One duckling down; one to go. I fail to understand how there are any wild ducks in the world at all since they seem to have no sense of self-preservation nor any inkling of how to promote their species. They wander blithely through fox-infested woodland with only a mother duck to protect them – and I guarantee that anyone who has had much contact with ducks would not choose one as a bodyguard. Imprison them in their own best interests, however, and they almost instantly escape. So we watch our duckling cavorting happily in the grass and await the day when it will be reported missing.
The elder of our geese, presumably having seen mother duck quacking over her duck-chick, has now decided to sit on her eggs and in a defiant gesture has thrown her rival’s eggs out of the nest and into the slimy green poo on the floor. This was a mistake. Since the gander has only been mating with the younger goose the senior wife and would-be parent might have a longer wait for her goslings than she has bargained for.
Today I have been for my third swim in the agricultural basin. At 18°C it is still a little on the refreshing side so I don’t do more than three or four lengths. However, I am told it is very good for the circulation and quite frankly it had better be, as it freezes all the other bits. To our astonishment it was actually Princess 1 who went in first. She moved her arms about a bit and did a very good impression of swimming up and down but unfortunately didn’t stay long enough for anyone to get a photo.
Le Comte is currently engaged in a frenzy of rendering and tiling in order to make the Theatre Garden (aka Top Hall) a pleasant theatre-type space in time for the Musical Someone to come and produce his mini-Sound of Music. So far there are about 15 people signed up and others pending - which is enough for a rousing sing-song. Whatever happens it should be fun and the theatre-garden will look amazing. My small contribution, apart from a bit of sweeping, has been bark-spreading. This is unskilled labour, of course, but the effect is impressive all the same. However, it doesn’t compare to Le Comte’s two years’ hard graft of which (for me) the balustrade has been the crowning achievement.
I am mostly still raking at the moment: raking and scattering grass seed which was purchased at a phenomenal price from the spiky-haired lady at the farm shop.
‘I’ll have one of those large bags,’ I said, pointing to the 25kg sack on sale at 42.50€. It was more than I had intended to spend but what the heck, we had a large area of boar-ploughed meadow to redeem.
She nodded amiably. ‘How many square metres have you got to cover?’
What sort of question is that, for goodness sake? How should I know?
‘Some,’ I said vaguely, spreading my arms wide.
She shrugged. ‘One hundred-and-forty-two euros-and-fifty-cents, s’il vous plait.’
‘Eh?’ I looked again at the sign. It was possible, I supposed, that the squiggle might be a ‘1’ in that cursive latin script the French are so fond of. That meant 5.70€ a kilo for grass seed! Approximately 5p a spoonful!
Well, I suddenly found the area I had to seed was considerable smaller than I had at first thought and selected le petit sac.
And while we are on the subject I couldn’t help wondering during my raking and scattering, why that hymn makes no mention of the raking element. ‘We plough the fields (and rake) and scatter...’ is how it should be sung, no question. Although admittedly it doesn’t scan quite as well. This is just another example of the Victorian tendency to romanticise the peasant lifestyle (or, la vie paysanne, as we say over here) by missing out the most back-breaking part of the job.
End notes:
Princess 2 is back from Italy having successfully negotiated the border in both directions despite having half of Mount Vesuvius illegally stashed in her pocket.
Prince Arsenal briefly escaped the deepest South West (there is the occasional train, apparently) to spend a weekend networking with important business-types on the London Eye. He was billeted chez les Crouch End Vegetariens – where else? It is definitely the place to hang out these days.
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