tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12049250925899836472023-11-15T22:11:48.600-08:00Writer in FranceAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-51832261190926441272017-05-03T06:36:00.002-07:002017-05-03T07:43:37.758-07:00The Fictional Psychopath <h2 style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Fictional Psychopath </span></span></span></h2>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">an analysis of the serial killer Clive Philip Matteson</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">featured in
West Quarry Farm</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpfm8eMqPk5ujVeNg6hxJVrmGkLkDk5fP18PkWMcYgcsPOl5lPBmei79aDc1jNV5SrnuXPr1yb2ErlEyYlxMlQL_tBa7_XBk_ksUzTOf6YwJ_vkNsFxINEKwQ3A_6Ik_fnfVigWMr9Iw7c/s1600/Dali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpfm8eMqPk5ujVeNg6hxJVrmGkLkDk5fP18PkWMcYgcsPOl5lPBmei79aDc1jNV5SrnuXPr1yb2ErlEyYlxMlQL_tBa7_XBk_ksUzTOf6YwJ_vkNsFxINEKwQ3A_6Ik_fnfVigWMr9Iw7c/s320/Dali.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> While </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2cm;">being interviewed about my latest novel, West Quarry Farm,</span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2cm;"> the interviewer asked if my antagonist Clive Philip Matteson (Phil)
would rate high on the psychopathic scale.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While
I was aware of the criteria used to class someone as having an
Antisocial Personality Disorder, I hadn't actually considered putting
Phil Matterson's character to the test until now. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Disclaimer: I am
an author of fiction. I don't profess to be an expert on
psychological disorders - James Sillwood) </span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/West-Quarry-Farm-Dont-stray-ebook/dp/B01MQJZIQS/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank">West Quarry Farm</a> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Without
giving away any spoilers, Phil, the antagonist of the story, is a
serial killer on the loose in the southern counties of the UK. He
meets Rebecca, an unsuspecting young wife and mother who is taken in
by his charms. Meanwhile, Melanie Williams, a woman who has been
tracking Phil for years, has located him in her home town of
Brighton. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
story focuses on the points of view of these three characters. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
discover how Phil would score on the psychopathic scale I have taken
the twenty personality traits which the psychologist <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_D._Hare" target="_blank">Robert </a></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_D._Hare" target="_blank">Hare</a> outlines in
his <a href="http://www.decision-making-confidence.com/hare-psychopathy-checklist.html" target="_blank">Psychopathy Checklist</a> and compared them to Phil's thoughts and </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">actions
in the story. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">1.
GLIB and SUPERFICIAL CHARM </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
the moment Phil first meets Rebecca we see how he lays on the charm
to get her on his side: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He
gave her a knowing smile; pale blue eyes locked on to her gaze. With
the slightest effort, his shoulder floated from its resting position
[against the porch] and he extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Phil.”</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">2.
GRANDIOSE SELF-WORTH </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
are many instances where Phil gives us an insight into his superior
knowledge of all subjects. Here is one example: </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
man, Phil, was standing next to the bookcase reading the cover of La
Dolce Vita. He looked up. The lines at the corners of his eyes
creased as he smiled. “This yours?” He held up the DVD. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Yes.
My favourite. But it's scratched, so I haven’t been able to watch
it for a . . . ” </i></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> “<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>You
ever seen Fellini’s version of Casanova?” </i></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Yes,
I used to have a copy but I think it must have got lost in the move.”
</i></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Cool.
Great direction, but don’t you think the scenes were a bit
fragmented? Kind of distracted you away from the plot?” </i></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>His
words flowed like a gentle river. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">3.
SEEK STIMULATION or PRONE TO BOREDOM </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phil
is a drug dealer and takes risks with this activity. </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
are a number of occasions when Phil is shown to be driving recklessly
and takes satisfaction from the knowledge that his passenger is
scared by his action. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">4.
PATHOLOGICAL LYING </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apart
from his car scam, Phil's ability to tell lies is second nature. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
need of a favour, he phones an ex girlfriend, Cassandra, after
ignoring her for several weeks: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"You
promised you'd call me after seven days," she continued. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"But
didn't you get my letter?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"What
bloody letter?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"From
New York." </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"What
the hell are you talking about?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
explained that only two days after they last met he had to fly over
to the States to do a promotional tour and had only just returned
today. "I only just got in at Heathrow this morning. You're the
first person I've contacted since I got here." </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He
explained that the letter he wrote was asking if she would come over
and join him in New York. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"I
don't believe you. If that's true you would have written again. Or
phoned me?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>After
that, Cassandra hung up. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
came to the conclusion that he must have caught her at a bad time. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
here Phil tries to suggest he has gone out of his way to buy Rebecca
a special gift to make amends: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He
turned and gave her a big smile. In his hand was a DVD of La Dolce
Vita, "Searched everywhere for it. I managed to find it in a
little second-hand bookshop in Maidstone." He reached out to
pass it over. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Rebecca
refused to take it. "You didn't listen to a word I said on the
phone this morning, did you?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Later)
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>She
picked up the DVD which he'd left on the table, opened the case only
to find there was no disc inside. On the cover was written "Property
of Susan Matteson" [Phil's mother] </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">5.
CONNING AND MANIPULATIVENESS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phil
is conning potential buyers out of a deposit for his father's car
which is not his to sell. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of
course, he also has a way of manipulating his victims. Not
wishing to give away any spoilers, I will not relate them here. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">6.
LACK OF REMORSE OR GUILT </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apart
from demonstrating a lack of remorse in torturing his victims, Phil,
when recalling an earlier abduction, goes a stage further by finding
the whole episode amusing: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He
drained the last of his coffee and tried to remember the girl's name.
That's it! Anouk. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>An
idea came into his head: Anouk on the hook. Why hadn't he thought of
that before? The picture of her suspended from the gambrel in the
curing room set him off. He doubled up with laughter. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
remaining customers turned away as Phil headed towards the door. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Anouk
on the hook!” he bellowed as he stepped out into the street. </i></span></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">7.
SHALLOW AFFECT </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phil
appears to be helping a young and distressed girl at a coach stop on the M25, but he has
another plan on his mind: </span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">He
had been parked right at the back, near the coach area (no CCTV
there). He'd been watching her for about five minutes; the same girl
he'd seen at the drinks machine in </span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">the
cafeteria</span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">.
She was distraught, pacing up and down as if she was lost. He got
out, walked around the lot and strolled back towards his car. For a
moment, he didn't think she'd noticed him. He was passing by when she
stopped him and asked if this was the right place for the National
Express. The rest was easy. It seemed the coach had gone off without
her (thoughtless bastards!) They had her suitcase on board. Her
friend was meeting her in Brighton. "Did you call her to let her
know you'll be late?" (He had to be sure). "No. She's at
work and her mobile's switched off " (What a stroke of luck!).
"Where is the next scheduled stop?" He pretended to share
her concern. She checked her ticket "Somewhere called Crawley".
"Tell you what, I'm going to Horsham," he lied. "I
could give you a lift as far as Crawley, if you like?" (Big
gallant smile). “But I'm picking my Mum up on the way.” For a
moment, the girl hesitated. "We'll have to get a move on if
we're going to catch up with your coach." (Good thinking Phil –
she fell for it). The rest was easy. A race down the M23 (she
gripping her seat all the way). He made up a story of having to dress
the burn on his leg which was becoming painful and said he'd have to
pull over into a lay-by (She seemed relieved). He opened the glove
compartment, took out the bottle and cotton wad (she even watched him
do it – what a laugh!) </span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">She
struggled for a bit, but not for too long. </span></i></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">8.
CALLOUSNESS and LACK OF EMPATHY </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here
are Phil and Rebecca studying a column in a newspaper </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
picked up a newspaper from the next table and read the headline on
the front page, Pile-up on the A 30 – kills 5. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Who
was responsible for that?” Phil pointed to the photograph which
showed a hysterical mother watching her two children being carried
away on stretchers. </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>That’s
awful isn’t it.” Becky was leaning over his shoulder. (Becky,
that’s it; stupid name for anyone over the age of twelve). </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Yeah,
they could have asked her to stand more to the left,” Phil said.
“Then they would get a much better shot of the bodies – people
love to see that kind of thing.” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">9.
PARASITIC LIFESTYLE </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the age of twenty-seven Phil is unemployed and lives rent-free in the
comfortable modernised extension of his parent's home. Here he is in
his spacious loft conversion: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He'd
been working on the video for less than ten minutes when a voice
called from below the stairwell. “Can I come up for a minute?” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Shit!
What’s she after? He paused the film and closed the viewing screen.
“Yeah, sure.” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>A
letter for you.” His mother didn’t venture any further than the
top tread of the stairs. She held out a white A4 envelope. “I just
wanted to ask you," she hesitated. "You’re not in any
trouble are you?” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>No."
Phil gave her a convincing smile. "Not at all. Why?” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It’s
just that a couple of men called yesterday afternoon asking for you.”
</i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
took the envelope and sauntered over to the bed. “Did they say who
they were, or what they wanted?” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>No.
They were smartly dressed – you haven’t been up to anything?” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Anything?”
He gave his mother a puzzled look. </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Mrs
Matteson looked down and picked at the hem of her sweater. “You
know what I mean.” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
cocked his head to one side. “No, I can’t say I know what you
mean." </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>His
mother shook her head. She took a couple of steps down and turned to
face her son. “Never mind what your father says, if you do leave
home again, you will let me know before you go next time?” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
was now laying back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling beams.
“Don’t worry, Mum. I’m not planning on going anywhere.” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>She
glanced towards the dining room below. “Your father says he’ll
need the car on Saturday, so could you please clean it before then?”
</i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
didn’t take his eyes away from the ceiling. He just smiled. “Okay,
sure.” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>With
that, Mrs Matteson left The Stables and returned to the main house. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">10.
POOR BEHAVIORAL CONTROLS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although
controlled, Phil shows unpredictable outbursts of aggression: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>No
sooner was the camcorder attached to the tripod, one leg began to
retract. Phil leapt forward and stopped it crashing to the floor. He
detached the camera, placed it carefully on the table and inspected
the tripod. A screw was missing – impossible to replace. Holding
the contraption between his finger and thumb, he, like the Kung-Fu
hero of his childhood, kicked out with the sole of his bare foot
sending it skidding across the floor to crash against the far wall of
the room. “Bitch!” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here
is another situation. An unruly customer in a bar has been making
abusive remarks to Phil and Rebecca. Unfortunately for the customer,
he has chosen the wrong target: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Phil
marched into the men's toilet and checked both cubicles were vacant.
The man in Lycra was propping himself up with one hand against the
wall as he relieved himself onto the urinal. With bleary eyes, he
turned and watched Phil take the mop and jam the pole against the
door handle. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>What
the fuck’s going –” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>But
the man wasn’t allowed to finish. In one swift movement, he was
pulled away from the wall; the stream of urine soaking the front of
his trousers as he desperately tried to regain his balance. But it
was no use. With flaying arms, his head was thrown forward with such
force that his nose made an audible crack as it came to meet the
wall. Blood sprayed across the plain white tiles and into the metal
trough below. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
man groaned and sank to his knees. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
first boot-fall landed into the soft area just below his ribcage. He
began to howl; a sound which was abruptly blocked with a violent
thrust of the knee to his throat. Before the poor man could right
himself he was dragged into the nearest cubicle. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>You
know, I already told you. You really should learn some manners.”
Phil lifted the man from the floor and pushed his head into the bowl.
“Time to wash that foul mouth out!” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">11.
PROMISCUOUS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is a difficult one. Phil enlists the aid of women to help entice his
victims. He doesn't have sexual relationships in the "normal"
sense but, like many serial killers, gets satisfaction from torturing
his victims. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">12.
EARLY BEHAVIOR PROBLEMS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Melanie
Williams has managed to discover a few occasions when </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Matteson
had come to the attention of the police: a incident at his school
when he and two other boys had stolen a car. and another at
university when he was accused of sexual assault. There may have been
occasions in his childhood when Matteson had been displaying signs of
antisocial behaviour but these have not been reported. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">13.
LACK OF REALISTIC, LONG-TERM GOALS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phil
did not complete his degree at university. He had a short spell in
the French Foreign Legion and has since held a position as technical
assistant at a college. Mostly he has been gaining money through
criminal activities. Phil Matteson has no long-term goals. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">14.
IMPULSIVITY </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Most
of his abductions are opportunistic. Here is an example where, at the
risk of being caught, Phil attempts to pick up a potential victim in
plain daylight from a busy train station: </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
only took Phil three minutes from there to reach the top of Queens
Road. Main line stations were always a possibility, but never easy. A
girl was standing just outside the entrance – and she was alone.
There were two other people across from her, a man with a laptop bag
over his shoulder and a woman in a West Cornwall Pastry uniform. Both
were smoking. Phil moved to the side where the girl stood. She
couldn’t be more than sixteen, heavy make-up, skinny jeans. Phil
met her nervous glance with a smile. It worked. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Can
you give me a couple of quid for a coffee?” She had an accent –
Northern maybe. </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Yeah,
sure,” Phil said. “Hey listen, I’m just going to buy a paper
then something to eat in that café over there in a few minutes.”
He pointed to the right of the station exit. “Fancy joining me?” </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
girl eyed him suspiciously. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>They
do a wicked all day breakfast,” he said. </i></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Her
eyes brightened. “Okay then.” </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Right,
you wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.</span></i></span></span></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">15.
IRRESPONSIBILITY </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is shown throughout the story. Phil even makes a habit of
intentionally turning up late for appointments, if he shows up at
all. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">16.
FAILURE TO ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR OWN ACTIONS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even
after Rebecca has made it plain that she doesn't want to see him
again, Phil turns up at her home and makes out that she is the one
who wants them to continue with "the relationship": </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Armed
with a pair of pruning shears and a bin liner Rebecca, on her hands
and knees, set to work clearing the deadwood. She had just started in
the far corner when she was aware of someone behind. She turned in
time to see Phil making his way up the path. Just before he reached
the front door he turned to her and smiled. "Coming in Becky?"
</i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>What
the hell does he think he's doing! Rebecca sprang to her feet. But
too late: he was already inside. He was half way into the hall before
she caught up with him. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"Did
I say you could come in?" she demanded. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He
turned to face her. "Well, not exactly. But your front door was
open." </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Rebecca's
jaw dropped. She was so taken aback, she couldn't think what to say.
She wondered if Amy was still asleep in the next room. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"Anyway,"
Phil continued as he stepped into the lounge. "You were
complaining that you couldn't wait to see me. So, here I am." </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"What
I said was," she paused, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.
"I did not want to see you again . . . " </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>He
turned and gave her a big smile. In his hand was a DVD of La Dolce
Vita, "Searched everywhere for it. I managed to find it in a
little second-hand bookshop in Maidstone." He reached out to
pass it over. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Rebecca
refused to take it. "You didn't listen to a word I said on the
phone this morning, did you?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">17.
MANY SHORT-TERM MARITAL RELATIONSHIPS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phil
has never been married. His longest relationship with a woman only
lasted a few months. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">18.
JUVENILE DELINQUENCY </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
already stated in </span></span></span><strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">12.
EARLY BEHAVIOR PROBLEMS </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">19.
REVOCATION OF CONDITION RELEASE </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
doesn't apply as Phil has never been detained in prison. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<strong><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">20.
CRIMINAL VERSATILITY </span></span></span></span></strong>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
mentioned before, in addition to sexual assault, Phil is involved in fraud (extracting deposits for his father's car) and drug dealing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
further description of these 20 items see: <a href="http://www.decision-making-confidence.com/hare-psychopathy-checklist.html" target="_blank">Robert Hare Checklist</a> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />CONCLUSION:
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
is no surprise that, after completing a few of the self-assement
Antisocial Personality Disorder tests online, Clive Philip Matteson
rated very high on the psychopath scale. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of
course, these self-assesment tests are not to be taken as an accurate
method of determining psychopathy and, if I had the opportunity, I
would suggest Phil seek professional advice. (On second thoughts, I
would just stay well clear of him!) </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/West-Quarry-Farm-Dont-stray-ebook/dp/B01MQJZIQS/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BIQVlhvbf8x8qx4yBuwlpSBu2OZ-ri_0A_pE-H7mPOpW2DkfgI4L_AKjiVllQ4iw02eqV3u2dsEO_jmjUppNymedHoQNSKwFVwlw0igzDS7Uq6RNBmTdH-lSC8dVx3sOZ0ZhFAXll1Rw/s320/west+quarry+farm+cover+medium.png" width="124" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/West-Quarry-Farm-Dont-stray-ebook/dp/B01MQJZIQS/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.2cm;" target="_blank">WestQuarry Farm</a><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.2cm;"> is availlable in paperback and as an ebook from most
online booksellers. </span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-90831784678381026382015-06-06T22:48:00.000-07:002015-07-19T22:51:25.315-07:00Saturday 6th June: A dark horse. <div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Benjamin
was standing at the pear tree this morning, concerned that three toy
soldiers had mysteriously entangled themselves in the upper branches.
He beamed as I got the garden broom from the shed and knocked them
down (for the third time this week). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ines
phoned later, asking if I'd go round to her place to run through some
songs. I agreed as Alexander's still looking for a drummer and won't
practise until he's found one. He can be very single-minded. When I
arrived at Gavin and Ines' house I was greeted by a life size bronze
statue adopting an operatic pose which dominated the front entrance.
At first I assumed this to be a figure of Gavin until Ines appeared
and told me it was Enrico Caruso, Gavin's greatest hero. (I always
assumed Gavin's greatest hero to be himself). I followed Ines through
the black and white tiled hall and into the conservatory. It was
sunny this morning and the doors to the garden were open. Outside, on
the patio, Gavin's elderly mother was slumped in a garden chair with
an open book on her lap, her sun hat gradually sliding off her head. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
best thing about Gavin's house is his baby grand piano which takes
pride of place in the conservatory and which I always look forward
playing. I was seated at it when Ines asked if I'd noticed the new
addition to the photo collection of Gavin's performances. She pointed
to a black and white print of Gavin; a distraught expression on his
face as he lay across the body of a young woman. At the bottom of the
photo was an inscription; </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>A
scene from La Boheme with Rodalfo falling upon the lifeless body of
his lover, Mimi. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
asked Ines why she doesn't have any photo's of herself. She avoided
the subject, telling me that Gavin has been away in Munich for a few
days and is due to return this evening. It was my turn to steer away
from the subject this time, and we ran through a couple of songs;
L'eau du Mars and Quizas. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During
our break I stepped outside I admired the beautiful scented white and
pink roses. Gavin's mother, who had woken from her nap, became quite
animated when describing her old garden in Cardiff; a tiny patch of
lawn in front of her two bed terraced house. She told me how Gavin's
father had an allotment where he used to disappear, every weekend.
Gavin obviously started from very poor beginnings and I get the
impression his mother idolises him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
I went back into the conservatory, Ines handed me a letter and asked
if I would mind reading it aloud as her English is not too good. At
first I assumed it would be a business letter, but then I noticed it
was handwritten. I asked her what it was about. She seemed reluctant
to tell me. I read; </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"Dear
Gavin, It was good to see you. The boys loved their presents but were
sad after you'd left. Jake's school report was so good and Charlie's
doing well with his trumpet lessons. Hope your time in Munich goes
well. I know how busy you are, but please try to find time for us.
Any chance of a trip to Brittany?" </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
letter ended with "</span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Love
Susie.</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two
photos fluttered out from the pages; school photos of two boys. One
was about 11, the other about eight. Both bore a resemblance to
Gavin; the younger boy, more so. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ines
was standing expectantly at my side, waiting for my reaction. I was
certain she'd already read the letter a few times and this irritated
me. I was being dragged into something which I don't want to be
involved with. The letter was dated several months ago and addressed
to a hotel in Milan. I asked how she found it. She shrugged. She'd
obviously been snooping while Gavin's was away. I suggested she speak
to Gavin's mother about it. She dismissed the idea, saying the old
lady refuses to say anything on the subject, only repeating that Ines
would have to speak to Gavin. As if to prove her point, Ines took the
letter from my hand and went outside. I followed. Although she must
have overheard, Gavin's mother, book in her hand, had a fixed
expression as if she was attempting to ignore us. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
followed Ines into the kitchen where she made us drinks from a hi
tech DeLonghi coffee maker. She asked me if I thought the boys were
Gavin's sons. I told her they must be, although I couldn't tell if he
was still involved with their mother (I wondered why he hadn't told
Ines about them). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
was telling me how worried she was when we heard the front door
opening and Gavin's booming voice calling out for her. She froze as
he strode into the kitchen and, beaming at her, picked her up and
swung her around. Noticing me, he came over and shook hands, asking
how I was. He'd managed to get an earlier flight from Munich, wanting
to surprise Ines. He'd certainly done that! Still holding the letter
and photos in her hand, she thrust them in front of his face and
demanded an explanation. He hesitated for only a second before
telling her she was being silly. He admitted they were his sons and,
apart from practical arrangements to see the boys, insisted he had
nothing to do with their mother now. He laughed at Ines, scolding her
as if she were a child. She asked why he hadn't told her about them.
He said he knew it would worry her. I felt awkward standing there. I
could see Ines was ready to believe him so I made my excuses and left
(I don't think they even noticed). I said goodbye to Gavin's mother.
She nodded at me, barely glancing up from her book (I don't like
Gavin and I don't like his mother, but I do wish Ines would stand up
for herself). </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a relief to be get back to my cottage where Joao was cleaning the
windows outside the gite. I sat in my garden and he came over for a
chat. We talked about his region of the Algarve and the pretty town
of Loule where I once spent a birthday. </span></span></span><br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-57182248389694004882015-05-27T03:04:00.000-07:002015-06-27T03:04:27.710-07:00Wednesday 27th May: Stefanie's Return.<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
has just told me that several nights ago, at about 3.00 a.m, he'd
heard a noise in his house that sounded like footsteps. Going
downstairs and still half asleep, he was amazed to find Stefanie in
the kitchen. She had the fridge door open and was, literally,
stuffing herself with food. He was shocked by her appearance. Her
hair was lank and greasy, she was pale with black shadows under her
eyes, and was wearing a torn t-shirt and stained jeans. He got her to
sit down and tell him what was going on. It turned out she'd been
living in Tomas' squat with no electricity, heating or hot water.
Karl was extremely angry that she'd hitchhiked all the way from
Berlin. When asked why she couldn't pay for the train fare, she
admitted she had no money, as she'd lost her evening waitress job.
Karl wanted to ask if Tomas had anything to do with this, but
reluctant to bring up the subject of Stefanie's boyfriend, he thought
better of it. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By
half past three Karl could wait no longer, and had to ask where Tomas
was. Stefanie spent ages before admitting that he had been arrested
after the police questioned him about a break in at a pharmaceutical
research centre with thousands of Euro's worth of damage to the
factory and hundreds of rats, mice and rabbits released from their
cages.Two other boys from the squat were taken in with Tomas but
Stefanie insisted that, although she did know about it, she had
nothing to do with the break in. This was not a first offence for
Tomas and he has been sentenced to four weeks in prison as he was
unable to pay the fine imposed by the court. Tomas' parents are
wealthy bankers who could easily have paid, however, they had washed
their hands of their son, and want nothing more to do with him. Karl
did his best to comfort Stefanie, assuring her that Tomas would be
fine and would probably soon be released. He told me, however, that
he was relieved to see Stefanie return without him. </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB">She'd
done so well in her end of year exams and had been determined to
continue on in September. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since
coming back she's already found a summer job at the local kennels run
by a Dutch couple who breed Poodles and Labradoodles just outside
Languidic. Stefanie studied their website before walking to the
kennels to enquire about work. She's been there for two days and told
her dad she's really enjoying the work. Although she assured him she
has no intention of releasing any of the dogs, or causing any damage
to the property, Karl is very concerned. I pointed out that, now
she's not in touch with Tomas, she's started eating properly again
and already looks much better. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
asked me to come and look at her room. I followed him up the stairs
and into the small bright room overlooking the garden. Photos of
Tomas and Stefanie, along with pages of letters and poems were taped
all over the walls. Stefanie had made a chart of the days until Tomas
was due to be released and was religiously crossing each day off. A
threadbare jacket lay across the bed which had a damp musty odour.
Stefanie refused to wash it as it was Tomas's. As we made our way
back down into the kitchen Karl told me he was concerned about what
will happen when Tomas is released. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yesterday
was Stefanie's twentieth birthday and Karl asked if I would come over
and could I also bring Ann-Sofie? When I asked Ann Sofie, she was
very enthusiastic to come and Solange agreed she could have the time
off. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was late afternoon when we arrived. Ann-Sofie was given a guided tour
around the house and gardens and we sat down by the lake to watch
Gary the goose. Stefanie certainly seemed much happier than the last
time I saw her. She was followed everywhere by a collie dog, Bon-Bon,
who she said had followed her home from the kennels. She dismissed
Karl's concerns, saying the dog was a stray and unwanted. Ann-Sofie
and Stefanie spoke to each other in English and seemed to get on
well. She asked for a piece of paper and began sketching Bon-Bon.
Stefanie showed it to us, clearly impressed. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dinner,
cooked by Stefanie, was roast chicken with potato dumplings, red
cabbage and carrots. She'd also made a Gugelhuf; a hoop shaped cake
with a chocolate filling. She's placed twenty pink candles around and
explained that in Germany it's traditional to keep the candles
burning for as long as possible. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
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<br />
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
said she used to have a wooden birthday wreath with twelve candles,
one to be lit each year, until she reached the age of twelve. Ann
Sofie told us that in Sweden a child is brought breakfast in bed with
a piece of birthday cake; traditionally a Princess Cake, layered with
sponge and cream and topped with green marzipan. We gave Stefanie our
presents (chocolates we'd bought on the way over) and we sang Happy
Birthday in a variety of languages. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
had given Stefanie money for clothes. She asked Ann Sofie if she
would go with her to Vannes or Rennes for a day's shopping and maybe
to the cinema. They checked on her laptop and discovered a zombie
film called Maggie about a teenage girl who becomes infected in an
outbreak. Of course Ann Sofie was enthusiastic about this, telling
Stefanie all about her book. Karl and myself teased her, suggesting
it was the perfect film for her. Ann Sofie was interested in hearing
about Berlin and the university. Listening to all her questions I did
wonder if Stefanie is destined to become the next character in the
zombie book. There was no further mention of Tomas. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stefanie
borrowed her dad's van for the evening and, after they'd gone we sat
talking whilst Bon-Bon sat whimpering at the front door. Nothing
would distract her (not even the offer of food). When I left, she was
still sitting there, waiting patiently for Stefanie's return. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
haven't seen Ann Sofie today and wonder what Stefanie's told her
about Tomas. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-83679766707087352642015-05-17T04:04:00.000-07:002015-06-13T04:05:08.594-07:00Sunday 17th May: Breton Myths and Legends <div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Benjamin
and Madeleine have been particularly noisy this weekend, banging on
my door, demanding to come in. Solange was outside yesterday, weeding
the pathway when I overheard her shouting at Benjamin, ordering him
go back indoors. When she brought him over for his piano lesson
today, she told me he'd been caught drawing on the kitchen wall and
that Pieter was very annoyed with him. She left him with me, giving
him strict instructions to behave. He nodded and smiled sweetly up at
her. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
ran through Au Clair de La Lune from his music book and for the first
five minutes he concentrated. After that he started running around
the cottage, crawling along the carpet and leaping on and off the
sofa. I could see we weren't going to get anywhere so I took him back
next door. Solange said they were going out for the afternoon, as it
was her mother's 75th birthday. Ann-Sofie who in the kitchen I
invited her for dinner, saying Celine was coming and was keen to ask
her about illustrations for her book. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Celine arrived, she was holding something which she passed to me,
telling me to read it carefully. It was an envelope written with her
name and address. Inside was a formal wedding invitation, printed on
cream card with a border of roses. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
a joke, I asked if I was invited too. Celine snatched the card from
me and read it out loud. The wedding was to be held on 31st July at
St. Jean Baptiste Church at Pouy-Sur-Vannes between Adele Marchent
and Jacques Ditronc. I laughed and told Celine this was great news as
we wouldn't be bothered by Adele following us around any more. Celine
was far from happy. She insisted this was not a normal wedding
invitation, and asked me why I thought Adele would send this to her.
I couldn't see why this mattered. I admitted it was an odd thing for
Adele to send, but at least now she would be someone else's problem.
I went to the fridge, took out the bottle of wine Paul had given me
to celebrate his baby's birth and poured out two glasses. Raising my
glass I made a toast: No More Adele! But Celine wasn't having it. She
sighed and shook her head. She asked me if I recognised the man's
name. I told her I couldn't care less who he was, and couldn't
understand why she thought I should be interested. She looked at me,
clearly irritated, handed me the card and told me to read the name.
Jacques Dutronc. It meant nothing to me. I conjured up an image of a
respectable business man, solid and dependable. I felt only sympathy
for him, whoever he is. Celine was questioning me again, asking me if
I was certain I didn't recognise the name. I insisted It meant
nothing to me. She told me it was name of the actor who plays Van
Gogh in the 1992 film of the same name. I asked if she was sure and
wondered if the name could be a coincidence. But then I remembered
Adele had been keen on Van Gogh's paintings and fascinated by his
life. This all made sense. I explained this to Celine who said Adele
must be using her to send me a message. If she is, I don't know what
the message is. The whole situation is just ridiculous. Why pretend
she's getting married? She must be completely insane. Celine is very
concerned by the fact that Adele knows where she lives, but what can
we do? </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were still discussing all this when Ann-Sofie arrived. Celine asked
if she would be interested in illustrating her book, explaining that
it was all about myths and legends. Ann-Sofie was very enthusiastic
and went next door to get her sketch pad. By the time she'd returned
we'd been through another fruitless discussion about Adele and her
wedding invitation. It was a relief to change the subject. Ann-Sofie
showed Celine her sketches, including the one of Marie's twin
brothers. Celine asked if she could draw three creatures, the Nain,
the Goric and the Ankou. Ann-Sofie scribbled notes whilst Celine gave
a brief description of each of them. I remembered the Nain resemble
gargoyles and have feline claws and devil type hooves. They are dark
and small creatures with gleaming red eyes who speak with harsh
rasping voices. They haunt ancient dolmens where they dance around,
chanting the days of the weeks (except for Saturday and Sunday, which
are sacred protected days and cannot be spoken of). Ann-Sofie was
making notes and I listened to Celine's descriptions. The Goric are
dwarves who inhabit druid monuments or hide beneath ancient castles.
Every night they dance around the stones of Carnac and, if a human
interrupts them, he would be forced to join in until he dies from
exhaustion. When they're not dancing they guard hidden treasure and,
rumour has it, that a golden hoard lies beneath one of the Menhirs
of Carnac. Ankou, is a spirit, who takes the form of a skeleton and
collects the souls of the dead. He travels around Brittany in a cart
pulled by horses and wears a large black hat to hide his face. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann-Sofie
sketched as she listened to these stories, and Celine said she would
particularly like a picture of the dwarves dancing around the
Menhirs. She also asked her about the myths of Sweden. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann-Sofie
explained that trolls originated in Norse mythology, appearing in
both Sweden and Norway, as do dwarves and elves. She told us the
story of Huldra. a troll woman living in the woods. She's fair and
beautiful but has a long cow like tale which she hides when she meets
people. She's not evil, unlike Nokken, a mysterious water spirit who
resides in lakes and ponds. He's a handsome young man and talented
musician who plays his violin throughout the night and entices woman
to their deaths. Ann-Sofie is a born storyteller, and obviously loves
talking about her homeland. Soon after dinner (tomato and caramelised
onion tartin served with salad) Ann-Sofie left, as she has a test at
the language School early in the morning. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Celine
and I discussed the drawings, but it wasn't long before we returned
to the subject of Adele and the invitation. I said we should ignore
the whole incident, as she's clearly looking for a reaction. Celine
said that it's easy for me to talk and pointed out that she's the one
being targeted. She was subdued when she left. Maybe I'm dismissing
Adele's behaviour too easily. <span lang="en-GB">But I really don't
see what we can do. </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-34819843130760907972015-05-07T02:00:00.000-07:002015-06-03T02:01:18.823-07:00Thursday 7th May: Zombies<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was on the phone to Alexander when Ann-Sofie knocked on the door. She
sat and waited patiently whilst Alexander continued his diatribe
against our drummer, Michel. Apparently, he and his family had left
unexpectedly and returned to Canada. I can't say I was surprised
after what happened at the Golden Wedding party, but I do think he
could have given us a bit of notice. Needless to say, Alexander was
fuming. I noticed Ann-Sofie had brought over her latest instalment of
Midnight Hour Zombies, but Alexander was in full flow and would not
be stopped. It was another five minutes before I managed to end the
call. </span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
asked Ann-Sofie why she wasn't at language school, then she reminded
me there were no classes on Thursdays. It was also her day off from
looking after the children. Instead of having to look after them when
they return from school and kindergarten, her time was her own. She
told me her class at the language school are learning about French
food and they each have to take in an example of a Breton dessert or
cake. (No doubt everything they take in will be eaten during the
lesson). I suggested a Far Cake. Ann-Sofie was keen on the idea of a
Pommes au Tart, although I'm not sure that's specifically Breton. I
was planning to go to the supermarket near Lorient, and suggested she
come along. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann-Sofie
had brought her sketch pad, in case she spotted anything of interest
to draw. I told her we must go to Dinard, with all the lovely old
buildings, she'd have plenty to draw there. (I must remember to
mention this to Celine). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the way out I showed her my three Clematis plants, two of which are
starting to wind their way up the trellis. I've put my herbs outside
too, they're doing well, even the Basil which survived the rain over
the past few days. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
supermarket was packed as usual; irritating electronic music playing
over the speakers, forcing shoppers to shout across the aisles. While
I was trying to decide what to have for dinner, I noticed Ann-Sofie
sketching. She was drawing a middle aged woman in a a bright red hat
and a matching dress who was standing by the cakes and desserts in
the patisserie section. I couldn't see why she was of any particular
interest. Ann-Sofie came over and joined me. She was looking for
illustrations of the zombies in her novel, and this woman fitted one
of the descriptions perfectly (Poor thing! If only she knew!) Looking
at the sketch, I was again taken with Ann-Sofie's drawing -- so much
better than her writing, although I don't want to discourage her with
either. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were loading the food into the car (including the Tarte Aux Pommes)
when Ann-Sofie nudged me, pointing off to the left. Standing not far
from us, loading their dirty white van with crates of lager, were
Marie and the Twins. I explained that they were neighbours and told
her about Hilda, the magic cow. She seemed to be fascinated by the
twins, with their usual blue overalls with matching caps. They both
sported pencil moustaches (a fashion statement for the summer,
perhaps?) and Marie's outfit was as strange as ever. She was wearing
a yellow flared trouser suit, blue socks and bright blue sandals with
high heels. I can't imagine where she gets these clothes from.
Ann-Sofie insisted on being introduced to the twins. I warned her
they weren't exactly friendly, but she wouldn't listen and had
already started to approach them. I decided I'd better go over and
join her. Marie, yellow headscarf fluttering in the breeze, turned
and glared at us over her dark shades. When I asked after Jean-Luc
she started blurting out something about the lottery and a system.
She spoke so fast it was difficult to follow. The twins didn't appear
to notice us and continued loading the van. Ann-Sofie went over to
them and held out her hand. She introduced herself halting French and
said she would like to draw them. They stood side by side and stared
at her with expressionless eyes, but they said nothing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
soon as Marie noticed she began to shake her head and called out
"Non, non, non!" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several
people stopped to watch as the mad woman dressed in yellow pointed in
the general direction of our car and urged us to leave them alone. I
suggested Ann-Sofie to follow me as I marched off. What was their
problem? </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
stopped off in Languidic as Ann-Sofie was keen to sketch the church.
I left her to it and said she'd find me in the café bar. Whilst I
was chatting to Andre, the proprietor, the door swung open and in
marched Marie and the twins. They didn't seem the type to frequent
bars, but then, without having to ask Andre nodded at Marie and went
over to the coffee machine. I watched as he served them three
coffees. No words were spoken. There were only a few other customers
in the bar and they were all amused by Marie and the twins. I was
thinking about Jean Luc and his mad family when Ann-Sofie came in and
sat beside me. She showed me her sketch, which was very good. I asked
if she'd thought about applying to Art College, but she seems unsure.
It wasn't long before she spotted the twins and with the sketch pad
on her lap, she started to draw them. I hoped they wouldn't notice.
Not that they'd say anything, but Marie certainly would. Thankfully
they didn't stay long and left without speaking to anyone. Once
they'd gone Andre looked over and raised his eyes. When he came over
to clear our table we told him what had happened at the supermarket.
He smiled and told us that, about a month ago, a Psychology Professor
from Paris had been staying nearby with his family. He came into the
café quite often and spotted Marie and the twins on several
occasions. He tried to speak to them, not appearing to be bothered by
Marie's rudeness. Andre was concerned and he warned the Professor
about them. The Professor explained that he had studied twins for
many years and was fascinated by the idea of telepathic connections
between them. Andre told us that Marie had become angry and told the
Professor to leave them alone. Andre had heard that the Professor had
been up to Marie's farm several times to try and make a connection
with them. He had also heard from the owner of the gite where the
Professor was staying, that his tyres had been slashed and a note
left on his windscreen advising him to leave. The note had been badly
spelt, made no sense and was obviously written by Marie. The local
police were informed but said they could do nothing. The whole
incident became a source of much amusement in the village. The
unfortunate Professor and his family returned to Paris as soon as
their tyres had been replaced (with the usual at extra charges
reserved for Parisians). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before
we left the café, I asked Andre if he'd heard from Jean Luc
recently. He'd seen him a few days ago and he mentioned he was
working on a new system designed to predict winning lottery numbers
(so Marie hadn't been lying about that). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at the cottage, Ann-Sofie rushed next door, saying she'd be back
later. I'd finished dinner and was watering my garden when she
returned. She held open her sketch pad and showed me her finished
work. I had to laugh. The twins, wearing their blue overalls and blue
caps, had been transformed into a pair of grotesque zombies with
bloodshot eyes and blood dripping from their mouths. With a backdrop
of dark and cloudy skies, they were staggering through a deserted
country field. Ann-Sofie explained that the twins were now characters
in her novel, two of the most feared and dangerous zombies. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-81463754654788299292015-04-26T07:04:00.000-07:002015-05-13T07:41:20.765-07:00Sunday 26th April: 50eme Anniversaire de Marriage<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">Last
night's gig was to celebrate Michel's parents-in- law Golden Wedding
Anniversary. At Alexander's suggestion, the party was held at Andre's
restaurant in Carnac. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
place was decorated with red and yellow balloons and banners strung
across the ceiling proclaiming <i>Felicitations Bernard et Yvette</i>
and <i>Heureux 50eme Anniversaire de Marriage</i>. Each table held a
vase of red and yellow tulips. Somebody had gone to a great deal of
trouble. Alexander and Kieron were already setting up. Kieron was in
a cheerful mood, entertaining us with stories about his crazy
customers. Michel arrived a few minutes later and wanted to show me
the table in the centre of the room set up with a disply of framed
photographs of his parents in law on their wedding day with several
of their daughter, Antoinette, and a couple of their little
granddaughter, but none with Michel. I had the feeling he wanted me
to comment on this, but I said nothing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
guests were taking their seats as Ines turned up with Gavin. They'd
been asked to sing a duet; the theme tune from the 1964 film <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6hI5g15aQ" target="_blank">LesParapluies de Cherbourg</a></i> by Michel Legrand (Bernard and Yvette's
favourite song). They'd been practising and were looking forward to
performing as it. Gavin was in his usual form; hard to ignore his
fake laughter as he circulated amongst the guests, dominating their
conversations. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
guests stood and applauded when Bernard and Yvette made their
entrance with Antoinette. The room soon fell silent as Ines and Gavin
began their duet. They performed the beautiful love song so well
(obviously been rehearsing together). Bernard and Yvette were
beaming; they looked so pleased. When the song came to an end the
applause was deafening. Gavin bowed, kissed Ines, and then announced
in French that he had an important announcement to make. Clasping
Ines's hand, he announced in his booming voice that a date had been
set in September for their wedding. This drew further applause from
the guests. Gavin gave several more of his theatrical bows, paused to
congratulate Michel's parents in law, then, leaving Ines on the
stage, made a grand exit through the front doors. I wondered where he
was off to: there's something so fake about him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
soon as waiters started serving we began our first piece, <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWfsp8kwJto" target="_blank">LesFeuilles Mortes</a></i> as sung by Yves Montand; another request from
Bernard and Yvette, but there was so much chatter at the tables I'm
not sure if anyone noticed. Our next piece was <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPRESlT4Ccg" target="_blank">Besame Mucho</a></i> by
Consuelo Velasquez. Ines was singing well, probably because she was
in a happy mood. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During
our break Alexander and I wandered out into the moon lit garden while
Kieron had disappeared into the kitchens. Michel was already out
there, pacing up and down, smoking. I asked him what he thought of
the evening so far, but was unprepared for the rant which followed.
Violently grounding what was left of his cigarette into the grass, he
told Alexander and myself he was desperate to return to Canada. He
hated living with Antoinette's parents. While they fussed over his
wife and daughter, they constantly interfered. He often felt as
though Antoinette was ganging up against him by siding with them.
Although they were saving, his job in the music shop didn't pay well
enough for them to find a place of their own. Antoinette had just
found out she was pregnant again. We congratulated him but, although
he was pleased, he was now worried that Antoinette would use the new
baby as an excuse to stay at her parents' home. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we returned to the restaurant, Michel made no attempt to go over and
speak to his wife and parents in law. In fact, it was Ines who was
talking to them, showing off her engagement ring. During the second
half we livened things up with <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tbLX8pyNq4" target="_blank">Capullito de Aleli</a></i> and the
upbeat <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfFl_oAbItk" target="_blank">So Danco Samba</a></i> before the speeches. The first to speak
was an old man, a friend of the couple who'd been their best man, but
I couldn't hear a word he said. This was followed by Bernard's
speech; a long rambling recollection of his wedding day and stories
of married life. He mentioned their grand daughter and I wondered if
they knew about the new baby. I noticed Michel making a study of his
drumsticks, seemingly bored with the proceedings. Photos were taken
of the couple and several with Antoinette. Just as the replica of
their wedding cake was about to be cut, Michel dropped his drum
sticks with a loud clatter and strode over to his family and
announced he would like to say a few words. The room fell silent.
Bernard looked worried and whispered something to him but Michel
turned away and shook his head dismissively. First he congratulated
his parents in law, then, putting his arm around Antoinette, he
announced they were having another baby, and, soon after the birth,
they would be leaving for Canada to bring up their family there. I
couldn't help feeling sorry for Yvette. She looked devastated. I
thought she was about to cry. Bernard put his arm round her.
Antoinette stared ahead, her body rigid. She was fuming. The guests
were unsure of how to react. A few clapped and some called out
congratulations at the mention of the baby, but most were silent.
Michel avoided looking at us as he returned to his drums. We listened
to a recording of Sacha Distel singing <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuQOStQtFG0" target="_blank">C'etait plus Fort que Tout</a></i> </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">(the
French version of I Can't Stop Loving You) </span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">whilst Bernard and Yvette cut their wedding cake. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was glad to get away at the end of the evening. I went over and
congratulated Yvette before I left. She thanked me in a quiet voice.
Bernard was nowhere to be seen. I asked Antoinette if she'd enjoyed
the music and she hardly looked at me when she replied. She was still
extremely angry. Michel was also quiet as we packed away; just
muttered goodbye to us as he left. His wife and her mother were busy
collecting their photos and presents and ignored him as he passed by.
I understand Michel's frustration but I don't think he should have
made his announcement. I hate to think what will happen when they get
home. One of them is going to have to compromise and I don't think
it's going to be Antoinette. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-18982230454089815392015-04-16T06:20:00.000-07:002015-05-07T06:20:56.598-07:00Thursday 16th April: A Broken Peace <div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
made the most of the sunshine this morning by sorting out the garden.
Pepin joined me by racing about like a mad thing, constantly bringing
his ball for me to throw. Solange stopped to chat on her way out.
Paul, Isabelle, Mathilde, and their new baby Leo, are due to arrive
this afternoon and are staying in the gite until Sunday. I mentioned
this to Celine when she phoned. She said she'd bring a card and
present on her way over. </span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBDVQ9BWf6BnfRL2tZD93YyYjR2RH9bHNSOEGHL4jx3mAzy1iJaYYQ_m1ozQTxRjr5hQOGjZ1f18k30YhRc11GVDvp0SUHJ37XfD5HjcTBIvVpRxdNUORr6W8NxX9P-JQhMQr1Njv6k3v/s1600/cottage+1b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBDVQ9BWf6BnfRL2tZD93YyYjR2RH9bHNSOEGHL4jx3mAzy1iJaYYQ_m1ozQTxRjr5hQOGjZ1f18k30YhRc11GVDvp0SUHJ37XfD5HjcTBIvVpRxdNUORr6W8NxX9P-JQhMQr1Njv6k3v/s1600/cottage+1b.jpg" /></a></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Everything
was peaceful outside for a while, until the window cleaner's tuneless
humming broke the silence. He told me Solange had instructed him to
clean my windows. I was unsure of his accent and asked where he was
from, and if he spoke English. He told me he was from Portugal, from
a town called Loule in the Algarve. His name was Joao. I surprised
him by asking in Portuguese if he wanted tea or coffee. He wanted to
know how come I speak the language and I told him about my days in
Portugal and Brazil. Loule is a pretty little town I've visited many
times. I also mentioned that lived in a village called Olhao, not far
from Faro. Joao knows Olhao and Faro well and was interested to hear
about my time there. He's been five years in France, and is married
to a Frenchwoman. We spoke in a mixture of English and Portuguese and
I was amazed how good his English is which he picked up from watching
British and American T.V programmes. I asked if he missed Portugal,
but he said no; he has everything he wants here in France. He set up
his own window cleaning business three years ago and has now built up
a large client base. He was just finishing when Celine arrived. She
chatted to him for a while, asking what he thinks of Brittany and
whether he likes living here. He finished up and had to leave in a
hurry as he was late for his next customer. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
had stopped off at a second hand shop in Lorient and bought two
framed photographs of village scenes in the 1920's. One of a smiling
lady, taken in the doorway of her town house and the other of a
grocer dressed in a long apron, standing outside his shop showing off
his display of fruit and vegetables. I pointed out that there was a
corner missing from the frame and I would try and fix it. I can't
imagine Celine has much more space on her walls. Her cottage is
unbelievably cluttered. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we went back outside I noticed Paul's car parked in front of the
gite. Mathilde came running up, followed by her dad, Paul. She was
hopping up and down, insisting we come over immediately to see baby
Leo. We congratulated Paul. He's relieved everything went well and
Isabelle and the baby are both fine. I remember him telling me about
several earlier miscarriages. Mathilde beamed as he told us how she's
been so good with the baby and helps her mum. She told us to hurry as
baby Leo was awake and waiting to meet us. We followed her across to
the gite and congratulated Isabelle who was sitting on the sofa,
holding the baby. She looked tired but happy. I could tell Isabelle
was pleased with the present, a sailor suit with a matching hat.
Thank Goodness Celine picked it. I wouldn't have had a clue what to
get! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's
good to see them so happy. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over
dinner Celine mentioned she's seen Adele a few times in the last few
weeks and is starting to wonder if she's being followed. She's
spotted her in the supermarket three times and again in Vannes twice,
but hadn't spoken to her. I said she should have mentioned this
earlier, but she dismissed it as a coincidence and didn't seem too
concerned. I said to note down each time she sees Adele because I'm
convinced there's more to it than coincidence. She's already had to
change her phone number and I'm concerned about what Adele will be up
to next. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
showed Celine the lemon drizzle cake I'd made earlier. She said she'd
never tried it before, but she must have liked it as she finished off
three slices. </span></span></span>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-36934997038109898472015-04-04T03:03:00.000-07:002015-04-29T03:04:23.269-07:00Saturday 4th April: Animal Rights <div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was surprised to see Stefanie and Tomas at Karl's house yesterday.
They chatted for a while, but I sensed a tension between them. Tomas
was even hairier than before; dreadlocks and beard covering most of
his face. There was also a musty, damp smell about him, as if he'd
been sleeping rough. Stefanie looked tired and drawn with dark
shadows under her eyes and had lost a lot of weight. She was quieter
than I remembered. It wasn't long before they announced they were
going for a walk. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">I
asked Karl if anything was wrong. He said they'd arrived two days ago
and the atmosphere between them has very strained. Tomas was sleeping
outside in a tent and insisted on Stefanie sleeping there too.
Apparently, because she was cold, she'd crept back into the house at
three in the morning and this had caused an argument between them.
Tomas had also caught her using the washing machine and started
ranting about the chemicals in washing detergents. He'd stormed out
of the house, slammed the door and left Stefanie crying in the
kitchen. She'd told her dad she'd moved out of the student house
she'd shared with two other girls and moved into the squat to be with
him and, although she loved Tomas, she missed having hot water,
proper heating and a washing machine. Tomas insisted she mustn't wear
make up or use deodorants and demanded she only use water to wash her
hair; no shampoo or conditioner. She's already a vegetarian but Tomas
is now putting pressure on her to become a vegan. I was surprised
that Stefanie had gone along with all this. I remembered how, at
Christmas, she had a very good appetite and had gone for second
helpings which included meat. </span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
said she must love Tomas very much as she'd given up a lot for him.
Karl thinks she'll follow him to the ends of the earth, but he's
worried how she's being so influenced by him. She did well at school
and, up until recently, has been getting good grades at university.
He wasn't sure whether to say something to Tomas. I said they would
probably see it as interfering and it could make things worse. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
walked down to the lake and watched the ducks and geese. Karl had to
point out out Gertrude, the goose we'd rescued from Jean Luc last
summer. Little does she know how lucky she is as she nearly ended up
on the dinner table. She's now grown so much I wouldn't have
recognised her. We were wondering how Jean Luc and his mad wife are
getting along when we heard shouting behind us. <span lang="en-GB">Stefanie</span>
was clinging on to Tomas's coat whilst he was trying to push her
away. I don't speak any German but it was obvious Stefanie was very
distressed. We went over to see what was going on. Tomas had packed
up his tent and was collecting his belongings. Stefanie was sobbing,
pleading with him not to go, but he barely glanced at her. He just
picked up his rucksack, gave a dismissive wave and marched off down
the road. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stefanie
was inconsolable, clinging to her dad. I wondered if I should leave
but Karl asked me to come back into the house with them. He told
Stefanie to sit down and made her a coffee. Once she settled down,
they spoke in German for a while. She then left the room. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
said he'd he'd told her to have a hot bath and catch up with her
sleep. Apparently Tomas had been planning to break into a mink farm
nearby and release all the animals. He'd been up to the farm a few
times, making sketches and plans of the area. He'd wanted Stefanie to
take part in the break in which he planned to carry out the following
night, but she was worried. When she told Tomas she was concerned
about them being caught he'd become angry and told her to go back to
her father's. He'd told her she was weak and pathetic and was no use
to him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While
neither Karl nor myself are supportive of the mink farms here in
Brittany, I know he is more concerned about Stefanie getting into
trouble with the police. He believes there are more effective ways to
go about closing these farms and doesn't think releasing the mink
will do any good. I'm inclined to agree. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
stayed for a while and told him about meeting Josephine from the book
shop, but Karl wasn't really listening; I could see his mind was on
Stefanie. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
all happened yesterday. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
morning I was clearing the garden when I had a call from Karl. When
he'd got up he found a note on the kitchen table from Stefanie. Tomas
had come back for her and they decided to return to Berlin. Karl had
a feeling this would happen and the previous night he'd put some
money in Stefanie's bag whilst she was asleep. He was concerned about
her hitch hiking and wanted her to have enough to make the journey
back. There was no mention of the mink farm. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-15658353759995869602015-03-27T05:06:00.000-07:002015-04-26T05:43:24.074-07:00Friday 27th March: Tempting Fate<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">This
morning Celine and I decided to visit the town of Quimperle. Although
the town is a popular tourist spot neither of us have been there
before. Celine had read a report in the local paper advertising a
stall selling books on Breton culture at the brocante (flea market),
and this was the reason for our visit. </span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DjpV0CKIkNrN4r8qDHnNOq2G2SxDeLySUQ2D1x_na7DHuN-rOYTD-0khh_tCIO2Hn2FnhPB84dhsjZlPtfpJHENLcIwwDPhPHYnnUVrE16qqJG-CdhYzEAdoAeYtxHNT1yK7rjOM6ZJ_/s1600/Quimperle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DjpV0CKIkNrN4r8qDHnNOq2G2SxDeLySUQ2D1x_na7DHuN-rOYTD-0khh_tCIO2Hn2FnhPB84dhsjZlPtfpJHENLcIwwDPhPHYnnUVrE16qqJG-CdhYzEAdoAeYtxHNT1yK7rjOM6ZJ_/s1600/Quimperle.JPG" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
took a chance and went in my car. I tried to ignore the strange
whining noises the engine was making while Celine was talking about
going to Paimpont, where Merlin was supposed to have lived. She wants
to include something about the forest in her book. So far she's
collected hundreds of interviews from many elderly residents
detailing their childhood memories. She's decided to include only the
most interesting so at the moment she's trying to decide what to keep
and what to throw out. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don't usually listen to music in the car as I find it distracting but
didn't mind when Celine switched on the radio as it took my mind off
the noise from the engine. She searched the channels until she found
a local one playing traditional Breton music. A very interesting
interview followed with the lead singer of the band (of which I
didn't get the name) who was discussing the changing attitudes
towards Breton music and culture. Celine translated as we drove
(chugged) along. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Until
a revival of interest in the 50s and 60s Breton music was in danger
of disappearing altogether and it wasn't until the mid-century the
Breton language was banned from schools; even children being punished
for speaking it. I believe parents were banned from giving their
children local names right up until the end of the century. Now
things are very different, and Breton culture is very much alive with
the distinctive Breton flag being seen everywhere and the language
being taught in schools for a few hours a week. I suggested to Celine
now would be a good time to contact the local radio stations to
discuss her book. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">Quimperle
is certainly a very picturesque town with a riverside setting. We
walked around the medieval centre and took a look inside the 11th
century Abbey. Although photography is prohibited, Celine sneaked a
few photos of the beautiful 16th century altarpiece on her phone. The
oldest building in the town is a lovely half timbered house with a
cafe nearby where we did a bit of people watching.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XsNyBqxmSVIFyJvMIXdDFe7F4JjTzZJbzw9hyphenhyphenOhflXGzQUYF51A1mpCdTvVnxScKPLQ3vsEy0LGdx-Fsd-s3wKYLnkz6BVkVb93zGZ-7gDrmAL_P0mMsXgc6sFYhyZWqnUYB8I5UNI70/s1600/Quimperle+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XsNyBqxmSVIFyJvMIXdDFe7F4JjTzZJbzw9hyphenhyphenOhflXGzQUYF51A1mpCdTvVnxScKPLQ3vsEy0LGdx-Fsd-s3wKYLnkz6BVkVb93zGZ-7gDrmAL_P0mMsXgc6sFYhyZWqnUYB8I5UNI70/s1600/Quimperle+2.JPG" height="320" width="274" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Eventually,
we found the market. The place was packed out even though it's a week
day. There were all sorts of stalls; home crafts, antiques, books,
clothes, and of course, food. I was pleased to discover several
albums of stamps from Dominica, St.
Lucia and Martinique. I was inspecting these when Celine called me
over. She was at one of the bookstalls, talking to a small dark
haired person dressed in black trousers, black boots, a biker's
jacket and a black beret: Josephine from the bookshop in my village.
I paid for my albums and went over to join them. Josephine was in a
cheerful mood, much more animated than when we first met. She showed
me two bags of books she'd bought. Apparently, one of the stall
holders was from England and selling off his history text books from
university. I helped her carry them to her car; an ancient 2CV Deux
Chevaux (no surprise). She said she'd always wanted one of these back
home in New Orleans and dreamed one day of owning one. </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-GB">Hers
is from 1990, the last year of production, and so far, hadn't given
her any trouble. </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">We
said goodbye and after about ten more minutes of browsing Celine and
I decided to make our way back. Celine showed me a book she'd found
called A Childhood in Brittany, with numerous pictures, recounting
the author's recollections of growing up in the thirties. It's just
the sort of thing she's looking for. I was also pleased with my
stamps, so, a worthwhile trip.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
hadn't driven far when Celine pointed to the side of the road up
ahead. It was Josephine. She was standing glaring at her car; fumes
were streaming from the hood. With people hooting as they passed by,
we managed to push the car along the road and into a supermarket car
park. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
said we'd give her a lift back to her hotel in Carnac and, if she
felt her French wasn't good enough, Celine offered to phone the
towing company and garage for her. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Josephine
was so distressed that Celine had to remind her to bring her books.
She then had to go back again to collect her pipe and tobacco. (I
don't think I've known many women who smoke a pipe). She said she
didn't know why she was so upset by this as she's had to deal with
much more in the past; including Hurricane Katrina back in New
Orleans. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
told her about my writing and Josephine suggested I give her some
copies to sell in her shop. She also offered to put some posters up
in the window. I asked if she was keen on doing any singing and told
her to phone Alexander. I also mentioned that Andre, the owner of the
restaurant in Carnac, might be interested in booking her. Celine
asked if she'd had many customers in the shop. She admitted things
had been quiet. We suggested she do an official opening night with
cheese and wine. Celine was enthusiastic about this, saying she could
help Josephine prepare everything but Josephine didn't say much. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
dropped her off at the hotel. Celine took down all the car details,
promising to phone the garage. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at the cottage the sun came out and we were able to sit outside for a
while. Celine mentioned the opening night idea but I can't see it
happening! I got the impression Josephine was focused on the books
she's interested in and not the books her customers might like.
Perhaps she doesn't need the money. She doesn't seem to have much of
a head for business. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
had a Spanish omelette for dinner and finished off a bottle of wine. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
Celine phoned the garage to arrange for Josephine's car to be towed
in, I told her how, with all the strange noises it's been making, I
thought my car was about to die. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
warned me not to tempt fate. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Listened
to some Billie Holiday later: so similar to Josephine's voice. </span></span></span>
</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-6271045420663042032015-03-19T10:54:00.000-07:002015-04-20T10:55:17.680-07:00Thursday 19th March: Doppelgänger <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaVw8Zsz297fZxYhamG3JHna15vy7PzDfuIZswGlbJ9DjLlbyhV7JJQRGxEnMgTadjBgx_UscN4JEtx6yjqjPjazEyWyqNJ1zfAAIYVdlXiYdm9KWHKw1istlVV54bFUHfAt4Lf3qAiwL/s1600/La+Place+des+Merciers+Dinan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaVw8Zsz297fZxYhamG3JHna15vy7PzDfuIZswGlbJ9DjLlbyhV7JJQRGxEnMgTadjBgx_UscN4JEtx6yjqjPjazEyWyqNJ1zfAAIYVdlXiYdm9KWHKw1istlVV54bFUHfAt4Lf3qAiwL/s1600/La+Place+des+Merciers+Dinan.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
was quiet on the journey yesterday. We were on our way to pick up
some furniture from a house near Dinan. Whilst the blues music was
playing at full volume on his CD player, he wasn't singing along to
it; definitely out of character. I asked him what the problem was. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apparently
his daughter, Stefanie, has moved into a squat with her boyfriend,
Tomas. She's still attending lectures and keeping up with her
university course, but he's concerned she's on the point of dropping
out. She's always been a clever girl but impulsive and prone to
making rash decisions. She's besotted with Tomas, but Karl believes
she's going to get hurt. I'm inclined to agree. Although I've only
met Tomas once, he seemed very self-centred and domineering. I
suggested Karl should ask them down to visit for a while. This way he
can see what's going on. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
took us a while to find the house. The owner had e-mailed directions
which were impossible to follow and we drove down the lane several
times before we found the place. The house; traditional stone built
had an air of neglect about it. The front was overgrown with weeds
and the paint on the shutters and door, once a bright blue, was
beginning to flake. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
owner was waiting outside when we arrived; a slim, pretty woman, with
dark hair, almost black. At first, she appeared to be tall. However,
she was standing next to a door frame you needed to duck under, and
it turned out she couldn't be much more than five foot tall. She
introduced herself as Natalie. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
followed her through a long narrow hallway into a dining room. The
room was large and bright; most of the space taken up with half empty
bookcases. Two windows looked out onto the back of the property; a
large garden with lawns and a circular flower bed invaded with
bindweed and nettles. In the centre of the room stood a solid
mahogany table and chairs. Natalie also showed us a sideboard which
stood in an alcove leading from the dining room. She was talking
about the house and describing how her children had been happy
growing up there. I thought there was a sadness about her, as if she
had been alone for some time. Karl carried out his usual inspection
of the furniture but I got the impression he was more interested in
Natalie. He kept glancing at her with a puzzled expression and I
wondered if she'd noticed; if she had, she gave no sign. She was more
concerned in relating her story. She ran her hand along the
sideboard, telling us it had been a wedding present from her parents
in law. For a moment I thought she was about to cry. She and Karl
eventually agreed a price for the furniture and she asked if we
wanted tea or coffee. Before waiting for the answer, she turned and
walked towards the kitchen. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
kitchen was a large tiled room with fitted wooden cabinets and a
traditional cooking range. While we sat at the table, Karl was quiet
and, again, I noticed him studying Natalie. True, she was attractive,
but I had the feeling there was some other reason for his interest;
as if he recognised her from somewhere. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
she sat down, she explained that the house and contents had to be
sold to pay off debts. Her husband had left and was living in a
modern apartment in Rennes. In the last few years they had many
problems, money, illness, problems with their children and there had
been an affair. Her children were grown up, living in different parts
of the country. She laughed and said she didn't know why she was
telling us this and was sorry to bore us. (I didn't mind. I'm always
keen to hear about other people's lives). Of course, I felt sorry for
her. It was obvious she'd been very hurt. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
watched as we loaded the furniture into the van and waved as we drove
off. Before Karl had a chance to turn his music on I asked if he'd
met her before. He seemed annoyed, wanting to know why I should think
that. I said it was because I'd noticed him staring at her and asked
if he fancied her. He ignored this last question and just switched
his CD on. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
stopped for lunch in </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>La
Place des Merciers,</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
a square surrounded by timber-framed buildings in the old town of
Dinan. It was here that Karl told me about Julia, a woman he had
known in Germany. Apparently Natalie was her exact doubl</span></span></span><span style="color: #111111; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">e;
her </span></span></span><em style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">doppelgänger.
</span></span></span></span></em><em style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">He
said she even had the similar taste in clothes and had the same
gestures and mannerisms as Julia. S</span></span></span></span></em><span style="color: #111111; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">eeing
her had brought back painful memories. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvInoEYmpcWckuoTvyF6JmH6u4MMDlCBJ7rZMEJVMiAiMdhqGk65-c7tby_6CJQq-46IYlrvWCnNwOe2zax5Yhcf6fkfsDP5bTZnliPlnjUe3nH6cM9gNmclSqCtMlzj0pUgRx7J_4AeFM/s1600/Doppelg%C3%A4nger+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvInoEYmpcWckuoTvyF6JmH6u4MMDlCBJ7rZMEJVMiAiMdhqGk65-c7tby_6CJQq-46IYlrvWCnNwOe2zax5Yhcf6fkfsDP5bTZnliPlnjUe3nH6cM9gNmclSqCtMlzj0pUgRx7J_4AeFM/s1600/Doppelg%C3%A4nger+3.jpg" height="320" width="316" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
Karl's wife died he wasn't interested in seeing anybody for a long
time but eventually met Julia, Stefanie's teacher, at a parent's
evening. There was an instant attraction and they started dating. It
soon became clear that Julia had a drink problem. At first Karl
thought nothing of this, but when he stayed at Julia's apartment he
discovered bottles of whiskey and vodka hidden in cupboards and under
the bed. She denied she had a problem, insisting she could stop at
any time. Things took a turn for the worse. She was under a lot of
stress at school and confessed to Karl that she was drinking during
the lunch break and between lessons. A parent complained that her
breath smelt of alcohol and she was suspended. Karl suggested she
seek professional help, but even at this stage she still denied she
had a problem. He wanted to help her but didn't know how. A week
after being suspended she phoned him to say she'd been caught drink
driving and was going to lose her licence. She begged him to come
round. It was half three in the morning and when she opened the door
he was shocked at her appearance: she was a mess. The apartment was
unrecognisable; half eaten takeaways and empty bottles scattered
everywhere. Karl lost his patience and told her that, unless she got
professional help, their relationship was finished. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several
days later he had a phone call from her sister. Julia had taken an
overdose and had been found dead in her apartment. This was a
terrible shock to Karl. Soon after her death Karl moved to Brittany
while his daughter, Stefanie, stayed with her aunt in Berlin to
finish her schooling. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
had been such a shock yesterday for Karl seeing Natalie and bringing
back all these memories. For a long time after the event he had
blamed himself; replaying their last meeting in his head. I said I
didn't see what else he could have done. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaalbs-1ax1O8IU-XILwaQ2v0ZIeBR4cHOS9sONyaWAHVatfmczoRntyOL2lH7ZYU2IdDsWszkjfg-l0n57ePSEccmmpZp7H_MB4nflkw1Ex28z_w4qgMD-VuDcfjVxuhTI12vd_RXUgc/s1600/madeleine+cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaalbs-1ax1O8IU-XILwaQ2v0ZIeBR4cHOS9sONyaWAHVatfmczoRntyOL2lH7ZYU2IdDsWszkjfg-l0n57ePSEccmmpZp7H_MB4nflkw1Ex28z_w4qgMD-VuDcfjVxuhTI12vd_RXUgc/s1600/madeleine+cakes.jpg" height="195" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at my cottage I was thinking about all this when there was a knock at
the door and Ann Sofie came in, followed by Benjamin and Madeleine.
They had been making <i>Madeleines</i>, a kind of Breton butter cake.
Madeleine was very excited about the cakes having her name. It's
difficult to understand her speech sometimes, but she's only three!
They brought a whole plate of cakes for me and stayed for a while to
help me eat them. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
certainly cheered me up! </span></span></span>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-51231172088249872712015-03-09T02:35:00.000-07:002015-04-04T02:36:45.377-07:00Monday 9th March: Ligonberries<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stayed
at home today as Solange has gone to Paris with her sister and niece
and I'm looking after Pepin until Pieter gets home from work.
Solange's niece is hoping to get into the Sorbonne and they've gone
to look around the college. They're staying overnight and will be
back tomorrow. Pepin has spent most of the day sitting at the fence,
staring at the driveway and pining for Solange. I carried him into
the cottage several times but it wasn't long before he ran outside
again and took up his usual position. There's devotion for you! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAO50Ry-oC2i2A42tNjnMgGMxvMibqmutJAqUERso8GyhGyl7ZHIJTlHsMxX3jbCq6atLNsHDKF4VZIgqrtOyO-QO7gNMVu1jPUAtE_Qn3TCxztXj3A8Dun6Z-8MfSi7VKvTeYiPm6gM6/s1600/Pepin+on+beach+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAO50Ry-oC2i2A42tNjnMgGMxvMibqmutJAqUERso8GyhGyl7ZHIJTlHsMxX3jbCq6atLNsHDKF4VZIgqrtOyO-QO7gNMVu1jPUAtE_Qn3TCxztXj3A8Dun6Z-8MfSi7VKvTeYiPm6gM6/s1600/Pepin+on+beach+3.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann-Sofie's
mother and brother left yesterday after staying in the gite next
door. I saw them a few times during their stay and on the Saturday
evening I was invited over for a traditional Swedish dinner.
Ann-Sofies's mother, Linda, looks so much like her daughter. When I
mentioned Ann-Sofies's drawings they showed me Linda's website where
she designs greeting cards. She has many different designs and sells
them all over the world. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Linda
said they'd been to Dinan that morning and were very impressed with
the historic town. She showed them to me Ann Sofie's sketches of
Place des Merciers with it's half timbered houses: they're very good. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Max,
Ann-Sofie's brother, who has Downs Syndrome, was very quiet. I think
maybe a little shy. He shook my hand and gave me a formal bow. Both
he and Ann Sofie laughed. Apparently he's been given strict
instructions not to hug people until he knows them. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whilst
in Dinan, Max had insisted on climbing the 158 steps to the top of
the Tour de L'Horloge but only managed to get halfway. He got scared
and had to be led back down to wait with Linda. Ann-Sofie said the
views from the top were amazing. She could even see the distant
outline of Mont St Michel. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While
they spoke Swedish to Max, they switched to English for me. Max was
obviously confused by this, and looked worried. I asked Ann-Sofie if
he was still interested in Super heroes. She told me he was really
looking forward to the new Batman film due to be released in 2016 in
which Batman battles Superman. I asked which actor was his favourite.
He whispered to Ann-Sofie that he likes Chris (Christian Bale). He
also likes Henry Cavill who plays Superman in Man of Steel and will
also feature in the new film. Linda has helped him write to the
actors, who've sent signed photos of themselves. He's very proud of
them and they are now up on his bedroom wall. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttQP0cRg2g1EOzNa2kijMYMkq5xnQ_G8DplInum6dKiSymy1W48ugVPsbWOYPNaGA79eJZWyfZJR4tPiuhduGErOnVAhK8aTv94eKEPNNZM7FZ-BcAnpmWqLRcQMHEi9JYFx2jttVGOEO/s1600/Kottbullar+met+Poatismos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttQP0cRg2g1EOzNa2kijMYMkq5xnQ_G8DplInum6dKiSymy1W48ugVPsbWOYPNaGA79eJZWyfZJR4tPiuhduGErOnVAhK8aTv94eKEPNNZM7FZ-BcAnpmWqLRcQMHEi9JYFx2jttVGOEO/s1600/Kottbullar+met+Poatismos.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
diner was delicious. The main course was<i> Kottbullar met Poatismos</i>
(had to ask her to write this) which is meatballs with mashed
potatoes in a gravy sauce. This was served with lingonberries
preserve which Linda had brought with her. I've never tried this
before. Apparently, ligonberries are used in Sweden in the same way
people in the U.K use ketchup. They put it on everything! The taste
is quite bitter, a little similar to raspberries. (I decided not to
put any with my meatballs). We had Swedish pancakes for dessert
(again with ligonberries). Linda said the fruit has been used in
Sweden for centuries as the fruit can be preserved through the long
winters. Max put half a jar on his and got teased by Ann-Sofie. It's
obvious she is very close to her family and very protective of Max. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">Linda mentioned her homesickness, telling her she should stay here as
her French has greatly improved. I said she'll regret it later if she
leaves so soon. Although Solange and Pieter are very good to her it
wouldn't surprise me if she goes back home.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Linda
was very impressed with Brittany. She'd hired a car and they've been
to Rennes a few times and for walks on the beach at Carnac. She
really liked Quimper. They spent a whole day there where all three
had sketched a view of the city from one of the bridges crossing the
Odet River. Ann-Sofie told Max to fetch his drawing to show me but he
refused to. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
rest of the evening passed quickly. Linda gave me some Swedish
recipes, and told me how they preserve food (including Ann-Sofie's
despised pickled herrings!) </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
morning, before they left for the airport, she brought over a box of
Swedish Toscas, which are really almond tarts: a thank you present
for helping Ann-Sofie with her writing. She said she's worried about
her, knowing how much she misses home, but wants her to stay till the
Summer. I promised I'll try my best to encourage her to stay. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pieter
came over this evening to collect Pepin, who was sulking on my sofa.
As soon as he spotted Pieter he leapt up, tail wagging, although I
think Solange is the person he misses the most. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
notice Ann-Sofie is still here. I had a feeling she might have left
with her family. Hopefully she'll settle now; knowing they'll come to
visit. </span></span></span>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-49360926694588292182015-02-27T04:18:00.000-08:002015-03-28T04:19:11.027-07:00Friday 27th February: Voices from the Past <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Benjamin's
piano lessons are progressing well: I'm pleasantly surprised. I
really wasn't keen on teaching a four year old, but he's learning
very quickly. Last Sunday he managed to play the whole of </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>London
Bridge is Falling Down</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
with only a few pauses. He was so pleased with himself that he ran
off, reappearing moments later with Solange and Pieter who gave an
enthusiastic applause after hearing the piece. His sister Madeleine,
who was dressed as Belle from Beauty and the Beast, also came in to
watch. She stood on my armchair and insisted on singing to us in an
attempt to drown out Ben's playing. Ben shouted at her, pulling faces
and calling her ugly. Pieter carried her outside, but not before she
managed to push Benjamin off the piano stool. They're lovely children
but, I have to say, I do prefer peace and quiet. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
Wednesday Celine and I went into town to investigate the new second
hand bookshop (Madame Dupont's old place). Celine is suffering from
writer's block at the moment and her book hasn't been touched for a
while. She's desperate to unearth some original information;
especially about Merlin the Wizard, who supposedly lived in the
Forest of Paimpont. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the drive into town she told me she was thinking about her father a
lot and felt guilty, wishing she'd done more to help him. She also
regrets not seeing more of him in his last years. It's difficult to
know what to say. I'm sure her father could tell she loved him, and
that's all that matters in the end. I said I'm sure everyone has
regrets when someone close to them dies. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were lucky to find a parking place near the bookshop. Every available
space in the window was piled high with books. Various sized volumes,
precariously balanced, formed a tower as a central display. Celine
remarked that, judging by the assorted covers, the owners appeared to
have an over-riding interest in military history; particularly
aircraft of World war Two. She was intrigued to know who they are. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
I pushed open the door, a familiar bell rang, the same as there had
been there when Madame Dupont owned the shop. This, however, was the
only similarity: the interior had been completely transformed. The
large counter and till was repositioned to the right and the
available space was taken up with a variety of bookcases of different
sizes; some were new and stood at least six feet tall while others,
of half that size, were falling apart. Hand written notes,
identifying the subjects in French and English, were taped to each
bookcase. Celine headed for the History of Brittany section while I
looked over one of the largest bookcases crammed with English text
books on the history of World War Two. I was studying an illustration
of a Churchill Tank when I heard footsteps. A man, probably in his
sixties, was approaching from a door at the back of the room. He had
very short, dark hair and small round glasses and was wearing a
turtleneck sweater over a pair of black trousers. It wasn't until he
was within an inch or two of me that I realised </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>he</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
was a </span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>she</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.
She introduced herself as Josephine and spoke in a strange accent,
asking if there was anything we were particularly looking for? Celine
came over and wanted to know where she was from. She told us
Jefferson in Louisiana, although her mother was originally from
Rennes. After retiring from the U.S Army, she'd decided to come and
live in Brittany for a while. I asked about her interest in military
history. Her father had been a fighter pilot in World War II and had
served in the U.S Air Force for over twenty years. Her mother had
died a year ago and she wanted to see where she'd grown up. She was
staying in a small hotel in Carnac whilst looking for somewhere more
permanent. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
far, she seemed reserved but when I asked if she had any music books
her face lit up. She led me to three bookcases at the back of the
shop and asked if I played an instrument. I told her about the band
and my piano playing. When I mentioned teaching Benjamin she showed
me a pile of children's piano books which she'd bought from a car
boot sale a few weeks ago. I sorted through the piano books and found
a few which would be perfect for Benjamin's lessons. Celine had
found two histories of the Paimpont forest she wanted to buy. She
asked Josephine how she was liking France. She said she missed her
old home, especially her dog, Bertie, who she'd left with a
neighbour. As soon as she finds somewhere more permanent she plans to
send for him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
noticed a ball of wool and knitting needles near the till and I
wondered if she'd had any other customers. There was also a CD player
on the counter and, from where I was standing, I could hear someone
singing a cover of the Madeleine Peyroux song, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTvpCep2QtE" target="_blank">Don't Wait Too Long</a>. I
asked who was singing. Josephine smiled, pointing to herself. I was
amazed. She has such a perfect tone (reminiscent of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lI5ORDi7yOs" target="_blank">Billie Holiday</a> in
the 1950s). She said she used to sing regularly in a jazz bar in New
Orleans. I wondered what had made her leave. (Later, Celine said she
sensed a sadness about her. They had been talking about the loss of
her father and she wondered if this was the reason Josephine decided
to move away). </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
paid for our books and I wrote down my number, telling her to get in
touch. I'm sure she could sing at some of our gigs. Such a talented
singer, but I can't see her making much of a success of the bookshop.
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zvdmCJXIj5X8qvzb42n4jprJzsLMzSYkkkqtVNbBfs7g-X8MIlleHRbCvegqgMHr5guBX1hpgRN-RcE7UPjTxetHX2pFLBsY-xkvVqk0AWzlMfu37w3SIhRAet8DH1-NKTzTAXP48l3r/s1600/Voices+from+the+Past+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zvdmCJXIj5X8qvzb42n4jprJzsLMzSYkkkqtVNbBfs7g-X8MIlleHRbCvegqgMHr5guBX1hpgRN-RcE7UPjTxetHX2pFLBsY-xkvVqk0AWzlMfu37w3SIhRAet8DH1-NKTzTAXP48l3r/s1600/Voices+from+the+Past+2.jpg" height="222" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at my place Celine flicked through the piano books. Inside one she
found three postcards; each written in a child's handwriting. The
postcards were of familiar Parisian landmarks; the Eiffel Tower,
Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur. They were all dated from April 1975.
Celine read them out, translating for me. They were from a boy called
Laurent and addressed to his parents. He was obviously on a school
trip. He wrote that Paris was amazing but he was missing home and
didn't think much of the food. Laurent's name was also written on the
inside cover of the piano books with an address; the same as on the
postcards. Celine said the place was a village near Vannes; not too
far from her. She took the postcards, saying she'd investigate and
try to return them (Celine loves a mystery!) We discussed Josephine
for a while, inventing various backgrounds for her. I made an
omelette and salad before she left, but I think we both could have
done with something warmer! It's still so cold here. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
morning I was running through some pieces for the band when Celine
turned up. I could tell she was bursting to tell me something, so,
just to tease her, I pretended not to notice. It wasn't long before
she had to interrupt. She'd gone to the address on the postcards, a
little bungalow on the edge of the village. The person who answered
the door had only moved in two years ago and the previous owner was
now in a residential home. She looked up the details in her address
book and wrote down the address. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
had gone there early this morning and met Laurent's mother who was
now in her mid eighties. She was thrilled to see the postcards. She
read them through several times and told Celine she remembered
Laurent going on this school trip as if it was only yesterday. He
must have been about twelve at the time. She laughed as she recalled
how the children were not allowed to take any sweets on the trip. She
remembered sewing a secret pocket inside Laurent's coat and filled it
with his favourites. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
asked what Laurent was doing now. His mother was silent for a while
and gazed through the window looking out onto the gardens.
Eventually, she spoke in a quiet voice, saying that he'd died when he
was twenty two. There had been no warning. He'd been at home for the
holidays, back from university and had gone to bed early, complaining
of a headache. The next morning she found him, dead, in his bed. A
post mortem was carried out, but no explanation was ever found.
Celine didn't like to think of the old lady on her own, but she was
told her other children visit regularly. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
didn't stay at my place too long. She had a meeting with a historian
who's published several papers on the legends of Merlin. After she'd
gone I kept thinking about the boy. Celine said his mother mentioned
he'd done well on the piano, reaching an advanced level. And now I
had his music books. I wonder how Benjamin will get on with them. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-48642554677512029102015-02-17T06:53:00.000-08:002015-03-18T12:26:13.435-07:00Tuesday 17th February: Operatic Overtures <div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Practised
at Alexander's last Friday as Andre has booked us to play at his
restaurant for Valentine's Day. It was freezing cold in the
summerhouse, but for some reason Alexander insists on practising
there. I get the impression maybe Simone doesn't like to be
disturbed. As we were setting up, Alexander mentioned that Kieron's
been running through our pieces on his bass and has asked if he could
join us. Both Michel and myself could see no problem with this. He
was just about to tell us about Kieron's mother turning up when the
door was pushed open and Kieron appeared, carrying a tray of tea and
coffees. As we were still waiting for Ines I took the opportunity to
ask about his family. He said his mum had phoned him a few days ago
and was not at all happy. She'd turned up at the campsite with his
two young sisters only to find an elderly German couple living in the
caravan. She blamed Kieron as he'd been left to look after the place.
Far from being upset he mimicked his mother's angry voice and laughed
about her shouting at him. He said the caravan was a dump. It had no
running water, no electricity, was freezing cold in the winter and
boiling hot in the summer. What made his mum angry was the response
of the campsite owner. She had threatened to call the police but the
manager told her, as the couple were paying rent each week, as far as
he was concerned, they were entitled to be there. Michel said it must
have been awkward for the couple living in the caravan and asked
where his mum is now. She's staying at another camp site and refuses
to see or speak to Kieron. He doesn't seem bothered. After all, his
mother abandoned him when she made the decision to return to England.
He's still working at the cafe in Carnac and he likes living at
Alexander and Simone's. I think he did the right thing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Ines arrived, she apologised for her behaviour at our last gig,
assuring us it wouldn't happen again. She seemed very subdued;
probably still embarrassed. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was impressed with Kieron's bass playing and we agreed he should take
part in our gig on the Saturday. Alexander asked if he'd like his
mother to come and watch. He laughed, saying she wouldn't be at all
interested and it would be a waste of time asking. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
Saturday we arrived early to set up. The place was fully booked. It's
very popular both with locals and tourists. Ines was the last to
arrive as usual, trailing behind Gavin, who was dressed in a full
length smoking jacket with a red rose pinned onto the top pocket. He
had brought his elderly mother with him and made a big show of
finding their table and getting her seated. I was dismayed to see
him. I glanced over at Alexander who raised his eyes. (He can't stand
him either and thinks he's full of himself). At least Ines was sober.
We played the first few songs; Quando, Quando, Quando, The Girl from
Ipanema, a couple of instrumental pieces and One Note Samba. As soon
as Alexander announced we would be taking a short break, Gavin
approached the stage and took the microphone from Ines. He unpinned
the red rose from his jacket, handed it to her, then began to sing O
Sole Mio whilst gazing into her eyes. I couldn't believe it! Ines was
taken in. She just stood like a statue with a fixed smile on her
face. The diners seemed to love it, clapping enthusiastically. I made
my escape out into the cold night as they demanded an encore. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk7ztpO0y1AHT_rCIzlkFepxNe2-zYGHslPjeQ3BGgbDQyUoh6E7EbtVrW_51fr5jBnJN1cvz6agHxa3R2W62HEhmlNj8BhVz5iX2o_gqiees8dkO9QVoC37zxoYoQ1MLc63S1ixQ51Kxg/s1600/opera-singer+1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk7ztpO0y1AHT_rCIzlkFepxNe2-zYGHslPjeQ3BGgbDQyUoh6E7EbtVrW_51fr5jBnJN1cvz6agHxa3R2W62HEhmlNj8BhVz5iX2o_gqiees8dkO9QVoC37zxoYoQ1MLc63S1ixQ51Kxg/s1600/opera-singer+1a.jpg" height="320" width="299" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
others were already outside; Michel, smoking and chatting to Kieron
whilst Alexander was pacing up and down in a rage. He was tempted to
tell Gavin to get lost, but reluctant to make a scene in public.
While it could have been worse and we were lucky the audience enjoyed
his singing, we still couldn't believe the cheek of the man. When we
went back into the restaurant I noticed Gavin and Ines were sitting
at his table, talking to his mother. During the second half I took a
few glances over towards their table. His mother was slumped in her
seat and appeared to have fallen asleep. Neither was Gavin paying any
attention to Ines' singing. He was studying something hidden in his
lap. Of course he was texting someone on his phone. The man is
unbelievable! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were tired at the end of the evening but pleased with the way the
playing went. Kieron had fitted in really well. We were
congratulating him when Gavin made his way over towards Ines and,
once again, took over the microphone. Alexander asked him what he
thought he was doing, but Gavin waved him away dismissively and began
to sing. Most of the diners had left but a few remained to listen. A
few bars into his rendition, he was accompanied by a ring tone to the
theme of Nessun Dorma. Ines leapt towards Gavin's jacket pocket,
pulled out his phone and demanded to know who was calling. She paused
for a moment then hurled the phone across the room where it landed on
a table, just missing a couple of guests. There were a few shocked
gasps from the audience as she turned and marched out. Thank Goodness
most of the guests had gone. I couldn't believe Gavin didn't go after
her but carried on singing to the end. He finished with a theatrical
bow, ambled over to his table and shook his mother awake. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Michel
was amazed at this and asked why Ines puts up with it. Alexander and
myself decided it would be best if Gavin doesn't come to any of our
gigs in future. (Who's going to tell him I wonder? Hopefully
Alexander). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at the cottage Coco was curled up on my sofa. I must have shut her in
when I left. I made a coffee and listened to some possible
arrangements for our next gig. I'm starting to wonder how much longer
Ines will stay with us. I'm convinced Gavin would be quite happy to
see her give up singing altogether. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The descriptive writing is excellent" Goodreads review </span></div>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
read a chapter from this novel each week on</div>
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<a href="http://james-faro.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">James Faro's blog</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-34332333208011114632015-02-12T11:12:00.000-08:002015-03-12T07:40:40.580-07:00Thursday 12th February: A Deceptive Propriétaire<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was Ann-Sofie's day off and she asked if I could read through the new
chapter of her book. Her English is very good and there weren't too
many mistakes in the grammar. Not too sure about her characters
though. They're supposedly in the middle of a zombie apocalypse but
don't seem overly concerned! I asked if she based her characters on
anyone, but she said they were a mixture of different people. She'd
brought her sketch pad and showed me some drawings of the Cathedral
and Castle in Uppsala. She told me all about the Cathedral which is
the oldest and largest in Sweden. Her drawings are very good (better,
I think, than her writing). I asked about her family. Her mother and
brother are coming over for a few days in March, she's really looking
forward to seeing them. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
rain cleared this afternoon and the sun made a rare appearance, so we
decided to go and look around Languidic. It was very quiet in the
town. We visited the church and then called into the local tourism
office. There was a middle-aged lady working there. She'd brought her
ginger cat into work with her, who was sprawled across the top of the
desk. She told us he's seventeen years old and goes to work with her
every day. The cat purred as we made a fuss of him. We had a look at
some leaflets about forthcoming festivals and local markets. They
didn't have any in Swedish so we picked up the English ones. The
ginger tom lifted his head and gazed at us as we made our way out of
the office. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was interested to see that Madame Dupont's shop had been transformed
into a second hand bookstore. I wanted to have a look around but
there was a hand written notice on the door telling us the place was
closed for the afternoon. The centre of the window was filled with a
display of historical books, precariously balanced one on top of one
the other; mostly reference books about military history, ships and
war planes. Each side of the window was devoted to large volumes of
encyclopedias; rarely seen these days since the advent of the
internet. I made a note to call in there sometime. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann-Sofie
said she loves reading horror stories and likes Stephen King novels,
particularly Pet Cemetery and Salem's Lot. I recommended she read the
original Dracula by Bram Stoker. (I might have a copy I could lend
her). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
stopped for a coffee at the Pascal's cafe-bar. The place was very
quiet when we arrived; only two people and the proprietor. We
ordered coffees, a croque monsieur for Ann Sofie and a bowl of
vegetable soup for myself. Ann Sofie made a face as she told me about
the pickled herring they have in Sweden, saying she said she can't
stand it! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pascal
came over to clear our table and asked Ann-Sofie where she was from.
She said Sweden and mentioned that her family are coming over soon to
stay at the gite next to my cottage. He said he knew a very
interesting story about a gite. He sat at our table and and told us
about a man called Andre who used to work in the local council
office. Pascal described him as a nondescript man who had a stable
but boring life. He'd been married for a long time, had two teenage
children at school and lived in a bungalow just outside town. His
mother had recently died and left him her granite cottage which he
decided to let out to tourists. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amazingly,
Andre had been seeing someone; a woman he worked with. Pascal
re-considered this and added that perhaps it was not so surprising as
Andre's wife was a sour faced nag. Ann-Sofie, speaking in English,
said this remark was sexist. Luckily I don't think Pascal understood
and continued with his story. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
night, Andre's wife found out about his affair and they had a huge
argument which resulted in Andre being thrown out of the house. He
couldn't go to his girlfriend's because she lived with her parents
who made it quite obvious they didn't approve of the relationship. At
the time Andre's gite was let to a family from Paris who had already
been there for ten days and had paid for the four week stay in
advance. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pascal
related the story to us, taking long pauses, for our benefit, and,
while I had to translate a few sentences for Ann-Sofie, her French
has already greatly improved. She asked Pascal how he knew all this.
He said he would explain as he went along. He paused to serve one of
the customers, chatting to him for a few minutes. When he returned,
he brought two more coffees and sat with us again. He now had the
full attention of his other two customers, one asked if he was
talking about mad Andre. Pascal nodded and they both laughed. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAB3Qn6HYdSzvdRMjRvsVJoViWhWTlcoELXKf4jeYe7KELxS9Ch4BXZE1193vSHNJGs94UrUWaIPFKY9TMiDKOevKkOKSqTdrkrvdE6oMSBIwJjZnxH11a6241AYQIg-S9uyhnSyxBJT3P/s1600/Cottage-Before-Rockdoor1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAB3Qn6HYdSzvdRMjRvsVJoViWhWTlcoELXKf4jeYe7KELxS9Ch4BXZE1193vSHNJGs94UrUWaIPFKY9TMiDKOevKkOKSqTdrkrvdE6oMSBIwJjZnxH11a6241AYQIg-S9uyhnSyxBJT3P/s1600/Cottage-Before-Rockdoor1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Without
his guests realising, Andre ended up sleeping in the garden shed of
his property. Naturally, it wasn't ideal, so he decided to get rid of
the family and move back into the gite. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
he had a key to the place, over the next week he systematically
hounded his guests. When they went out during the day, he would go in
and move their belongings, switch on the television and set the clock
radio to come on at three in the morning. He would open windows and
moved their belongings and, one time, he moved a chair and placed it
on top of the kitchen table. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
three days, he'd heard nothing and was growing desperate. He went to
see his wife who still refused to speak to him and slammed the door
in his face. His girlfriend was also behaving very coldly towards him
and, one day, spotted her in a restaurant with their boss at
lunchtime. He had stopped going in to work and felt he was going out
of his mind; determined to reclaim the gite. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
asked Pascal why the man didn't just give the family their money back
and explain the situation to them. Pascal said Andre was incredibly
mean. He did not want to refund the family on principle: he viewed
them as rich Parisians. He wanted them out and believed he was
entitled to keep the money. I noticed Ann-Sofie's disapproving look. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the fourth day Andre waited until night and crept into the gite. One
of the children had left a clockwork train in the kitchen. Andre
slammed the unit doors a number of times until he heard movement and
whispers from upstairs. He then tip-toed to the front door, switching
the hall light on and off on his way out. When the couple came
downstairs they were greeted with the toy making it's way slowly
across the kitchen tiles. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
following morning Andre had a phone call. His guests insisted the
gite was haunted and didn't want to spend another night there. They
told him all about the noises, and the furniture being moved. When
Andre said he wouldn't be able to refund their money they didn't seem
concerned: They were just desperate to leave. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
both wanted to know how Pascal knew all this. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
said Andre's wife still refused to speak to him and, rather than be
on his own in the gite, he'd began drinking and spending every
evening in the bar. He told his story to anyone who would listen and
it wasn't long before word got back to the local tourism office. His
property was taken off the list of recommended gites; not that Andre
was bothered. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann
Sofie wanted to know why he didn't want to stay alone in the gite. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apart
from being separated from his wife, there was another reason. When
the guests had spoken to him they mentioned that, one morning, the
husband got up very early to go outside for a smoke. The front door
of the gite is half-glazed, the top half of which has a frosted glass
panel. As he approached the gite, he saw the vague outline of a woman
descending the stairs and assumed his wife had got up and come down
the kitchen. However, when he went inside to look for her, the
kitchen was empty; his wife was still upstairs in bed. She insisted
she hadn't been downstairs and was intrigued to know who the shape
was at the door? This had really scared Andre, who never once
considered the possibility of a real ghost. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
and his wife have since got back together. They have now sold the
gite and moved away. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
noisy group of Italian tourists came into the bar and Pascal had to
leave us. Ann Sofie said she hoped the gite next door to me didn't
have a ghost. I said better that, than zombies! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we got back Ann Sofie came into the cottage to collect her sketch
book and lap top before returning next door. I asked how she was
getting along with the family. She said she gets along well with
Solange and she really likes the children. I think she'll settle. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If you like historical drama, you must read this! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxmXbnKaIl8PzI9S1Gnn0luqYm4nkebkUoTqQqLndCzWnXIQrVmhsYGX7IsRCRWSii0SDk4iC-sONHaGTXITcngll86YNssXm8TI81HuWfgws7u-sOMy4Xheyi48v8vpakn8t8c-FNWKm/s1600/Toby+complete+novel+icon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxmXbnKaIl8PzI9S1Gnn0luqYm4nkebkUoTqQqLndCzWnXIQrVmhsYGX7IsRCRWSii0SDk4iC-sONHaGTXITcngll86YNssXm8TI81HuWfgws7u-sOMy4Xheyi48v8vpakn8t8c-FNWKm/s1600/Toby+complete+novel+icon.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A novel set in 17th century Jamaica and New England colonies: </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">go to </span></span></span><a href="http://www.jamesfaro.com/#/books/4588425387" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 150%;" target="_blank">www.jamesfaro.com </a><span style="color: #111111; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-18915596595455803392015-02-05T02:30:00.000-08:002015-02-12T02:31:23.601-08:00Thursday 5th February: The Watcher<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
I was on my way out to visit Celine this morning when Solange came
over and asked if I could look after pepin for a day next week. She
also said she's worried about Ann Sofie who's very homesick. She's
missing her mum and brother so much that she's considering returning
home. Solange thinks it would be a good idea if I continue to help
with Ann Sofie's writing. She's written another chapter for her book
and would like to come over but worries about being a nuisance. I
asked Solange to pass on the message that she's welcome to visit any
time. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I arrived at Celine's cottage she was standing outside, inspecting
the remains of the bedraggled geraniums from last summer. When I
spoke to her on the phone yesterday she didn't say much and sounded
tired. Her father's funeral took place two days ago but she stayed on
to help her brother clear out the apartment. She'd only arrived back
home yesterday afternoon. I asked how the funeral had gone but it was
clear she didn't want to talk about it. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside
the cottage was as cluttered as ever; books spilling out of the
bookshelves and photo albums piled in a heap on the sofa. A fire was
burning away in the hearth. I sat down in one of the armchairs whilst
Napoleon fixed his gaze on me from the top of a bookcase. Celine's
landlord had been looking after him and the rabbits while she was
away. Apparently, Napoleon has been sulking since her return,
refusing to pay her any attention. The two rabbits peered out from
their hutch in the corner of the living room. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
cheered up when I gave her the pictures from Madame Dupont's shop.
She was interested to hear about the mad old lady, laughing at my
impersonation. I mentioned Ann Sofie and how she was homesick. She
remembered how, when she had gone away to teacher training college at
eighteen, she had cried the first time a letter arrived from her dad.
She suggested that, once the weather improves, we take Ann Sofie out
and show her a few places. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
showed me some photos she'd brought back from her dad's apartment.
There was a formal one of him, looking very serious, standing in
front of his class at the lycee. Another was of Celine aged about six
with her brother, Claude, and their grandmother. They were standing
on the beach at Carnac, squinting into the sun. All three of them
looked happy and relaxed. She handed me a photo of her parents on
their wedding day, gazing into each others eyes. Celine's mother had
become ill with multiple sclerosis soon after Celine was born and she
could only remember her in a wheelchair. Her mother was a prisoner in
her wheelchair, yet always seeming cheerful. I can understand how
difficult it must be to talk about her. She died when Celine was
fifteen. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
told me she and Claude had found a box of love letters written from
their parents before their marriage, tied up with faded red ribbon.
She had no idea her father was so sentimental. They'd also found a
box of her mother's jewellery, along with a pile of her dresses. Her
father had kept a scarf Celine remembered her mother wearing. She
said it still smelt faintly of her perfume and took Celine straight
back to memories of her childhood. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another
album was full of dancing and singing certificates from school,
carefully arranged in date order. I asked about the cigar box
standing on the dresser which was decorated with sea shells. This had
been a summer's project one year at her Grandma's which her father
had kept. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
brought in two bowls chicken soup and a baguette from her little
kitchen and we sat in the armchairs by the fire. I noticed the
carriage clock ticking away on the mantle piece above the fireplace.
Celine had brought it from her father's apartment while her brother
took a watch and some photos. The flat was now empty and ready to
sell. I admitted I had never been close to my own parents. My father,
an officer in the Royal Air Force, was distant and aloof and my
mother who was now in a nursing home in England. Neither of them
showed me any genuine affection. Celine said she wished she had done
more to help her father, realising he'd been very lonely. She added
that the funeral had been awful; far worse than she'd imagined it
would be. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was only after we'd finished the soup and washed up that she said she
wanted to talk to me about something. Whilst she had been away her
landlords had noticed, on several occasions, a dark haired woman
drive up and sit in her car outside the cottage. They asked her what
she wanted and she said she was a friend of Celine. When they told
her that she was away, the woman thanked them and left. However, they
have seen her two or three times since and once, late at night,
sitting alone in her car. They had taken down the car registration
number, but we both knew it was Adele. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwO-pE9e9CDngBLtbtljImogcocRIrjLGnLANvIxisOPUK2jhHnvahTLzQhZ3dW1xWkJfjPc5DgSqyiun_QCsXcjy2zTw_qXnUJdHWxljIU1PHz8GmSksiuNvBPyDMJs2R_QKUL_HvX6Z/s1600/a+watcher+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwO-pE9e9CDngBLtbtljImogcocRIrjLGnLANvIxisOPUK2jhHnvahTLzQhZ3dW1xWkJfjPc5DgSqyiun_QCsXcjy2zTw_qXnUJdHWxljIU1PHz8GmSksiuNvBPyDMJs2R_QKUL_HvX6Z/s1600/a+watcher+1.jpg" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
got up and fetched an envelope from the dresser. Inside was a letter
in Adele's handwriting saying that, after meeting up at a recent gig
where I'd offered her a lift home, I was now seeing her again. Since
that evening, she wrote, I had decided it would not be right for me
to see Celine again. She finished by advising Celine not to contact
me again. The letter had been pushed through the letterbox and was
waiting on the door mat when Celine arrived back.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apart
from keeping the letter as it's signed with Adele's name, neither of
us know what to do. I mentioned the police but, on second thoughts,
we agreed Adele hasn't actually done anything serious enough to
report. Celine said she'll keep a lookout for her car and note down
any times she sees her. Adele must have followed her back to the
cottage at some stage: it's all a bit worrying. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
found some hooks and hung Madame Dupont's pictures up along with her
parents' wedding picture. We looked through the rest of the albums.
There were lots of birthday and Christmas celebration photo's and a
lovely picture of Claude with Celine as a baby. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
took out the rabbits which hopped around the living room until they
were tired and stretched out on the rug in front of the fire.
Napoleon, all the while, glared at them from his lofty position on
the bookshelf. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
talked late into the evening. Celine said wants to concentrate on
putting all her collected legends and myths together for her book and
I'm determined to get my historical novel completed. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was after midnight when I arrived back at my place. I tried to work
on my writing but couldn't stop thinking about Adele and wondered
what she might do next. Although we decided to ignore her for the
time being. Maybe I should confront her. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
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</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-61309980916118215252015-01-29T03:10:00.000-08:002015-02-03T03:11:29.420-08:00Thursday 29th January: Common Interests <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have gained a piano student. Solange called over on Sunday and asked
if I would be willing to teach Benjamin; just for half an hour each
week. He's five and she and Pieter are keen for him to learn to play
an instrument. I didn't really want to get back to teaching again,
but don't mind making an exception Benjamin. Solange had already
bought a beginner's book for children which she showed me and
insisted on paying me for the lessons (maybe she'll reduce my rent!) </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was a bit fed up that morning. I'd had a phone call from Celine. Her
father had taken a turn for the worse and had passed away during the
night. She's understandably very upset and is staying at her
brother's until after the funeral. All her family thought he was
improving so, although he'd been ill for a long time, his death still
came as a shock. She said the funeral will be very quiet. She hopes
to be back soon. It's difficult to know what to say. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
four o' clock Benjamin arrived for his lesson. He was very excited
and showed me a picture which he'd drawn of himself sitting at the
piano. Next to the piano he'd drawn an alien blob like figure which
turned out to be me. After admiring his new pair of shoes I persuaded
him to sit at the piano and try playing some of the keys. I thought
he wouldn't be able to concentrate for very long and my plan was to
start with a very simple tune from his book. We got through the first
three bars of Alouette when he climbed off the piano stool and
wandered around the cottage in his usual routine of opening cupboard
doors and inspecting the inside of my fridge. He's a nice little boy,
very bright and interested in everything going on. When he eventually
returned to the piano and I got him to clap the tune of Alouette and
sing a few of the French note names. I said how pleased mummy and
daddy would be. When Solange came to collect him we both applauded as
he proudly showed her what he had learnt. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1n-ZebMU7_b1pfWfqDXyiijsk4DKEhDLlBUPg4e9Ti-rFiTKbRrpUWq0uEkD95STr_GHg4uCwnMVMz2TY9KuHDYzrvHWPXl33oCpGQh3pKRbt3ib15w4Y0eh2Hr-lmNylLrEiDK_luaM/s1600/at+the+piano+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1n-ZebMU7_b1pfWfqDXyiijsk4DKEhDLlBUPg4e9Ti-rFiTKbRrpUWq0uEkD95STr_GHg4uCwnMVMz2TY9KuHDYzrvHWPXl33oCpGQh3pKRbt3ib15w4Y0eh2Hr-lmNylLrEiDK_luaM/s1600/at+the+piano+2.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Solange
mentioned she has a lot more work coming up as she's expanding her
accounts business. She's finding things difficult with the children
so has arranged for a Swedish au-pair to stay. She'll be attending
the language school for three mornings a week and will help with the
children in the afternoons and weekends. Apparently her level of
English is a higher than her French. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yesterday
morning I'd just parked my car after returning from the supermarket
in Lorient as Solange was showing a tall, very fair girl around the
garden who I guessed must be the au pair. They came over and Solange
introduced Ann-Sofie. I asked when she'd arrived and she answered
quietly in perfect English, ten o'clock on Tuesday morning. When I
asked if it was her first time in France she just nodded. Solange
mentioned that Ann-Sofie is writing a book in English and suggested
she could come over to my cottage so I could check the grammar and
spelling. Again, she nodded before following Solange into the house. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
afternoon I was practising the new pieces Ines had chosen when there
was a tap at the door. Ann-Sofie brought in her lap top and placed it
carefully on the table. I made us coffee and asked about Sweden. She
comes from Uppsala, a town North of Stockholm. She's a student at
Uppsala University but has taken a year off. She hopes to eventually
work as a translator either for the United Nations or European Union
in Strasbourg. I commented that her English is very good and she said
she thinks English is much easier but finds French difficult. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her
book is set after the Apocalypse when zombies rule the world. The
remaining humans live in a secret underground world and the main
focus is on the struggles of Niels and Elsa, a young couple, who I
guess are based on Ann-Sofie and her boyfriend. There were some good
descriptions and her two main characters are believable and
well-developed. I was surprised at how gory the zombie scenes were.
Ann-Sofie clearly has hidden depths! She's written twelve thousand
words so far. I asked if she'd seen the original film, Night of the
Living Dead, but she didn't know it. She liked the T.V series, The
Walking Dead. I've heard of this but haven't yet seen it seen it.
Apparently the whole zombie culture is popular with young people in
Sweden at the moment, so she's hit on the right subject. Vampires
seem to be in fashion too, especially with the recent Twilight
series. She didn't like the trend of modern vampires being too nice
and thinks they should all be evil as in Bram Stoker's original
Dracula. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
asked if I had something of my writing she could read. I told her
about Amatore's Restaurant and showed her the book on Amazon but I
didn't think it appropriate to give her a passage from there, so I
suggested, The Widow of Duxbury, from my historical novel. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
sat quietly reading and when she finished she said she like the
description of the widow and thought the she must be a witch. I asked
if she writes descriptions of each of her characters. She was
enthusiastic about this, saying she'd drawn pictures of them all. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
left abruptly to go next door and came back a minute later with a
sketch book full of drawings. She showed me pages filled with groups
of zombies which reminded me of scenes from Michael Jackson's
Thriller. Her drawings are very good. It's obvious this is where her
real talent lies. I asked if she'd always liked drawings and if she'd
thought of going to Art College. She said her mother is an artist
with her own greeting card business in Sweden, but she's fixed on the
idea of becoming a translator. At the back of her sketch book she
showed me some cartoons of a super hero she's invented, a flying bear
wearing goggles and a cape. She'd drawn these for her brother who's
twenty-four and has Downs Syndrome. He loves anything to do with
super heroes and has built up a collection of comic books and watches
Batman films over and over again. She said she misses him and plans
to send him a new cartoon every few days. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
wondered if she feels a little homesick already. When I asked how
she's getting on next door, she said Pieter and Solange are very nice
and so far she likes the language school in Vannes but has only just
started there. Most of the other students are older. There are a
couple of German girls but she's the only Swedish student. She said
it was nice to meet me and left, saying she was going to talk to her
mum and brother on Sykpe. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outside
a storm's blowing. I see on the news there are snowstorms in Scotland
and Northern England, also heavy snowfall in parts of New England. I
hope we don't get anything like that here. I phoned Celine who said
she'd like to call round soon. </span></span></span>
</div>
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</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-66378401050417437492015-01-23T08:22:00.000-08:002015-01-30T08:45:28.517-08:00Friday 23rd January: Madame Dupont<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phoned
Celine this morning. She's returning on Sunday. Her father has
improved slightly, is out of hospital and is now staying with her
brother and sister-in-law. She's worried as he's still very ill and
in a lot of pain. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wednesday
was Karl's birthday. He wasn't bothered about celebrating but I
persuaded him to come out for a drink. He's concerned about Stefanie.
She and Tomas have only been back in Berlin two weeks and already
Tomas has been questioned by the police about a recent break-in by
animal right activists at the Bayer Pharmaceutical factory. Stefanie
told her dad that hundreds of cages had been broken into, allowing
countless rats and mice to escape. She insists she had nothing to do
with it, but Karl's not sure what to think. Whilst he has a certain
amount of sympathy with Tomas' views, he's understandably concerned
about Stefanie getting into trouble. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
bar in town was quiet that evening; just four or five regulars. The
television, which is permanently switched on, was showing an old film
with subtitles. The picture kept breaking up but nobody seemed
bothered. Karl was telling to me about his furniture restoration
business when the bar owner, Pascal, interrupted and asked if he was
interested in buying some original shop fittings from the 1960s. His
aunt had run a ladies clothes shop in the town for nearly fifty
years. Now aged eighty three, she had decided to sell up and retire.
She was desperate to clear the shop in preparation for her move to
Rennes to live with her daughter. He described Madame Dupont as a
real character who had never missed a day's work. According to
Pascal, generations of women patronised her shop, travelling from all
over Brittany to buy fashionable clothes there. He wrote down the
phone number of her daughter, Elsie, and recommended Karl phone her
as soon as possible. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pascal
was interested to know why we had ventured out on such a cold night.
He had guessed we were celebrating and Karl reluctantly admitted it
was his birthday. Everyone in the bar cheered. Louis and Yves -- two
of the regulars -- broke into a drunken rendition of Happy Birthday.
They persuaded Karl (who is fluent in French) to join in. However,
finding my pronunciation hilarious, were determined to teach me the
words. They continued to sing in high-pitched voices whilst slapping
Karl on the back and repeatedly wishing him "Bon Anniversaire".
(Although it was obvious they were making fun of us, at least it gave
them something to talk about over the long Winter evenings). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
following afternoon Karl phoned Elsie and arranged to meet Madame
Dupont at her shop in the town. He asked me to go along in case he
should need some help with loading the shop fittings. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qoGZ3fiSk0NjvRBhdZ7IeEmjmiXQ3T6EA3Eh9sMa3C8uDR2YqnovTXEkj02QW1D1t3glVIeA2r2mA3cmL8H2dPs9BlXcVXjMqjDJLXfmaXv4D-HYEFWXTI-mP9Wat3oFgLTfsnEgmZe_/s1600/mannequins+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qoGZ3fiSk0NjvRBhdZ7IeEmjmiXQ3T6EA3Eh9sMa3C8uDR2YqnovTXEkj02QW1D1t3glVIeA2r2mA3cmL8H2dPs9BlXcVXjMqjDJLXfmaXv4D-HYEFWXTI-mP9Wat3oFgLTfsnEgmZe_/s1600/mannequins+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Three
naked mannequins stood guard in the shop window and an ancient bell
above the door announced our arrival. As we entered, we were greeted
with an overpowering scent of lavender perfume together with a hint
of mothballs (a smell I remember only too well from my own
childhood). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Madame
Dupont, dressed in a fur coat which hid most of her violet suit, was
a tiny woman with white hair, a pale heavily-made-up face with two
smudges of rouge across her cheeks. She was perched at the edge of a
canvas beach chair with a large leather bag propped against her leg. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Standing
behind the chair was Elsie, a plain woman in her sixties who, in
contrast to her mother, was dressed in black with her grey hair tied
severely back. Apart from the beach chair and two large display
cabinets standing against the wall, all the fittings, including the
shop counter, had gone. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Madame
Dupont held out a heavily ringed hand with fingers adorned with
bright red nails and raised her face to be kissed. There was a
movement from the bag at her feet and from the opening peered a small
dog with a red spotted bow tied round its' head. Karl bent down to
pat him. The little dog bared his teeth, fixing him with yellow eyes
and growled. The old lady snatched up the dog from the bag and
clutched him to her, telling Karl not to scare her little baby. She
then spoke to the dog in a high pitched voice, asking if poor Fou Fou
was scared of the nasty man. Karl was about to say something, but
thought better of it. He asked asked about the cabinets. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPWud6o6OPH4oRemYHdjQyCXyRwaJVH-ltpp8zRqZhrqiVoWXG1cuGkJQow-3lj5B7Uhg7yENdPm2mCf7NP9PmTP7gkmVigtzBE01N-NTp3JEPqfEeA1su_F_5JGeB7zfcWQLX8Yw1oYO/s1600/bigoudene+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPWud6o6OPH4oRemYHdjQyCXyRwaJVH-ltpp8zRqZhrqiVoWXG1cuGkJQow-3lj5B7Uhg7yENdPm2mCf7NP9PmTP7gkmVigtzBE01N-NTp3JEPqfEeA1su_F_5JGeB7zfcWQLX8Yw1oYO/s1600/bigoudene+2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
noticed three framed photographs hanging on the wall and I went to
have a closer look. They showed several groups of women wearing
traditional Breton costume; embroidered dresses, white lace aprons
and white head-dresses. Ignoring Karl's request, Madame Dupont raised
herself from her perch. As she stood up, her coat reached below her
knees and, even in her high heeled shoes, she could only have been
about five foot tall. She said the photo's had been taken in her
village near Pont L'Abbe in the late 1940's. The women were wearing a
traditional head-dress called a Coiffe. She explained there were of
different designs in each region and the women in these photos wore
the tall round Bigouden Coiffe which is distinctive to Pont L'Abbe.
With her daughter acting as translator, she then proceeded to give a
history of Breton costumes. I knew Celine would love these photos so
I listened closely and tried to take in what she was telling me. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
one point Madame Dupont came to an abrupt halt and slumped back into
her chair. She then appeared to nod off. I could hear her gentle
snoring while her daughter continued to tell me about the photos.
Madame Dupont woke with a start and demanded to know who we were and
where we both came from. When Karl told her he was from Berlin she
said she remembered seeing many German soldiers when she was a little
girl during the German Occupation in the Second World War. She
informed us that Lorient had been a U-boat base and that three
shelters had been built. The Allies had tried to destroy these
shelters by repeatedly bombing the city until it had been virtually
destroyed. Karl said that Berlin had also been heavily bombed, and
many historic churches and buildings destroyed, but when her daughter
translated this, the old lady just waved her hand dismissively. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
framed certificate was produced for us to admire which her daughter
explained was a gift from the Mayor of the town to thank Madame
Dupont for over forty years service to local commerce. Our host
became very animated as she described the presentation at the Hotel
de Ville and the report in the local paper. The cutting was produced
which showed a photo of a beaming Madame Dupont receiving her
certificate whilst local dignitaries and shop owners looked on. She
launched into another speech which her daughter translated. She had
seen many changes in the last forty years and none of them for the
better. She was especially contemptuous of department stores, telling
us that she had been able to provide a level of service no department
store could possibly match. She was not sorry to be retiring and felt
that customer service was not as valued as it once had been. She
deplored the latest styles of clothing and thought that French women
-- once rightly regarded as the most stylish in the world -- had lost
their sense of elegance and no longer took pride in their appearance.
Her voice rose to a high pitch as she described how, not so many
years ago, a woman wouldn't think twice about spending at least an
hour each morning dressing and putting on her make-up. In her
mother's day no woman would dream of leaving the house without a
matching hat, gloves and bag. At this point she paused and produced a
piece of chicken from her coat pocket which she dangled in front of
Fou Fou's nose. The little dog, still in her lap, licked his lips and
opened his mouth to be fed. Once the meal was over, Madame Dupont
smothered the dog with kisses, telling him what a good boy he was and
how mummy was so proud of him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
glanced at Elsie, who was standing motionless with a resigned
expression, and guessed she'd never received this amount of
attention. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Madame
Dupont continued with her lecture, her face taking on a look of utter
disgust as she described the everyday uniform of jeans. Her breathing
became heavy and she broke into a fit of coughing. Elsie patted her
back, telling her in a quiet voice to calm down and not to get
stressed. The old lady glared at her daughter and pushed her away,
reiterating her previous statement that she was proud to be able to
say she had always offered the highest standards of customer care;
treating each customer as an individual, guiding them in the right
direction and always giving her best advice. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was difficult to break into Madame Dupont's recollections and I
sensed that Karl was becoming impatient. Thankfully, her daughter
announced they would have to be leaving. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Madame
Dupont said the shop was in the process of being sold but she didn't
know what it was to become. She hoped it would not be turned into a
bar. Karl smiled and said that wouldn't go down too well with Pascal,
who wouldn't like the competition. Madame Dupont sighed at the
mention of her nephew and then announced that we could have the
cabinets for nothing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
kept a straight face and thanked her, but he couldn't hide his
surprise as loaded them up into the van. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was quiet on the way back; only commenting that he'd lost his
grandfather and two uncles during the war. Later, over coffee in his
kitchen, he said he was pleased about the cabinets, saying he would
get a good price for them at auction. I asked if he'd think of
putting a bid in for the shop but he dismissed the idea as too much
hard work. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at my cottage I cleaned the framed photos and wrapped them up as a
present for Celine: just the sort of thing she likes. Spent the rest
of the evening updating my website. Still a lot to do. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-44996968818108045212015-01-18T04:26:00.000-08:002015-01-24T04:27:12.806-08:00Sunday18th January: Opening Night <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Played
last night at a little restaurant in Carnac, run by a friend of
Alexander's. The place has been refurbished and we were booked to
play on the opening night. Although it's January the place was fully
booked. Alexander and Michel had set up by the time I arrived and
some of the guests were already taking their seats. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cOPj0IGrLHnhPaa2jzzW7wU8EU3QHuk-HoJo9m-TbDYORp_QLu4_nvVA2hCQuuFzRO5ayuFXfbb3d-mMpG0QAKbOTV46-PAaWsDV-nFY-MzJlbMcI9L-u4m3z1bf2FNmaxv9_YliSzBG/s1600/img_2458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cOPj0IGrLHnhPaa2jzzW7wU8EU3QHuk-HoJo9m-TbDYORp_QLu4_nvVA2hCQuuFzRO5ayuFXfbb3d-mMpG0QAKbOTV46-PAaWsDV-nFY-MzJlbMcI9L-u4m3z1bf2FNmaxv9_YliSzBG/s1600/img_2458.jpg" height="169" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ines
was late, as usual, and when she did eventually turn up it was
obvious she'd been drinking. She ranted on about her taxi turning up
late and complained about the driver not knowing where he was
supposed to be going. We listened patiently, but I could tell
Alexander was fuming. Halfway through the first song Ines forgot most
of her lyrics and, during the second verse, resorted to humming. I
scanned the room, hoping no-one had noticed: thankfully there was a
lot of noise with people chatting. It was then I caught sight of
Adele, seated at one of the tables with a dark haired man. At first I
thought I must have been mistaken, but no, it was definitely her. She
was talking to him and wasn't looking at us. By now Ines had
abandoned the lyrics altogether and was humming through the whole
song. What a relief when reached our first break. Alexander suggested
we meet in the foyer. Michel, desperate for a cigarette, disappeared
outside while I followed the other two. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ines,
who was close to tears, apologised and said she's missing Gavin who's
performing in Milan. (I guess, from recent events, she wonders what
he gets up to when he's away). However, Alexander didn't accept this.
He was getting more irritated, telling her we would have to find
another singer if she carries on in this way. I've never seen him so
angry. This seemed to sober Ines up. She assured us she was ready to
continue. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
inside the restaurant I took a glance at Adele. She was still there,
talking to her companion. What was she up to? Surely it couldn't be
coincidence she had booked a table here. I tried to focus on the
music whilst Ines struggled through the next songs. After our second
break Alexander's suggested we play a few instrumentals. I think we
were all relieved to get to the end of the evening. Michel said he'd
drive Ines back as he was going in the same direction. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
they'd left Alexander introduced me to Andre, the owner of the
restaurant, who seemed happy with the way the evening had gone and
asked if we could play there again. He talked about the previous
restaurant he used to manage near Bordeaux. He's moved to Brittany to
be near his daughter and grandchildren. Thankfully Alexander was in a
considerably better mood when we packed up. The restaurant was empty
now, apart from a couple of waiters busy clearing the tables. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I got to my car I was surprised to find it unlocked. As soon as I
opened the door I was aware of a familiar musky perfume. Adele was
sitting in the front seat; a fixed smile on her face. I cursed myself
for leaving the car door unlocked and asked her what on earth she was
doing? What happened to the man she was sitting with in the
restaurant? She laughed saying she'd met him on an internet dating
site and found him so boring she told him to go. She'd decided to
wait for me and asked if I wanted to go back to her place. She clung
on to my arm and started telling me (in her little girl voice) how I
was so much more fun to be with and why don't I come back to her
place just for tonight. Although I hate arguments I told her no, and
said I would just drop her off at her apartment. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
then started to shout, calling me self-centred and inconsiderate and
telling me how fortunate I was to know her. But as soon as I said I'd
call her a taxi, she calmed down and accepted the offer her a lift.
She had recently moved and gave directions to a place just outside
Lorient. She was quiet for most of the journey. However she did talk
about Ines; criticising her dress sense and making ridiculous remarks
about the Spanish temperament. She asked if I thought Ines was
attractive. When I didn't answer she questioned me about Celine,
asking where she was and why hadn't she come this evening. I said
nothing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we reached her apartment, a modern nondescript block on the outskirts
of the city, she asked me inside. I refused. She glared at me for a
moment then got out of the car and slammed the door. I watched her
enter the foyer of the building and drove off. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at my cottage, she'd already sent me a text: <i>Thanks for the lift.
See you soon</i>. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
made myself a coffee and thought about the evening. Whatever I say or
do, I can't seem to get rid off the woman. During the journey Adele
had said she'd been reading my Amatore novel and asked which of the
characters was inspired by her. Although I didn't say so, I wondered
if Nicole from <i>La Belle Charente</i> might be appropriate: I
certainly hope not. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
phoned Celine and, while she has enough to deal with (her dad has got
worse and isn't expected to live much longer), I told her about
Adele. She said I should just ignore her. Obviously I agree, but I'm
not convinced it'll work. </span></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Very
cold tonight! </span></span></span>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-32932244803729683732015-01-07T08:48:00.000-08:002015-01-18T08:49:02.047-08:00Wednesday 7th January: Natural Remedies <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've
been feeling so ill over the last week, coughing and sneezing, I
haven't felt like doing anything even though I still have the cover
of my book to sort out. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's
been so quiet the past few days. Celine is away, visiting her father
who's ill and Paul, Isabelle and Mathilde left for Paris this
morning. They came over to say goodbye, bringing me a chocolate cake
Mathilde had made. They might be back for a weekend before the baby's
born. I hope everything goes well for them. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">About
an hour after Paul and his family left, I had a visit from Stefanie
and her boyfriend, Tomas. He's tall and thin with a beard covering
most of his face framed with dreadlocks down to his shoulders.
Stefanie said her dad had mentioned I hadn't been well so they'd
decided to come and see me. They're leaving later today as the new
university term is about to start. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
had been raining for most of the morning and from the state of their
wet clothes, they'd obviously walked over. They were pleased to come
into the warmth. Tomas sat on the living room floor and asked if the
sofa was made from real leather. I said I wasn't sure and soon
realised this was a mistake as he immediately launched into a lecture
about the evils of animal exploitation (I happened to agree with some
of the points he was making but didn't get the chance to say).
Stefanie nodded enthusiastically during the episode and I got the
impression Thomas was used to having an audience. The two of them
kept up the conversation, talking over each other rapidly. Tomas had
hitched from Germany and turned up two days ago to see Stefanie. They
both wanted to hitch back but her dad wouldn't hear of it and has
given them enough money for the train journey. I was surprised to
hear that Tomas is sleeping in a tent in Karl's garden and asked why
he doesn't sleep in the house. Apparently he prefers to be close to
nature. I just don't know how can he stand the cold at night! I asked
if they lived together in Berlin. Stefanie said no and Tomas
described the squat he lives in. Apparently, its location has to be
kept secret, otherwise the police might carry out a raid. They both
seemed to find this amusing. (I wonder what Karl thinks). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
offered them a drink .Tomas doesn't drink tea or coffee and asked for
water after I assured him it comes from a well. I asked if they
wanted anything to eat. Tomas said he's a strict vegan and gave me a
list of reasons why everyone should be one. Stefanie said she wasn't
hungry. (I wonder what excuse she makes for eating meat). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
yet another bout of coughing,Tomas advised me never to take any
conventional medicines, which he described as poison. He knew of a
recipe for honey and hot water, which he wrote down for me. I've
tried endless variations of this and it never seems to help, but
thought it best not to say anything. Tomas opened the windows,
telling me that artificial heating would make my cold worse. In his
world, all chemical and man made materials are evil. (I noticed his
clothes were now warm and dry, but I thought it best not to mention
this). </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tomas
was stroking Coco who had been sleeping the whole time on the sofa.
He asked if I had any other pets. I told them about Pepin next door
and the two rabbits that Celine had given to the children. They
wanted to go and see them and I explained where the barn was. They
had been speaking to me in English the whole time, so I thought it
was odd when Stefanie snapped at Tomas in German. He shook his head
and said nothing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
left, saying they would be back, maybe at Easter. I closed the
windows and lay on the sofa after they had gone. The silence was a
relief but my headache had got worse. After a few minutes I started
to wonder why Tomas had been so keen to see the rabbits. I had a sick
feeling as it dawned on me that he's probably an animal rights
activist and believes keeping animals in cages is cruel. I got up,
pulled on my coat and scarf and went out to the barn. Sure enough the
door to the hutch was open and the rabbits were gone. I stood in the
damp and freezing barn, trying not to panic. Luckily Solange was out
and the children at school. The children would be so upset. I
searched behind empty crates and boxes but there was no sign of the
rabbits. Thank goodness Pepin was out with Solange. If he'd been in
the garden he might have chased them, and scared them to death. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
had started to rain again when I went into the garden to search and I
was shivering. After about five minutes I found them huddled together
behind the lavender bush. They scratched and kicked when I picked
them up but I managed to get them safely into the hutch. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've
decided not to say anything to Karl just yet. He wont hear anything
negative about Stefanie. I'm annoyed with myself as I should have
gone with them to see the rabbits. I'm just relieved I managed to get
them back into their hutch. </span></span></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-7996849815909452422015-01-01T03:23:00.000-08:002015-01-04T03:26:15.984-08:00Thursday 1st January: New Year fireworks <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Alexander
phoned New year's Eve morning, wanting to arrange a practise that
day. We have a gig coming up on the 10th and he thought it would be a
good time to get everyone together. I asked if Ines was coming and if
he'd heard from her since the engagement party. He said he'd spoken
to her about the gig and she'd sounded fed up but hadn't mentioned
anything about Gavin or the party. Just as I finished the call
Benjamin and Madeleine came knocking on the door and ran into the
cottage where they started leaping up and down on the sofa. They were
closely followed by Pepin and Solange, who had come to invite me to
their fireworks party later that evening, She said to come over about
nine and mentioned that Paul, Isabelle and Mathilde were coming,
although Isabelle might leave early as she hadn't been feeling too
well. </span></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a bitterly cold morning and when I arrived at Alexander's, he'd
just put an electric heater in the summerhouse in an attempt to warm
the place up. Michel turned up and laughed, telling us the cold was
nothing and that he was used to far worse. I asked him if it was true
that the garages in some parts of Canada are heated. He said his
parent's was, and they also had heated car seats and triple glazing
throughout their house. (I wouldn't be surprised if they have it in
their cars too!)</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
asked where Kieron was. Alexander said he was working all afternoon
and night at the restaurant, but didn't mind as he was on double pay.
His mother and sisters had finally been in touch. They were returning
to France and asked Kieron to come back to the campsite. He refused,
asking if he could stay with Alexander and Simone. He felt that his
mother didn't really care about him. Alexander told us he was no
problem and had agreed he could stay as long as he liked. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ines
arrived late. I was shocked by her appearance. She was pale and
looked as if she'd crying. After we ran through a couple of songs
Michel and Alexander decided to brave the cold for a smoke. Ines
asked if she could speak to me. She said she was sorry about having a
go at Celine at the engagement party. I asked her if anything had
happened since and she told me that two days ago she and Gavin had
gone to the big supermarket just outside Lorient. Gavin stayed in the
car as he said he wanted to listen to something on the radio. She had
gone in but returned to the car park after discovering she'd left her
shopping list behind. Walking towards the car, she was surprised to
find it empty and, looking around, caught sight of Gavin in another
car nearby. He was sitting in the front with a woman and they were
kissing. She went over and banged on the window. Gavin immediately
broke away and leapt out of the car, making excuses while the woman
drove off without saying a word. He told Ines that he had only seen
the woman a few times and that she meant nothing to him. He had only
agreed to meet her in the supermarket car park as he planned to tell
her it was all over between them but that she wouldn't accept this. I
didn't know what to say, so just listened. Ines said she's forgiven
him but I wonder whether she actually believes him, I think she wants
to. I suppose she must really love him.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
as Alexander and Michel returned from their smoke, Simone brought
over a tray of coffee and biscuits for us all. She and Alexander are
having a quiet New Years Eve, just the two of them as Kieron is
working. We decided to pack up soon after the coffees as the
summerhouse was still freezing as it was difficult to play. I also
didn't think Ines was in the mood for singing. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I got back home I phoned Celine, asking if she wanted to come over
for the fireworks party. When she arrived I told her about Ines. She
felt sorry for her and was certain Gavin would hurt her again. She
can't understand what Ines sees in him. (I don't think any of us
can!)</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we went next door Pieter was sorting through a box of fireworks. He
seemed almost as excited as the children, leading them into the
garden with strict instructions to stand well clear. He lit the
fireworks and Mathilde and Benjamin chased each other around the
garden whilst the rest of us shivered from the doorway. It wasn't
long before we retreated indoors and watched through the kitchen
window whilst Solange stayed out in the garden with Pieter and the
children. I must admit the colours were spectacular, I could see
Mathilde and Benjamin were amazed by them. Celine made a fuss of poor
Pepin who was trembling in his basket, barking each time a firework
went off. Solange had made hot dogs which we had with a glass of
champagne; an odd combination but tasted good. At midnight Pieter and
Solange brought the children indoors and we all toasted the New Year,
with special Good Luck to Isabelle and Paul who's baby is due in the
Spring. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
wonder what this New Year will bring for the rest of us? </span></span></span>
</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-4235823939593727802014-12-25T05:50:00.000-08:002014-12-30T05:51:10.589-08:00Thursday 25th December: Christmas Day in Brittany <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
very eventful Christmas day. Karl had invited me over to his place
and when he discovered Celine was also staying in Brittany over
Christmas, he insisted she come too. He had already told me that
Stefanie, his daughter, was arriving on Christmas Eve and would be
cooking the dinner. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a cold, crisp morning and when Celine arrived at my place. She
was wrapped in a woolly coat, a long scarf, gloves and a stripy hat.
My cottage was warm and and she stood with her back against the
radiator, shivering. (Celine hates the cold. I think she'd be far
more suited to a tropical climate). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
Karl's the kitchen had been transformed. The big wooden table had
been placed in the middle of the of the room and was set for dinner
with a tablecloth and napkins and a centre piece arrangement of holly
and red candles. Home made paper chains sparkled from the ceiling and
strands of tinsel were draped over all the available furniture. (This
had to be Stefanie's doing). Jean-Luc was hunched in the corner
armchair; an ancient tabby cat purring on his lap. He and Karl were
both wearing a red Christmas hats. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
was admiring the table when Stefanie came into the room. She was tall
and fair, like her dad. She radiated energy, giving the impression of
bounding from place to place. She introduced herself and started
chatting to Celine about her course at the Free University of Berlin.
She too was wearing a Christmas hat and handed one each to me and
Celine, insisting we wear them. Karl smiled indulgently at his
daughter as he watched us pulling them on. (I have the feeling she
can do no wrong as far as he's concerned). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
we were talking there was a loud hooting from outside, followed by a
screeching of tyres on the gravel drive. Karl looked out the window
and sighed. I guessed it was Marie and her brothers. There was a loud
banging on the door. Karl went to open it, whilst Celine and I
watched from the kitchen. Marie was standing there in her black knee
high boots and dressed in what could only be described as a party
frock; a sparkly frilly thing with bows and ribbons, which, on her,
looked ridiculous. The twins were standing behind her, arms folded.
They were still in their blue overalls, but with one major
difference: they were both wearing matching red jumpers, with a
design of snowflakes dotted around a smiling reindeer's face. Celine
nudged me and laughed. I wondered where on earth Marie had got these
from. She said nothing to us, but called her husband's name. Before
we had time to say anything, Jean-Luc scuttled past us, out through
the door and into the van; no words of thanks to Karl, no Happy
Christmas: nothing. We watched as they sped off. Karl shrugged and
said in a way he was relieved Jean-Luc was no longer his problem. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the kitchen Stefanie had put on a CD of Christmas songs, and urged
Celine to sing along with her. Karl and I were then treated to a
tuneless rendition of "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas". </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stefanie
said she had thought for a long time about the dinner and had decided
to include French, German and British traditional recipes. Karl said
she'd got up at five o'clock, been for an hour's run through the
country lanes, and then started preparing dinner on her return. It
might be her age but I wonder if she'll have the same energy when
she's fifty. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
first course of grilled leeks and stewed garlic on toast was
delicious. Celine asked if Stefanie wanted any help but she was
already there, serving the main course; a rack of lamb with Rosemary
and thyme. She had prepared whipped potatoes with garlic and cheese
accompanied by herbed haricot verts and carrots. She carried over a
bowl over to me and proudly lifted the lid to present roast potatoes
and Brussels sprouts, saying she'd researched British Christmas
traditions and these were in honour of me. The food was excellent!
Karl said that a lot of German families have goose for their main
course, but having so many in his lake he couldn't do this. Celine
had read somewhere that carp is a German delicacy at Christmas, but
Karl said it depends on where you live. In Berlin, families would
have roasted pork or goose. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
dessert Stefanie had brought over a Stollen from Berlin. This is a
cake filled with dried fruit and swirls of marzipan, served with
whipped cream. To accompany it we had a large jug of Gluhwein; a
mulled wine served warm. We had almost finished when, to my
amazement, Stefanie announced she wanted to see the dolmens at
Carnac, and now would be a good time. Karl said we were all too full
up to go out and it was too cold. But she insisted, saying that as
she didn't drink, she would do the driving. It was two o'clock and
the light was already beginning to fade, but I could see that
Stefanie was used to having her own way and it felt mean to complain
after she'd cooked us such a lovely dinner. She took the van keys
from Karl, and ran out into the driveway. The three of us wrapped
ourselves in hats and coats and followed slowly behind. We set off,
Celine giving directions, whilst Karl snored away in the front seat.
I could feel myself slipping off to sleep, but Celine kept nudging
me. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
took us about half an hour to reach the main site of standing stones,
just outside Carnac. The place was deserted, as were the roads:
everyone, presumably, at home in the warm. As soon as we arrived
Stefanie got out her phone and started taking pictures. She asked if
we knew why the stones were arranged in perfect straight lines.
Celine said it was because they were believed to be a Roman Legion
which was turned to stone by the wizard, Merlin. She said there are
more than three thousand standing stones in the area, taken from
local rock and erected by the pre-Celtic people of Brittany. They are
the largest collection of such stones in the world, some believe they
date back to 4500 B.C. The three of us shivered, as we watched
Stefanie take endless pictures. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were freezing, but Stefanie
doesn't seem to feel the cold. Karl called her to come back into the
van as darkness was falling and it would soon be impossible to see
anything. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at Karl's we made coffee while Stefanie went up to her room to use
her laptop. Karl told up her mum had died when she was six and it had
been hard for both of them. He said he's very proud of her but admits
he finds it difficult to say no. Celine said she's a lovely girl and
was impressed by her cooking skills. I added she has a good future
ahead of her, she's doing well at university. Karl said she hopes to
become a lecturer. (It's obvious he loves having her around. I don't
think he'll want her to go back). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
drank more of the Gluhwein, and fell asleep on the sofas. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
woke with a start to the sound of music playing. Stefanie was
clearing the table, singing along to a Christmas Carol while Celine
and Karl were discussing German folklore. The fire in the big old
hearth had been made up and the kitchen was warm and cosy. We stayed
up late into the night, talking, until all of us (apart from
Stefanie) drifted back to sleep. </span></span></span>
</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-33380766689492379732014-12-23T14:33:00.000-08:002014-12-25T14:34:29.333-08:00Tuesday 23rd December: Familiar Faces <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Had
a nice surprise this morning when Paul knocked on my door. He and his
family are staying at the gite over Christmas and New Year. It was
good to see him again. He said Isabelle is doing well; the baby is
due in April. He had come round to invite me over for dinner this
evening. When I mentioned Celine is coming to see me, he said she
would be welcome too. I told him I would bring the Banoffee Pie I
made yesterday. I also asked if he wanted to use my piano. Knowing he
wouldn't be able to resist, he spent the rest of the morning playing
Poulenc and Bizet. </span></span></span>
</div>
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
arrived about five. She'd been busy interviewing residents of an
elderly people's home near Vannes; recording their memories of
folklore and local legends passed down by their parents and
grandparents. Soon after she arrived we went over to the Gite where
Isabelle was about to serve the first course: French onion soup. She
looked very well and said that everything was fine with the baby. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mathilde
showed us the little Christmas tree which her parents had bought that
morning from the market near Lorient. Isabelle whispered something to
her and she handed me one of the presents from under the tree,
telling very slowly in French that I wasn't allowed to open it until
Christmas morning. When I asked what she wanted for Christmas, she
screwed up her face in concentration. Her mum explained that she was
crazy about anything to do with the Disney film, "Frozen". </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
respect of me, Celine, Paul and Isabelle spoke in English, but to
Mathilde, who's only eight, it was in French. I could understand some
of it, anything too difficult I asked Celine to fill me in. I was
able to follow the conversation when Celine asked Mathilde if she was
looking forward to having a brother or sister. I don't think Mathilde
would be jealous; she seems excited but she did say that if it's a
boy she's going to send him back! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
soup was very good (nothing like the French onion soup I used to make
back in England) and the main course (beef bourguignon) was even
better. Isabelle said she's taken several cookery courses in Paris
and now would like to start up her own catering company. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over
dinner Celine asked if Paul and Isabelle they had ever been to the
Forest of Broceilande; a magical forest near Rennes which is believed
to be the last resting place of Merlin from the legend of King
Arthur. Mathilde was very interested in this and wanted to know more
(She's very bright for an eight year old). Celine told her that
Merlin's father is said to be one of Satan's devils who was sent to
earth to create an evil child who would have control over men.
Mathilde listened, enraptured, as she was told how the baby, Merlin,
was christened and so lost his evil powers and grew up to use his
magic to do good. Celine said the Forest has many magical places
including a spring called The Fountain of Baranton. It was here that
Merlin first encountered the witch, Viviane, who whom he fell in
love. Mathilde insisted her parents take her to visit the forest
before they return to Paris (I'd be interested in seeing it too). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">My
Banoffee pie went down well; everyone seemed to enjoy it. We finished
with coffee. Celine asked if Isabelle and Paul had any names for the
baby. Paul said they had decided not to find out the sex and so were
waiting until the baby was born. Mathilde suggested Beyonce for a
girl and Justin (after Justin Bieber) for a boy: her parents were
horrified! Celine said her son, Julien, is in Melbourne, Australia.
He's twenty-three and a marine biologist. Isabelle thought it must be
strange to have Christmas in the Summer, but Celine said he's been
there two and a half years and so should be used to it by now. I
think she misses him, but it's so expensive to travel there, she said
she doesn't know when she'll next see him.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was nearly ten when we left and made our way back to my cottage. I
couldn't believe it when I saw a figure standing at my door. My first
reaction was to panic. But as we got closer I saw it was Adele. She
was leaning against the door, and had a parcel wrapped in Christmas
paper. I asked her what she was doing. she smiled at me, ignoring
Celine and said she hadn't been waiting long but had wanted to give
me my present. I unlocked the door and she followed us in. Celine
said nothing but sat down in one of the armchairs whilst Adele handed
me the present. In the light of the living room, her skin had a
strange orange tone. Her eyes were overdone with black eye-liner and
as usual, her lipstick was smudged. Her eyes were fixed on me. She
said she wanted to give me her present now as she was spending
Christmas with her mother and would be leaving tomorrow. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
both heard Celine mutter, "Thank Goodness!" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Adele
swung round and glared at her. She began shouting at her in French,
saying she was a cheap whore and to keep her nose out of her
business. Celine said nothing to this but just laughed. This only
caused Adele to shout louder. The last thing I wanted was an argument
but I told Adele, as calmly as I could, that she should leave. She
glared at me, then at Celine before turning away, and slamming the
door behind her. I opened the present. It was a framed picture of
myself with Adele, taken at a restaurant where we had gone for her
birthday. I told Celine what I remembered of that day. As soon as
we'd left the restaurant Adele had accused me of flirting with one of
the waitresses and had sulked for the rest of the evening. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">Celine
said Adele reminded her of Le Lutin; gnome-like fairies who cause
trouble and play tricks on people. They take on different forms,
including black chickens, white horses and goats. Celine laughed,
adding that maybe they take on the form of Adele too! At the home she
had visited that afternoon she'd interviewed an elderly man whose
grandfather used to tell him Les Lutins had pushed him off his
bicycle when he was a young boy. He said the creature would hang
around the crossroads and country paths and most often took the form
of a goat who would jump out and run into the bicycle, knocking the
grandfather off. Celine said the man was convinced this was true.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although
we laughed about Adele being one of Les Lutins, I can't help worrying
about what she's going to do next. </span></span></span>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-46536795029566521282014-12-18T01:58:00.000-08:002014-12-20T02:05:27.479-08:00Thursday 18th December: Cow-Rustlers <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Early
this morning I had a phone call from Karl and he sounded worried.
I've been so preoccupied with getting my Amatore's Restaurant
published I hadn't given much thought to the Jean-Luc situation. Karl
then told me Hilda had been kidnapped. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">Karl
does tend to panic but after he calmed down and told me what had
happened I agreed he had cause for concern. Karl is a light sleeper
and was woken at around five this morning by the sound of a truck. He
got up to look out of his window and, although it was still dark, he
could just make out Marie's brothers leading Hilda into the back of
their truck. He got dressed as quickly as he could and rushed
downstairs but the truck was already racing up the driveway with
Hilda aboard.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was dreading telling Jean-Luc and imagined him having a fit, but when
he finally got up and came down into the kitchen his reaction was not
what Karl expected. Apparently he showed no reaction, but went and
sat at the kitchen table, said nothing and listened in silence whilst
Karl told him what had happened. He had since refused to eat or drink
anything and Karl was worried that he might be having some sort of
breakdown. As I had known Jean-Luc a lot longer Karl wanted me to
come over in the hope that I might be able to get some sense out of
him. I doubted this but agreed I would do what I could to help. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I arrived at Karl's I was shocked by Jean-Luc's appearance. Although
he was clean and tidy, his eyes were glazed and he fixed his stare on
some imaginary object in the corner of the room. I called his name
but he was completely unresponsive. Karl said he hadn't eaten much
the whole time he had been staying there. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
decided to go to Marie's to find out what was going on. The morning
was damp and misty, just as it has been all week. Karl told me that,
despite the freezing weather, Jean-Luc had insisted on sleeping in
the barn with Hilda, and Karl had to go out several times during the
past few nights to check up on him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
wasn't much room to park at Marie's as six or seven old wrecks were
piled up in front of the farmhouse. The twins were working on an
ancient Renault, the type of model once popular in the eighties. They
were were dressed in their usual blue overalls and matching caps
(I've never seen them dressed in anything else). They both looked up
as we parked. I've only ever seen them together and honestly couldn't
tell one from the other. Karl got out and approached them, asking
what they had done with Hilda. They didn't answer but bolted towards
the front door and swiftly disappeared inside the house. I knew they
had gone to fetch their sister, and sure enough, after a few seconds
Marie appeared and stood in the doorway with her arms folded. She was
dressed very oddly; baggy denim blue dungarees, a blue cap and a pair
of white lace-up knee high boots. For some strange reason she was
wearing a pair of sunglasses. Like her brothers, she said nothing but
stood there waiting for us to speak. Karl asked her where Hilda was
and demanded to know why the twins had taken her. Marie just laughed.
She told us Hilda had been sold for a very good price and it was time
for Jean-Luc to come home. She added that they had spent twenty two
Christmas' together and this year was to be no exception. She was
certain that Jean-Luc would return now all the nonsense with Hilda
was over. Ridiculous though it seems, I had the impression Marie is
jealous of Hilda. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
asked her how she could possibly believe getting rid of Hilda would
make Jean-Luc return. She didn't answer this but smirked at him and
shook her head. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spoke to Karl in English, saying that it was useless trying to reason
with the woman as she is probably as crazy as her husband. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we arrived back at Karl's place the kitchen was empty. At first we
assumed Jean-Luc must be upstairs, but after calling him Karl started
to panic. We searched through the barns, the sheds and the rooms
where Karl restores his furniture but it became obvious that Jean-Luc
had gone. Karl wanted to take the van and search for him, but I
thought he was probably on his way to Marie's. I suggested we wait
for a while to see if he turned up (I really didn't fancy going to
Marie's again). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee, but Karl couldn't concentrate.
He kept glancing at the clock and, after several minutes of fingers
drumming on the table top, I gave in. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
had only driven a couple of minutes down the road when Karl called
out and screeched the van to a halt. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Crossing
the field to the right and heading towards the road was Jean-Luc. As
he emerged out of the mist I noticed he wasn't wearing a coat; the
man must have been freezing. He showed no surprise as I opened the
door to let him in. Karl asked what he had been doing. Jean-Luc told
us he had been to town to buy a lottery ticket. After we'd left, he'd
fallen asleep in the kitchen. Hilda had appeared in his dream and
he'd written down the numbers she'd given him. He became animated and
took out the ticket to show us. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we returned to the house Jean-Luc took his usual place at the kitchen
table, gazed into empty space and said nothing more. (I really don't
know how Karl puts up with him). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
home I phoned Celine and told her about the day's events. I also
mentioned that, on the way to Marie's, Karl told me his daughter is
coming over for Christmas from Berlin and will be arriving in a few
days. He hasn't seen her for over a year. She's studying History and
Archaeology and plans to visit the Dolmens whilst she's here. Celine
was interested to hear this and said she was looking forward to
meeting her. Although we laugh about it, I think we were both
wondering if Jean-Luc's lottery ticket is going to be a winner. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-53833672162174119922014-12-05T04:46:00.000-08:002014-12-07T04:46:48.989-08:00Friday 5th December: A Stolen Kiss<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Last
night was Gavin and Ines' engagement party. I wasn't keen on going
but I'd mentioned it to Celine who said she was looking forward to
it. When she arrived at my place she showed me the present she'd
bought them; a tea set she'd got from a market last week. I was
relieved when she said it was from both of us -- otherwise I'd have
been going to the party empty handed! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had already described Gavin's house to Celine, but she was still
surprised at how masculine the inside was (all black and minimalist).
Ines and Gavin, arms linked, were greeting guests at the door to the
conservatory. Gavin moved over to a group of admirers (laughing in
his usual boisterous way) as Ines showed us her ring which Celine
dutifully admired (big and garish - not what I would have thought was
her style). Ines fussed over our gift and placed it with the others
arranged around a large framed photograph of the happy couple. I
looked around at the guests, there must have been about thirty people
and it was clear that no expense had been spared for the event. A
firm of caterers had obviously been engaged, as two girls in matching
uniforms were serving a buffet one end of the room. A large banner
with Congratulations to Ines and Gavin hung from the chandeliers.
Celine also pointed out that all the flower arrangements must have
been done by a professional florist. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were introduced to Ines' parents who had travelled up from Spain. Her
mother only spoke Spanish but her father's English was quite good and
we chatted for a while about Barcelona. Celine said she visited there
once. She had taken a tour of the city on an open-top double decker
bus, hoping to get a better view but it rained constantly. However,
she refused to budge! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ines'
brother and sister-in-law came over and introduced themselves. Her
brother is an art teacher. Celine asked what he thought of city's
Picasso Museum. He said not enough had been done by the city to
promote it's connections with the artist who, after all, had lived
there at various times in his life. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
noticed Gavin's elderly mother slumped on one of the black leather
sofas (just as she had been the first time we had met). She was
humming along to the background music -- one of Gavin's own
performances -- and I noticed Ines' songs had not been included. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
food was very good: canapés, vol-au-vonts, assorted meats and a
variety of cheese. I was topping up my plate when Alexander called me
over. He'd brought Kieron along who told me how he'd taken on a
waiter's job at one of the restaurants in Carnac. He didn't want to
return to England and planned to stay in France. I asked him about
the campsite. He said he was relieved to be away from the place and
hadn't been back. He's heard from Rodrigo and Tatiana who are now
staying with Tatiana's parents and looking for a place of their own.
I can't imagine how any of them would have managed on the campsite in
this freezing weather. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Alexander
introduced us to a couple of teachers who work at the same language
school as Ines. One was from Berlin, so I told her about Karl and
gave her his e-mail address, saying he's always looking for the
chance to speak to anyone in his own language. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
was talking to Michel, our new drummer, and his wife Antoinette.
Michel was describing Canada and how much he misses it (I noticed
Antoinette said nothing on this subject). I think there's a bit of
tension there. I was discussing our last rehearsal with Michel when
Gavin, standing at the piano, broke into song. The room waited in
silence until he finished the final phrase with a theatrical bow.
Ines, standing alongside, beamed while everyone applauded. Michel and
Antoinette said they had to leave as they had to get back for the
babysitter. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizQ5Qcb1BGyY8dcRvBaMqKgMwRinRi4drLQk0K586wjxE_J65smh4y5kd7n0Xe8Tn7o58MXQXqJYX4dDLJpgeoxGAfpLiAZvui2YLyDPm1bh_Q5KUNCm2KvBDCMZHREFElvrW2-4IeHsB/s1600/Stolen+Kiss+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizQ5Qcb1BGyY8dcRvBaMqKgMwRinRi4drLQk0K586wjxE_J65smh4y5kd7n0Xe8Tn7o58MXQXqJYX4dDLJpgeoxGAfpLiAZvui2YLyDPm1bh_Q5KUNCm2KvBDCMZHREFElvrW2-4IeHsB/s1600/Stolen+Kiss+1.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
said it was hot and stuffy in the room and needed some fresh air. I
watched her wander over to french windows and step out into the
night. I was talking to Alexander when I noticed Celine returning
from the garden, followed by Ines and Gavin. Both women looked upset.
As Celine came over towards me, I could see at once that something
was wrong. She beckoned me out into the hallway and told me that
Gavin had also been outside. At first they were chatting and joking,
then said she was beautiful, grabbed hold of her, and tried to kiss
her. She pulled away. But, at that exact moment, Ines came out into
the garden and saw them. Although it was obvious she was trying to
get away, Ines became aggressive; demanding to know what she was up
to. Celine explained what had happened while Gavin just stood there
with a stupid smile on his face. When Ines questioned him, he'd
shrugged and said he understood how it was difficult for any woman to
face rejection. At that point Celine stormed back into the
conservatory. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was not at all surprised by this; Gavin is obviously a serial
womaniser and Ines is blinded to it. Celine agreed, there was no way
he will be faithful to Ines. She said she wanted to leave and would
wait for me in the car. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
went back into the conservatory. Gavin and Ines were talking to her
parents, his am round her waist, as though nothing had happened. Ines
came over and launched into a rant about Celine, saying I should be
careful as I didn't know what she was really like. While I didn't
want to spoil her engagement party, I felt I had to point out that
Gavin had made a pass at Celine. She dismissed this, saying I was
mistaken and I would soon come to my senses. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
said goodbye and left. </span></span></span>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Celine
was upset but said she'd try to forget it as she was sure Gavin
probably does this sort of thing all the time. We both thought it was
a shame the evening had been ruined. I felt bad for Celine. She'd
already had to change her phone number because of the silent calls
she's been getting. And now this. We both wondered when, if ever,
Ines will come to her senses. </span></span></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1204925092589983647.post-30798687587823732772014-11-29T11:33:00.000-08:002014-11-30T11:33:35.973-08:00Saturday 29th November: Hilda's Escape <div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Early
this morning I helped Karl pick up two writing desks from a Convent
near Pontivy. The house is being sold and the nuns are moving to
Rennes. We were given a guided tour of the lovely old building by the
Mother Superior, a little old lady who talked incessantly and
wouldn't let us leave without cake and coffee. It was almost
lunchtime by the time we drove off. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
wanted to check on Jean-Luc. The last time he'd called round, he'd
found him sleeping in the cowshed with Hilda whilst Marie fussed over
her creepy twin brothers. I asked if Jean-Luc had remembered any more
Hilda dreams, but Karl thought not. He said he'd been irrational and
was impossible to reason with. Karl was annoyed with Marie because of
her attitude towards her husband, saying she seemed to have no sense
of loyalty towards him. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
rain was falling steadily when we arrived at the farm. Three battered
old cars took up the space in front of the house. There was no sign
of the twins but their van was parked directly in front of the grimy
kitchen windows. I noticed a group of cows sheltering under the trees
in the corner of the adjoining field and wondered where Jean-Luc was.
</span></span></span>
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<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
we got out of the van the front door opened and Marie appeared in a
brightly coloured apron over denim dungarees and black knee high
boots, closely followed by the twins. With arms folded across
identical blue overalls, they adopted a position at each side of her
and glared at us. Marie was not pleased to see us. She shouted
something and Karl asked where Jean-Luc was. With a wave in the
direction of the cowshed she released a torrent of abuse. Karl
sighed, shook his head telling me to ignore her, and turned toward
the cowshed. </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2-SM3yBFGKer0F2-SKX0g5od4M_Ga12qx5BvJmwb9VcU4XgYPt8rfSccnUil4kg5sZ2SDdQWP-6NiKUGAp-XMzepgXSvBDlJ1h_8vRATVIpWgfYAiwmVU0hnt4Zq54aedtkKECUKG7Tf/s1600/cow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2-SM3yBFGKer0F2-SKX0g5od4M_Ga12qx5BvJmwb9VcU4XgYPt8rfSccnUil4kg5sZ2SDdQWP-6NiKUGAp-XMzepgXSvBDlJ1h_8vRATVIpWgfYAiwmVU0hnt4Zq54aedtkKECUKG7Tf/s1600/cow.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
we entered I was instantly aware of a damp, musty smell. The place
was freezing cold and in the gloom I could just make out a figure in
the far corner slumped on a bale of hay. I was shocked by the sight
of Jean-Luc; pale and drawn with at least a week's growth of beard.
He was staring at us, but said nothing. As we got closer I could
smell his body odour and could make out dark shadows under his eyes.
The poor man looked as though he hadn't slept in days. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karl
called his name and shook his shoulder. Jean-Luc replied in a flat
monotone, saying Marie's brothers were planning to sell Hilda and
believed they would get a good price for her, due to her magical
powers. He also believed they wanted to take the farm from him, and
so he'd decided to go on hunger strike until they left. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
both did our best to change Jean-Luc's mind, telling him he would
become ill. But he wouldn't have it. All he did was dismiss us with a
wave of his hand and continue to stare into the gloom. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was disgusted with Marie and Karl was fuming. I have never seen him
so angry. He marched out of the cowshed, up to the front door of the
house and banged his fist on the door until Marie appeared. He
demanded to know if she was at all worried about her husband. She
laughed, saying he was useless. She said her brothers were now
helping with the farm and complained that Jean-Luc did nothing but
sit in the cowshed day in day out. She laughed again, claiming that
Jean Luc had more feelings for the cow than his own wife. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"What?"
Karl shouted. "You're jealous of a cow?" </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
was a moment's silence before Marie stepped out from the doorway,
marched up to Karl and spat at him. Before he could respond, she shot
back into the house, and slammed the door behind her. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was speechless. We stood in the pouring rain for a few minutes
waiting to see if the door would open. Then Karl turned to me and
said he thought Jean-Luc should come back to his place. Although he
does have a large house with three or four bedrooms I thought Karl
was making a mistake. I was just about to tell him this when Karl
added that he would also take Hilda, putting her in one of his sheds.
I reminded him about hay and food, but he dismissed this, saying Jean
Luc could bring enough to keep her going for a couple of days. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
found Jean-Luc in the same position in the cowshed. He listened
whilst Karl told him his plan but shook his head. It was explained
that Hilda could come too, but he would have to sleep in the house
and not with Hilda. At last Jean-Luc nodded and stood up. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
took us about fifteen minutes to get the food supplies into Karl's
van: sisal, a bag of protein supplement and enough hay for a couple
of days all banked up against the two writing desks. But then it was
time to get Hilda. With the other cows watching with interest,
Jean-Luc led her out from the field. She seemed perfectly contented
and we had no problems persuading her to climb into the back of the
van. However, Jean-Luc insisted on sitting with her, convinced she
would be scared. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
said nothing to Marie. As we drove off I caught sight of her brothers
staring out of the kitchen window. With their expressionless faces,
they could easily have been a couple of statues. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we got to Karl's we settled Hilda in one of the sheds, arranged her
hay and filled a old bath-tub with fresh water. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jean
Luc had a shower and then came down into the kitchen, wearing clean
clothes Karl had lent him. While he looked better, the clothes were
far too big, making him appear like a clown. We all had some of
Karl's chicken soup with Jean-Luc having an extra helping. I asked
him how long he had been without food, but he shrugged, saying he
couldn't be sure. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Karl dropped me off at my place I told him I thought he might be
making a mistake by letting Jean-Luc stay. He said he was certain it
wouldn't be long before Marie came to her senses and asked for her
husband back. I hope he's right. I think Karl can be too generous
sometimes. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1c1c1c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
phoned Celine this evening to tell her what had happened. She agreed
with me that Karl could be taking on more than he realises. She also
mentioned she'd been getting silent phone calls and, although she's
not too bothered about them, told me that she may not say anything
when she picks up the phone until she knows who's calling her. It was
only later that I wondered if it might be Adele making the calls. It
would be typical of her, especially as she found my phone last week
at the supermarket: she could have searched through my contacts and
found Celine's number. I tried phoning Celine back to let her know,
but her phone was switched off. </span></span></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03833592323308748661noreply@blogger.com1