I remember when it was the TV that told us the “truth” not the interweb. Back then, before superfoods, probiotics and faster broadband; Marlboro promised to make men into real men, albeit apparently as characters from Brokeback mountain….( cowboys will never be the same…) real men that is with black tar-filled lungs and lives truncated by the rot of cancer but they didn’t mention that because I am sure they thought it only affected beagles. Adverts even promised to keep my nose wet and fur glossy.
But I have always been puzzled why adverts for razors always show men shaving their face downwards. I’ve tried and it doesn’t work, it just flattens the fur (perhaps its all that winalot/good o). Google talk about shaving “against the grain” so perhaps I should look for a crosscut blade.
This fortnight in France has been fairly quiet. Although it is fête season. We had the Fête des Ânes (donkeys) last blog I think, I missed the Fête des Pommes et Porc (apples and pork) but this last weekend was La journée des châtaignes (day of the chestnuts… not as spine tingling as day of the dead but as French as day of the jackal without the guns, well even actually, its hunting season and wild boar like chestnuts, so… with the guns).This festival is at the peak of the chestnut harvest; though our neighbour with his 8 hectares of chestnut trees seems late and has only just started harvesting… albeit starting every morning at about 6am, that chestnut harvester sounds like a tank (it wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Somme either, but I guess, with fewer chestnuts).
Anyway its one of the last fêtes of the year (until les fêtes de noël of course). Its packed with hundreds of stalls, many of which sell chestnuts, raw, blanched, peeled, packed, bottled and even in sausages. There also a stall selling Peruvian hats and pan pipe cds as well as Peruvians playing their pipes too (I suspect there’s a bit of miming going on, but I haven’t caught them out yet, still there’s only so much one can stand). Nougat stands (yes some with chestnuts), fudge (no chestnut fudge, shock horror). One of our photo club loves the apple beignet – more or less an apple doughnut but bigger, flatter and oilier.
Our repointing is progressing, slowly. I have a website to do so the weekdays are not spent outside, though Delia was out one morning despite (or perhaps because) she is very busy too. I managed a further 2 or 3 square metres yesterday and (if it stops raining I’ll brush it down in a mo. Brushing down isn’t like flicking with feather duster either, its one of the dirtiest jobs of scouring the mortar with a wire brush to remove trowel marks and clean up the stones) Ah well, better go get mucky!