Time to Get My Chopper Out

My French neighbour (Mr LeBlanc) with whom I have this on/off relationship came over to me zee other day (French accent please) and started a conversation. Now we haven’t spoken for months because of some problem he ad with me and it was so trivial I’ve long since forgotten zee issue which caused it but I was oooh la laaa’d to say the least. This is because I had a bit of a run-in with our mutual neighbour (eee’s also French) which was the subject of a blog a few months ago and you know what these Frenchies are like – thick as thieves – so I’d assumed they would have spoken about the mad Eeeenglishman down ze hill and had jointly agreed to totally ignore me at any opportunity.

Anyway, whenever he starts a conversation there is usually some alterior motive. This time it was about my chainsaw which I was using to cut logs when he wandered over. He doesn’t speak any Eeenglish so he usually asks for the name of the thing he wants to talk about and then we’re off. His French and my Franglais. The problem started when he asked what a traconneuse (chainsaw) was called in English and I said it was a chopper ! Now at this point you need to accept my translation of his French and try and work out what someone would think if they just overheard the conversation.

Neighbour – ‘that eeez a very good chopper you ave’.

Me – ‘yes – I’ve had it quite a while’.

Neighbour – ‘what colour eeez eeet – eeet looks yellowish’?

Me – ‘yeah – it started off yellow but has gone a bit brownish’.

Neighbour – ‘eeez that because you’re using eeet so much’?

Me – ‘yeah – I’m using it every day at the moment. My wife hates it cause it makes me all smelly’.

Neighbour – ‘would you recommend your chopper’?

Me – ‘absolutely – I’ve never had any problems with it. Occasionally I have to open it up and smear some oil on it and take out some wood chippings but apart from that it’s been great’.

Neighbour – ‘so eeet doesn’t need much looking after’?

Me – ‘No. Not at all. I get it sharpened about twice a year and that’s it’.

Neighbour – ‘But you must’ve had some problems surely’?

Me – ‘Well, actually yes. The safety device broke a few years ago so I’ve no protection if my chopper gets caught up in something knotty’

Neighbour – ‘Does eeeet give off a lot of smoke when you’re using your chopper’?

Me – ‘A bit. It depends on the lubrication you use. I make sure I use special chopper oil. It’s a bit more expensive but it’s better in the long run’.

Neighbour – ‘That eees very interesting. Eeeez there anything you would change about your chopper’?

Me -  ‘Yes. I’d definitely get a bigger one. My chopper is 38cm long and I think another 7cm would be better. In fact I would recommend getting the biggest chopper you can lift’.

Neighbour – ‘Ah zank you very much my friend. I have often wanted to ask you about your chopper. Eeeez there any way I could try your chopper for myself’?

Me – ‘Well I’m taking it round to my neighbour’s house this weekend cause she phoned Julie and asked if she could send Thomas round with his chopper so I’m afraid it is going to be used constantly until next week’.

Neighbour – ‘Well mon ami. Zank you for zee information. I look forward to trying your chopper next week. Will you put some of your special lubrication oil on eeeet before you bring eeet round’?

Me – ‘Of course Monsieur. Pas problem.

Neighbour – ‘Bon apres-midi’.

Me – ‘And a good afternoon to you too Mr LeBlanc’.

 

Plague of Flies

Guy and I sat down last night and watched the film, ‘The Mummy’. I’d seen it before but couldn’t remember much about it. In one scene the Mummy who is wreaking death and destruction all around opens his mouth and a huge swarm of flies comes out. It looked horrific and then I remembered………

In my late teens I used to go to a football match every week. Away games were great with each town having some sort of attraction. Edinburgh speaks for itself. Kilmarnock was a nice little place to visit and St Johnstone, who played in Perth had the best bridies in the land. A bridie is the Scottish equivalent of a Cornish pastie. Motherwell, I’m afraid had absolutely nothing going for it !

And then there were the so-called 'European' games, Leeds and Newcastle. Usually we went to these away games on a supporters bus but frequently they were full and the regulars at the pub had first refusal so being 17 and not being a regular at the pub I had to cadge a lift in someone's car.

For the Newcastle game, my cousin Gordon volunteered as he had just bought a VW Beetle within weeks of passing his test. It was black and scruffy but it seemed to go ok, so mid-afternoon Gordon, myself and two of his friends set off. I didn’t take much notice of the journey south and soon we were there. This was in 1968 and all I can remember, other than the fact that Newcastle beat us 2-0 to get into the final, was that it was quite a nice ground and that Newcastle had played well to beat us. The Rangers fans did their best to get arrested after Newcastle went 2-0 up but we just headed back to the car and set off back up the A68 which conveniently, along with the A72, links Glasgow with Newcastle so although it was now around 11pm and freezing cold, all we had to do was follow the road. No turning, just straight ahead for 150 miles !

We were making good progress and although it was freezing outside, the windows were up and the heater was on full blast making everybody reasonably comfortable. I was sitting in the back trying to keep Gordon’s pal’s head off my shoulder and trying my best to get into a position where I too could get some shut-eye. As I pushed my head further back onto the rear parcel shelf I heard a buzzing sound. I tried to locate the noise but as it was a Beetle which had an air-cooled engine there were always strange noises so I ignored it.

A few minutes later I realised that I wasn’t going to get to sleep as this buzzing was inside the car. I needed to find it, although in retrospect, had it been a noise from the engine there wouldn’t have been anything I could have done. Anyway, I looked around the parcel shelf to see if I could locate the source of the noise and spotted a large can in the far corner. I picked up the can and realised the buzzing was coming from inside it. Intrigued, I started to open the lid when I heard Gordon scream, ‘Don’t open that can’.

Too late. I unscrewed the lid a couple of turns and the top literally shot off and a plague of bluebottles erupted from the can. Thousands and thousands of them. The two guys who were sleeping were wakened by the screams and Gordon swerved as he tried to keep control of the car. I shouted to the guy in front to open his window but surprise, surprise it didn’t work. The car was now a mass of flying, buzzing bluebottles. They flew into your eyes, your ears and your mouth if you opened it. It was complete panic stations for about 30 seconds (it seemed like minutes) until Gordon managed to get the car to the side of the road and open his door. Out they flew into the cold night and the four of us were left quite shaken….. but not too shaken to ask Gordon why the *&!% he kept a can of bluebottles in his car.

‘Oh’, he said, ‘I wondered where that can of maggots from last week's fishing trip had gone. They must’ve turned (into flies)’.

What If …..?

Do you ever think, ‘what if I’d done that instead of that’? I do. What if I hadn’t replied to that ad for IBM ? What if I hadn’t gone to night school that night and bought some guy a couple of pints who then offered me a job? What if I’d asked the girl who was standing beside my wife-to-be to dance instead of Fiona?

I’m a great fan of that movie, Sliding Doors, with Gwyneth Paltrow and John Hannah, where the movie splits with one sub-plot showing what happens to her life when she catches a train and the other sub-plot showing what happens to her life if,  in a split second, something happens and she misses the train. One story ends in happiness, the other despair. In her case of course, something caused her to miss the train. Was it fate?

So what would have happened if  I hadn’t got the job at Chrysler (my first job after leaving school) because of a set of freak circumstances?  I might have got a better job in a bank as a stockbroker and become a hugely successful fund manager (my dream job). I might have got a much worse job. Who knows? What I do know is that all my other jobs happened because of my first job at Chrysler, so thanks to the instructors on the selection course who took my name of the final shortlist because they’d thought I’d gone home. Amazed to see me still there at the end and hugely embarrassed by their mistake, I got the final place.

And what would have happened if, when looking down from the balcony in the Queen’s Union dance hall in Glasgow, I’d asked one of the two girls who stood beside Fiona to dance instead of the girl who became my wife? I seem to recall that I made my mind up which one to ask when I actually reached the three of them in the middle of the dance floor. What route would my life have taken if Fiona had refused to dance, because in Glasgow you just keep asking until some girl accepts! 

Would I still be here, I mean alive, if I’d left Ibrox Park a few seconds before I actually did on January 2^nd 1971? If I’d left just a few seconds earlier I would have been in the middle of the stairway which became the scene of a major disaster instead of at the top of it. I survived, just, but I would most certainly be dead if I hadn’t looked for some friends to say goodbye to.

And on a happier theme, what if I had not gone over to a friend’s table at an IBM conference? I was on the way to the loo but made a detour because I saw my friend out of the corner of my eye sitting beside a gorgeous girl in a stunning black and white polka dot dress. We met up and the rest is history so they say.

Some people say you should never look back. Your life has taken the path which was chosen for you and nothing would have changed it. Bollocks ! I can think of a hundred situations which would have changed my life significantly if I’d simply made a different split-second decision or had been in a slightly different place at a slightly different time.

What a Difference a Week Can Make

This time last week we had to have a fan in the bedroom at night because of the oppressive heat. I was having to water the garden constantly and on Saturday afternoon Ashley, my BT mate and I sat and watched the airborne fire fighters put out a forest fire across the valley caused by the tinderbox conditions. The pool was a lovely 26-27 degrees and the night skies were crystal clear. Seven days later we’ve had a downpour of biblical proportions, the heat has been replaced by a pleasant daytime temperature with cool evenings and Shadow has started sleeping in his bed again. The pool has dropped to a refreshing 24 degrees and the night sky glows in the west, providing a magical kaleidascope of colours as it heads off over the hills behind Gourdon. The last few days have seen the clouds start to gather in the valley and we get up in the morning thinking we are in the Himalayas (see photo).

What does this mean ? It means that autumn is around the corner or it could even have arrived already. My two favourite seasons down here are autumn and spring. I don’t actually think we have a Winter. We get some cold, wet days, maybe two days of snow if we’re unlucky but on the whole, my view is we go from autumn straight into spring.

Autumn means several things in our household. Firstly, the kids go back to school (yippee) which means I can watch Desperate Housewives in the afternoon without battling with Kitty who invariably wants to watch some American trash. Oops – just realised – Desperate Housewives is American trash ! The garden needs less watering and I have to start getting logs collected for the fire which, this year should not be too onerous as I cut down some large trees last winter and all I have to do now is cut them to length and get them up the hill.  Autumn also means that the patio doors are not open 24 hours a day like they are in summer so wandering about the house is not so simple and we actually have to put lights on in the evenings which we don’t  normally do during the summer months. It means that the roads start to empty of those maddeningly frustrating tourist cars who travel at 20 km/hour and then stop in the middle of the road to (a) take pictures and (b) work out whether to park in the village centre or the car park at the school which requires a bit of a walk. It means that I can have lunch in the Midi without having to be there at 11.30am so that I can get a table. It means that I can get my Levis out again and ride on my scooter without thinking that I am travelling through a giant sauna.

I suppose some people reading this might think I am a bit ungrateful for the summer climate we benefit from, especially those poor souls in the UK whose weather appears to be getting worse and more unpredictable as each year passes. I am not – it’s just that life here has to adjust with the seasons. It’s virtually impossible to do any gardening from June until September because of the heat and the poor animals just loll around, totally lethargic, trying to find the coolest place in the house. Leave food out for more than a few hours and it has an inch of mould on it and cars are unbearably hot, sometimes even when the AC is on full.

So this week I managed to get back out in the garden to find out what the heat has killed. I also noticed it was getting cool enough when riding my scooter that I may soon have to get my fleeces out and I keep having to adjust the timers on the lights so we’re not wandering about the house in darkness. It also means however that the hunters are out (I’m sure I heard some shots this morning) and this means that walks in the woods are a complete non-no. French hunters kill almost as many of their colleagues on a hunt as they do deer or boars. It means that I worry about Shadow if he disappears off on one of his occasional walks cause these idiots with guns shoot anything that moves hence the high death rate amongst chasseurs (hunters). 

So, all in all we've had a wonderful, slightly too-hot summer but we could have done with a bit more rain. Let's hope autumn is cooler and wetter. Bet you never thought you'd hear a Brit say that - eh?