The riot police have broken the blockade of the oil refineries. Not to be outwitted the staff inside the refineries are cutting back on production. Opinion is divided as to whether this will make buying petrol easier or more difficult.
The staff at the local school have been on strike. With nothing better to do the bored thirteen year old village males have been setting off firecrackers. One has been posted into the Belgian womans mail box. Her letters have been burnt. She thinks this is an escalation of the feud with the horse farm across the road.
For some reason some of the pink standard roses are reverting to their natural state. One has gone completely white.
Five others are in various stages of reversion.
I phone the suppliers in the UK. A rather haughty lady informs me that I must be mistaken. '' It's completely unheard of. Are you sure you bought them from us ? ". I was going to order some replacements and find out why so many are changing colour. The tart response means I'll buy them elsewhere.
We go to the motorway service station to buy petrol for the big car. The price is 15% higher but at least we know we'll get some. 'The Font' orders two cups of coffee from the buffet but is pointed in the direction of an automatic machine. The product , when it emerges, is of that granulated variety that refuses to completely dissolve. Dish water with intense caffeinated moments.
In the gift shop there is a large display of porcelain thimbles. The number of thimbles never seems to decrease.
Sophie has had the other side of her chest trimmed. Although not expertly groomed her fur is at least in balance. The temperatures are rising and thunderstorms can be heard grumbling away over the mountains. As can be seen her teeth are in excellent condition.
Just another day in deepest, deepest France profonde.
7 comments:
I can't help thinking that you have more excitement (and subversion?) in your little village of 67 souls than many bigger places !
Oh dear, are the roses going on strike too?
I've enjoyed once again catching up on your news Angus, and reading the history of the village you now call home, and because it had a good ending, Digby's story made me chuckle -- You are right, all dog owners have "a story".
Your roses are always beautiful. I had the same thing happen to mine several years ago. I was told that many roses are grafted, so the branches are one variety and the lower root system is a hardier rose. If something happens to the graft, (frost, damage, etc.,) the lower (original) branches sprout and may appear different in leaf size, shape and flower color. This is *maybe* what has happened to yours.
The individual that received your call about your roses must be working out of a call center in some God forsaken rose-free place. No responsible purveyor of roses would ever say such rubbish! There are various reasons why roses change colour , one of several is mentioned in the above post. Another can be weather conditions or earth conditions that the plant doesn't find suitable. The blatantly lying individual you spoke with does nothing to promote the enjoyment of roses and is a liability to her company. Put Sophie on the phone when she's making her high pitched squeals and then ask to speak with the head rosarian.
Flower color can be changed due to nutrients or lack of minerals in the soil. Our soil on the Oregon coast has a high PH so our hydrangeas come out royal purple instead of blue. Perhaps that is why your roses are white.
Best of luck with the petrol hunt. Kathy
Not being a rose gardener, I thought perhaps the shock of the noisy firecrackers scared the roses into losing their color. :-)
Thank you for the shared bits of the village history. I hope there will be more as your history project winds on.
A few of our best roses have reverted to their original "ragged robin" root stock. More of a cheerful country cousin to the elegant roses we had. Your roses are very pretty, no matter the color. Are those late peonies in the background of the first photo?
Years ago, someone described picturesque, little US towns as 'seething with passion' towns. We think it may apply to little French villages, as well.
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