18 January 2015

Feeling miserable. I thought our 'friendly' neighbour -  the one who put 6' high red signs all around our garden proclaiming 'Propriete prive, defense d'entrer' - had seen sense at last as the signs suddenly disappeared.  But no. The next day, there they all were again, double the size. Even though Bruno has been on permanent lock-down on our terrace, the neighbour had gone to immense trouble in constructing stronger, even higher (now 12') posts for the signs that our elderly dog still can't read. The exchange rate shows 1£:1.31 euros, giving more doom and gloom to those who want to escape all the mayhem and go back to the UK. At these rates, even if we could sell our house (despite the stupid garden posts), all we could buy would be a retirement flat in the UK. But such flats only take 'one small dog', i.e. not Bruno! So, I walked into the town centre on Friday to get a hormone drug for Him indoors. Miserable. Rain pouring down, leaking off the canopies at the weekly market. But, at least I didn't see any armed soldiers. Everyone going about their normal business, stoical to the last.  That's what I'll have to be then. Where's Gene Kelly when you need him?

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