misplaced identity

Blogspot wouldn't let me have the idetity I chose so I quickly picked this one, then 'they' put the first blog wot I wrote on the identity 'they' said wasn't available, ( are you following me so far?), but subsequent ones here. For my proper blog, please go to www.annie-t.blogspot.com where I will try to copy these missing blogs!. DOH!

Sunday-Taxes & Ten Tors

Sundays are SOoo quiet here, apart from mainlaw's doberman barking, affronted, as a distant neighbour's visitors have the temerity to drive off with a merry beep. Hardly a car passes, but for the constant chirrup of cicadas & the breeze through the conifers my ears would be humming with dense silence. Perfect time to confront the Tax Form.
Really it's not so difficult, the Hôtel des Impots sends us the easy pink form; our affairs are limited & simple, only a couple of sections to fill in, it's just that it's foreign, there's always the risk of making un erreur & if you're not Chirac a dim view is taken of financial mistakes. We might be hauled off to the Bastille, no, it no longer exists, that Island then, where Papillon was incarcerated , after all, you can be jugged for merely failing to balance your cheque-book & going overdrawn! Suddenly weeding the drive then painting a door seem terribly important. A bagful of broad beans is crying out to be podded & frozen, make P a cuppa while he prepares the guestroom's walls for tomorrow's papering, get the washing in... Oh well, I'm sure I'll do it before it has to be in the post for June 1st.

I see the UK has the customary accompanying appalling weather to the 10 Tors challenge. Why don't they change the date? Every year it's the same. Still it was great seeing so many teenagers dressed in clothes not hanging off their backsides or pulling above junk-food-filled stomachs, articulate, grinning, if disappointed, having put in weeks of training, at being stopped from yomping over beautiful Dartmoor, reminding the world that it is only an unfortunate percentage of 13-20 year-olds who spend their time binge- drinking in town centres before puking & fighting in gutters. Although P pointed out that many of them will now be enjoying a night on the cider! Well, they've earned it.

Well done the Hammers! Beat ManU!!

balloon head

back after a busy day, with a swollen head....2 compliments in one day. No, not
"Why, Miss Jones, but... you're beautiful..." The time for that is, if not long gone, then certainly autrefois. But at my French cours, a pretty intensive language course held by a superb, energetic teacher of a foreign language, Marie Delaye, I was kept back to be told I had made the most progress of all her students at level4 that year. Wow! It was worth mastering the subjunctive& reading le Fig to understand the election. Here I am in my fimtyumph decade, longing to please the teacher & chuffed to bits when I do!
And this morning's teacher, Christine the line-dancing queen, earned my undying devotion by including me in her teacher's pet-quick-learners group & teaching us a faster, more complex dance than the rather dull stomp & scuffs we've been doing. In celebratory mood, & having forgotten to defrost some pastry before my late return from class, I nearly suggested we went out to eat - it is a blessed evening of calm sauternes sunshine - but wiser caution & the remembrance of the bank account prevailed.
Tomorrow it's back to the decorating, 2 rooms to finish by June, & you know what they say about the bloke who invented decorating...