It's a funny sort of day

It's been a funny sort of day, one of those days when you feel strangely detached from reality. (Actually, the days I feel strangely detached from reality seem to far outnumber the ones that I feel attached to!) You know, when you walk into the kitchen then can't remember why you are there, completely failing to notice the vat of chilli con carne bubbling over on the stove, then walk out again. "MUUUuuuuummMMMMM, you've burned the tea again" shouts DS while at the same time failing to rouse himself from 'doing his homework' (on the Wii?). Ah well, at least I've only burnt the tea. Last year it was the whole kitchen, but that's for another day.

I put it down to the weather. Two sunny days in a row after what seems like years of rain has thrown me completely. That or spending the day filling in our French tax return. A greater work of fiction than Mme Bovary. It's not that we are evading tax or anything, it's just that the French and English tax years don't coincide so I have to do a certain amount of 'intelligent' projection. All well until they phone you, as they did last year, to ask you how you arrived at your figures. ''Errrrr, not entirely sure' I smiled.

I can't seem to concentrate on doing anything and a million and one unfinished jobs surround me. With the return of the sun came the return of the flies so I dug out my lovely silk fringed fly screen to hang over the door - also a good chicken deterrent as mine have no compunction about coming into the house whenever the mood takes them. But I got distracted and left it on a chair, so now Mad Baz is having an eppie in it and it and he are all tangled up. I've extracted him three times but it's obviously the most fun he's had in years and he's straight back in before I have a chance to move it.

He's now alternatively sitting on my lap, walking on the keyboard, deleting my post and nibbling fingers, nose (ouch! Fang up the nostril - nasty!) , toes, anything he can sink his pearly whites into.

I have a broody hen, the first one ever, who's sitting entranced on her little pile of eggs. Boy will she get a shock when he little chicklets hatch and she discovers they are three times as big as her. She's a tiny little bantam but she's sitting on a pile of eggs from one of our Marans, which are one of the larger breeds of hen. I can identify with that. It'll be pretty much like the shock I had when all 10lb 13ozs of DS was handed to me. He had a full head of hair, looked 6 months old and was practically walking (unlike me, who struggled to walk for months afterwards!). I've no idea what we need to do for maman-to-be so today maybe I'll do a bit of research. She looks very contented, all puffed up and oblivious to the world. That must be nice. No need to worry about bills, break-ins, how to get the pool to change from a delicious Chartreuse green to clear blue in three weeks when the first guests arrive, no housework. All she has to do is sit.

I had an appointment at the Gendarmerie today to 'porter plainte' about our losses in the theft at the Salle des Fetes at the weekend. Gendarme Adjoint S was barely out of nappies, with a fresh crop of pimples and a very large gun. It was quite weird to think that this young boy could pull his gun and shoot someone dead. I have a huge horror of guns. Must have been shot dead in a past life. That doesn't however, explain my morbid fear of toilet cisterns. There's no word for a fear of toilet cisterns although I know I'm not alone. I listened to a phone in on phobias years ago and someone else phoned to say they were terrified of toilet cisterns. "Hooray", I thought, "I'm not alone!"

Epibiphobia is a fear of teenagers. I've definitely got that if it means a fear of your children turning into knuckle dragging, hissy fitting teenagers, rather than a fear of teenagers per se. There's even a fear of chopsticks for goodness sake, Consecotaleophobia but no word for a fear of toilet cisterns. I feel robbed!

M. Le Gendarme Adjoint is going to personally interview everyone who holds a spare key for the village hall, probably most of the village I would think, to see if he can get to the bottom of the break in. He's also told us he'll be going to visit M. Le Maire to tell him that he is responsible for our losses. That should go down like a pork chop in a synagogue!


The Conquering Hero phoned to tell me that due to a much better offer, sorry, a business meeting with the director of his current tv series in Dublin, he won't be able to get back on the 14th June to see DD in her starring role in the end of school play then have dinner with some horsey friends. He'd probably rather have dinner with the horses than the friends themselves anyway, which would be useful as he could then suss out which end is which, which would be a huge step forward! Did I mind? Well, not really as he's missed all the shows, both Christmas, end of term and Carnaval for the past three years so I don't think it makes much difference.

CH had to have a tooth removed today and was in much pain. (Much pain.... try childbirth!). He broke it months ago but was too busy to see a dentist so he paid the price when he spat it out with his Aquafresh into the bathroom sink. I was suitably sympathetic, and made lots of soothing noises. Well, you have to, don't you. He called me back later to recount the soft, squishy things he's managed to eat for tea. "Don't write about this in your blog" he told me. "OK", I said.

Tonight is Karate night, which is just an excuse for the mums to nip off for a drink or a coffee leaving our little darlings in the care of the smallest karate teacher in Europe, possibly the world. DS takes it terribly seriously, and you can see that every chop and kick is, mentally at least, aimed at his sister. DD, laughs, pulls faces, gets her feet the wrong way round and farts occasionally! Money well spent if you ask me.