Up early again and fiddling on my computer. Sun pouring in through Mother Superior's window beside me. This is the time of year that I do the major updates to the Le Couvent website This morning I've been creating one of those tiny icons that comes up next to the site name - called favicons. It takes ages and is completely pointless, but there you go.
Josh just phoned to say he wants the key to the top-top garden to do some hoeing and tidying up. He's fourteen. Why isn't he molesting girls and pushing drugs? The price of living in a small french village I guess.
About Me
- Le Couvent - www.roujan.com
- Take me somewhere warm and friendly where I can stop - stop and stay for a while in a big, pumpkin-coloured room, a chambre d'hote where I don't have to wake up until noon. Does it exist? Come on, of course they do, hotels, houses to rent, chambres d'hotes in the south of France where I can check in for bed and breakfast and stay a few days and it's alright and I can get up at noon and smell the lavender and walk through the vineyards and dip my toes in the Mediterranean and, and I could lie on the beach and read. I could read French books, I know my French is rubbish but even I could read Agatha Christie in French, Something old-fashioned. Sort of Deauville or Provence. The tube jerks off. Outside the windows are dark curved walls with thickly-coated horizontal tube maps of wires moving by. Passing by slowly, I give you that, but definitely moving. "Thank God, not today then. Yes. No. Oh God. We've stopped again. Why don't they tell us what's happening. They do quite a lot now about all sorts of things. Not really important things of course. If they don't say anything it means it's bad. Or they're too busy I suppose. How busy? How bad? Okay, don't go there. Go back.
No comments:
Post a Comment