The Price of Plonk.

I tend not to look at the price of things either at the supermarket or in local shops; if I want something I simply buy it.

But for some reason I looked at my today's bill, and noticed that my weekly 5 litre 'cubi' of red wine (piquette) still costs only €4.99 (£4.30). I know I've written about this before, but I mention it again because I recently heard an English news item, stating that in future, spirits, wine, and beer, will all be sold at some outrageous minimum price per unit of alcohol (whatever that means). This will no doubt make things so much easier for the Chancellor when (on budget day) he has to say 'I'm going to add another £2 on a unit of alcohol', etc.

This, apparently, is to save the nation from its evil ways (some bloody hope).  Why not tell the truth, and admit that it's just another way of raising phenomenal amounts of tax from those who take simple pleasure in abating their stress levels through the consumption of fruit juice; those 'stress levels' caused by work and taxation.

Enough to turn a man or woman to drink.

Two Boys; One Dog.

What makes Grumpy not so Grumpy? Having two of my favourite people mucking about in the fields with my favourite dog; that's what!

Monty (now more commonly known as Lumpy) had just found the plastic pot from my newly acquired Clematis Montana, and is playing 'take it from me, if you can' with the boys, who are so obviously glad to be away from north London for a while.

I love to see the boys running free in the countryside. This year even more so because they've got Monty to play with. The photo says it all.

This is why I moved to France with my own children, all those 40 wonderful years ago!

R.I.P. Mr Cuckoo.

The problem with installing large plate-glass windows (as everyone knows) is that birds occasionally fly into them. This morning we discovered TWO.

The little Cirl Bunting (above) lived to tell the tale. He sat quietly recovering on my hand for about five minutes, before eventually flying off. Just enough time for Lady M to take this photo.

This young Cuckoo, however, was not so lucky. His demise came suddenly and unexpectedly.

Strangely, he flew into one side of a large sliding window; the other half of which was open. Quite why either he or the Bunting wanted to inspect the interior of my 'tower', I don't know. Maybe they'd read about it somewhere.

It's sad to lose any birds in this way, but to lose a young Cuckoo seems particularly so.

Flower Pots?

Certain objects become so commonplace, that one forgets that, to others, they might be of interest.

These very roughly fashioned pots are to be found almost everywhere in the pine woods. They are made of terracotta, with a simple glazed interior. So, what are they?

In the not too distant past, the whole of the south west corner of France was thick with pine trees; these were tapped for resin that was then distilled to make turpentine. Nowadays much cheaper substitutes are manufactured, making the tapping of pine resin almost redundant.

The pots above were strapped to the trees beneath a simple galvanised strip of metal, and the resin ran into them, rather like latex or (I imagine) maple syrup, from a cut in the trunk.

Now they're mostly just left to rot, other than a few that get made into rustic garden candles. I've drilled holes in a few to make flower pots, but they're really a bit small. Any suggestions?

What the.....

One comes across strange things in the countryside; this one was pointed out to me by my friend Craig. What it is; I have no idea.

It's a 6 ft high Gorse bush completely covered in web. No doubt hidden somewhere are either spiders or caterpillars who have been so wonderfully industrious, and no doubt in time they will let themselves be known to us. But for the moment it looks as if the candy-floss man has been practicing his skills out in the open air.

If anyone knows....

Vanity Dark (geddit?)

I have to admit to a smidgen of vanity, and that if there was a reliable faux-sun-tan pill, I would probably partake.

Like most people, I just feel better with a bit of tan on my otherwise pale and pasty post-winter body. My problem is that I cannot stand the idea of sitting around sun-bathing; or, even worse, smothering myself with oil.

There is no question in my mind that the easiest way to become the next multi multi billionaire is to invent a tanning pill. Many years ago such a pill DID exist, but the 'tan' was more orange than sienna, and its success was short-lived.

The first person to invent a pill that gives a natural looking all-over tan will make a FORTUNE. Why has this not happened? Surely it can't be that difficult to develop.

Busy Bees.

The Chestnut trees are in flower; so in come the bees.

 

Chestnut flower honey is probably the last choice for most people. It is dark, rather bitter, and can leave an unpleasant after-taste.

Anyway, Chestnut trees are what we have most of in this area. Their pollination is essential for good crops, and good crops are essential for a healthy economy. The honey is almost a by-product.

My only grouch is that the local bee keepers (knowing that it's stinking hot) don't think to supply their bees with water, so they all make a 'bee line' for the nearest puddle, pool, or pond. This year we've done away with our own small pond (they don't drink swim-pool water), so it's fallen to one of our neighbours to be inundated with swarms of thirsty bees. She isn't happy; especially as she has three small children. And with hundreds of bees now regularly gathering just by the steps of her house, I don't blame her!

p.s. Since I wrote the above, another lot of hives has been brought in, which are sitting about 150 metres from our house. The slightest damp spot left from watering plant-pots now has it accompanying swarm of bees. Frankly, I'm a little pissed-off.