I went to my hairdressers on Tuesday and asked her to repeat what she did three months ago but leave it a bit longer at the back but I came out looking like a ITV weather girl wishing my French telepathy skills were more honed and readable. I ended up with the most up to the bar hair style on a frumpy gardeners body, what a disaster. There are some real cultural differences between our two countries and they manifest themselves in so many weird and varied dimensions of life. French people learn to drive never knowing how to approach a round about and have no understanding of the fundamental rules of over talking, Banks believe that your money is theirs and have no intention of talking to you in human speak or cashing a cheque within fifteen days. Supermarket checkout girls are taught that the quickest customer chuck out routine wins prizes. A married woman who has gone through all the palaver of changing her name to be with the one she loves then buys the house of their dreams in her maiden name. So back to the hairdresser who believes only she can transform me into a desirable, top fashion, drop dead gorgeous woman by simply cutting every singe natural curl I own. Angry, not a bit of it just totally mortified.
We all know that bad things come in threes. I lost one of my favourite leather gloves and Mike knowing how attached I was to them drove back the way we came and I kicked curbs and looked over fences and railings but to no avail and as I got back in the car I mumbled “well that’s the third thing”. Mike questioned my three bad things, and I replied, bad hair, lost glove and you won’t let me put any Christmas decorations up this year. Mike thought long and hard about my run of Viv type misery and has turned his humbug head and agreed on Christmas decs as long as I adopt a simple and minimalist approach to the normal tinsel and trash that usually descends on the house when the boxes of decs falls out the loft..
We have installed a temporary coal fire in the lounge for this winter. Mike has become mildly intolerant to wood dust and open fires and this little fire is proving the point that a small heat source is all we need and HOSS is most definitely in agreement. He cooks gently all night adjusting the angles to get an all over tan and the talk of chickens and walkies does not move him from his basking position.
I had to abandon my last choir concert today when we got news that the chief du port in Dielette was wanting us to go before the storm tonight and check our lines. We dropped every thing and arrived to see snapped rope and very dodgy lashing up by the guy next door trying to keep Beema attached to the pontoon. Mike took some real tough stuff rope and remade all his springs and mooring lines. She is now trussed up like a Turkey and is looking sad and uncared for but is actually the best trussed boat on our pontoon, and is still going to be there in the spring….we hope.