If you could see what I can see

OK, I’m going to come clean. I can’t stand it anymore. I’ve had enough. It’s just too bloody awful. Day after day exactly the same thing over and over again. Dreary and dull. The unending monotony - it’s driving me insane. If I have to endure anymore of this I think I will literally go stark-raving mad. I need more than this – I need something interesting, challenging, inspirational. It’s just empty, mundane and soul-destroying.

But that’s quite enough about French radio.

Apparently, pop music is Phil Collins and Genesis, Simply Red, Elton John, Sting, Dire Straits and U2. I have been listening to Radio Sud in an attempt to subliminally pick up bits of French but this playlist of MOR music is just the pits. I have become trapped in a continuous loop of late 80’s pop dreariness. They play better music in Asda. Make it stop! I’ve put on Scout Niblett, turned up the volume and instantly feel a million times better.

Well the damp weather seems to have set in for a bit, and the temperature has taken a turn in the direction of down. At the moment this is a bit of a problem because I can’t get the central heating to work, despite desperately pressing buttons, turning knobs and shouting ‘Why don’t you work you bastard!’ Consequently, I am writing this wearing nearly all the clothes I have which makes me look like an over-inflated Michelin Man. Can’t quite see my breath yet but I’m keeping an eye out for it.

After a morning’s hard slog at the laptop, I set off to L’Eclerc with Michael to buy a gas cylinder and some salad. Oh and some champagne for the imminent arrival of a visitor who is partial to a drop of the effervescent stuff according to local records. Back home to light the gas fire and…doh, wrong connector. Michael very kindly went off to find the right one and I made some soup to warm the cockles. He came back and we made fire. I can feel my toes once more!

Here’s a funny thing. The person living in the house opposite has stuck a little piece of notepaper up in her upstairs window which is opposite to my bedroom. I can only just make out what it says in French, but I think a rough translation is ‘This is a window too!’ What does that mean? If it means that she can see in as well as me seeing out, then she must be spending her time manically peering at me through my nets. How embarrassing! Oh what the hell. I’ve got nothing to hide and she shouldn’t be looking. At her age too! How shame-making.

More writing until evening then I took a stroll over to L’Enfance de Lard. The restaurant was in full swing and the kitchen was going like the clappers. Apart from mixing the occasional (ahem) drink I was neither use nor ornament so I came home for me tea. Later on I donated the champagne bought earlier to the restaurant as they were having a run on it. Ain’t that just too bad!