Life In 79

Anna, my wife, has left me. I am alone...alone in a draughty French farm house in the middle of nowhere, in the frozen north of the Deux-Sèvres (which most people who live outside Deux-Sèvres haven't heard of... 'Du Sevs' they say 'where's that?'... 'An hour's drive west of Poitiers' I reply... 'Where's Poitiers?' they retort... 'We're an hour's drive east of La Rochelle' say I... 'La Rochelle?' they counter...'We're about halfway down France!' ). Not wanting to over dramatise my solitude, I have the cat for company (although conversations are a bit one sided) and I pass the long evenings with extra pop and crisps enjoying The Repair Shop, which I'm not usually allowed to watch (being Scottish Anna struggles with the sentimentality of the programme, whereas I weep with every reveal). She is in the UK helping her mother (who is having an uber-bunion removed) as well as attending the baby shower of ou...

“Désolée, he no longer works here.” “Well, could I have an appointment with another dentist there?” “Désolée, there are no vacancies,” said the dental receptionist in Loudun. Well that was a kick in the teeth. Anna, my wife, amongst her other ailments had been experiencing a distant pain in her jaw.  For the next few months she tried in vain to find a dental practice that would take her on their books.   We would resort to driving around towns in the greater Deux-Sèvres district looking for dental practices. When we did find one, like a lot of things in France, it would be shut and not contactable through telephone or email.Things were getting desperate.   I am blessed with a fine set of gnashers, but Anna, being Scottish, has consumed far too much Irn-Bru and Cranachan in her life, with the result that when enjoying a wasabi coated nut one Friday night, an audible crunch was heard and a large fragment of molar fell out.   DIY dentistry was considered; I have some ve...