12th August 2008

We were woken up this morning by several loud gunshot cracks coming from the woods behind our house. Our redsetter Bruno - a gundog - went berserk, barking and scratching at the door to be let out. What? I said bleary-eyed. Isn't today the 'glorious 12th' or something? Him indoors was scratching his head. 'But I thought that the grouse is native to Britain, not France.' We were puzzled, but there again, puzzlement and complete confusion reigns large in our new life here. Anything we don't understand, we put down to 'C'est la France' and leave it at that. I suppose we've got to come to terms with living in the country now, where living creatures are shot. The French will shoot anything that moves, then cover it with sauce! For me though, being English, I couldn't kill anything. I even look down when I walk so as not to tread on some tiny defenceless insect in my path. The other day someone asked if I were Buddhist. Er, no. Just sensitive. For me, life is everything and should be protected at all costs. I just can't understand why weapons are made at all. But it's wonderful that we now have the time to observe all the beautiful creatures that abound around here. The darting tiny lizards, rainbow-hued butterflies and, best of all, the graceful hirondelles (swallows) which every evening swoop down and take a sip of water from our pool. When we first moved here, I rather fancied having some chickens to give us lovely warm farm-fresh eggs every morning. However, the dawn crowing would drive us mad and the chickens would clearly have to eventually die of old age, because no way could I ever kill them - no matter how hungry I was.