Burlington Diary June 2007.
Sat.16th. June. I have just returned from France with the usually fuck ups to put right.
Preparation for the Beaujolais run 2007
On a brighter note, whilst staying with Dave and Julie Green in Buxy, I have met “Katinka” a very pleasant, helpful young lady from the office of Tourism who can arrange all the details for the Beaujolais run in November; she is prepared to arrange accommodation along with organising the invitation to the Gala dinner at the local wine cooperative for our visiting group Wigan group. The area is so beautiful that Jo and I are thinking seriously about relocating to the Burgundy region. We have made some valuable estate agent contacts who I plan to telephone this week.
I can list just a few of the incidents that have pissed me off whilst I have been away. On arrival Don Mikey ‘probably’ knifed my tyre because I parked in his place whilst I was unpacking the car, the renters have systematically murdered the Jasmine, the drains were blocked again, the emulsion has fallen off the damp wall, but more disturbingly, even with effusive assurances due to pure neglect, my motorbike has developed terminal problems. Finally, on a personal, level I have painted four shite landscapes. Naturally, the present people at the Blanchesserie still continue to be the best liars, lazy soap dodging misfits comprehensive smiling thieves that live and breathe: they would be definite candidates for the ‘fuck off’ bin. As a consequence, since my return, I have been running around all weekend like a headless chicken searching for parts for my motorcycle that I cannot access in France: this is due to the model not having been imported to the country. I have had numerous promises of locating the components but so far, just like the car part suppliers, they all seem to belong to the same club. I have been offered only the wrong ‘bits’ at top prices.
On a positive note however, Alain Luzan, my local artisan carpenter has kindly made the dashboard blanks. He spent the afternoon rummaging at home for some vintage seasoned timber. I have had two pieces cut and planed, both 120mm x 20mm x 10 mm; it is always necessary to have the security of an extra piece in the unlikely event of a mistake. I lovingly stored the pieces in the sejour until my return to England but to my horror when I came to wrap the timber for the flight home I discovered that the wood had disappeared. Having searched high and low, after much cursing, raucous ripping combined with a great deal of strident swearing to the heavens, such as, “the bastards have had them away!” and “those fuckers never, ever fail to surprise!” and “I’ll fuckin’ have ‘em!” the red mist eventually cleared, the light revealed, luckily with an inspired guess I wondered if anyone had thought of using them as shelves in their grubby shithole bedrooms. Sure enough a new tenant, a very personable kind of guy, Pete, had knicked them to build a display unit to place his music CD’s, personal photos, paperbacks bordering a big ‘fuck off’ radio. I was so pleased to recover my treasure that I could actually see the funny side of the theft. This, however, rapidly turned to anger when I realised that the timber had warped due to the weight from his trophies. Just as you think that it has been another problem solved someone always turns up to bite you on your arse. I packed the wood managing, along with my damaged bike bits, to take them onto the plane back to the safety of England.
Meanwhile, Chris has polished the uprights but has been suffering from tete dust poisoning, as such he has not made much progress on the car. He suspects that this evil micro fine toxin has totally infiltrated, infusing the entire house. Not only, does he have an inflamed swollen throat, a twangy rattling cough and puffy running eyes but so does Marion his long suffering wife. But it would be a brave man to admit to her what exactly is the cause of her demise.
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