Let's talk about...

lavatory seats.

Yesterday we went to France, we play pétanque and can now claim to be International players?

After a 5 am start into the charabanc we all piled, excitement was high at the thought of great day of competition, food, wine and fun.  All of which we hugely enjoyed.  The French certainly know how to entertain, they also play a mean game of boules.

We were comprehensively beaten.

We had a lot of ribbing, many kisses and general 

ent ente cordiale.

All good... so far...

My interest was whenever and wherever we nipped to the loo

there was never a lavatory seat?

Why?  I wondered?

Back in the day I worked as a

cook for our Royal Family, not first division, but close.

Apart from the low wages, in one house the loo in the accommodation of the room I had didn't have a lavatory seat.  On top of the long hours and poor pay this I thought said it all!

As you can imagine I wasn't happy as the memory of those days came flooding back!  Not that I was planning on sitting on the loo for long, I was keen to get back to the game, as it were!

Is this the norm in France, surely not?

Maybe someone can explain?

Old cottage to...

eco house...

are we completely bonkers?

300 year old timber framed

sieve to...

duck's arse tight 

windows and doors!

Are we completely mad?

All my life I've lived life to the max, moving onwards and upwards.

Content in my wilfulness...

a moving target and all that!

Now I'm not so sure... is it old age I idly wonder...

not that I'd ever admit to that, you understand?

I rest my...

case...

Oh the joy of trips to the tip.

Clearing out the crud...

that's the easy bit. 

Now onto the hardcore, much loved, know I'll need it one day type of thing.

Today will find me over in the studio sorting out books, fabric, ribbons and furbelows.  And the real tear-jerking old family photo's and certificates.

What to keep and what to throw, that is the question?

I don't need my father's only sister's husbands family paperwork.

That will be the easy bit... 

even so...?

If the move doesn't happen this 'little' exercise is so good for freeing the mind and letting the heart float free.

The thing is...

drinks parties?  

Ask yourself, does anyone really enjoy them?

The effort of the hosts, the cost, the cleaning of the house.

Which nibbles to serve?

Just in from a 'welcome to our particular enclave of the village'

party for our chum's new neighbours.

Now don't get me wrong, I love meeting, feeding, chatting to the many and various folk that inhabit our planet.

Trouble for me is...

until the great British reserve is  mellowed by the sharing of food or maybe (?) wine... let's admit

it is boring.  Until we have chatted about the weather, the kids, holidays, 'You unpacked yet?', commuting even!  I do find all of the above mind-blowingly 

boring.  That is until suddenly the sweet spot is reached.  Don't get me wrong, not shibadeed, drunk, just merely mellow.

That is when you can really cut to the chase and enjoy.  The great British reserve is relaxed...

.Come on let's get serious here and talk...

In my book one of life's great pleasures... 

don't you agree?

Every knife...

every odd piece of crockery,

every strange collected item...the very flotsam and jetsam of life tell a story.

How to cast them adrift 

is the problem.  

Am I brave enough?

"You can always replace them when we get there and see just how much space there is!" he says.

It is not that easy I think.

New?  
To me old has the patina of happy, maybe sad memories which I love to surround myself with.
No price will buy that...

"We have been...

talking about our Christmas food:

we have decided not to get the large Christmas tree out of the cellar this year!"

You might wonder why 

on the first day of September my much loved friends are discussing this most unlikely of subjects? 

The words told me all I needed to know...

He is dying. 

I phoned them for a catch-up knowing full well cancer has been a constant in their lives for too many years.

Their dream of a happy and fulfilling new life in France wasn't to be.  The years there have been dogged by his ill health.

I knew by what she said that he was there and the elephant in the room couldn't be mentioned.

Over the years it had always been a standing joke as to their early preparation and excitement of Christmas.  

All I could do was enter into the usual ribbing all along with my heart fit to burst.

She knew I knew...