My game

My game is 'Pick Up Sticks'. I have literally spent the entire day picking up and barrowing sticks to the wood store. Ask me how many barrow loads. Ten. I fashioned barrow extensions up the sides (with long sticks) so that I could stack much more than the barrow normally permits. That made me feel quite proud and rural. I imagined the ghost of Monsieur Geneix looking on proudly. Why were there so many sticks? Well, we realised that we only had a brief period in which to prune the apple trees before it became frowned upon. I read up on how to do it correctly and set about instructing Kevin where to lop with his chain saw. Kevin can lop. We had the hazard of the phone line to avoid, but through clever use of my tow rope and my mass, we averted any 'no internet' nightmares. When Kevin had finished his power-lopping, he walked away. There was builder-y type work to be done in the house, and that took priority. I was left with the sticks, and their massive host branches, which I dragged to the 'big wood for further lopping' area after detaching the sticks with my, what I call, giant secateurs. (They're probably called loppers...) Doing this for six hours was a physical challenge, akin to the squeezy pec machine at the gym. Tomorrow, I may wake up looking a little Schwarzenegger.

During my hour break, I was afforded the exquisite luxury of mowing the top lawn. It was a disappointingly miserable operation, due to the wet and wild nature of the grass. The mower kept choking, clogging and stopping, requiring vigorous re-pulling of the string thing. I persevered, however, and after a 'double mow over', a lawn-like terrain emerged.

Just down the mountain a bit from our farm, a tributary of the River Correze, itself a tributary of the marvellous River Vezere, trickles gently. But, ho! What's this? A gushing torrent of a river! Well, it has been raining. And hailing.

There's no pollution here at all. The locals tell me that this is the reason for our very mossy and lichen-y trees. But I think it makes them look unhealthy and near to death. In fact, The Royal Horticultural Society says that this is indeed the case, so who is correct? The RHS also says that the weight of the moss and lichens makes the trees more susceptible to cracking and falling; this does not make me happy, as I have to walk and drive beneath these green fuzzy beasts.

Do you remember the gravestone we found propped up against cottage no.1? It's far too heavy for any human to lift, but Kevin budged it using a metal chain and the Shogun. It stopped budging before we would have liked it to, and there it remained, mid-field, for the duration of last summer, serving as an outdoor shower base for those too dirty to enter the caravan shower. Today, however, Kevin felt it was time to try and take control of it again. Using an old, salvaged farm-y implement at first, then adopting the power of the chain and the tractor, he moved it to its eventual site, well, sort of. This is currently under debate.

Something unusual happened. I went to the service counter in our local supermarket, Super U, to ask for a store card. As expected, I was required to fill in a form (in tiny print) which nearly went so far as to ask me to list the dates of birth of my cousins. When I finished, and handed the form to the two young women behind the counter, they clapped their hands and presented me with my store card and a bottle of champagne. I'm hoping that I've simply obtained a store card, and haven't inadvertently donated everything I own to Super U. 

On reflection, I have a nagging feeling that the champagne might be my reward for entertaining them with my particular brand of the French language...