November 1st ?

Nothing is yet carved in stone, but in a post-Brexit world, Brits living in France will probably be limited to a 3 month stay each year. During the other 9 months, they will simply have to go and live elsewhere.

It is estimated that about 150,000 Brit families live in France; probably couples much like ourselves, living out in the countryside.

Not counting house expenses (water, electricity, rates, etc) each household probably spends about £1,500 per month on general living expenses; about £18,000 per annum (much as elsewhere). If one multiplies that by 150,000, it contributes a lot of 'new money' to small local communities. Take away 9 months worth of that spending, and you can imagine what effect it would have on small local economies.

Many tradesmen, service providers, and local shopkeepers, have become dependent on foreign money. They have expanded their businesses, and profited enormously from keeping newcomer Brits and Cloggies happy. The Cloggies will remain, but the big-spending Brits will either sell-up, or reduce their visits to just a few weeks each year. We know when we're not welcome, and there are plenty of other countries where we are! (Croatia?)

Both Brits and Cloggies are perfect immigrants. Both nationalities are mostly law abiding (other than a very few exceptions), we tend to restore old buildings (that might otherwise have been lost) to a high standard, and we contribute hugely to the cultural life of our communities. Mostly, however, we live on imported 'new money', which is a gift for any economy. We ask for nothing 'financial' of our hosts in return.

I have heard of villages where almost 80% of the residents are Brits (nightmare); these villages will die. They will return to how they were before their Brit restorations.

Frankly we no longer care. Our own tiny hamlet has been totally buggered by the frantic chase for tourist €uros, and we mourn the loss of its bucolic tranquility and gentility more than we do being kicked out by Macron. One has to wonder if all those €'s spent trying to attract tourists, will now fall flat.

I just hope that, in future, we'll only have to pay 25% of our local rates bills; it wouldn't be fair to charge us the full 100% if we're banned from living in our own homes for 9 months of the year, would it!

Nigel Farage on LBC. Brexit update.

Uncle Nigel on LBC, talking to a supporter.



You'll be pleased to hear (I'm sure) that all is going very well with the UK's Brexit negotiations. Whilst Boris's boys smooch with Matron Merkle, et al, over in mainland Europe; back in the UK all is sweetness and light.

I hope you all have a peaceful Sunday.

Rice and Peas.

Let's say you went into an English Fish-n-Chip shop, and ordered Cod, chips, and peas; what would you expect to be served?

The Afro/Caribbean population are up in arms because naughty Ikea are selling 'Rice and Peas', whose 'Rice and Peas' are made with Rice and Peas, and not Rice and Kidney Beans. They are shouting 'Cultural appropriation'; the new snowflake accusation that covers all racial non-PC ills.

On the radio recently (LBC) several Afro/Caribbean complainants were asked if they knew the difference between Peas and Kidney Beans... they simply laughed. Of course they did, and if Ikea are selling Rice and Peas; that's what they mean, otherwise the trades description folk would probably go crazy. That is not to say that it's an altogether different matter if one was in Jamaica.

No-one seemed to have visited an Ikea restaurant to taste their Jerk Chicken. Personally I would have been far more concerned about the Chicken than about the Peas being Peas, and not Kidney Beans. Having eaten Rice and Peas (Kidney Beans) out in the Caribbean, I can assure you that it's really not that big a deal. The quality of a decent Jerk Chicken is far more contentious!

It was apparently The Queen herself (although I doubt it), who when asked about 'American English' (this could well have been 'Jamaican English'), replied "There are only two types of English; English, and incorrect English". People can call Rice and Kidney Beans whatever they like (even 'Rice and Peas'). I shall not be complaining.

Confused? I hope so. You really do have to have nothing better to do, than to make a fuss about bloody Rice and Peas.

May I suggest that Ikea adds the word 'Garden' in front of 'Peas'. Then the Afro/Caribbean PC brigade might not behave like spoilt children.

10cc - I'M NOT IN LOVE

This beautiful song definitely needs another airing. 74 year old Eric Stewart is still going strong. Great song Eric!

Dripping.

When I was a wee lad (post war), we ate a lot of Beef. I'm not sure, but I suspect it was cheaper than Chicken or Pork, and was considered 'every day food'; not like today. 

I know that our village butcher (Mr Bryant) was always well stocked, and my father also had a 'black market' supply from some nearby based Canadian troops, who had far too much; it was sent over in huge quantities, either chilled or frozen.

Of course, one didn't only eat wonderful roasts, but there was also that miraculous residue called 'dripping'. I loved dripping on toast, with maybe some Bovril or Marmite; it was heaven on bread, and, in those days, still not regarded as unhealthy.

These days I might occasionally eat steak, but big joints of Beef are prohibitively expensive; so no pot of dripping in the fridge (I would never buy commercial pots as in the illustration).

However, being in S W France we DO have plenty of Duck fat, which in many ways is quite similar, and on occasions I prefer to have Duck fat on my toast than butter, and there is never any shortage.

Yesterday morning I had a real craving; my breakfast HAD to be toast with Duck fat and Marmite. It was bloody gorgeous, and I felt 6 years old again.  I don't suppose it's any more unhealthy than either dripping or butter, and it tastes wonderful.

p,s,. If you were to ask any under 18-year-olds about 'dripping', you'd probably get a blank stare!

Grumsy's (Lady Magnon's) helpers.

With no chimneys that needed cleaning, we had to find alternative work for the boys.

On the south end of the pool, behind the Pump House, is a large Bramley Apple tree, that, as usual, is loaded with fruit. And seeing as the boys love Apple Crumble, Grumsy enlisted their help to process some more apple.

In between bursts of rainfall, little Mischa manhandled the wheelbarrow, whilst Boo Boo gave instructions, acted as 'controller', and gave criticism where criticism was due.

There was a lot of peeling, chopping, and boiling, and the kitchen was filled with the strong aroma of Bramley. When cool, the cooked apples were bagged-up and frozen, and placed in a drawer that also contains Blackberries (in plastic cups).

Whilst at it, Grumsy made a crumble for last night. Perfect for a slightly Autumnal evening. 

I think we should survive winter.

Goodbye Summer.

I'm posting this picture once again, simply because it gives me such pleasure. I can feel the warmth, and the joie de vivre (whatever that is in Italian).

Don't worry; Summer, and al fresco eating, will be back again in a few months time.

In the meantime, today we close down the pool. I'm not looking forward to it, but.....