12.25.06
Peace and Quiet
Yoelson and I heard Richard and Laura saying the were going to pop out to Narbonne for a quick drink this morning. We felt like going out too, so we snuck out and hid in the back of the car. It was a lovely sunny morning but cold, when we left home the temperature was 9c, we were happy that the car heater was on full blast. By the time we got to Narbonne the temperature had dropped to 3c ….. BRRRRRRR. Whilst Richard was getting his coat out of the car boot we snuck out and off for a wander round. It was so cold, and the strong wind made it feel more like -3c. After a little stroll we saw Richard and Laura walking back towards the car, complete with a fresh baguette, they looked frozen. Once again we snuck into the back seat of the car whilst Richard was putting his coat back in the boot. Laura was still bundled up in her coat waiting in the car for Richard, she always says she can never be too warm, and even though we have our thick fur coats we quite agree. Thankfully the car was nice and warm and the sun shone brightly for the whole drive home. We arrived home at lunch time, and by now the temperature had crept up to a slightly warmer 11c. We had enjoyed our brief trip to Narbonne, but we were very happy to be back home in the warmth. Richard and Laura ate lunch (wild boar) an hour or so after we returned home and the aroma that filled the house made our tummies rumble. I think we will nibble a little of the leftovers later. Not much else to say, we are feeling a little melancholy this afternoon, probably due to the poems we have been reading (Auden). Yoelson and I are going for a little nap soon, after I have made us a cup of tea.
We like W. H. Auden, even though he was a British subject who renounced his nationality in 1939 and took up American citizenship, each to his own, so I will leave you with this poem.
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood, For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden