Neck Yer Chickens Missus

It's been a busy few days. For me at least. TS has been idling on the sofa since Saturday while I have been digging the garden, chopping wood, moving the chickens about, cooking, cleaning, virtual assisting.

Alright I knew you wouldn't believe that of him! Actually he's had a bad back due to the little comedy of errors described here . I think he may of given up on his ambition to be "The Finest Woodsman in the Whole of France" (it only works if you do the Inspector Clueso accent). He certainly can't do the hand on hip manly chest thrown out pose that goes with that claim at the moment.

So today I was poking about in the barn looking for easy bits of scrap wood to cut up when a white van pulled up and a swarthy looking chap got out. We did the obligatory bonjour handshake stuff, then he said could he take the scrap metal next to the barn. The aforementioned scrap is actually some sort of cutting thing that goes on a tractor which TS had decided a few months ago might be worth something so it has been lying there ever since. I'm sick of the sight of it and sick of telling various scrap metal people that no they can't take it but they can buy it if they like. Taking advantage of the fact that TS was incapacitated I said yes take it.

That's a good thing about here actually you can't hire skips to take rubbish away (at least not cheaply and easily) but leave just about anything in the way or scrap metal or knackered furniture, fridges, cookers at the side of the road and someone will pull up within a couple of days and ask if they can take it. If that fails the commune will send someone out to pick it up if you phone them but we've never had to yet.

The conversation then moved on to anything else we might want to get rid of but we already had a bunch of people round last week who got all the remotely saleable things out of the barn that we didn't want. The next talking point was how long we had had the house and was there a lot of work to do on it at which point the guy produced a flyer advertising his painting and decorating company and said he also did tiling.

Finally, spotting the Dinnerladies in their swanky new run he said something about chickens which I didn't get. I used my favourite phrase "je ne comprend pas" he then mimed wringing a chicken's neck.

It's tough making a living in the Limousin you clearly have to turn your hand to anything.

I told him they were for eggs only and no we wouldn't be killing them when they stopped laying as they were pets, or I might of said they were my familiars, either way he got the message. It's weird actually all the French people you speak to about your chickens want to know if you are going to eat them. Maybe it's because they know us English won't so it's a joke or maybe it's just the French obsession with eating.