Tag Archives: France

Mists of Time

06 Friday Sep 2013

Posted by in Poetry, Romance, Suttonford, Writing

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You didn’t tell me about your French trip, Brassie.

No.  I’ve just been so frantic sewing all the name tapes into the twins’

clothes.  After the start of term I always feel like another holiday.  In

fact, whenever we are en vacances as a family I realise that I can’t

recreate the dream of those first magical trips across the Channel.

Yes, I responded with feeling.  Do you remember the romantic holidays

with your first boyfriend?  Everything was innocent in those days. There

was a sweetness that kids today will never experience, because of the

restraint, which makes the relationships all the more poignant in the

recherche du temps perdu, to make a Proustian reference.

Oh Candia, you always take a cerebral approach to life.

Not at all, I replied, taking a folded up piece of paper from my designer

vintage handbag- a trophy from Help The Ancient charity shop- before their

prices took a Himalayan hike. Read this.  I found it in my desk drawer

yesterday.

Port-Racine.jpg

MISTS OF TIME

It was the smallest port in France.  Sea mist

stole in, shrouding an ashen harbour, name

forgotten now.  I recollect we kissed,

lay curled in gloom, till dank fog damped our flame

of desire.  All around loomed hydrangeas:

the palest lilac I had ever seen.

And though Time’s chromatography changes

the memory of that dimmed scene,

their hue persists; that tone tinctures my mind.

Sere shadows, like Brockenspectres assume

monumental presence; therefore I find

they remain, though all else has lost its bloom.

Gallic Gall

27 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in Humour, Olympic Games, Social Comment, Sport

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Monday

It rained all day.  The French are madly jealous of our success and are accusing us of having magic potions or supernatural wheels.  They whine that the judges were favourable to Tom Daley in giving him a second go when he was distracted by overexcited flash photographers. Their Hassan Hirt had been sent home over his hormone levels.  Just get over it.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Lost in Translation

26 Sunday Aug 2012

Posted by in Humour, News, Politics, Social Comment

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26/7/12

Maybe even hotter, but a high pollen count.

Swifts seem to be abandoning the UK as the summer hath all too short a day and is soaking wet.  There hasn’t been enough in the way of insects for them, so they are returning to Africa, faster than Polish migrant workers are legging it back to Warsaw.

It was reported that a commercial aircraft on its way from France to Glasgow lost communication with Air Traffic control, so a Typhoon was scrambled. I could imagine the lost in translation dialogue with the pilot:

’allo, ‘allo, nous sommes ou?

Right pal, never mind that.  You’re jist aboot tae be hit by a

missile and Ah doan’t mean a stick o’ rock, or an Olympian

caber.  Defence is convinced that you are in cahoots wi’ the

North Koreans, who are bent on nuking us for insulting their

wimmen’s footie team, whitever that is, by flashing the

wrang flag.  Git oot o’ that air space.

Comment?

You had to laugh at Vince Cable trying to outdo Ann Widdecombe in the modesty department, by stating that he isn’t after George Osborne’s job.  He is probably too busy training for Strictly 2.  And he says he has only one job!  He may find out that his costume has 50% fewer sequins in this time of austerity.  If he thinks he can improve on George, or Gideon’s performance, then he’d better consult his Swarowski crystals, as nobody seems to have a clue as to how to kick start the economy.  The Bollinger, Bullingden, whatever Club, might like to lead the way by consuming fewer country suppers, whatever they are.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012