IT MIGHT BE DEEMED INADVISABLE to promote one’s Englishness too vociferously in a full bar-de-sports when the big screen is rolled out and England are playing away to France in the Rugby Six Nations.
The proprietor, after his usual welcoming greeting tactfully invited us to take up places towards the rear of the bar as we partook of liquid refreshment whilst waiting for our pizzas to be produced next door. I had just commented to Mrs Melling how satisfying it would be to see England run in a try while we were present amongst french nationals — when the law of sod took hold and a hero of the Twickenham turf was yellow-carded for an undeniably high tackle whilst France was awarded a penalty try which our rugby international was only trying to contest! It was the only try to the french side in the game, mind, and the motherland managed to score a real one at the other end; but no matter, France went on to a justifiable win thus dashing to fragments any hopes of England retaining the Championship.
The proprietor, after his usual welcoming greeting tactfully invited us to take up places towards the rear of the bar as we partook of liquid refreshment whilst waiting for our pizzas to be produced next door. I had just commented to Mrs Melling how satisfying it would be to see England run in a try while we were present amongst french nationals — when the law of sod took hold and a hero of the Twickenham turf was yellow-carded for an undeniably high tackle whilst France was awarded a penalty try which our rugby international was only trying to contest! It was the only try to the french side in the game, mind, and the motherland managed to score a real one at the other end; but no matter, France went on to a justifiable win thus dashing to fragments any hopes of England retaining the Championship.
We left the bar with lowered eyes and as unobstrucibly as possible . . . the pizzas were out and we shot off back to the homestead to watch the remainder of the match in the safety of our own television lounge . . .
I report this incident to my expectant public rather late after the event due to an absence of digital provision here in Sablet, after we made the decision to pull the plug on monthly payments on our OrangeBox contract — required even when we have suspended our Orange phone line here, as visitors, without which internet use of the OrangeBox is impossible (but the rental of which can only be avoided by complete cancellation and return of the OrangeBox to an Orange retail outlet, for example, the one in Orange).
Having done that last autumn, we now sought to start a new contract with Orange (in Orange), as we concluded our transit via Orange here to Sablet. Mrs Melling gamefully strove to renew our affiliation to all things Orange, in the Orange office (I stayed with the car because we could not seemingly buy a parking ticket on account of having to insert our registration number which is of course one from Blightey so, not being French, is deemed inadmissible for parking purposes in that part of Orange — or something of the sort) – but the opening of a new contract with Orange seems to require a deep degree of complication and chicken-and-egg obfuscation, including a ten working day reconnection penalty for our trouble, and yesteryear type paperwork, letters and proof of statuses plural. However, Mrs Melling duly came away with the new OrangeBox, we think the cables and connections associated are within the box containing the OrangeBox, but someone has to flick a switch somewhere and apparently needs ten days to work up to that momentous action. So that is why this post was not published in the period to which it applies.
Another aspect and incumbrance to my prosecution of this learned output (der blog) has been the corruption of my camera by the intrusion of a foreign body into the lens assembly resulting in each picture made subsequently to feature a teenage-son-of-a-thing, or blob, disfiguring and compromising the attempts I strive to support my narrative with pertinent imagery. This happened, I know not how, before we fled the chill of the UK, and gave us cause after our relocation in Sablet, to hot-foot it, with the deliquent apparatus, back to Darty at Le Pontet from where it was originally obtained.
The aformentioned retailer has willingly undertaken to facilitate a repair within the warranty period (apparently not one year but two!) —nevertheless I shall be without my TZ70 until the end of the month of March! Fortunately I can ressurect its somewhat shaky predecessor, a Lumix FZ45, rather the worse-for-wear-and-use. In extremis Mrs Melling has kindly and selflessly offered me the occasional use of her camera, provided I make proper application and when within the field, she is within earshot . . . which she often isn’t. It is the best that can be secured, for now at least.
Of course, being in Le Pontet on camera fixing duties we were compelled to visit the almost adjacent Ikea. I considered it fortuitous that we eventually escaped that emporium without too much expenditure: a few bits and pieces sufficing, a mere £25 or so to our cost . . .
Be assured, all will be done in my power to provide the elucidation my public so clearly craves on this site and I apologise for any impatience felt when clearly there should be appearing right now, new pearls of information to delight one and all.
In my endevours to remain current, the content of these posts is being laid down on my digital desktop, ready to be desseminated, once the man* at Panasonic has flicked away the dust from the camera lens, and returned said camera to Darty and we have trekked to Le Pontet to collect; and the man* at Orange has flicked the switch, whatever, to afford us reconnection to your digital world, life, and the universe . . . and has informed one of his/her colleagues to let us know by some means or other that this has been done, and that we can thus begin the procedure of trying to get it all together once again preferably some time before we shut up shop in May . . . Once all this has come about I shall proceed to publication without further ado . . .
[footnote: 'it' has come about . . . and here it is!}
*or woman
