Want to adopt a galgo?

Adopting a Galgo...

by Joanna W Simm

For many of us who have heard of the terrible plight of the beautiful Galgo dogs in Spain, adoption is an idea that we have embraced as something we can actually do to help. Most of us do not have a massive disposable income, so donating significant amounts of money is not possible, and we look for other ways to help. If you can sew, you can perhaps make dog coats to keep the galgos warm during the cold winter nights (yes, Spain does get cold!), and if you speak good French and have a friendly pharmacy or feed merchant perhaps you can talk them into donating out of date medicines or sacks of food with damaged packaging. However, the ideas of offering a loving forever home to a galgo with a sad history is irresistibly appealing to anyone who loves these dogs, has been moved by their plight, and feels they may have room in their heart and home.

Is adoption for you?

You do need to think very carefully before offering to adopt a galgo, because the last thing that these dogs need is a forever home that turns out to be a 'two week home'. Be certain that you are prepared to cope with a dog who may well experience problems settling into his or her new life, however desirable and better than what they have left behind it may be. Most of these rescued dogs are rescued because they have suffered, in some way or another, and certainly few will be used to the sights and sounds of a house, or indeed the rules associated with living 'en famille'. If you can't bear the thought of an occasional...or even frequent...toilet training mistake in the early days, if you are not prepared to patiently explain that food on the kitchen table is for people, not for dogs to take, if you aren't prepared to get up in the middle of the night to calm, comfort and resettle, then maybe you can find another way to help the galgos, other than adoption.

Consider your other animals too...

Most galgos are sociable creatures who forgive very quickly the terrible wrongs that have been done to them by men, but some never get over their training and indeed instinct to hunt. If you have cats, take extra care. This doesn't mean that you can't adopt a galgo if you have cats (I have five cats, and 3 greyhounds plus a veritable gaggle of rescued galgos...) but proceed with caution, be honest with the adoption organisation and ask that they try the galgo with cats first (this is done under safe conditions for the cat, I might add!). Even this is not a guarantee, but taken carefully, many galgos adapt happily to living with cats and can be found happily curled up on the sofa with them in many adoptive homes!

Other animals too need to be considered. Although rescue dogs are usually neutered as a part of the rescue agreement, sometimes adult male dogs can have difficulty adjusting to accepting another male into the home. If you know your dog is a dominant character, try to adopt only spayed females, (galgas), to avoid potential problems.

Neutering

Almost all rescue organisations will ask that the galgo or galga you adopt be neutered if it has not already been done prior to the adoption. There is a reason for this, and a very good one too. The problem in Spain that causes these poor dogs to be so abused and abandoned is caused by over population, over breeding. certain areas of Spain are literally so full of galgos that there is no chance of homes for them, hence so many end up wandering the streets, being dumped in shelters and dog pounds or even worse, ending up in the hands of the galguerros( hunters), or the gipsies. These people allow them to breed unchecked, pick what they want and treat the rest as truly disposable. Spain has this problem and we see the terrible consequences of it every day. When we bring galgos out to France we do not want to create the same problem, and this is why we insist that all galgos are neutered. It isn't that you, as an individual, are not trusted, just that a sensible policy has been adopted to try to pre-empt any problems and it must be enforced. If an exception is made for one, it will become the norm, with foreseeable difficulties in the future. Neutering does not harm the animals, not make them unhappy. In fact, it tends to preclude the possibility of the development of various cancers in later life, and removes the angst sometimes associated with the desire to find a mate, resulting in greater contentment.

Fees

The fees requested for the adoption of a galgo or podenco are another area that can cause discontent among would be adopters. People may feel, quite justifiably at first, that they are offering to take in an animal who is unwanted who needs a home, who may have problems, medical or psychological, and feel a little 'miffed' that they are also asked to pay a fairly large sum of money.

There are several reasons for the fees that are charged for an adoption. The first is to cover costs. Until you have worked in the rescue system, you can have no real idea of the massive costs that are incurred in each rescue. Firstly, it may be that a straying and possibly injured dog has to be caught, and this can take several people days of effort. The shelter then has to take over, paying for medical treatment, housing, neutering, micro- chipping, passporting, collars, leads, and eventual transport to the border of France for a hand over to a French rescue team. By now they have probably spent in the region of 200 Euros. Possibly a lot more. The French team then take over, transporting the dogs all over France to foster or adoption homes. Those in foster care still need to be fed, treated, housed, socialised etc. It all takes time and money. Adverts need to be placed to seek homes, and publicity materials need to be created to raise awareness of the problem. By now, I hope you can see, a fee of around 250.00 Euros is more than justified....and if by some miracle there is any left over on your particular adoption, there will be another needy galgo waiting in Spain, perhaps with a noose already tightening around his neck , who could perhaps be saved with that bit of extra cash.

Bonds

A quick word here about the payment of a bond, required by some organisations to be submitted in the case of the adoption of a puppy, a sick or badly injured galgo, or a dog who for some reason is unable to be neutered before the adoption. All that is required here is a cheque of perhaps 500 Euros, which is NOT CASHED but held until you submit the vets certificate to state that the neutering has been carried out. This may be alien to British minds, but it is a common practice in France, and is nothing to worry about as long as the organisation you are using is a bona fide charity such as L'Europe des Levriers or Amigos de Los Galgos. The cheque is returned to you untouched after the neutering.

Questionnaires and visits

You will almost certainly be asked to complete questionnaires about your home circumstances, you life style, your other animals, your family etc. Pleas don't consider this intrusive...the organisations who ask for this are just doing their job to ensure that the rescued galgo is not being taken from the frying pan and thrown into the fire. Equally, if someone comes to visit you, please don't feel insulted. It is standard practice. They want to be sure that you know what you are taking on, that you have a securely fenced garden (galgos do like to run, and are not the sort of dogs you can let out onto an unguarded doorstep each morning !)Remember too that the person who visits you, or who asks the questions, has a common cause...namely the well-being of this beautiful breed of dog we know as a galgo.

Is adoption still for you?

I do hope so. There are so many of these beautiful, gentle and loving dogs being terrorised and killed in Spain, they need all the love they can get. They give it back, in spades. I promise.

Smile, you're in Spain

Smile you're in Spain

by Joanna W Simm

Some months ago there was a widely broadcast campaign to encourage people to take holidays in Spain. The campaign slogan ran; 'Smile, you're in Spain', and showed pictures of happy couples on the golden beaches, splashing in the sea, drinking sangria under a canopy of stars. Paradise on earth.

Now consider another Spain, a Spain epitomised not by a smile, but by a grimace of purest agony on the face of an innocent galga, a female Spanish greyhound in Albacete.

Look at the pictures, if you can bear to do so. They dropped into my inbox this morning, as these things are wont to do. They're out there on the internet, along with hundreds of other disturbing images of the extreme cruelty that is inflicted on the galgos of Spain. Someone poured petrol over this galga and set her alight. Why? Who knows. If you are a Spanish hunter, you may choose to do this to the dog of a rival hunter, if it happens to be faster or better than yours. Or perhaps she is your dog, and has not hunted well today...possibly because you have failed to feed her for days to make her hungrier for the chase...or because she has been kept in such cramped, cold and dark conditions that she is almost incapable of movement. Of course, if you don't decide to burn her there are a million other inventive ways you can decide to get rid of her, or to teach her a lesson. You might punish a lack of speed by dragging her to her death behind a motor vehicle, break her legs so she cannot move then throw her into the road, or down a well...or take the time honoured way of disposing of a galgo and hang her from a tree. Don't forget to leave her back feet touching the ground, so she dies slowly. You call this 'playing the piano',after the frantic movements of the dog's hind legs as it battles to save itself. Smile, you're in Spain.

Thousands of galgos suffer and die like this every year in Spain. Although the Spanish cities and coastal resorts appear sophisticated and carefree, there is a dark underbelly to Spain that the tourist authorities would not have you see. You may have heard the stories of donkeys thrown from cliff tops, and no doubt you have heard of the favourite Spanish sport of bullfighting. You may not have heard of the treatment of the galgos, and it is understandable if you do not want to allow these terrible images into your consciousness, but if no one speaks out, if no one uncovers this arcane, inhumane world of suffering that the Spanish continue to impose on their animals, it will continue unabated.

The galgo, of all animals, seems to suffer the most. Very similar to an English greyhound, it is chosen by the hunters for its speed, and its quiet nature. It is this very gentleness that leads it to be subjected to this most awful abuse, as these poor creatures do not 'fight back' or 'defend'...they just accept. They are bred in massive numbers in Spain, with some galguerros (hunters) and gipsy encampments having hundreds of them, mainly fending for themselves, sometimes driven to killing and eating each other through starvation. The problem seems to be self perpetuating too, with the children, Spain's next generation, learning from their elders that the galgos are disposable tools, and not considered domestic animals. Just the other week there was a case where a passer by saw a group of children tormenting a galga. Forced to give birth to her puppies on the streets, as many are, this poor galga had to watch, helpless, as these children, some as young as 5 or 6, took her babies and put them in a box up a tree, out of her reach. She could hear their cries, though, and she became ever more frantic as she tried to climb the tree to reach them while the children laughed.

Smile, you're in Spain.

What can you do? Write to your Euro MP, put pressure on political figures to tell Spain we will not tolerate this behaviour in a civilised world. Boycott Spain. Take your holidays elsewhere, and tell the Spanish tourist authorities why. Refuse to buy Spanish produce. Spread the word.

There are practical ways that you can help the galgos too, should you so wish. There are many bodies who work to try to save them, to alleviate the suffering and to rescue and re home these dogs, which make wonderful, gentle pets. They all need help... financial of course, and in the form of gifts, coats to keep the dogs warm in the savage cold of the mountain winters, food, medicines and blankets. The rescued dogs need adoptive owners and foster carers. The shelters need security, because now it is the hunting season again the galguerros want to claim back the dogs that they abandoned in such numbers last year. Galgos who had seemed to have found a place of refuge are being stolen back, every night, from the shelters and taken back to a life of unimaginable horror.

For more information on how you can help, contact Nuria Blanco of Amigos de los Galgos, on levriers@levriers.net who speaks English, French and Spanish, or take a look at the English written website www.galgonews.com.

Smile, you're in Spain. Tell that to the galgos.

The lack of recent posts on this blog is down to our old friends, SFR telecommunications. Or lack of aforesaid telecommunications, which seems a more apt description. It is now some three weeks since we asked them to change their provision of phone and net to our new telephone number. The phone works, courtesy of line providers FT, but as yet; no net. This in spite of 10 phone calls, 5 shop visits and many prayers to all possible gods. Each time we speak to SFR they tell us something different. No one seems to know what is happening, and I am getting truly SICK of it. France is NOT a third world country, but right now Iam beginning to wonder...can it really be so difficult to change internet provision from one number to another for exisiting clients?
Anyway, end of rant for now. Next time I can get access to the net I will post again... but dont hold your breath! Oh, and still no joy with the problems of my daughters mobile either. (See earlier rant!)

A good summer holiday read

If you want a light, summer holiday read, and like detective tales with a bit of a twist and a dollop of fun, try this two for one bargain!

The Bashful Vampire Murder and the Comic Book Murders by Bob Frey

The two stories in this double book, The Bashful Vampire Murder and the Comic book Murders are thoroughly entertaining. Frey does a great job of grabbing the reader's attention and keeping it until the very last word. The stories, while dealing with murder most horrible, are also at times very funny, and Frey's wit and humour lift his writing to a level rarely found in detective novels. The murder stories themselves are also refreshingly different, dealing with, in the first tale, the popular subject of vampires, and in the second, with comic book heroes and villains.
The protagonist, Detective Frank Callahan is an intriguing and likable character. Unusually, perhaps, for the hero of a murder story, Frank is gay, which adds an interesting twist, although I would like to see a little more development of the character, his personal life with his partner and his history which would add more depth and increase the reader's involvement with the man behind the detective. That said, the character is well drawn as far as it goes, certainly enough to engage the reader and to enlist our empathy.
If you are looking for a really entertaining, light read for this summer holidays, this two for one package will make the ideal beach companion.

Review of Valhalla, young adult fiction by Jen Willis

Bewitching tale for young (and not so young) adults.

This one is seriously great fun!

Valhalla, by Jen Willis

In this hugely entertaining fantasy tale, Jen Willis presents a magical and bewitching brew of a well intentioned teenage witch; displaced Viking gods forced by loss of power to work in the human realm as strip club doormen and photocopier repair men; heroic gay biker gangs and an epic battle to save the world.

The novel is perfect for the young adult market, for those who grew up on the tales of Harry Potter and who are now hungry for something a little different, but equally compelling and magical. Ms Willis’s writing is exceptional, fluent and engaging, managing to weave a fantasy world that really fires the reader’s imagination and makes the impossible seem believable. A healthy dose of humour runs throughout the book, and this is never more successful than in the bizarre but brilliant concept of the great gods of Viking mythology sending text messages on their mobile phones, or the murderous Beserker warriors gaining strength to fight by devouring huge supplies of pizzas, cheesey puffs and burgers.

Beyond this, the author clearly knows her mythological stuff, and has created the story and its characters through meticulous research. Most impressive.

If there are young adults you want to treat to something special, give them a copy. Better still, whatever your age, treat yourself to one too. I haven’t had such fun reading for ages, and am still finding it hard to drag myself out of this magical world and back to the mundane one in which I live.

Washed away

Spring in the south of France is always unpredictable. One minute we can be sizzling in temperatures well into the thirties, as last week, the next bombarded with massive hailstones or thunderstorms of biblical proportions. Saturday night brought the latter, and with some pretty horrible consequences for some in this area. We were lucky, though we didn't know it at the time, the electricity went off for hours, and we had three rooms flooded to ankle deep...lots of hassle, but no lasting damage. Our poor neighbours, just half a kilometre up the lane, were not so lucky. The hills that surround this place channeled the rain down into a newly formed river that belted through their property, taking out their fences, car, newly installed fosse septique , newly planted garden and veggie plot and rising to knee height in their 'almost finished renovated' one storey house. Everything ruined. And the worst of all, they were three days away from signing off the project to qualify for full insurance cover.

Doesn't bear thinking about.

Chosen, by Jerry Ibbotson. Review.

Chosen, by Jerry Ibbotson, is simply one of the most compelling books I have read this year. When I first read the blurb, I wasn't sure it would be for me, but decided to give it a go, and I am so glad I did, because I have found a new author whose voice is definitely worth hearing.
I read the book on my computer in Kindle form (although it is also available in paperback)and I simply could not move away from my computer until I had devoured the last word. Ibbotson seamlessly weaves fantasy, spirituality, thrilling adventure and the mundane into a tale that takes the reader by the hand into a whole new world and refuses to let go. The writing style is fairly simplistic yet intelligent and vivid,the characters believable and the plot both complex and easy to follow, which is quite a feat! The moral/spiritual elements of the book are so well done that they are never 'in your face' or hard to swallow, and are uplifting in the manner of Richard Bach rather than pushing religion.The message that 'love conquers all' is the essence of the tale, but the tension is as gripping and the adventures are as exciting as in any thriller I have read.
I would like to echo the comments by other reviewers in that this book will not just appeal to fantasy fans, or fans of morality tales, or any single genre. Anyone who wants to read an utterly compelling novel will love Chosen.
I found myself thinking about the book long after finishing the final word, and, having read the taster chapters on his website of his new novel, The Veil, (http://www.jerryibbotson.co.uk/the-veil/)I will certainly be buying the next book by Mr. Ibbotson.

Book review. The Valley of Heaven and Hell, by Susie Kelly

The Valley of Heaven and Hell,( Cycling in the shadow of Marie Antoinette) by Susie Kelly.

Author Susie Kelly does it again. This is a book that, characteristically for Ms. Kelly, blends historical, cultural and geographical fact with an hilarious account of a very modern expedition. Following in the footsteps of the legendary Queen of France, Susie and her husband Terry attempt to do their historical research by bicycle...no mean feat for an untrained cyclist, especially in the crazy streets of Paris!

I won't tell you the story(you need to read it for yourself, believe me) but what I will say is that this is a book to cherish. Prepare to learn things you never dreamed of knowing, to laugh, to cry, to empathise (with Susie's physical discomforts as much as with Marie Antoinette's tragedy!) and above all, to enjoy this trip around the France of yesterday and also of today from the comfort of your armchair...or deckchair, should you be lucky with the weather while reading! Ms. Kelly's easy writing style is accessible to all, her descriptions vivid, her observations sharp and her wit and wisdom as engaging as ever.

There are a million and one reasons to read this book. Read it if you love France, if you are interested in history, in amateur cycling, in human relationships or if you just want to lose yourself in a fantastic read.

A little bit of magic

Those of you who read my earlier post about Jonny the pigeon will be familiar with his story, which continues here. As Spring sprung...as it does, every year, the young man's fancy turned to love, and Jonny became more and more affectionate towards me, landing on my head, pecking my hand, constantly seeking attention. Gradually it dawned on me that in the absence of a female pigeon, he had decided that I would have to do...possibly not an idea that was ever really going to be successful, at least not for what Jonny had in mind. He began to fly wider and wider circles around the house and garden, eventually also taking in the surrounding hills as part of his exercise programme.

One day, inevitably, Jonny did not return. I was worried that he might have met with a nasty end, possibly one of the massive birds of prey that are such a common sight here, and I missed his company as he used to follow me as I did all my outdoor tasks, seeing to the horses, watering the garden and playing with the dogs. However, pigeons are wild birds, and will do what they must do, and I had to simply hope for the best while fearing the worst.

The other day, though, a little bit of magic happened. It was a glorious, hot, sunny evening, and I was sitting in the garden with the obligatory glass of chilled wine, when I heard the very distinctive sound of a pigeon. There have never been pigeons around our house before Jonny, so of course my attention was immediately grabbed by the sound. Sure enough, there he was, sitting, as had been his habit, in the fig tree by the pool. The best, though, was yet to come. No sooner than I had seen Jonny, a smaller bird arrived to join him. Jonny had not only come back to tell me he was OK, he had brought his mate to show off! They sat there for an hour, canoodling contentedly, then flew off together into the hills.

I haven't seen him since, I imagine he is now perhaps busy raising his family...but it was a little moment of magic.

In the meantime...

Long time no see, sorry about that! Time has overtaken me lately. However....

I will be posting some new reviews soon, so if books are your thing, watch this space. In the meantime, a conundrum.

What on earth is it that hairdressers do to your hair that is so impossible to reproduce at home? I went on Saturday, and walked out feeling like a film star. Sleek, glossy locks, a perfect cut. Just a blow dry, nothing fancy, finished it off. I watched every move she made, and was sure I could replicate it at home. I even bought the hideously expensive products.

Wrong. My first attempt resulted in a frizzy mess, my second, after another abortive wash, in something resembling the eighties shaggy perm, the Coupe Sauvage. It seems I am now stuck with this look, so will someone please bring eighties big hair back into fashion? Or give me a live in hairdresser who will work for free?

WINTER WARMER

I have to admit, this is neither about writing nor reading, in any sense...but I was searching for an idea for something really cheering to cook in this cold weather, and remembered this fabulous recipe. It is vegetarian, but really tasty and satisfying enough for non veggies to love. It is adapted from a Joanne Harris recipe, and is just the ticket for a cold, winter's night. It is also drop dead easy to cook, but I have to warn you, as you are making it, you will probably think 'This is NEVER going to work'...but it does! In fact, it is so good, I wanted to share....amounts are variable,,it isnt an exact science...but do use lots of cabbage and chillies...and garlic!

Tourte au camembert


You need...a dark green cabbage...or portion thereof
one or two HOT chillies (I use the seeds too, but then I like it HOT!)
Two or three cloves of garlic..FAT ones!
Potatoes...about 700 grams to feed four? Diced into large dice.(inch square?)
2 eggs
Veggie stock (the new gel type cubes from Knor are fab)
1 large Camembert (or Coulommiers) round cheese
Cherry tomatoes
olive oil

Soooo...get some water boiling, pop in the spuds for a few minutes til they are lightly cooked...not too soft. Drain.
Into a big oven cook pot put the diced cabbage, chillies (chopped), garlic (chopped) and in a big jug mix the eggs with the stock (just the gel cube, not water) and the oil...a good five tablespoons or more. Beat that lot up and add to the cabbage, and part cooked spuds. Mix it all up, add a lid and bung it in the oven for a good while...til it all collapses and seems kind of cooked. (probably 3 quarters of an hour to an hour)(what did I say about this NOT being an exact science?) If it is too dry, add a little more oil (OK, I never said it was low fat).
Then, remove move the lid, and place large pieces of camembert on top...best to slice the round of cheese in half to get two thinner rounds...then cut into big pieces and place on top of the cooked cabbage and spuds. Add a good handful of cherry tomatoes, and put it all back in the oven until the cheese is melting and browning a little, and the toms are blackening nicely.

ET VOILA! Please let me know if you try this? You can make it as spicy as you like...or not...but the chilli really does add a nice kick and twist...Bon appetit!

Rant. Customer service, SFR? Vous ne comprenez pas les mots?

It seems that, much as we love so many things about this life in France, the standard of customer service in many companies is not among them.
Since experiencing problems with mobile phone company SFR, I have heard of many similar incidents, and so, rather than being very British and keeping quiet about it all, Iam going to have a cathartic rant.
Over five months ago, when my daughter moved back to the UK to study, we were told by SFR that we could stop her mobile phone contract without fee, as the contract allows for this if you move abroad. Dutifully, we sent recorded delivery letters requesting this, and including signed, stamped and dated certificates of her studies and her apartment. We received a letter in reply, requesting us to send ...a certificate of her studies and a certificate of her apartment rental agreement. We sent them again..though by this time the next lot of fees for the phone had been taken from the account. This time we received no response. We wrote again, no response. Again...and lo and behold, a reply! This time they wanted the same certificates again, PLUS a certificate to state she is in the military...(she is NOT) and a certificate to say she is in full time EMPLOYMENT in the UK. What???? They already have proof she is a full time STUDENT...quite how she is supposed to find time to also be in the military and full time employment is beyond me.
The story continues, in much the same vein, except that we have had no further responses at all. At one point, in desperation, I even asked them to stop the contract and just charge me the fee for stopping it early...it would have been massively cheaper in the end! However, this too, was ignored. My son spent some 4 hours on the telephone to SFR, and was told to fax all the dossier to them...claiming not to have received any of my previous communications despite having answered some of them and my having the signed receipt slips from La Poste. We sent the fax (cost 20 euros) and called SFR three days later to ensure it had been received. It had, and we were assured of an answer within days. NOTHING . Nothing received at all in the way of any answer. The only activity we could be sure of was the relentless removing of 52 euros from my bank account each month for the use of the phone that has not been used for nearly 6 months now. I am now some 300 euros poorer than I should be, thanks, I believe, to the wilful incompetence of this company. I could have been persuaded, at the beginning, that my own deficiencies in the French language could have caused some of the problems, but the fact that over and over they have simply IGNORED my correspondance points to something else. I am also now aware that I am by no means the only person to receive this sort of treatment.
Now, if this is what SFR call customer service, I am beginning to question my own understanding of the words. I now have an appointment with UFC, who I believe take on such cases with a good level of success. I have informed SFR of this move, and we will see what happens.
Watch this space.

New writing needed!

If you have anything to add to this blog, in the form of something you have written...anything, poetry, articles, extracts from a novel....please contact me!

Reviews of good books also welcome...if you'e read something wonderful lately, please tell us about it here!

Jonny, the Half-Fly pigeon

As I left work at the lycee a few weeks ago, I noticed a crowd of girls around the soft drinks machines in the foyer. OK, this is not an unusual occurrence, but they weren't buying drinks, they were all crying 'Oh le pauvre! le pauvre!'.
My heart sank. I knew there was going to be an injured animal of some sort, and equally, I was certain that it would fall to me to do something about it. Sure enough, there was a pigeon, still young, judging by the yellow baby feathers around his head, desperately trying to hide under the machines. The trouble was, he couldn't walk, and he couldn't fly. He flapped to around six inches above the ground, then crash landed again, dragging a wizened, bent and blackened leg behind him as he skidded painfully across the floor, terrified.
I did a quick recap of the situation. There was a window of 20 minutes for me to get from one teaching job to another, and my home was only 5 minutes away, albeit in the opposite direction. Grabbing the pigeon I stuffed him down my jumper and ran for the car. Once home, I popped him in an old dog kennel, safe from marauding cats and dogs, and drove like James Hunt back to work.
Arriving home again that evening, armed with pigeon corn, I half expected to find him dead, but he was still there, just as scared and just as handicapped.
I showed him to my husband, and one or two friends, some of whom said it would be kinder to kill him then and there as he was obviously deformed from birth and would never make full pigeonhood. I have to admit, I did think they might be right, but I wanted to give this little bird a go...there had to be a reason he chose that moment , when I was walking past, to make his plea for help, didn't there?
So, on we went. Weeks passed, and there was a gradual improvment in Jonny's appearance (I called him Jonny, after the great Jonny Wilkinson, because he could only 'half-fly')so one day I decided to get him out of the kennel and see how his leg was healing.
If I was determined to grab him, Jonny was equally determined that I should not. I lunged, missed, and to both of our astonishments, (can you have a plural astonishment???) he stretched out his wings and flew onto the roof, where he sat in a state of shock. The Half-Fly could fly!

Several more weeks on, Jonny has never looked back, although he shows no sign of wishing to leave. He resides in the smaller of the two barns, having adopted several favourite perches, and on fine, sunny days like today has been, he ventures out for a test flight around the house, and maybe suns himself on the roof of the pergola for a while. His leg is almost healed, pink and straight again, his wings work as they should, and the baby feathers are gone, leaving the glorious iridescent blues, greens and purples around his neck that are so characteristic of pigeons.

So, Jonny stays. He has adopted this as his home, and I enjoy his being there. We have meaningful conversations, wher he puts his head on one side and listend to my rmblings, and he calls out to me when I walk into the barn. There are many who say a pigeon is a flying rat, and should be exterminated, but I have to say, Jonny is a delightful creature, and I am quite proud of my part in his rescue. Long may he stay, and long may he continue to avoid the cats, dogs and birds of prey that are the bane of a pigeon's existence. We have a new family member!

Squeak

Mice. Is anyone else having a problem with mice this year? They seem to be everywhere, making a take over bid for domination in my house. I opened my underwear drawer this morning, only to find a mouse happily snoozing among my frillies. The other day, I grabbed an old dressing gown to sling on after my bath, and settled down to work at the computer. After quite some time, and I mean, quite some time, I felt something move on my back...thinking it was a spider I slung the dressing gown to the floor and watched in amazement as a mouse shot out! I don't know who was more shocked, the mouse or I!
Now, the dilemma is this. I know I can't really share my home with thousands of mice. It's unhygenic, for one thing, and for another, the litttle blighters are eating the wires inside the electrical appliances which is a fire risk as well as not really good for the intended function of the appliances. But...they are so damned cute! (If only they didn't poo...) I deplore killing things at the best of times, preferring to rescue drowning spiders from the swimming pool than watch them struggle, so with something as utterly adorable as a mouse, I am a lost cause. The cats...all four of them, should really be doing the job out of sight, I suppose...but the cats have now seen so many mice that they are, frankly, bored. They look up as one scurries by, and calmly mutter;
'Oh, another mouse. Heigh ho.'
Traps are out, as they so often don't kill immediately, which I just couldn't bear, poison is no good on a number of counts, not least the cruelty angle or that the other animals could accidentally ingest some. I have tried the humane traps, but the mice either make their excuses and leave somehow having enjoyed the food, or return with the new mates they have met in the surrounding fields where I have emptied the traps. ('Hey, lads, we know a great hotel...' You get the picture?) I have also tried those little machines that emit a noise mice are supposed to abhor...but having seen a small group partying merrily on top of the very machine one evening, I have lost faith. I think they saw it as a mouse disco...music provided.
Is there another option? Does anyone have a number for the Pied Piper? Or, maybe, Derren Brown could brainwash them into leaving? Suggestions on a postcard please....

S.A.D.

Today is one of those winter days that should happen much more often. Bright, sunny, clear blue sky and a warmth already coming through that means I shall be able to sit outside at lunchtime. Jonny the pet pigeon will probably risk a short flight around the house, the cats and dogs will potter out to lie in the grass and the mud in the horses' field might ease up a little. Who knows, the washing, which has been on the line for five days, might even dry!
The older I get, the more I hate winter. To be even more exact, the more I hate this period of winter that stretches from New Year to March, or even April, when at last we can begin to be assured that the majority of days will be pleasant again. Seasonal Affective Disorder? Possibly, although I think it is just another fancy label for something that many of us feel. Sunshine lifts the spirits, the days are blessed with more light at both ends, the world seems to have hope again. I need more of it. I don't need an artifical light box, I need real sunshine. Seems churlish to whinge, when people in Australia, Brazil and other unfortunate places are suffering from terrible floods, so I apologise...but, if you are listening, weather God...we ALL need more sunshine!

Review Web of Lies

New author Sarah Tate brings a tale of domestic horror to the table with her first book, Web of Lies. Not a story of wife beating, but one of an abuse that is, perhaps, even more insidious, even more shocking.
Unputdownable, the book tells of the effects of becoming involved with a man who is a narcissist. At first charming and romantic, Bill woos the young Sarah with a courtship beyond her wildest dreams, but after she agrees to marry him, his true nature and extreme narcissism begins to show, resulting in an unstoppable chain of disasters that leave Sarah and her children struggling to survive.
If you've never heard of Narcissistic Syndrome, read this book. If you identify with the plight of a young wife and mother, stuck in an intolerable situation, read this book. If you want to pick up a book that will keep you reading deep into the night and won't let go until you have turned the very last page...read this book.

Review : A Perfect Circle, by Susie Kelly.

Being a firm fan of this author, whose wit, warmth and honesty have captivated me from the first word of her first book, I embarked alongside her (in spirit only, through the pages of A Perfect Circle) with great expctations upon this epic voyage around France.
I was not disappointed. In addition to the intelligent charm of Ms Kelly's writing, the book was painstakingly researched, a mine of fascinating information about France and frequently hilarious to boot!
Pack it in your suitcase if you are going on holiday, especially if you are going to France. Or curl up in your favourite armchair on a cold winter's night and let A Perfect Circle whirl you round the perimeter of France, in a camper van and in the company of two delightfully mischieveous dogs. You won't regret it...and you won't forget it either!

A Story begins...extract

Four Queens and a Joker

The car is coming towards me too fast, far too fast. The driver’s face is hard to see, through the slightly tinted glass of the windscreen, but I have the distinct impression that she is smiling.

She’ll see me in a minute, logic tells me, but the approaching car seems set on a collision course. Her face is clearer now, and in the moment before I realise she is driving directly at me, I can see her eyes, locked on mine, and yes, she is smiling beatifically.

Adrenalin kicks in. Wrenching the wheel violently to the left, tyres screaming, I swerve across the opposite carriageway, but it’s too late.

The noise that metal makes when tearing apart is one that will live in my nightmares forever. It’s all too fast, now, a cacophony of sound, sickening blows to body and head, branches, grass, sky and bits of car flying past my eyes in a seemingly never ending sequence of twists and tumbles that must be happening to somebody, somewhere, although I can’t quite grasp that it is happening to me. All thoughts of what is happening to the other car, the other driver, are blown from my mind in a frantic but useless effort to protect myself. I am conscious of a sudden pressure on my chest, my face, as the airbag explodes into action, and now there is nothing to do but wait, resign myself to whatever will happen when what is left of my car, and myself, finally breaks this crazy cycle of spinning and tumbling into oblivion.

Chapter one

The Deal.

Five cards dealt, spread out on the table. Turn them over, one at a time. Incredibly, they are:The Queen of Spades.The Queen of Diamonds.The Queen of Clubs.The Queen of Hearts. And...the Joker.

Their meaning, at this point, is unclear, but as time rolls on, the Queens (one married, one divorced, one spinster, one widow) will lock crowns in a battle for supremacy as fierce as any power struggle from history, a no holds barred, no quarter given, no rules adhered to fight from which one, or perhaps even none, may emerge triumphant leaving the others bruised and bloody to crawl away to lick their wounds.

And the Joker? What is his role in this? To make sense of the strange card, the card that is excluded from many card games because it is too unpredictable, too hard to pin down, we need to understand the nature of the Joker. What is the saying? 'Joker's wild'....and indeed, he is. Not savage wild, of course, for our Joker is no figure of terror, no macho posing muscle bound aggressor, but rather he is all things to all women, a chameleon like figure whose ever changing colours and form can leave one mesmerised and ultimately, hopelessly confused. A well played Joker can win the game, but this card needs to be understood, identified, its powers controlled and its role clearly defined. A Joker who has no understanding of his own reality or his effect on the other cards on the table is a frightening proposition indeed. Wild and changeable he may be, to the advantage of some and the demise of others, but the Joker has to be able to control the game, to be fully aware of the effect of his position on the pack. What kind of Joker do we have on our table? Time will tell.

Book Reviews

If the purpose of this blog is to share the pleasure of reading, reviews and comments on existing books and other writing are very much a part of it. Some of my reviews can be found on Amazon.com and also on Barnes and Noble. Reviews by Joanna Simm.
Future reviews will also be posted here.

If you have read something inspirational, entertaining or even spectacularly not those things, please let me know.

An Ex Pat Life

An Ex Pat Life

(Also published on Women's Thoughts @   women'sthoughts.co.uk)

Speaking in Tongues. 
Joanna Simm
It’s hardly a new idea, moving to live in another country, as thanks, in part, to a steady diet in recent years of lifestyle programmes like ‘A Place in the Sun’, and ‘No Going Back’, rather a lot of Brits have upped sticks and left good old Blighty for a new life in another land. Most of us have headed off for sunnier climes, to some degree or another, and indeed, seeking better weather is an oft cited reason for the move. There’s more than just the weather to it all, though, and in spite of the sunshine, things can be a little more complicated than we all bargained for when packing up those suitcases and dreaming of long, hot days by a pool.
It depends where you go, of course, but a big consideration in popular European destinations like France, Spain, Italy and Portugal is the language. When I moved to France in 2004, I was convinced that, although my French amounted at that point to no more than a smattering of unconnected words, I would be ‘getting by’ in a matter of ‘months’, and pretty competent within a year. HA! If only. For a start, phrases such as ‘the pen of my aunt’, ‘the cat is black’ and ‘where is the toilet’ actually only get you so far when you are living in a country full of French speakers. OK, so ‘Where is the toilet’ can be useful, but it has its limitations as a conversational gambit. We found ourselves being pretty much silent for a year, in public at least, pointing at items we wished to buy, and offering blank looks when spoken to unexpectedly. The strong southern accent here didn’t help much either. In the Languedoc, where we live, French is NOTHING like the rather tidy and elegant language we were taught in school. We learnt to say ‘van’ for ‘vin’, and ‘pan’ for ‘pain’ (respectively wine and bread), but down here the sounds are ‘veng’ and peng’. I once spent around fifteen minutes in a bakery trying to buy a ‘pain au chocolat’, attempting every possible tongue twist on the words to make my desire for a flaky chocolate pastry understood. I got there eventually, after hearing another customer arrive and ask for exactly what I wanted, shamelessly copying, whereupon the woman in the shop gave me a look as if to say, ‘Well, if that’s what you wanted why the hell didn’t you ask for it in the first place?’
Our two youngest children, who made the move with us at the ages of 12 and 13, spent a horrible first year in school, condemned to sit, day after day, from 8 ‘til 5 listening to a torrent of what was to them, complete gobbledegook. My husband, never a linguist even in his Mother Tongue (Geordie!), found his own way to cope. I remember one evening, soon after our arrival, when he had met a chap in a shop who had, inexplicably, followed him home to have a beer. My husband had no recollection of inviting this man, who was a little odd, but as he said, who knows what he might have said in an attempt at chatting with a vocabulary limited to about six words?  Keen to be sociable, he offered the man a beer, which he drank with relish, immediately requesting another. Unable to express a need to get on with life, my husband found himself dispensing (and, I must admit, also drinking) two crates of beer, while discussing the ways of the world, as men do in these liquid fuelled situations. It wasn’t, however, quite that easy.
Our new French friend spoke at the rate of a million words a minute, while my husband gamely replied with his six favourite (and only) French words. There was, though, a limit to how many times he could introduce the word ‘bois’ (wood), ‘toilettes’ (self evident!), ‘bière (beer), ‘chien’ (dog), ‘chat’ (cat) and ‘Bonjour’ into a conversation which appeared to be about motorbikes. The conversation faltered, unsurprisingly. As more and more beer vanished, though, the form of the discourse altered completely. My husband reverted to English (or as near to it as a Geordie can get!) while our new friend continued with high speed French, but they began to replace words with noises, producing the effect of a story told to the accompaniment of a Fisher Price child’s toy farmyard.  From my bedroom window (to where I had retreated, wisely, I felt) it made a very amusing pantomime, going something like this:‘So, I was riding the bike at 100 miles an hour…brrrrmmmmm…brrrrmmmm…whing! Whing! .when I crashed…BANG!.BANG! BOOM!’ ‘Oui! C’est comme ça pour moi aussi! Boom Boom Boom! Et voila! Mais, il y a un vache dans le champ, qui a dit’ Mooooo, Moooo…’
You get the idea?
Slowly, the words disappeared altogether, leaving a pantomime of bizarre noises. It seemed to keep them both happy, although I doubt that either of them, had a clue what they had been discussing after.  
Six years on, and I am happy to say that both children (children? At 18 and 19 that is probably not quite right!) are fluent French speakers, now returned to University in England. Rob and I, however, haven’t quite reached that state of grace. We are now able to converse with friends (who speak slowly and listen sympathetically for out strange pronunciation!), cope in familiar situations and just about make sense of our post (though not always!) but can still be utterly bemused by much of what is going on around us. Sad to admit, most of the other ex pats seem to have similar difficulties. What is it about we Brits (and in particular, the English) that makes it so hard for us to learn another tongue? 
I can only leave you with the old joke:
‘What do you call a person who can speak two languages?   Bi-lingual.
Three languages?   Tri lingual.
More languages? Multi Lingual.
And what do you call a person who can only speak one language?
English.
Our French friends seem to find this one deeply amusing, I can’t think why!
..

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The purpose of this blog is to share comments, reviews and new writing with anyone who loves books, reading and writing ...wherever they may be! I have enjoyed reading all of my life, and it remains one of my greatest pleasures. It is an escape, an education, a source of information and always a joy.

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