Filed under: Family, La belle France Tagged: French farmhouse and land, French farmhouse and land for private sale, French farmhouse and outbuildings, French property for sale, Poitiers, south-west France ]]> http://nodamnblog.wordpress.com/2012/06/04/farmhouse-outbuildings-and-land-for-sale/feed/ 10 merewoman http://nodamnblog.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/search-terms-to-shock/ http://nodamnblog.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/search-terms-to-shock/#comments Fri, 01 Jun 2012 11:51:23 +0000 merewoman http://nodamnblog.wordpress.com/?p=7544 ]]> No doubt anybody who blogs finds strange search terms from time to time, but this laughing lady seems to have cornered the market when it comes to armpits, hair and er, magnetic chickens. Do pop along to her blog if you enjoy a laugh (or a very hairy armpit).

http://thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/robert-pattinson-with-small-hairs/

Click the image to visit Soulsby Farm – a very small farm

I couldn’t help thinking that if there were more families like this, and less bankers/entertainers/sportspeople earning being paid obscene amounts of money, the world would be a very much nicer place to live.

Have a read about their Project Garden Share - it’s good to read about people who don’t only care about themselves.

Whether ’tis wiser to expect some further rain

And let the bloody nettles live another day

Or go and drench them with a toxic shower

Beneath the glowering clouds that fill the sky

And in so doing make them wilt, and ultimately die.

Answers on a postcard please. A winner will be drawn at random and receive 600 kg. of dead nettles. Warning: May contain bindweed.

However, today it happened again. One of the little shits flew straight into my face and stung me on the cheek. There were several buzzing angrily around me, so I ran away with my tail between my legs – surprised myself by how quickly I could move.

This time I was able to get the sting. This is what it looks like:

Wonder why they are so bad-tempered? Maybe they’re fed up with the weather, just like so many people. It’s been SO erratic and unpredictable. We’ve had days when the temperature has been up in the high 20s in the morning, followed by a biting easterly wind in the afternoon. Once the sun goes down the change is dramatic – last week our neighbours said it had been down to freezing overnight.

If I wasn’t worried that they might attack the dogs, I’d go out tomorrow, whatever the weather, swathed in thick coat, boots, hat, gloves and scarf wrapped around my face. But I can’t take the risk of the dogs being stung. So what to do?

Image snitched from Daily Mail

I can’t remember ever seeing this before – Kimi with a smile. I wouldn’t have recognised him, and I’m still not convinced.

No wonder it’s known as the Merry Month of May.

La Belle France has a vast network of hiking trails through glorious countryside of hills and valleys, waterfalls and tumbling streams. On websites and in brochures you see images of tanned and joyful GR hikers striding out in groups beneath cloudless skies.  But, when you are walking a very long distance in a relatively short time you have to opt for the shortest route, and unfortunately that doesn’t always mean the most scenic. And contrary to what the tourist brochures might suggest, mid-summer in France isn’t always hot and dry. Vic has set himself a strenuous schedule that means he had to walk every day. He’s pretty fit for his years, but its still a physical challenge. And then there’s the coffee problem. Unlike England, a far smaller country where even the remotest village will usually have somewhere you can find a cup of coffee and something to eat, you can walk all day in rural France without finding anywhere, and even if you do there’s a fairly strong possibility that it will be closed for no apparent reason. And for vegetarians like Vic and myself, meal choices, if you are lucky enough to find somewhere open, can be rather restrictive.

Written in the form of a diary, Vic’s Big Walk records his journey as he trudges, scrambles, and sometimes just ambles along, undeterred by rain, roads that lead to nowhere and campsites operating on the lines of prisons. He meets friendly people (but never on the  beautiful hiking trails!) who instantly donate to his cause, others who promise to but don’t. People happy to stop and chat, and others who ignore him.

I so much enjoyed this read. His easy and chatty style, spiced with his dry humour, carries you along effortlessly, and I could totally relate to his highs and lows, triumphs and frustrations. having done something similar myself. I was SO pleased when he got lost even with the benefit of GPS!

Chapeau, Vic. A tremendous achievement.

All the proceeds from Vic’s book sales go to Pancreatic Cancer Research. If you would like donate, there’s a donation button on Vic’s blog

What was it about the Tennessee Waltz I loved so much? I really don’t know.  The lyrics don’t have any meaning for me, nor did it remind me of any place, time or person. Maybe it was just the gentle rhythm.

Some years ago we were staying in Arizona, and spent a couple of days in Tombstone.  If you haven’t been there, it doesn’t look as if much has changed since the days of Wyatt Earp and the gunfight at the OK Corral, except the roads are tarmac and there’s electric street lighting.

One Saturday, after watching a stirring re-enactment of the famous fight (fantastically acrobatic actors), we moseyed down to Big Nose Kate’s saloon for some liquid refreshment. There was a live band playing country and western music, and a load of check-shirted, blue-jeaned big-hatted and heeled-boot wearers sitting around jawing.

I asked the band if they’d play the Tennessee Waltz. The lead gave a non-comital nod, and for 15 minutes or so they kept playing and the men kept jawing, and I’d about given up hope. And then suddenly, those first few chords began, and I got the shivers. Because all the check-shirts stood up – all tall, slender, weather-beaten, and they took their wives – shorter and plumper, in print frocks, and began to waltz. Those big men danced so gracefully and romantically, in that historic saloon, on that sweltering Saturday afternoon, in Tombstone, Arizona.

Now, every time I hear that track, it takes me back to a place, a time, and a few people dancing.  It’s a magical memory.

You might enjoy these two websites – have a look. Tombstone is a really fun and interesting place to visit.

Big Nose Kate’s

Tombstone

Related articles

• Tombstone, Arizona (seattlepi.com)
• Watching Tombstone in Tombstone (jasonstravels.com)

So very pleased to see Williams back on form, and a tremendous maiden win for Pastor Maldonado. Great race from Alonso and Raikkonen, and Hamilton majestically carving his way from the back of the field to finish eighth.

The thing that leaves me scratching my head is the inequality in the way justice is administered by the stewards.

One driver, through no fault of his own, is left a litre short on fuel at the end of a sensational pole. He’s relegated to the very back of the field. So a massive punishment for an innocent driver.

Another driver recklessly smashes into the back of another car, complaining that it shouldn’t have been in his way, and gets a 5-place grid penalty for the next race. A tap on the wrist for a dangerous driver.

Wrong, and rather distasteful IMHO.

Lewis Hamilton is a role model when it comes to dealing with setbacks graciously and with dignity. There are others who could learn from him. Yes, you know who I’m talking about.

Related articles

• Historic victory for Pastor Maldonado at Spanish GP (canada.com)