Anniversaries, Animals and Near-Death Experiences.

This month we celebrated our six year anniversary of living in France. Was it only six years ago I crashed the hired van into the gatepost on our arrival? Ahhhh! Happy memories. Six years when we thought we had a giant rat problem coming face to face with our first ragondin? Happy memories. 

My diary entry from six years ago reads:

'...Eventually get back to the house from the notaires. All the lights went out; plunged into complete darkness... then can't get out of the front door, try to stay calm, but ******* ourselves! Eventually find matches, then fuse box and switch back on. Locate candle and a dicky torch incase outage reoccurs (which it does repeatedly). I erect bed and Anna makes meatballs and pasta – both feel shattered and a bit nauseous. The reality of the state of the house hits us and with that a huge hornet flies into our bedroom.'

Happy memories.

Not the only anniversary this month. We have had our four chickens for a year. Three eggs a day (on average) times 365 equals 1,095 eggs in the year...that's a lot of quiche! Chickens are fantastic and have moved into my top five of favourite animals, behind the Aye-aye in fourth place. They are like machines the way they scrape and peck all day. Non-stop. Then up the wooden ramp to bed as soon as the light fades. And you don't hear so much as a cluck from them until the morning. Eat, sleep, push out egg, repeat. 

Two years ago, while digging in the potager, I saw a ferrel cat gnawing on a rotten courgette atop the compost heap. That little fella, who now answers to Fabergé, can be found most nights sharing our bed. I sometimes wake thinking I'm having an asthma attack only to find the cat is sleeping on my chest. I never stroke him and yet he will always sit on my lap, much to Anna, my wife's, annoyance. She can't leave the thing alone...cuddling, nuzzling, kissing... which the cat will tolerate up to a point before trying to rip her face off. Like the chickens, he is a constant source of pleasure to us and has filled the gap left by our lovely Labrador Lucy RIP.

Anna woke a few weeks ago to find the white of one of her eyes had turned red. I thought she looked quite good, like the James Bond villain Le Chiffre, but this didn't give her the expected boost I thought it would. A friend suggested it might be her blood pressure and lent her his machine. Every twenty minutes a hiss could be heard somewhere in the house, as the machine released its inflated grip on her upper arm and Anna would be heard shouting “One hundred and eighty seven!”. Although hers was high, what really annoyed her was that my blood pressure was excellent. 

After a trip to the doctor she now takes a daily pill to stop her exploding.

I too had a brush with death this month. Anna had purchased some sweet chestnuts, which she had wrapped in foil and bunged in the log burner for twenty minutes. She then extracted the molten parcel from the fiery furnace and offered me a nut holding them about six inches away from my face. It was at that exact moment there was a flash, accompanied by a loud bang, and I was pebble dashed with nut fragments. I looked like a Ferrero Rocher. I dropped my wine, and found my tinnitus was even worse than usual. I had a sharp pain in my finger which took the brunt of the explosion. I am still awaiting a bout of Post-traumatic stress disorder. 

Anna apologised and showed limited levels of concern. She seemed genuine enough, but I have my suspicions she was trying to 'up' my blood pressure numbers.