A charming old gentleman died today, a resident of the care home where my mother lives. He was the only one she could chat to, as he knew several languages, having worked in the hotel industry in the past.
We always had a chat when I visited, and he always seemed pleased to see me - especially since I've been taking my little dog on these visits. He really loved her, and she took to him as well. When we arrived, he would be sitting at the other end of the entrance hall (which doubles as a recreation room), and would raise his hand with a smile of welcome when he saw us. Nounours would immediately trot over to him and put her paws on his knee. He would stroke her, then lift her on to his lap and cuddle her.
He was a dear, and I shall miss him.
R.I.P, dear Signor Piatti, we won't forget you.

01h05 CET, and I'm in a peculiar mood; I don't know whether I feel more bitchy or more cynically
amused.

Years ago, a patronising, passive-aggressive, former classmate, on discovering that I'd ended up teaching, quoted at me the tired old saw: "Them as can does, them as can't teaches." Somewhat ironic, considering our respective degree results, but then.... we all make our own choices, don't we. Mine was to step off the academic treadmill and decide to nurture my life rather than my intellect.
Forty years down the line, it turns out I could be equally patronising, and retort: "Them as can writes, them as can't turns to Lit.Crit."

Life is much too short for that sort of nonsense though. It's best to finish growing up before one starts to grow really old. Now, I'm at a point where I can put a final full-stop to an old, old story. Perhaps I'll even turn it into fiction one of these days and then I'll know that's it's definitively resolved and behind me!

Lhude sing GODDAMN!
Bloweth wind and falleth snow,
Spreading slush and gloom and woe,
This time every year I go:
GODDAMN!

Yes, it's that time of year again, and anybody who reads this and is fed up with my rare visits being mostly rant, rave, bitch and moan, take notice:
This is a SAD warning! I am now officially depressed, cranky and generally hard to get on with. This way, I get it all off my chest, and my friends don't have to listen unless they want to!
Grrr. Last night, at about a quarter to midnight, I took the dog out for her pre-bedtime potty session, and what I thought was light fog or low cloud in the torchlight (we are 2500-odd feet above sea-level here, after all) turned out to be cute little BLOODY snowflakes, pitching on the grass, the trees and the roofs! There was still a light powdering when we went out this morning, and I HATE it! If you've got this far, take a good look at the smile in my avatar - it's going on strike till the sun comes out again!!

Corinne came today to fetch Cassie (the little darling - she had accepted me, let me cuddle her and purred back to me), and I accompanied them as far as Montreux, where I went to see the latest HP film, in English. It took many more liberties with the original book than the previous films, but it worked, and I enjoyed it as a film.

I caught the train afterwards  with time to spare, and so got the last bus back up to Chandolin - where I found a fine pickle! The road has been open for  a while, as they are repairing the water pipes and elecricity conduits. They were still working at 19h30, because there was a leak (which sprayed water all over my spare room window!) Of course the water was cut off in the surrounding houses: my neighbours had received a warning in their mail box yesterday evening, so they were able to draw water for the loo and for cooking - but no-one had left a message for me!! Not good enough! Grrrrrrrrrr....

Yesterday was a rage-filled day, spent rampaging about, swearing sotto voce and making up diatribes in my head at one very rude, unpleasant and ill-bred cat person, who, having already been unacceptably discourteous and exigent in the preliminaries, cancelled on the day I was to take the queen to her male. Not only that, she did it via text message, and without a word of apology - at 05h18 in the sodding MORNING! I won't go into detail, because those facts speak for themselves. Suffice to say that person is out of my address book for good.

Then just now, another door opened. The delightful young woman who bought Draco several years ago rang to ask if I had a girl who needed mating, because Draco is having a hard time being celibate. Well of course I jumped at the offer; he makes superb babies - viz that prize-winning litter her begot on Susanna when he was ten months old! As this is already the fourth day for Pandora, it's  a little late to take her this time, but as soon as she calls again, I'll phone, hop on a train - and will be met at the station.WHAT a contrast with that ungracious hobbledehoy!! Well, I would have loved to have that bloodline (his breeder - NOT his present owner of course!) is someone I have known, liked and respected for years now), but some privileges come too dear. I forced myself to be polite to the woman in spite of her disgusting attitude, but if she ever ventures to call me again, she will get a full blast of arctic air and some choice pedantic rollicking - exquisitely phrased in my very best Academic French, and just the right side of actionable! Ah, words can be such a safety valve!

O death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling,
Where, grave, thy victoree?
In heaven the angels sing-a-ling-a-ling,
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling,
For you but not for me!

I've been musing a lot recently about that tortoise an eagle was supposed to have dropped on Aeschylus' head, and of course giggling as I immediately remembered the use Terry Pratchett made of that idea in Small Gods. (Damn, I meant to watch the programme last night about Pratchett and Alzheimer's, and forgot - again).

This has led me in to some pretty deep cerebration, but either it's too deep for tears, or my Muse is out to lunch again, and all I have come up with as a result is the following piece of doggerel - of which you will be unable to fathom the sub-text, as you have no idea what other tortuous matter was exercising my mind at the time. (evil grin)

Eagle to tortoise:

I can fly awf'lly high,
I can drop you from the sky;

Then swoop down
To the ground,

Check you're gone  -
Lunch is on!

I hadn't realised it had been so long since I was moved to write anything here. I really have to admit to being quite impressed - by what? This year's Eurovision song contest winner, of all things! It's been at least 20 years since I watched the thing, which seemed to me to have degenerated into complete rubbish, but I have just seen the following on another message board:
www.youtube.com/watch
and actually enjoyed it. I liked the Cossack rhythm (nice touch for a Moscow performance) and of course the dancing, as well as the violin and the pleasant face and voice of the singer. For once, some real entertainment. However this isn't a conversion. I don't listen to Wagner, not being prepared to put up with hours of grinding boredom for one exquisite phrase, so I shan't be watching the contest in future years - there is always You Tube afterwards, bless it!

I've just given up, after 45 minutes, on "Nine Months", in which Hugh Grant, playing a floppy-haired, grimacing, irritating PRAT, got on my nerves so  much that I finally had to switch off, in spite of Robin Williams' hilarious cameo as an incompetent Russian obstetrician. I couldn't cope, not even with the hope of seeing more Williams. I was also not amused by the Praying Mantis/Biological Clock conflict.  Such a cliché!