Crooked House

A country life in France

Lost and Bo(a)red

Still not locked down but it cannot be long in coming now. The planned reopening of Restaurants etc. has been set back from 20th January until “at least” mid-February. There will be a further Press Briefing this evening.

After a protracted spell of cold weather, which became so cold that Dusty appropriated my chair, with its hand-knit Colinette throw, instead of his own – and I had to find elsewhere to sit… I now have somewhere to sit again and less need to swaddle myself in six layers of clothing.

Looks comfortable, doesn’t he?

I managed a walk out around by the lake with Nell when it was really frosty and the mud was hardened sufficiently to make walking clean. It was good to stretch my legs properly. The sun was shining and there was an absence of wind and I was soon wanting to divest myself of my woolly layers despite an air temperature of six below. It was cold enough for the lake to be covered in ice, though it was quite thin by the time that we arrived there. The sun was dazzling as it reflected off the icy water so I think that even if I had been carrying a camera, I would not have got a useful shot in such awkward lighting conditions.

Yesterday, our little piece of France had warmed up significantly. I mean, surprisingly. The ground was soft and muddy and we were forecast a high of 10 degrees, It was already 8 degrees by the time that we surfaced from our bed. It was a damp day though and quite grey, so didn’t actually feel much better than when I was out in the frost with sun scenario. We kept to surfaced roads for our walk and went up past Chavanac towards the Route Nationale and were rewarded by a close encounter with three boarlets and a gratifyingly less-close encounter with mama boar. They were all clearly making good use of the newly-softened ground.

Today we have more of the same weather. I did not go out on the dog walk and have confined myself to barracks, though am regretting having done so.

Day to Day routine is getting some of us down, and some more so than others. The notion of going off in the van keeps coming up but any subsequent and sensible thought processes result in the decision that it would be a pointless exercise. But exercise… that’s what we need right now We need to be somewhere different, seeing new sights, treading new paths and working off the flab.

It is true to say that we are fast becoming bored with ourselves and our situation. We know what needs to be done about that and also that we could easily fix it and yet we seem to be spectacularly lacking in the will to actually take action. So, it’s probably fair to assess that as low-level depression setting in.

How do we plan to deal with that? Apparently by taking more glass to the bottle bank (achievement tick: good) and then going out to buy chocolate (stupid comfort carbs: bad) and come home again to make a pizza (see previous bad).

Wheel! I should unearth my wheel! But there’s no light to work by, so that wouldn’t be easy. I’ll probably continue my reading marathon. Or play stupid games on my tablet.

Speaking of stupid games… Dusty is turning into a proper beast and we have recently had to deal with a succession of bodies in varying degrees of warmth/cold. He seems to have developed a nasty technique, which must surely involve climbing trees under cover of darkness and seizing roosting birds. Great Tits seem to be his speciality.

We have been binge-watching Lost (currently into Season 3). We watch in the office (aka Back Bedroom), where we have a sofa set up in front of the computer. The other night we were watching and there was a nasty bird squawk on the soundtrack. I remarked how horrible it was and that it sounded as though it was coming from out there (I waved at the stairs). The Crooked Man said no, it was definitely on the programme. But he went downstairs to look and found Dusty under the staircase with a Great Tit… now silent. When we sat down to the telly again, there was an absence of bird – so I rest my case. I won’t forget the awful noise that it made whilst Dusty was terrorising it. A couple of mornings later, when the Crooked Man got up, he found mayhem in the sitting room. A live one must have made a bid for freedom before final dispatch. Lamps and candles were knocked over and scattered, and feathers were beneath the dining table. Happily the drum kit escaped injury.

Of all the cats that I have shared my life with, I have never had one of them even come close to being such an indiscriminate killer as Dusty. A few that I might have labelled “a good hunter” but one that killed for sport as he seems to? never.

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