I Don't Want A Pickle.....

I thought it time to mow the grass again yesterday. My initial assessment of the temps reaching about 26 degrees was, if anything, a tad conservative. Or it certainly felt that uncomfortably, sweaty way by the time I finished, after a solid hour and a half of being dragged around by the temperamental mower thingy. Just to be flash, I also dug out J's Hoe - an implement that I happily know little about and view as being her own, special, personal property, generally speaking.  I set about the Veg beds.....and let me confess right now, 'tis bloody hard going - especially under the remorseless assault of the sun. Still, even if I say it myself, it looks a bit better. Just hope it all survives my attack.

One of the Chooks has found a way out of its patch. Damned if I know how it's doing it, though. It visited me a couple of times yesterday during the afternoon, before allowing me to pick it up and drop her back in with her buddy, who is clearly agitated to be left alone.  I had to give the pair of them a talking to yesterday evening, cos they gave me only one egg.  Given the number of eggs we have following my UK visit, this is probably not too great a worry, but it will be nice to get back to the status quo with two a day.

I had been thinking of that old favourite, Egg Curry, as a suitable vehicle for the disposal of the mountainous numbers of eggs but a visitor to the blog (http://www.thebarefootcrofter.com/), suggested Tortillas as a suitable substitute, so, as I had some fresh prawns around, I took her advice and made myself a Prawn Tortilla; and most enjoyable it was too, despite being made by me! (Thanks, Jacqui). Only problem is I don't have a pan big enough for twenty eggs, so I made do with only four!

I also went off to the local town in search of milk from the machine-thingy. To my surprise, it was a public holiday yesterday here in La Belle France: everything was closed down - even the boulangers!  I had no change so thought I'd have a quick drink in a local bar, as the milk machine thingy only takes cash.  Luckily, however, the bars were also closed, it being Ascension, apparently! (Worryingly, perhaps, my birthday/ three score years falls on Pentecote! So no dining out, it seems).

 I got some change elsewhere and having bought me milk headed back home, where I was pulled in by a couple of motor-cycling Gendarmes who insisted that I blow in their daft wee gizmo.  All clear, they checked the car briefly, checked my licence and waved me off with a look of disappointment and puzzlement about the UK licence and the Swedish-plated voiture!:

The countryside around here is looking lovely, albeit a bit dry, right now. 

 Charlie is glad to be back home with Jack and I, though from the way he slouched off in search of tucker yesterday afternoon, you'd be hard pushed to think it:

He returned fairly soon afterwards with a morsel that he dispatched swiftly for a (welcome) change:

These meeces sure don't last long when Charlie's feeling peckish!