Return to Blighty

We've now been back in Albion for a while; that Green and Pleasant Land, where we Brits never shall be Slaves.

Those polluting Dark Satanic Mills are now few and far between, our Coal Miners have unwittingly given us much cleaner air, and our High Streets have plenty of wonderful Vape Shops, Bookmakers, and Turkish Barbers.

OK, our government wants to be rid of farmers, and replace them with cheap housing estates, illegal immigrants, and/or Wind and/or Solar Farms. But we shall struggle on; it's in our nature!

Contrary to predictions, my big Sainsbury's store had not been stripped of bog rolls or baked beans, nor did I see trollies filled to overflowing with bottled water. In fact everything was as I left it just three months ago. Even the regular check-out ladies welcomed me back.

This may shock you, but I was extremely happy to be reunited with my favourite sliced, wholemeal, seeded bread. French baguettes are all well and good, but I do get a bit fed-up with them. A fried egg on a slice of TOASTED ENGLISH WHOLEMEAL BREAD is heaven on a plate.

I've said it before that my love affair with France is slightly fading. Not with our actual home, which I adore, but with France in general. I rather blame the EU.

Many years ago, a secretive decision was made in Brussels that much of Spain and S W France would be designated as 'Tourist Areas'; which they were. Now that the locals have all reaped the financial benefits of that tourism, and are driving big foreign cars, etc, they're beginning to rise-up against the very visitors who made them wealthy. The Spaniards are frightening-away tourists, and the lack of those imported Euros will no doubt soon begin to tell; it'll take a lot of work to tempt those tourists back. The countries gaining are Egypt, Turkey, Croatia, etc.

So, it's good to be back in our little bijou Brighton home. The Tomatoes growing out front are hopeless; they are tough-skinned and have little flavour. There are no Apples on the tree, but elsewhere my newly planted Herb Garden has done quite well. All of our 'annual bedding plants' died.

It's good to smell the sea air again.

 

Travelling drunks

I don't know what happens to some people when they travel, but many seem to search-out the nearest bar and drink themselves into stupidity.

I often used to see people on early morning ferry sailings, sitting at the bar downing pints by the dozen. I've also seen them at airports, throwing them back before their flights leave. All this leads to only one thing; drunkenness.

This idiot above is a classic example. He is 67 year old Arthur Lundeen from Arizona, who started fighting and being abusive mid-flight. Luckily a few 'hefties' were on hand to tape him up and restrain him. The flight was detoured, and the fool thrown off.

When we recently returned from France, we each had a half-bottle of red wine with our (very good) meals, but we certainly wouldn't have had more.

People such as Lundeen drink to get themselves drunk. They really should be on a 'life-time-ban' list, and kept off planes and ferries for ever. Barmen/women are also partly to blame; they should see the signs and stop serving these people.

 

Drawing

I am more inclined to amuse myself with inconsequential doodling these days, rather than with big-canvas painting. A quick sketch gives me more instant pleasure than slaving over a major painting.

An ink pen, a brush, and a tiny pot of water, is all I need, and I can keep myself amused for hours. This below is a recent example.

I always used to keep some drawing things, and some colours, in the car. If I saw something that needed drawing/painting I had all that was needed at hand. This quick sketch of Stonehenge, from back in 1983 is a classic example. It was pouring with rain, so I had to work from inside the car.

There's usually something to grab my attention, although here in central Brighton it's not always obvious.

 

The trip home

Our journey up from the South was boring but uneventful. With Kimbo's Sat-Nav it makes everything so much easier. We mostly travelled on France's wonderful motorways, so not much to look at. At one stage we did take a detour through some quite pretty villages, but I don't know quite why it was recommended. 

Driving long distances is always tedious. We stopped a couple of times to let Billy stretch his legs, and for us to have a sandwich and drink. It was a hot day.

Travelling from Dieppe to Newhaven is even worse. It's a 4 hour crossing, and other than eating, there's not a lot to do.

For our past few crossings we've decided to have a cabin (above). They are very basic with four beds, a bathroom, and, in our most recent case, a sea view. After a long car-journey, we were all very tired so a few hours sleeping was very welcome. Billy stayed 'below-decks' in the car.

I've said many times before, but suddenly driving on English roads again is quite a shock. The traffic is appalling, and the potholes even worse. Someone/somewhere needs to do something about it pronto, otherwise the roads will soon be un-useable.

 

Despite everything

This little pink and yellow Antirrhinum (Snapdragon) has battled against all odds, and is growing from the tiniest of cracks in the asphalt; and still it managed to look beautiful. When I went to photograph it, one of my 'more colourful' neighbours was giving it some water.

N.B. Since returning to England, and plugging my laptop into the UK system, I seem to be having problems with my 'comments'. I've tried everything, and Kimbo will come to have a look on Sunday. I'm sure he'll be able to find the solution. Until then.......

Dog Dumping Season.

In many parts of Europe, the end of August heralds the dog-dumping season. Many holidaymakers take their old or sick dogs with them, then leave them behind when they return home. It isn't unusual to see dogs wandering roadside looking lost. It's a horrible thing to do, but in many European countries dogs are seen very differently to how they are in the UK.

Whilst walking with Billy recently, Lady M found this little dog (below), which then followed her home. Luckily for this one, he had a collar and tag, and was simply 'lost'; having wandered too far from home. We phoned the owner, and he came to collect. The little dog had travelled about 6 Kms, and was tired and thirsty. He was very calm and friendly.

It has to be said, that when the dog's owner turned-up to collect him, neither dog nor owner seemed particularly relieved at seeing each other. 

My first experience of dumped-dogs was on the island of Majorca back in the mid-60's. Where ever we went walking, a gang of about 12 dogs would follow us, all looking as if they'd love us to take them home.

There were some lovely dogs amongst them, but we could do nothing; just feed them.

Over the years we've had lots of dogs turn-up at the house. Some were hunting dogs who'd simply got lost, but most had been dumped. We also had one cat.

 

Packing-up

My, my, how time flies.

It seems like only three months ago when we arrived back at our little bucolic Gallic hideaway. Now we are putting stuff away, packing our bags, tidying everything that needs to be tidied, and making sure that the garden is in a suitable state to face the Winter months.

We have closed-down the pool. This involved treating the water, covering everything with a strong tarpaulin, and making sure that all the mechanical stuff is mouse-proofed and frost-proofed. It's a depressing procedure, but one we've done many times before.

The cottage is very much a farm-house. The downstairs floor is always a bit messy with bits of grass cuttings, leaves, and dog hair, but we accept this as part of cottage life, and simply brush or mop when required. The big old fireplace is home to piles of messy logs, and cobwebs are just about everywhere. We are probably not as 'house-proud' as we ought to be; but there's little point. It's probably how the house has always been throughout its 300 year history. This now changes before we leave, and we make sure that everything is spotless before we lock the doors.

We always also make sure there are plenty of survival foods around when we leave; tins of paté, sardines, tuna, beans, and cassoulet, and plenty of wine/champagne. There are also plenty of logs for the fire.

We make sure that all the bedroom windows are securely closed, and we fix all the security devices. After our recent burglary we take no chances. I would like to have the place strung with 'trip-wires' attached to a shotgun trigger, but I'm told that's not allowed.

We're passing the baton to Kimbo (above) these days, he is more capable of looking after the place than we are; and he loves it here. Hopefully he, his siblings, and their children, will have many more years, or decades, of fun here.

This little old house is by far the friendliest I've ever owned; and it pains me to leave.