels like much longer). I walk past here twice every day, so it's been a bit of a pain!

The men seem to work to a very bizarre pattern. They started at one end of the street, did some more at the bottom end, then fiddled about in the middle (where they are now), and they've been doing bits and pieces everywhere else in between. There has been no logic to their progression whatsoever, and no certainty about when (or if) they show-up. The photo below was taken at 9.30 am yesterday, and not a soul in sight.

Had I been in charge (and thank goodness for the men that I'm not), I would have made a logical progression from the top to bottom of the road.

Dig, lay pipe, back-fill, top with asphalt, roller. Then continue on to the end. Of course, by using my method the work would have been completed in a week, and they wouldn't have been able to claim all their 'time off' and triple-pay weekends. 

The other bizarre aspect to their work is that when they dig the metre-deep trenches, they take away all the detritus to dump somewhere, then refill with lorry loads of newly brought-in gravel. The old stuff they dug out was just as good as the new, but 'bureaucrats' don't think like that. They like to do things the 'official jobsworth way'. And 'The National Road Diggers and Fillers Union' (of which there must be a Union Steward on site) makes sure that everything is done the slowest and most expensive way possible.

I get on with the workmen quite well, and they all love Billy. I recently asked one of them if they'll be finished by the end of December, and he replied that he hoped so, as he was off to his villa in Tenerife for Christmas. It's a grand life!

Lost and Found.

 

I must be becoming absent minded. I recently lost a SECOND umbrella, in exactly the same way as with the first one.

A few years ago I lost a VERY EXPENSIVE umbrella in France. It had been on my shopping trolly, and I failed to retrieve it after putting my shopping in the back of the car. Someone had a very nice find.

Last Saturday I did exactly the same thing again, although it was in England, at Sainsbury's, and the umbrella was a cheap one! Even so, I was very annoyed with myself.

However, not everything is doom and gloom, I recently found a brand new fiver (£5), with King Charles's head on the front, and Churchill's on the back. The banknote was lying in full view on the ground outside our bijou home; I was very lucky to be the first to spot it!

In general I do seem to be more absent minded that before. I know it's a natural part of the ageing process, but it's a very annoying one.

One of my worst failings is thinking of something I need to put on my shopping list, then by the time I get to write it down, I've forgotten what it was. This happens quite often, so I now have a pen and pad by my side at all times, and write everything down in advance.

Does this mean that I no longer forget things? Does it hell!

p.s. I'm still struggling to think of what I'll spend my unexpected £5 on!

Fun in UK Politics.

 

There's a new political party in the UK, which for the moment is vying for 'The UK's silliest party' versus 'The Monster Raving Loony Party'. And I think the new one is winning!

They've just had a so-called 'conference', where they voted on the party's new name. It is to remain as 'Your Party'. A snappy name, I'm sure you agree!

The party has just two major players; it's founder Jeremy Corbyn, and his hated sidekick Zarah Sultana (both above). At the 'conference' they voted that Comrade Corbyn should not automatically become the leader of the party, but it should be run by some sort of interim Socialist worker's co-operative, until time comes to vote for a pukka figurehead.

Politically, they are Marxist-Leninist-Socialists with Communist leanings. At the 'conference', the fragrant Ms Sultana declared the new strict policies of the new party to be anti-semitism and anti-royalty. I presume they will also continue to support the politics of the IRA, Hamas, and the late great, and much-missed, Hugo Chavez.

People may consider The Monster Raving Loony Party to be eccentric and unelectable, but they ain't seen nuffin yet! Saying that Corbyn has all his marbles is like saying that Reeves is honest, and supports hard-workers.

And who said Politics wasn't FUN!

STOP PRESS: I know you've all been wondering what happened to Labour MP Tulip Siddiq (above left). 

Well, Sir Keith's ex-Anti Corruption Minister has just been found guilty of Corruption in Bangladesh, and sentenced to Two Years in Prison. 

Life isn't fair, is it. I'm sure the very appealing Ms Siddiq will appeal.

Here we go again! Man crowned 'Strongest Woman'.

The bloke holding aloft his trophy, having just won The World's Strongest Woman competition in Arlington Texas, is American Jammie Booker.

OK, Jammie might have had a few nips and tucks, taken bucket-loads of hormones, and wears women's clothes, but all that doesn't stop him being a biological MAN.

Now, I don't know about you, but to me a man competing in a woman's sport isn't really 'playing the game'.

In general, men can run faster, swim faster, jump higher, lift heavier weights, and are all-over stronger than women, so for a man to compete alongside women isn't really fair. To me there is nothing sexist in saying as much; it's simply 'nature'.

Why doesn't Jammie compete alongside fellow male 'Strongmen'? Well, it's probably because he knows he wouldn't stand a chance against men! Or it's because he knows he stands a better chance if he competes against women! It's either one or the other!

I think we all know the answer to that; as does he.

Thank goodness he's now been deprived of his win, and the real winner of this competition was the woman who came 'second'; the Brit' Andrea Thompson.

Well done Andrea.