Post Scriptum

Good Evening Dear Reader
I have just got back from handing our couchsurfers to their next host in Nantes. I'm never good at goodbyes. The house seems so empty. It's almost as if Chirstmas was over. They weren't there for long but it's amazing how they become part of the family. I told Killian earlier today that we will be part of their memories whenever they think of their voyages. Maybe that's what hosting in couchsurfing is about...

Christmas Time is Here

Merry Christmas Dear Reader,
This was a peculiar Christmas. Peculiar in a nice way of course and a first for us. We had people for Christmas that we had never met. There was even a posibility of another person but she managed to find an alternative. You might be wondering whether or not I have lost my mind well I haven't... I think I've talked about couchsurfing before. (http://couchsurfing.com)

Well this year we've tried and tested it and have found it a great experience. We joined for numerous reasons. At the moment we can't travel or are not as free to travel. There's a saying that, "if the mountain will not come to Mohammet, the Mohammet will go to the mountain." I suppose that it has become our way of travelling. There's also a very importnant part of the Rule of St Benedict about hospitality and welcoming in the traveller. I gives us the occasion to give our time and efforts for other people. It's also nice just having people around the house. Even Killian who's only 8 said he liked couchsurfing because "you get to meet new people and make new friends." Charity is the purest form of love and what better way to love one's fellow man than to offer him shelter when he's travelling.

Christmas is that time of year when the Marketing people get really flustered wondering about sales figures and the sales people want to know the latest turnover figures. The secular Christmas has become this orgy of consumerism, to fill you house with decorations, to fill you face with food and wine, to fill your children's rooms with new toys, to fill your head with Christmas TV and films. This is the only occasion that I will talk about Xmas. Because that is all it is. X. And definitely not Christ.

The real Christmas is about celebrating how God came down to earth to live aomngst us. Did he come as a king, No. When you read the Nativity stroy in Luke and Mathew's gosels the story is very simple but it's so full of meaning. every little thing has a meaning. Why was he not born in Nazereth for example. The census was about bringing people of Jesus' own ancestry together in one place. Bethlehem was full of his extended fmaily and there was no place for Him. They had to accept a cow shed and the Baby was put in the feeding trough. Not the kind of welcome you would expect for a Saviour.

That really spoke to me and I decided that for this Christmas I would welcome people into myhouse. Generally with couchsurfing people arrive as strangers but leave as friends. Thishappened yet again. You get to know the people to some extent by sharing mails etc. but you'recompeltely sure. There's a great part of trust, but when people come through you leave a reference and this reflects on the person. We lay down certain rules too like, nobody in Killian'sroom and Killian is never alone with a couchsurfer.

Nearly time for lunch Dear Reader so I'll wish you a bon eppetit.
Take care and talk soon,
Ian

Killian's 8th birthday and 1st choir rehearsal!

Good Evening Dear Reader,
8 years ago today the little guy on the left came into this world. 8 years ago I my life changed forever. 8 years ago I became a father! I am no longer Ian, Mr Myers, or that English bloke. No. I am Papa, or Daddy...

I remember it as if it were yesterday. Well not exactly yesterday - more the day before yesterday.

Fade into 11th December 1998 just like they do in the films...... It was 16h and I was working at the SITA in la Défense in Paris. I got a phone call saying Virginie, hospital and maternity, and come. I'm sure there were lot's more things but those were the words I understood. I am living proof that the journey from desk to bedside in the CHU Intercommunal de Montreuil sous Bois can be done in one hour. I had given up running after my flirt with the British army. Bad joke and all that. But there I must have been faster than an Olympic athlete! Compared to the RER I was quicker! Normally it took at least 1h30...

I arrived at the maternity ward and saw the great while whale waddling towards me. Very pregnant ladies don't walk, they waddle like ducks. In fact it's sometimes easier to spot a pregnant lady from the rear ad from her gait , then from her tummy. Here as I expecting to see my wife with various tubes stuck in her and people and machines that go ping! But nothing. My first question was, well where is he? He was still in the same place he had been since we made love about 8 1/2 months earlier!

Despite my great and utter confusion I gathered that my wife was to stay over night in the hospital, and that I could go home and the yes of course they would call me, when my son decided it was time to show up!

The next morning at about 8h30 I received a call from the hospital. Was I Ian Myers, yes I was, well if I wanted to be there for the birth of my son it would be a good idea to get a move on. Virginie's labour had started at 3h and she got the peridural at 7h30. Now a contraction is something a guy can never even hope to get a grasp of. It's like the stomach cramp you get with a really lovely tummy bug, multiplied by about 100.

I arrived by 9h. What really was bothering me was what on earth was I going to say to this woman for so long. We had never had to spend so much time together in such a confined space. I also felt this obligation to stay there rooted to the spot for fear of going for a coffee and missing the important delivery. Something like that would have been grounds for divorce and my mother in law would have reminded me of it until the day she died. To be honest the time passed quite quickly. She even fell asleep on the table! Every half hour a nurse would come in and stick fingers up Virginie where I would never have though and the countdown began. Dilation 1, Dilation 2 etc.

Dilation10, let's get going. I faded into the background whilst the team set up stall in front of my wife. This modern idea of the male sharing the birth experience is a load of bollocks! Not true. A complete fallacy. I was a mere spectator. They used the forceps to get him out, and he popped out like a champagne cork. Thank heavens the doc was there to catch him. I remember asking is it normal that umbilical cord around his neck, then seeing this huge Midwife's arm pull it from around him. I also remember just crying and going on about how beautiful he was. He was and still is very beautiful. But I don't tell him too much or he'll become unbearable. Yet another thing I remember was seeing him getting his first nappy. I saw his bum and saw thin huge black hole. There was this black toxic waste type substance that was there. Disgusting! What had they given him in the womb? He was cleaned and put in his adorable little pyjamas and hat.. He was so small. Here he was in my arms not even crying. It was the first of many father son moments.

Fade back to 12/12/06....

So years later, here I am writing aout something that happened 8 years earlier.

The latest news from Vendée

Good Morning again Dear Reader,
The 1^st December saw me at the Radiologist’s. The first time my doctor hadn’t seen my first x-rays as they had been kept by Casualty in Montaigu. So after two weeks during the control x-ray, the fracture had changed to a break! It explains why my foot was hurting. I had tried to push a bit in order to be able to go back to work on the Monday. As soon as the doctor saw this and felt my foot he said to stop being so bloody stupid, rest, and he stopped me until the 18^th December!

That night I had my first Friday of carolling with my choir – I am the Choirmaster. It was a great night. We raised just over 100€ for charity. They’ve never seen anything like it here. It was nice being there at the beginning of something, for it is like that that I felt it. Instead of going from house to house we went from village to village and sang for three villages grouped together. We were served mulled wine in two of the villages and it was great. Virginie was my chauffeur and Killian my music stand. At the end of it though my foot was killing me. I then decided that for the next Friday I would have to give it a miss. Somebody else directed it, and they raised 112€. I’ll see how I feel next Friday.

You will be kept up to date Dear Reader.

Going back a bit

Good Morning Dear Reader,

July of this year was the first time since my breakdown in 2002 I have started working again. I mean really working not just trying to avoid employment due to fear under the guise of not finding something. I started working in July in a plastics factory. It was a real morale booster. I found that yes I wasn’t completely useless and that the world of work is not always full of utter uncaring and downright evil people who feel they must bully others to gain advancement in their own careers. Yes I was feeling good. Good is of course a relative concept. The work was hard but was extremely satisfying. Imagine a meat grinder. You put meat in and out comes spaghetti. Now when you make plastics you put in the raw materials in one end of the meat grinder. This is done by loading a 700kg crate of stuff (more like a powdery type thing) into one end. There is an Archimedes screw that draws the raw materiel through. This screw is heated up to about between 100°C – 200°C. When the “spaghetti” comes out it is cut up into very fine slices (about 350 – 500 revolutions a second), which is cooled down by air and blown through pipes into a silo. When the silo is full you empty it. Then the whole thing starts again. That’s the basics. It’s pretty hot and pretty dusty work. But I loved it. It was just what the doctor ordered. I became confident again. Not exactly “conquer the world confident”, but confident never the less!

Between that and the next job I had interviews and the people said they loved me and when there was a position they would of course call me. I’m still waiting…

The next job was constructing floorboards for terraces of holiday chalets. Not the most exciting of jobs, and lasted only the three days of the contract. What a relief. It was backbreaking. The guy I worked with was used to seeing temp agency guys not lasting very long. I can understand why no. Even the guy who was after me (one of the Dads of one of Killian’s schoolmates) only lasted five weeks before saying no, his health was more important. I feel no guilt.

The next job started in November. I was to build farm machinery. But that you know already. however you are now up to date on what went on before the blog. Yes Dear reader there was life before the creatin of this blog...

it's Tuesday today......

Good afternoon Dear reader.
I has been a quiet few days in St Hilaire. I has also been a few days since I wrote anything in this blog, so it's time to remedy the situation - or at least to have another ramble on about something. After all you are here on "Ian's Ramblings!"

I have just written on paper 7 things to whittle on about. I couldn't believe it. Maybe there's something in writing a plan instead of just spewing forth words as the come out of me. There's some jazz on in the background and things are OK.

Well, hat is new. I'm still on sick leave. The foot is getting better and I'm just biding my time until it gets 100% better. I just hope the firm I was working for will take me back. Technically they're not allowed to fire me BUT, they are not obliged to continue the the mission. Which would be a bugger. I'm not saying I'm the best assembler they've ever had, but I was getting into it and would have been able to be useful! I hope they'll keep me on anyway. More news about that later I suppose.

This is part of the upcoming concert with A Clair Voix (my Wednesday night choir). We're singing in a church and for the first time since the choir was created I decided it was time to sing some Christmas music! Apparently the choir is secular and thinks church music is only for church choirs! I always thought choirs were about singing music....

Anyway, for this concert I thought bugger, we're going to have some Christmas music, and the illustration on the left is the layout for the sheet you give to the audience for "audience participation!" They all know these songs and it should be fun.

Another thing I'm bringing in for the first time is carolling. We were even in the regional paper. The headline is, "A Clair Voix will sing outside in December."

I couldn't believe it when the journalist phoned me up... She wanted to know why were we giving concerts in the middle of nowhere. I put her straight of course explaining that it was nothing more than begging with a bit more style. The main idea being to get money for charity.

It seems to be an idea completely foreign to people around here - singing carols outside of church not charity. We have been fortunate to meet some lovely people here who are wonderful examples of Christian charity. And that photo has reminded me that the beard suits me better!

Accident du Travail!

Good Evening Dear Reader,
Can you remember me talking about my rather poohy Monday at work? Well Tuesday started out much better. I had taken resolve and a cup of tea for breakfast, and was ready for the assault. Well, ready for work anyway... I was becoming self sufficient, and actually knowing what I was doing, and how to do it. Things were falling into place. However other things fell too.

Yes, other things fell, and fell onto my foot! Now, let's put things into context here. It'll save alot of explaining later. I put farm machinery together - see previous post. The machines: you put in a bail of hay at one end, and out the hay comes the other end but no longer in a bail and ready for the animals to eat, or lay on. This used to be done by one bloke with a pitch fork. Apparently all farms have them which is good news for us, because it keeps us in work. Anyway! I was putting the part that attaches it to the tractor. I wanted to check that I had put everything correctly, so I went to check on the work mate's efforts. I actioned the lever and saw the bar fall. I thought oh bugger! Then I shouted in pain and said a naughty word. Thankfully there were no ladies present.

The guy who was next to me said, are you alright, and of course yes I was, it just hurt a bit (like it hurt when a 20kg metal bar falls on your foot), and that I'll be fine. he said he'd just go off and get me some ointment for my foot. I saw him go and thought I light as well go and catch him up so off I limped feeling quite stupid. We caught up with the official first aider who lead me the way to the Infirmary. It's here that it starts getting fun.

My head started turning and I thought I would sit down. I sat down and everything was fine. No more pain. Except what had really happened was that I had fallen and fainted and the guy was shouting at me in French saying I was slurring my words which if course ridiculous, I was just talking in English, and yes I understood him, and yes I was fine, and OK I'd go into the infirmary and sit down, and yes I knew exactly what had happened! I had just sat down because I was feeling a bit woozy. And are you sure I fainted, and yes I had fainted. As if from nowhere five first aiders appeared and were bent on pushing me into that chair. And oh Dear there I go again. I must have gone out about four times. No I wasn't diabetic, and yes I was talking correctly and yes of course I understood them, and ad I really fainted and yes my foot hurt, and yes, it was just my foot hurting. They lay me down on a stretcher from 1930, and that hadn't been used since 1932.

I thought the thing would never support my weight and that it was only me and they didn't have to put paper on it first, and that maybe the little guy ought to let someone else help me down. Yes Dear Reader, I am a big lad. They even called the fire brigade the French Paramedics, and by the time they arrived I was feeling great. OK, my foot still hurt, but my head was firmly on my shoulders and had stopped turning.

The firemen tool me to casualty, and I was put in the Traumatology room. I was checked to see if I was still breathing and that my heart was still beating, and to see what my blood pressure was like. Everything was normal. I had time to say a couple of Rosaries, and I'm sure that thanks to that Our Lady took some of the pain away. I felt really at peace. It was wonderful. I was X-rayed to see if my foot was broken. It was fractured, but nothing serious and it wasn't worth plastering my leg.

The company sent me a guy to pick me up. We drove back to work via the house - I wanted to pick up Virginie so she could drive. Got back to the factory and reassured them that I was not dead but that I would be off work for eight days. The rest of the afternoon was spent getting all the various bits of admin sorted out, and most importantly PAINKILLERS!!!!!

When they say that these painkillers may be addictive, they are so right! It was great! NO pain - no gain? Nah, no pain - no pain! I also had to get used to crutches, but soon found my sofa which was to become my bed. Virginie was concerned about kicking me in bed during the night. So for the next three days I was not as high as a kite, but definitely off ground level. Yipeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

Sad isn't it. Ah well, after four days of lying around and being completely useless, and swearing whilst navigating the stairs on my bum, I have been out. I am now able to limp with just one crutch and was able to drive. In the terms of my Arrêt du travail I am allowed to go out between 15h and 18h. It was great to be out again.

To conclude, the actual pain wasn't the worst of the suffering. It was being completely useless and not being able to do anything. At least today I could do a bit of tidying, and even cooked. The beast is not back, but it won't be long.

Goodnight Dear Reader,

Ian

Good Evening Dear Reader

Good Evening Dear Reader,
It's Monday evening and it feels like a Monday Evening. Which is already better than a Monday Morning, but with the tiredness added on! Yes, I feel in need of rest after a particularly poohy day. I didn't sleep well last night, and followed my alarm clock from 2.40am right through to 6.30am. Which was a shame because I would have quite liked to have at least a snooze... I don't know about you Dear Reader, but one of my favourite pastimes in my bed is sleeping. There are other things too, like reading a book... Needless to say I'm in a foul mood, and have a burning desire to hit somebody, or at least shout at them!

The weekend officially started at 13h on Friday afternoon. Got home and played a bit on the computer. Virginie had to go out and I seized the opportunity for a siesta. I woke up with a really warm feeling in between my legs., which was strange really because it wasn't wet, so I hadn't peed myself (which is always good news) - it was in fact four kittens asleep on me. It was wonderful. Good things always come to an end. The end was Virginie and Killian coming through the door and shouting and making a lot of fuss, and just disturbing my BLOODY silence!!! OH NO, they couldn't come in quietly and not make any noise and leave me alone. Sometimes I envy (I know it's not good to envy) single people.

Anyway, they finally calmed down. I had to go out and finish the shopping. Highlight of the day, that was. Virginie had impressed on me the necessity of being back by 19h otherwise she was going to do something rather nasty with my testicles...So I went and got some overalls for work, and of course HAD to have a beer with the guy in the shop. He's a mate and sings in the St Hilaire choir. Then the local supermarket in Montaigu. Again, a laugh a minute. The excitement of the evening is killing you isn't it. Back to this wonderful evening... I of course got home at 19h25, but rest assured, my testicles are still in the place that God intended. The reason I had to be back by 19h was that there was a lady (neighbour) coming round for the apréo and to take Molly, the little black kitten. It of course ended in tears. Killian's mostly, but not because I had severely beaten him, but because he was sad to see the kitten leaving us. He somehow has come to the conclusion the all the kittens belong to him.

It's a right riveting read isn't it today... I went out for my rehearsal, and as I drove past the school of music I kept going, and drive past it again but heading for home. I don't know what it is with the Harmonie de Montaigu, but it's really starting to piss me off. For the first time since I joined the band five years ago, I went to the Annual General Meeting last month. Since then I have not been to a single rehearsal. I don't know whether it's because I find the conductor has a lot going for him except as a conductor? Or whether it's because it's always the same old thing etc., but I am gradually getting sick of it all.

However I thought I might as well go out for the beer after the rehearsal just to chat to the lads. As I was passing the café I continued. I guess I wanted a change... The change was a bar called the "Clan." The change was also a pint of Guinness in a bar called the "Clan." I even read the paper in a bar called the "Clan", and guess what, I was in the paper! Yes me! They had reported the concert from last Sunday. However, this bar called the "Clan" was empty. As empty as my wallet and bank account at the end of each month. As empty as a blonde's brain. (Did you get the name of the bar there???)

I then went to another bar called the "Noctambule", and not the "Clan". It was packed! As packed as a male ballet dancer's tights, as packed as your mail box by junk mail. Ambiance rock music and a nice pint of Beamish. The people were mostly the long hair dreadlocks brigade, and the soirée was ruined by a joke I heard... I'm only going to give it in French so as to spare my Anglophone readers this trauma...

Le St Valentin, caresses moi la main, et à la Ste Marguerite caresses moi .....

I know. It's dreadful. I'm sorry. Sue me!

Saturday morning was very calm. It lasted until 11am. At 11am I got out of bed. I don't know why but I had this idea to paint the bathroom ceiling. So I got into my work gear and did it. Virginie couldn't believe it and even said thank you. That evening we were invited to the Felly's for a meal. A fun night was had by all.

Sunday morning saw Killian and I going off to Mass at the College Internationale de Chavagnes for mass. It's the mass as was just after Vatican II. You still get all the mystery of the mass, and all the ceremony. I like it anyway, and find it easier than the Tridentine Mass. At least I feel connected to the church.

The Sunday afternoon was calm, and at 16h, Daniel Felly, a friend came round to take me to a concert of Baroque Music. The programme was four Bach Cantatas. It was played on period instruments and was a joy to listen to.

Back to this morning then. Work could have been easier, but I’m not going to say anything more about that. It’ll be better tomorrow! Well I hope so anyway.

Until my next post, take care Dear Reader,

Ian

All Quiet on the Western Front

Good Morning Dear Reader,
At first I thought I was going to be able to write a little word each day, and I did actually have the intention to do that. Well since Friday I haven't managed it. Please forgive me.

So what is new? I'm still at the factory making farm machinery and finally have worked out what I am actually doing doing, and as of today I should be a useful member of the team instead of that annoying git who's just taking notes all the time. However, I have been lead to believe that these "notes" might actually be used to form a User's guide and assembly instructions. You remember me telling you about playing at big boy meccano all day? Well one of the differences between big boy and normal maecanno is that big boy mecanno doesn't have any instructions. The guy who hired me was interested in the fact that I knew about page layouts etc... Whatever happens, I'm enjoying myself immensely and I have a certain feeling of satisfaction.

So what else is new? On Sunday one of my choirs (A Clair Voix) was in concert. All of Saturday and Sunday morning was overshadowed by the dread of this concert. Kick off was at 14h and the two teams lined up for the show off. The conductor and 55 choristers. I think the final score was a draw, but it was a long match. That last bit was crap. Let's have a think. Parts of the concert were great. I mean really great. They were singing just like I wanted them to. In others however, it was far from great, it was even far from bad, but close to abysmal. Strange how you get so much variety in a concert! The most important thing is that the choir was, on the whole, happy, and had recognised it's mistakes, and that the association that we were singing for was pleased with us. So I guess that is the most important thing. The next concert is on the 17th of December. Unless you count on the period of carolling which is every Friday in December until the 22nd.

So is there anything else new? I had an E-mail from a friend on Friday. Yes Dear reader I DO have friends... a friend. Well I hope a friend... Now this I'm going to have to put into perspective otherwise you're not going to understand anything. I was adopted when I was three weeks old. My parents always told me that I was adopted and for me it had become so natural. When I was 19 I met my birth mother, and after the initial euphoria of finding my mum, I realised that this lady, however nice she may be, was not my mum. The final nail went into the coffin when Killian had just been born, and I told her that "I was going to look after my baby." As soon as I had said it I regretted it at once, but the cat, dog, horse, etc were out of the bag. I'm not into Psychology, I generally think they are full manure. But one theory that they have is that an adopted child will want to in it's turn reject it's birth mother. Maybe this isn't one of those manurey theories they are famous for.

Anyway! I met somebody this year in the same position as my birth mother, except that the person was a little older than 16. I was allowed to see the situation from the other side. I now understand the pain and suffering the person went through, and how hard it was to give the child up for adoption. If the person who this happened to reads this, she'll know what I'm talking about. I wish I was able to help more and be more present to offer what ever I could. She is in my thoughts and in my prayers.

Time to got to work. Take care Dear Reader,
Ian

New job

Dear Reader,
The temp agency phoned me on Tuesday asking if I was interested in working, and I of course said yes. I went in and saw them and started on Thursday morning. I am now assembling agricultural machinery. When I as a boy I was never good with my hands. In wood work, and metal work I was made to understand that I was useless. It wasn't that the teachers were direct about it but they gave me an aversion to everything manual...

Games like meccano didn't interest me. Strange really, because now I play at Meccano for big boys 8 hours a day. Strange how life turns out. When I was at school everything seemed so so planned. I was going to study languages at university. I was going to find a job in Austria in business or in law. I hated France and thought why would somebody want to work in a factory?

Well, no I'm beginning to understand why people might enjoy working in a factory on the shop floor. To be or not to be a factory worker, having suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I meant office work. The satisfaction of actually building something is great! You see the individual parts coming together when at first all you can see is a mass of metal sheets, nuts, and bolts. And it is really like playing with meccano for big boys.

When I was a secretary I spent all day producing paper with bits of writing on them and then having to tidy them away in various folders with different colour for different types of paper. I also got shouted at by clients because the things on the pieces of paper hadn't arrived or could they change something, then having to phone the factory to find out if I could change my original piece of paper and then print out another piece of paper to replace the first piece of paper. Then of course I had to type some more information on another piece of paper to show that I had changed the first piece of paper. This piece of paper of course had to tidied away with all the other bits of paper. Sometimes I have this funny feeling that the guy who invented modern office communication had invested heavily in the paper industry... Or maybe I'm just being sceptical again?

But even working in an office gets you out of the house and meeting new people. Well, not always new people. Sometimes you even get to the point that you can no longer bear certain people and of course these people are either working just in front of you or happen to be your boss.

There will be more later, but for the moment you will have to do with just this Dear Reader.

Take care, and talk soon,
Ian

They ARE back!

Good Morning Dear Reader.
Well, they are definitely back! I'd driven up to Nantes to get them from the station and to let them avoid the trip down to to Montaigu. The traffic in Nantes was slower than an asthmatic snail having a hard day of it. And it's when you're in a traffic jam that you finally realize that time does actually speed up when you don't want it to. Slow motion does exist. So does that bastard that's just cut in front of you. He's taken your place in the line of traffic. All he had to do was to slip in behind and everything would be fine. But no, he goes in front of you. I know that if he went in behind me he would still be cutting off somebody, but IT WOULDN'T BE ME! Not very charitable, and I am ashamed . I arrived at the station and the person in front of me took a huge ammount of space to park HER car. (nothing is meant of course by the emphasis -no, nothing at all) I pulled up beside her and asked very politely would she mind moving back a tiny bit so I could park too. The "oh shit I'm going to get shouted at my wife if I don't get a parking space and I'm late" look seemed to install enough pity in her (thank goodness that I didn't have to use the puppy dog eyes").

I arrived just in the nick of time. Thank you Mademoiselle. The signal "pour le départ de ce TER" had just sounded but the doors weren't shut. I saw them and have never seen Virginie move so quickly - well that's a lie when she wants to hit me she can move quickly too!

It's amazing how one can loose sight of details in such a short time. EG the really rapid rate of talking that Virginie has. Killian too. Whistling can be very annoying... I wasn't used to this; I was used to relative silence. Silence and jazz. Jazz and being told off by my cat because the food wasn't coming fast enough. I had grown accustomed to zero stress - except for being shouted at my cat for not hurrying up enough to feed her.

In the car Virginie was reminding me how to drive, and what a red light was. Killian was reminding me how the light had just turned green and how it was he who would tell me. Virginie asking me where the bloody hell I was going and me explaining to her that no I wasn't lost but as trying to avoid traffic. And Virginie telling me how she had NEVER been here before but oh yes that she finally knew where she was ad had I just seen that car in front of me breaking??????

I was told in detail about the weekend in bretagne. Who had said what, who had eaten who, I mean what. Who had gone where etc, and wasn't it a shame that I wasn't there (oh yeah????). Killian told me how is grandfather was a "con" because he had been given a hard time for being Catholic. I told him that sometimes people are like that and that just because he had seen the light it didn't mean that his Communist grandfather had seen the light too. I also discovered that my son (nearly eight years old) was an apologist in the making.

They got in and Virginie was still talking. I still don't know how she does it. The TV was turned on. And for the first time in four days I shouted. It was awful. I hated it. I had enjoyed my peace and had even started to feel guilty about having enjoyed it so much. But not anymore!

Yes Dear Reader, they are definitely back!

Ian

Heimat

Dear Reader,
I'm not just trying to write at least one thing a day and keep this thing up to date. Maybe it's the novelty value that'll wear off. I don't know. Anyway, There was a bit of Writing that did back in 1991 that I quite liked and thought you might like it too. If you don't then go directly to the next post...
It's called "Heimat" by the way.

In those twilight hours, where neither light or dark lingers, a lone figure sits writing, writing down the contents of his heart for all the world to see,
His memory Is of the love he lost somewhere In his past. The love remains steadfast, lost, but never, but ever, forgotten.
The sunset of my dream
I gaze out at the sunset of my dream, tonight, my dearest friend, I think of you, or rather the part of you that still needs me, but are you just a hazy memory?
As a wondrous dream I remember you, as if you still dwell within my heart. I imagine that you stay by my side, and will rest there for eternity, Reality, once more, rears its ugly head, consciousness takes over, and life continues its lonely Journey.
But the memory, so real, remains Intact, as a constant reminder of complete happiness.

June 10th 1991

I had come home, or at least I thought so. The appointed time had come and gone, but excitement lingered. In a frenzy I searched that station.

That station had seen as many arrivals and departures in its time, the sight of a lover's embrace as he is re-united with his mate, soldiers returning home on leave, away from the brutality and bullshit of army life, workers returning to the security of their town, their home, my home. The platform was full of people, in a stage of their own existences about to enter the next one. To me they were foreign and alien, just going about their travels in life's journey.

I passed the bookstore, its books, over-priced but never-the-less the old lady was still selling, novels for the lone traveller seeking an escape from his own world into another where life is tainted by the writers own inadequacies and fears, a life where all "turns out OK in the end, non-­fiction about far away places in far away times; the ideal realists escape for that reality that they face so admirably. The paper shop, selling its papers, views of the world through the eyes of journalists having to meet deadlines, editors that control those very views. Row upon row, of cigarettes, a myriad of variety, but still the same thing, offering an artificial boost to the mundaneness of the addicts' lives.

I journeyed out onto the station facade, searching but almost in vain. I continued up the length of the station, and, there she was, her face, so friendly, beckoning. No encouragement was needed as I ran, arms outstretched, heart pounding. There stood the object of my hopes and anticipations, my fantasies and desires, the object of my greatest love.

I "had" eventually come home. Our arms locked in embrace, Through my mind drifted the letters, snippets of talking on the phone, those very things that had ruled my emotions for the last five years. These two simple things effected me like drugs. Letters were like a joint, as you get through it, the high intensifies, and finally It was the turn of the ultimate high, but letters can be read over and over again, and they're legal! Phone calls were sad because they didn't last as long, but the high started as soon as I began dialling her number, and her voice put me in another world of comfort where I felt wanted. I even had to pinch myself to make realise it was actually "her". And there she was, my dream fulfilled, my prayers answered, in my arms. It was the first time we had met but it was if we had known each other since childhood.

We said goodbye to her mother who, I must admit, looked quite amused at the spectacle before her. For the slightest of moments I felt as if an intruder had entered my dream and I wanted her to leave as soon as possible, after all the dream was mine and nobody else's.

The girl and I walked into the downtown area which was both modern and old, but still beautiful, but the real beauty was by my side. The typical chatter issued forth from our lips, the nervous chatter of two people that have been re-united after a long separation, talking but saying nothing.

Before long we were sitting in a Biergarten sipping beer and smoking Camel cigarettes, the smoke disappearing as soon as It left our lips. The beer was cool and refreshing and coupled with the slight breeze It was neither too warm nor too cold, like the moment, perfect, We continued our drinking whilst watching the people around us, small children being reprimanded by their mothers, young lovers seeing nothing but each others eyes. The nervousness of our conversation stayed with us as hither to unknown aspects of our personalities came to light. The overhanging trees gave us shade but the sunlight still peered through like an ever-present guardian, but it didn't concern us, I called the waiter, paid for the drinks and was thinking of someway to show this girl 1 loved her, In mg pocket were the ear rings I had bought for her back in England, but the moment was not yet right. As we resumed our walk I spied a flower shop, made a discreet exit and purchased a dozen red roses. A cliché? Granted, but for me it was much more than mere pleasantries, but a token of my deepest devotion.

A friend of hers met us by the river and drove us part of the way into the mountains to a playing field. Another couple of friends joined us and they talked in a dialect which was totally incomprehensible to me, and anyway the conversation was not for my ears. 1 just watched the training session of the local American football team in silence, from time to time, smoking a cigarette. Boredom began to set in and some waste land beckoned me over and lead me to hill top restaurant. 1 had a beer and returned to the girl who gave the impression that my novelty value had momentarily disappeared, and that an example of her own life style was being laid before me for my approval.

Her brother collected us and we went to the village where she lived. The road was like a snake but the mountains took us gently ever upwards to the village. The village could have been anywhere, but it was what I felt was hone. It was only 25Km from the town but the country side was the definite master, and its subjects, the fields, the animals, the farm yard smells, had gained a stronghold over the community. The houses dotted the hill side in no particular order but the two churches faced each other as if about to commence battle, and on Sundays the village would divide up into their camps, and lead by the priests would worship God in their own way, but after mass the two camps would mingle together in the no-mans-land of the village.

I was shown to my room and I realised it was her room. It was a bold room, the colours simple but arranged into such a fashion, to make the room more an office, rather than a place to sleep and dream of better things than reality~ By this time the conversation had become relaxed and I felt comfortable after this five year search for my destiny.

It was now my turn to discover this treasure! I was introduced to her past in the form of photographs, images of lost youth that would remain only in the mind, Out came the stories that the letters had hidden, and it was as if I had been exposed to just a very small sample of her persona. She had kept some of my letters and I began to see how the relationship had developed from adolescent ideals to a nature devotion, Almost every little item had a history all of its own, a history that 1 was trying to, re-live. The music in the background was from the sixties and fifties and it stirred my emotions into a pathetic frenzy of sentimentality, This very special part of my emotional development was disturbed by the calling of her mother for us to eat.

Cléo the Cat

Dear Reader,
Let me introduce my cat Cléo, who as usual has taken position on my desk... She sits on my mouse pad and keeps my hand warm.

I don't know about you, but I've always found cats the most interesting creatures. They seem to suffer you as one would suffer a rather undiplomatic mother-in-law who couldn't care less about you. She does care about me especially when she wants feeding. She's a thief - when I come home from having done the shopping she will climb into the car and sniff out any meat I might have bought. I have even caught her with her head in a shopping bag eating the meat still in its packaging. She gets mad when she smells ham, and she is like a beast possessed.

As Cléo herself would say Dear Reader,
MEOW

They're fungis to be with.....

Dear reader,

I firstly want to apologise for the really corny title for this post. It is absolutely dreadful but it's all you're getting until I can think of anything else. Yes today was mushroom hunting in the Forêt de Grsala.

The thing is though, that yesterday everyone seems to have had the same idea as me today. I found only two boletus that are edible, the rest poisonous or ones I don't like eating. But maybe the idea is to be out in the forrest, to breathe in the odours of the forrest floor, the leaves, the moss, the smell of mushrooms... But you still had to be careful - the wind on Monday last had scarred the forrest and uprooted alot of trees. There were piles of logs and some of the "parcelles" were cordonned off.

I was also struck by the beauty of certain mushrooms and by the fact that they are deadly. Just this last week in the news, 10 people have died after having eaten some mushrooms... Fungis to be with indeed!

Not Tonight Dear Reader

Dear Reader,
The idea of facing another Bavarian Night with the Band is just to terrible to mention. They have a guy that plays my part -or rather I played his part before he came into the band. The idea of having a night like all the others fills me with dread. In French they have a saying "se faire chier comme un rat mort" which literraly means "making oneself shit like a dead rat." I am that "Dead Rat" who's having such a good time! And it's like that everytime I do that kind of concert. I prefer being alive and constipated than dead and relieved.. Just a personal choice.
Keep hanging in there Dear reader...
Ian

This Morning

Well, Dear Reader,
I seem have failed in my quest to avoid the house work! Yes, sad isn't it... I have not only vaccumed everywhere, I have also washed the floors. I have emptied the cat's litter - OK I still have to clean them and fill them up again, but I'm a bit peckish. Taramsolata on wholemeal bread. Wonderful.

Is it the absence of family that has brought on this cleaning spree? Am I suffering from some new disease or is it just a way of cutting through the boredom. Or could even be the desire to have a nice clean and tidy house? Am I fed up of clutter?

Whatever it is I think my wife will be happy about it. Plans for this afternoon? Too right. The dishes have to be done in the kitchen, and I have the music in the background to help me. Jazz again. I have put my jazz on the computer and hit the random button. Shit! The floors are dry - it looks as if I'm going to have to clean the litter trays. I'll finish eating first though.

Take care Dear Reader,
Ian

Last Night

Hello Dear Reader,
Last night was the first night in a long time where I was completely alone in my house. Killian and Virginie have gone to see Virginie's parents in Brittany. The day was long.

Last night then, I had a couple of friends over. Frank who said call me and talked about Strangers in the Night and a certain Dianna Krall who sang a melancholy jazz.... Django played some guitar, and we all chilled out. I phoned another friend and talked for what seemed like hours.. I even ended going out to MacDonald's! Sad isn't it. Yes, the buggers were open at 23h! The graveyard sift. I guess they're waiting for people to die from the cholesterol in the big mac, then tidy them away and serve them the next day as "Royales with cheese!" Eat your heart out Vincent - oh and clean the car too, I'll make the coffee!

But despite all this partying, I felt lonely in bed waiting for sleep to carry me off. Just had a cup of tea and two rounds of toast with raspberry jam, trying to find a way to avoid doing the dishes and changing the cats' litter! It stinks of s, s, s, something not very nice that rhymes with hit! Sometimes cats are less cute...

Tonight I have a Bavarian night where I'll be playing. People actually quite like this evening but I'm starting to get fed up of them. Maybe it's seeing people getting shitfaced and me staying completely sober, and not finding them funny. Something like that anyway. So what's left for today? Avoiding housework and waiting for tonight to arrive.
Take care Dear Reader,
Ian