dimanche 22 août 2010

Life Goes On

Life Goes On......
I tried to sneak three greengages past my intestine yesterday and paid for it today. Which was a pity because neighbour Neville was celebrating his birthday at lunch-time with a grand spread of food and drink. However, I managed to calm the angry intestine by around 2 o'clock with a batch of pills and so was able to participate, if somewhat belatedly. Fruit really is a temptation I find almost impossible to resist, particularly with so much of it around. I've managed to give away a fair quantity of the grapes on my vine although even that hasn't been easy; so many people here have their own.

After two downpours in four days the weather has turned really hot, with temperatures in the high 30s; too hot to do anything much during the middle of the day. One benefit though has been the return of the balmy evenings; it's quite warm enough to sit on my balcony with no more than a T-shirt on until midnight. Another benefit is that it has brought out the boules players in force, though we don't start now until 5.00pm. And I seem to be on form on my resumption; I had feared being rusty after a month off. Picking the boules up is a little difficult so I may invest in a magnet on a string which some of the players use to avoid having to stoop so often.

Just about everybody from the street plus the pizza crowd seemed to be at Neville's party. Neville's partner, Liz, used to be an opera singer and she duly obliged with some arias some time between the cheese and dessert. As friend Jo remarked, who'd have thought a few years ago we would ever be sitting in a garden in the shade on a blisteringly hot day, sipping wine and listening to opera in a little French village? Neville in particular seems to appreciate what we have here, having previously lived in Spain for several years and, despite speaking the language, failed to make close contact with the locals; being condemned to a Brit ghetto was not a stimulating experience, he found.

Joke specialist René was at the party and here is his offering today. A farmer knocked at his neighbouring farmer's door and was greeted by the younger son. The farmer enquired whether the lad's mother or father were there but they weren't. Trying to be helpful, the lad said he knew where all his father's tools were and if the farmer wanted to borrow some he would fetch them. But the farmer replied that that wasn't what he had come about. Still trying to be helpful, the lad asked if there was anything else he could do. No, the farmer replied, the matter I have come about is that your older brother has made my daughter pregnant. Ah, said the boy, I can't help you there; I know my father charges 1000 euros for the bull and 600 for the pig but I don't know how much he charges for my brother.

samedi 14 août 2010

Recuperation

Recuperation Is Sloo....oow
Just out of hospital I felt ready to get my act together again. But it turns out it's not quite like that. There's a period of purgatory that has to be gone through first, what the French call “le contre-choque”. You get worse before you start to get better. The fatigue I expected but not the accompanying kind of Montezuma's Revenge. Given that I've lost a chunk of colon and intestine it may seem obviously to be expected but expect it I didn't.

I mentioned this to the nurse who comes in daily to dress the wound and she asked what I was eating; all the wrong things, it seems. So, no more salad stuff, no raw vegetables and no fresh fruit other than very ripe apricots or peaches; just when the local market stalls are groaning under the weight of all this at knock-down prices. No more charcuterie either and no fatty foods. So what is allowed? Bread, potatoes, rice and grilled meat or fish, fruit compote and yoghourt. Well, I've (more or less) stuck to that for a week now and it seems to be working. The meals I eat, after passing through my stomach, no longer seem to grow spikes to let me know exactly where they are as they progress through the rest of my system. And the fatigue is going. But it does seem to be taking an inordinate amount of time.

If this sounds like a period of unmitigated misery it hasn't been. Friends have been very supportive, I cooked the gammon I've had in my freezer since Christmas, made a batch of chili jam and have just experienced what must be a record aperitif session. The ham (steeped in cider for a week) gave me a small way of paying back some of the favours I have received and was generally greeted with demands for the recipe. The chili jam has turned out even better than I hoped since I had to guess the recipe from the ingredients list on a jar I bought in England. Unfortunately it's on the doubtful list on my current diet but it will keep. The lady who comes in to do some house cleaning for me, Patricia, described it as “spécial”, meaning something like bizarre. The French generally have an aversion to chili, even in jam it seems! And the aperitif record was today. Friend Dominique invited me to “apéros” at midday to celebrate his birthday and I arrived to find tables laid out under tents and a barbecue going. I left eventually at a quarter to six, and then only because musicians were arriving and fatigue was setting in.

The surgeon who operated on me came into my room once when I was playing some Brahms on my computer. He was a fan. He wasn't familiar with the string sextets though so I've ordered a CD through Amazon and will give it to him when I return to the hospital for a check-up in 10 days' time.