Anabal and I have been getting on really well! I’ve driven her around quite a few times and we not longer have too many issues. I feel a bit more confident and she’s probably over the moon that I don’t try and find new gears that she’s never had and never will. In fact, the other day as we sat bouncing down the french country roads, I reflected with the husband how much Anabal had contributed to our amazing time in France. Her solidness, her height, her looks (for some reason, she gets stared at and admired a lot) has added character and charm to our adventures and explorations of France.
It wouldn’t have been the same if we had been in a low car. It wouldn’t have been the same if we didn’t have a car with such huge tyres that every bump in the road sent you bouncing off the roof and nearly landing in the back seat. It wouldn’t be the same if we had the power to hurry and rush everywhere…with Anabal, we’ve learnt to take our time (because she does), to not rush from A to B (because if you go over 90km/hour, she starts to wheeze and shudder and her bonnet pops up in protest) and we’ve learnt the kindness and patience of the French people when you’re trying to turn a car that has the turning circle of a large truck! The other day I parked Anabal in the main street in Dol-de-Bretagne and went to run some errands. When I came back, another car had made reversing Anabal a little tight. I inched back bit by bit, holding up an ever growing row of cars as I did so and then I sudden;y noticed the front car driver busy waving his hand saying I was ok. Then his passenger started, then a truck driver behind them who could see over the top of their car started as well, then his passenger, then a pedestrian…it was all very heartwarming and we managed the turn and were on our way with much flashing of lights and waving of hands!
The poles in the fields that we had to put up are finished. As I mentioned, we had to put up about 140 poles to create two paddocks and with 3 paintings thrown in as well, we get a car. It didn’t take too long – about three days of hard work that left us feeling tired with aching muscles..but really good. The Dear One then had to put electric cord around the entire thing to keep the horses it..just one strand at chest height to a horse. All done…mmmm….but how to test that the electricity was working. Solution? Ask your wife to touch it!
Now I’m not as stupid as you or he might think and I refused point blank. The Dear One had to test it himself…he did it while he was alone and I was at the hairdresser (which I will get to in a moment), he also decided to do it in the pouring rain.
Apparently, to begin, his wellington boots prevented the test from being conclusive, so the boots came off and with socks firmly embedded in the wet grass, he reached across and gingerly touched it…nothing. With bravery spurring him on, he grabbed it firmly.
BOOM! Pain shot up through the palm of his hand and came out at the soles of his feet. He related the story ending with a satisfied grin,
“So cool! I wired it correctly! It works!”
And he says I’M crazy!
Getting back to the hairdresser.
A couple of weeks ago I got the “zig” with my hair. It was getting long and had lost some much needed bounce. So grabbed a very small circle around the crown, lifted it up and trimmed off about a centimeter…reducing it from 25 cm to 24……how bad was that? And then I figured I better go to the UK looking a little more “organised” than I actually feel (and maybe I could undo the Mrs Tetbury scenario by looking well put together). So after walking up and down the main street of Dol and looking at the hairdressers (there are five in one tiny village!) I walked in to one and made an appointment for the next day. I came home, and with the help of Google Translate, I explained exactly what I wanted.
When I went back, there was a guy there who hadn’t been there before. He looked to be pretty much in charge as the lady that was going to give me my new hair-do referred to him all the time. Having my hair washed was quite an experience it itself. I sat down and as soon as the taps went on, the foot rest in the chair lifted slowly and came to a stop at a comfy recline. Then much to my amazement, the entire back of the chair proceeded to give me a full back massage while the lady washed and massaged my head. Absolute bliss!
Looking a bit bedraggled, I was then led to a chair and my hair was combed and inspected. Then it happened!
She checked the overall length….and then lifted the bit around the crown.
She trotted over to the dude in his tight white t-shirt and rapidly explained something.
He glanced at me and replied in soft tones.
She trotted back and lifted the offending “piece”.
He inspected it from across the room and slowly walked over, his mouth now a little open.
He took the piece and held it strait up, taught, pinched between thumb and forefinger.
He slowly walked around me, first clockwise, then anticlockwise, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible but I could
see a sneer lurking there somewhere.
And then he said in pretty good English,
“This last hair cut? It was a…er…..um…..actual hairdresser?….or….was……it…….YOU?
I answered in a very small voice,
And there was a gasp around the salon from hairdressers and patrons as well.
He continued, “You will allow my friend here to…um….put….it ….right? By cutting it herself?”
Suitably chastised I nodded not daring myself to say anything else and too flustered and red in the face anyway.
And as if on cue….through the music speaker system came the old song “You’re in the Army now”.
Having said all that, I walked out of there a little poorer but feeling a million bucks.
But we leave a week today and the sadness is beginning to descend.
I’m going to miss France SO very much.
A la prochaine, take care of you
PS, How do the comments work…If you comment and I reply to your comment – do you get a mail or message saying I’ve commented on your comment? I’d love to know….. thanks ever so much !