RIP Biscuit (2013 - 2018)

We got Biscuit back in 2013 around November time. We went to see a little girl kitten, we had no idea how tiny she'd be, or for that matter, how flea infested.

She was a kind of oatmeal brown at first and Oatmeal may well have been her name, had it not been such a mouthful and inappropriate for such a pretty little girl.

We then considered Amber. It was a cute name for our new little kitten.

My first job was to wash her. As I said, she was riddled with fleas, so Pen went to the Pharmacy to get some flea shampoo.

"It had better be good," she said. "It was about 16€"
Well, the thing about cats is, most of them don't like water and Amber was no different. Thankfully, as you can see from the picture of her sat next to an egg-cup, she was too small to be able to escape the bath, although she complained bitterly.

If you've ever heard a kitten wail, believe me, it tugs massively on the heart strings.

Anyway, she was in the bottom of the bath having been soaked ready to be de-flead, while I double-checked the instructions on the flea shampoo.

For a cat of her age, the dose was (according to the bottle) about half a teaspoon. Have you ever tried to stretch shampoo that far? It didn't work for me either, so I just added it little by little until I got an all over lather.

Meanwhile, Amber was none too impressed by this and was now exercising what would later become her rather famous claws.

Eventually, I finished, rinsed and wrapped her in a towel. She was not a happy puppy - sorry kitten, I can tell you, but I snuggled her in to give her some body heat and shortly thereafter, Pen took over.

Suddenly, we found ourselves with a ginger tiger, who was the prettiest thing you can imagine.

She made us laugh and she made us howl in equal measure. For some reason, she loved being on my shoulders and one day while relieving myself, she decided to climb up on daddy's shoulders.

There was nothing I could do. I mean, I was standing there before the loo, while this little cat employed all twenty claws to aid its climb, oblivious to my shrieking in pain.

It was shortly after this that she got her first visit to the vets.

"Oh, what a pretty little boy..." Sylvie, the vet said.

"Boy?"

"Definitely," she assured us. "He's small, but—" she held him up again. "Yes, definitely a boy."

So "Amber" was not Amber after all and we decided a more masculine name would be in order, which was where Biscuit came in. It seemed to fit and stuck right there and then. Of course, it got messed with, depending upon whether he was being cute or a right little bastard. My particular favourite was "Bikkit".

He never really grew. He was always small and it became a thing that we'd have to convince people that he really was a cat and not a kitten, but as small as he was, he had a giant personality.

He fitted with us beautifully and about the only thing we had to be wary of, was escape—his!

We live right in the centre of a village in Orne and whilst it may be a sleepy little place most of the time, in typical French fashion, the French take elements of the highway code to be suggestions only. So when it comes to little things like speed limits and such, once again, they're rarely adhered to. Some of the people who have driven through our village cannot possibly have been doing 50kmh, so Biscuit had to be an indoor cat.

Try telling him that!

Every time the door was opened, he'd suddenly appear and scamper off, tail in the air. The only thing missing was a sign saying, "Chase me, chase me."

He got out once and was missing for an entire week. We were beside ourselves with worry. We tried looking everywhere, but as a neighbour pointed out, if a cat doesn't want to be seen, it won't be.

Of course, he returned ... well, kind of.

I happened to be walking round the corner to a friend's house, when this little orange cat strutted across the road.

"Biscuit?" I called, unsure.

He turned, let out this incredibly loud wail and ran to me. I picked him up and he immediately went to my shoulders.

We have never been so relieved.

Sadly, Biscuit never learned from his misadventure. We got him back covered in ticks, thin and tired, but it didn't stop him from trying to get out any time the door was opened.

Biscuit was about two when Fidget appeared. He wailed outside our house and when I opened the door, this tiny kitten with huge ears strolled in, used the litter tray and stayed.

They weren't immediate friends, but within three days, they got along perfectly.

And so it was.

Biscuit and Fidget became the best of friends. Their antics in the mornings and other times of the day too, made us roar with laughter.

Fidget grew to be a really big cat, where Biscuit remained really small. He just didn't know it.

So for the better part of two years, we had two cats, but over this last weekend, Biscuit wasn't himself. We'd spoken to other cat owners who said that it was probably the hot weather.

We came down on Sunday morning and he was hiding under a table. He was weak and had obviously been sick during the night. He'd tried to drink and eat, but all that happened was he'd bring it back up again.

We rang the emergency vet and took him up there, where the vet discovered a lump. With Ultrasound, he reasoned that it had grown quickly and to such a degree that it was actually blocking Biscuit's digestive tract, which was why everything was just coming back up. He was even weaker by then and terribly dehydrated.

We left him there in the hopes that when the vet put him on a drip and gave him some pain meds, he'd rally. That being the case, he may have been well enough to be operated on the next morning and perhaps the tumour could be removed.

It was not to be.

Apparently, Biscuit did rally during the night, but lost the battle in the early hours of Monday morning.

We were devastated.

As much as he was a little bugger, he was a wonderful friend and pet. Over the four years and change that we had the pleasure of his company, he was nothing but a superb companion to both Penny and I and a brother to Fidget, who at present, is quite bewildered by his friend's sudden disappearance.

We retrieved him from the vet on Monday morning and buried him just under out window in the garden later. It's ironic I know, but at least he can be outside now, which was all he ever wanted to be, but couldn't.

Jardins des Renaudies

It's that time of year again

This is not the first year I've been to Les Jardins Renaudies and taken photos.

We mainly go because our friends have a stall there and give us a couple of free passes, but we also go because it's a beautiful place to visit.

At this time of year, the leaves are all turning gold, through russet to red and gold, making everything feel the need to ready itself for the coming of winter.

This year's no exception.

22 Feast of Pumpkins

This time at Les Renaudies, it's also the fete de citrouilles - which are pumpkins. If you thought that these were simply the huge orange things that get carved horrific designs cut into them, you'd be wrong.

I've probably covered this before, but it bares mentioning as from the photo (right), you can see that as far as squashes are concerned, there are more than you can shake a copse of trees at - yes, that's copse, not corpse!

These Do's at Jardins Des Renaudies have been getting steadily bigger each time we've been to them, whether it's spring, summer or autumn and the number of people going has been increasing too.

And why not?

It's a great day out, or even a couple of hours wandering round the huge gardens, with the music playing, the smell of barbecue grills and Autumn in the air.

There's plenty to do for everyone with stalls selling artisanal wares from bread to honey, from Angoran woollies to face-painting for the kids (or adults too if you're of a mind), to hand-made jewellery to wines and even Calvados (if you're feeling brave!)

This year, on top of the stalls and kiddie-shaped attractions, they had lots of birds too.

I was surprised to see some Sussex Hens taking pride of place along with pigeons - like the one (right), which are uncommon.








The hens and cock (left) are tiny compared to others I have seen, standing at not much over a foot tall.

The Mandarin ducks (right) were very unexpected, but nevertheless breathtakingly beautiful.

Sadly, with the light and my lack of photographic skills, much of that is lost in the pictures.

This chap (left) looks like a real cartoon, if there is such a thing. I have absolutely no idea what he is, but he's an amusing chap!

Of course, I had to finish with an artistic shot - or what I take that passes for something approaching artistic anyway...

The final comice

This was something that as I understand it, happened once every eight years in Passais. The intervening years, it was held at one of seven other places.

Last year was the last one, I think - but I'm not 100% certain - that thanks to the fact that Passais, St Mars d'Egrenne and St Simeon have joined together, the comice will not happen again.

Any-who, while it was going, I took a whole bunch of photos and some video footage. I was hoping to create a slideshow and post it a lot sooner than this, but it didn't happen. Thankfully, with this year's Vide Grenier (which was cancelled last year in favour of the comice) about to happen this weekend, I was spurred into action and posted it earlier today on YouTube.

So anyway, here it is.

I hope you all enjoy it.

The return of the prodigal pussy

Sunday 22 Nov: 11am

We had just finished a long week of work and were looking forward to having Sunday off. It's not often that we do nothing, but on this particular day, it seemed like we had earned it.

The morning was cold and for a treat, we decided to light the wood burner, put our feet up and get into some TV. So while I prepared the fire, Pen went to the garage to get a few extra logs.

We had no idea that the back door had not been properly shut and since she had also pulled the curtain across the door to keep the draft out, we never actually saw Biscuit as he made his escape.

About two hours later, I opened the curtain and discovered the back door ajar.

"Shit!" I exclaimed and ran round the house like a demented idiot calling out, "Biscuit! Biscuit!" and with no sign of our cat, both of us went straight into panic mode.

We were out for ages, scouring the neighbourhood for our little cat, but with no success and Pen was beside herself. Well, we both were.

I put out posts on several lost pet sites on the internet, with descriptions of Biscuit, while Pen phoned people we knew in the area for them to keep their eyes open in case they spotted him.

Of course, everyone was commiseratory, wishing us "bon courage", "good luck" and other words of hope, but as the days went by, we were beginning to think that whether he had nine lives or not, he wouldn't survive out there in the big, wide world and wasn't coming back.

We were told by a friend that when she had moved house and let her cats out, they would take three or four days to return, so once again, hope was rekindled and we redoubled our efforts to try and find him. 

We posted posters of Biscuit in the shops and pharmacy and hoped against hope that someone would spot him and call us. We even left our kitchen window open, so that if he did find his way home, he would have a way into the house, but all it did was make the place bloody freezing for us.

Pen went out at around twilight one evening with a bag of Catisfactions (known as Dreamies in the UK) as just the noise of the bag could bring him from anywhere in the house. Down a little alley in the village, about twenty cats appeared, but by then and with no torch, Pen couldn't see whether Biscuit was among them.

So every evening thereafter, we went out several times in the hopes that we would be able to see him and draw him away from them and get him to come home.

... but we had no luck at all.

Living in quite a rural location, our village, whilst sporting many amenities, is relatively small and has many potential hiding places. Finding a small cat like Biscuit would have been more down to luck than judgement and even if we were just a few feet from him, he could have gone unnoticed.

Also, our village, like most other rural villages here in Normandy has a 50 kph speed limit. Nevertheless, it appears that speed limits are nothing more than suggestions to the population of rural France. People whip down the main road like their lives depended upon it, with little - if any - regard for the lives of people, let alone little animals like Biscuit. We have lost count of how many cat pancakes we have seen as a result of speeding drivers.

Day six

We had all but lost hope by the end of day five and by then, the idea that Biscuit had fallen foul of a lunatic driver, one of the many birds of prey or even another cat was a very real possibility.

We weren't prepared to give up, but our efforts were beginning to seem more and more futile with each passing day and what was worse, no-one had called to say they'd seen him.

So on the morning of day six, we had virtually accepted the fact that whilst we wanted nothing more than to have Biscuit back in our home, it probably wasn't going to happen. We had resigned ourselves to being Biscuitless to such a degree that we hadn't even left the window open before going off to work.

By eleven, we decided to make coffee for us and the man who was laying the flooring, but we had run out of what we'd taken with us, plus there was no milk either.

I was sent home to get some more as well as a few other bits and pieces and on my return, a little ginger cat crossed my path.

"Biscuit?" I said, not really believing it could possibly be him.

Immediately, the little cat turned and in a loud, clear voice, "Meowed", before he running straight towards me. I bent down and picked him up to head for the house we were working in, all the while, Biscuit sat on my shoulder, meowing louder than ever.

Pen couldn't believe her eyes and after lots of stroking and cuddling of the cat, we brought him home. He got a bowl of food, which he munched his way through without pausing for breath, so I imagine he didn't eat much during his time away.

Pen went back to work, but I stayed to keep Biscuit company. She'll be back shortly and I don't suppose Biscuit will get a quiet moment for some time.

Right now, he's curled up on my lap as I write this, quietly snoozing away after an adventure we'll never get to hear about. 

Shame. We'd really like to know what happened.

Fit for purpose

Something that's fit for purpose, is something that actually does what it is supposed to do.

We have all heard the recent news about VW and the fact that their cars are not actually doing that. They're deficient in some way and this is set to cost the company millions.

But what about other products that are advertised to do something and don't?

Ronseal advertise their products with the phrase, "Does exactly what it says on the tin", and it does.

I wish that could be applied to all products, but sadly, this is not the case, as I have found out.

My experience however, has not been with Ronseal - my experiences with their products are that their claims are true: their products do exactly what they suggest they will.

No, my recent experience concerns McAfee's Virus protection software.

It's a sad fact of life that we all need virus protection on our computers, as malware, viruses and other malevolent code can attack our computers at any time.

These attacks can cause all sorts of problems, as most of us have documents, photos, videos and many other files on our computers that we hold dear and on top of those, we also have information regarding our banking, mortgages, taxes and much more personal information, none of which we can do without, and none of which we want falling into the hands of the unscrupulous elements who would wish to steal our identities.

So when you're looking for a virus protection program, which one do you opt for? Do you opt for something you haven't heard of or do you choose something that is recommended to you?

If you're like me, you'll do a little surfing and find out what other people say about the proprietary and lesser-known brands before you shell out your hard-earned on something you're about to trust to keep all the above-mentioned information safe.

Ironically, I was in two minds whether I opted for McAfee or a free system. Avast came very close to being the chosen program, but I thought that there was no way I could get the same level of protection from something that was free compared to something that all the computers sold nowadays are pre-loaded with; at least on a thirty-day trial basis.

Boning up in this instance didn't help, as the information I found, did not warn me about McAfee's issues with Win XP. In fairness, when I first got McAfee, there wasn't an issue.

Yes, I know. XP is an operating system that has ceased to receive support from Microsoft since April 8th 2014. However, as I have discovered, there are many people who like me, continue to use equipment that cannot be upgraded. It may be old, but it's not obsolete - yet and it does exactly what it says on the tin.

McAfee appear to be in denial that their product and XP are incompatible.

Odd really, as they were quick enough to take my money for the second licence, a fee they upped by nearly 50% in the second year and after their product's issues with XP were discovered.

I of course tried the help - which for this is on-line. The program asked me for my country and preferred language, however, my country is France and my preferred language is English. Sure I can converse in French and understand some technical stuff, but it's easier and quicker for me to get through stuff in English, but McAfee wouldn't let me. Naturally, I discovered nothing.

Sending McAfee a message to let them know that I wasn't happy yielded nothing either. Their customer service never even replied to say they would look into it.

Disappointing.

So in a fit of pique, I decided to delete McAfee from my computer. It told me that I still had a valid subscription, so worried that I may be acting in haste, I cancelled the deletion. Lo and behold, it appeared to cure the issue, the download went ahead and everything was again up-to-date.

At that time, my XP machine was used only occasionally, but in the last few days, we have found need for both and once again, as soon as I'd booted it up, McAfee's program went into overdrive, locking all the resources and preventing me from doing anything.

After leaving it for nine hours to download the updates and having pulled a lot of my now very grey hair from my head, I decided I'd had had enough. I uninstalled McAfee and installed Avast instead. Now my machine runs as sweet as a nut and from what I have discovered, Avast is about the best out there, its free download competing with its subscribed counterparts.

Once McAfee runs out on my other machine, it will be uninstalled and Avast put in its place too.

I have of course sent yet another message to McAfee's customer service people to let them know that I cannot deal with products that are not in my opinion, "Fit for purpose". I told them in no uncertain terms that I wasn't happy with the level of service or treatment I have received from them or the way product has failed to work on so many levels. I told them that I would not be renewing my subscription - which went through automatically earlier this year - so this time don't even think about taking my subscription.

I even received a reply this time.

They had disabled automatic payment.

That's the only good thing they have done. They have not - like other companies - asked if there was any way they could improve the service or if they could change my mind, so I can only think they really don't care.

In all honesty, McAfee has kept my machine safe, but I believe I am well rid of this overpriced piece of junk. Okay, it might protect my PC, but it hogs resources and becomes intrusive, preventing normal use of the PC, which I consider poor. In addition, they should have been more forthcoming regarding my XP machine, but instead, they said nothing. I cannot think of a more user unfriendly program and I have been using computers since the days of DOS.

In short, in my opinion. it really isn't fit for purpose.

Google and the English spell-checker

I have always liked Google. I use their search engine and their browser and here I am using their space for blogging. My English is reasonably good, but like others, I often suffer from 'Digital Dyslexia'.

This is where I think my fingers are hitting one key, when in fact, they have hit the wrong key and then end up with a typo.

Up until a little while ago, I used to be able to spot this easily, which is fortunate, because it happens with boring regularity and the faster I type, the more often it occurs.

You can imagine my dismay when I discovered that my spelling was being highlighted when in fact, I hadn't spelt anything incorrectly. In fact, as I sit here, Google in its infinite wisdom has decided to highlight 'spelt', yet my use of this word is not incorrect.

Spelt definition: a simple past tense and past participle of 'spell'

So what's wrong with it?

I think Google is trying to remove British English from the internet - invented by an Englishman, by the way - and has removed British English from its spell checker.

Now I realise this is a free service (realise in English does not have a 'Z', but an 'S'), but I don't understand why British English should be removed. They haven't removed French, German or any of the other languages from their spell checker.

I've said this before and it looks as if I will have to say it again: American English is no longer the same as British English.

• We do not have sidewalks, but pavements. We walk on pavements, we don't (or shouldn't) drive on them.
• We do not have windshields, we have windscreens.
• Knickers are forms of feminine underwear and pants are the male form.
• Fenders are not car bumpers, but the plastic or rope things that hang off the side of boats.
• Trunks are large cases and boots are what Americans call trunks.
• A bonnet is what you open to see the engine and a hood goes over your head.
• If you are tired, it means you lack energy and would like to sleep, it doesn't mean that you have a new set of radials. Those are tyres (which the spell checker has again marked as incorrect).
• The man dragged the body out, he didn't drug it out. A Drug is a medicine or other substance which has a physiological effect when ingested or otherwise introduced into the body.
• The man dived into the water, he didn't dove into the water. A dove is a bird.

As you can see with the few examples above, British English differs from American English in numerous ways and therefore should be treated as a separate language. America is not the only English speaking country in the world, in fact, they are only a small proportion of English speakers and thanks to our 250 year (or so) separation, the American version of English has evolved and not in the same way as British English.

That's your prerogative, America, but let's get this straight. American English is now sufficiently different to British English (or the English that's used in the rest of the world), with its own dictionaries etc, that it's high time it was just called American and not English.

In the meantime, Google, can we have our spell checker back, please?

I'm going slightly mad...

For those of you who don't know, my wife and I live in a small village in Normandy, France. By chance, our village is wicked quick for the internet due to the telephone exchange being here.

For that reason, we are having all our electrical and phone feeds changed from above ground to below ground. We will also be getting fibre optic feeds, but that's going to be happening later.

We were informed some time ago that work would begin in September and true to their words, the work began last week and some of the houses and the school round the corner, got the new electrical boxes mounted on the outside of their buildings.

Ours began yesterday, so for about an hour, the man cut a appropriately-sized hole in our wall, to set the box into, his big Kango demolition hammer rattling a number of chunks of plaster off the wall in our kitchen/dining room behind where it will be placed.

We didn't mind, as it was only a small amount and when we spoke to the man himself, he promised that today he would come and repair it. Well, a couple of hours after he saw it, a larger chunk fell off and repairs have been postponed until tomorrow as he didn't have enough plaster to fix the huge chasm that had been exposed.

Meanwhile, work continues and they started next door, working their way up the road and the other buildings. It seems that whatever the next door's facade is made of, he can't get through it and so, from 08:30 this morning, with a ten minute break for coffee about half ten and lunch hour - or portion thereof - the bloke has been trying - unsuccessfully, I fear - to create the recess in the wall to fit the new box.

This means that whilst I have tried desperately to work on the two websites I have to complete, I cannot. For five straight hours - minus the all but brief respites for coffee and lunch - I have been bombarded with the sound of the power tools rattling the walls, floors and windows.

I cannot escape.

Fortunately for Penny, she has had to work out near Gorron, leaving me to here - alone.

Work?? Huh! Fat chance.

You know the sound of the dentists drill? Well this is worse... much worse and much, much louder. Worse still, who knows when it will let up.

The cat's gone bonkers, while I'm just go slightly mad, chewing my fingernails back to my elbows. I'm beginning to feel like Goldie Hawn's character in 'Overboard', wondering whether I too will be going "bub-bub-bub-bub..." by the time Pen returns.

Oh wait...

It's all gone quiet.

Or after five hours and twenty minutes of ear-splitting, teeth rattling noise that could in all likelihood wake the dead, have I gone deaf?

No, it's just quiet.

Hopefully, that will be an end of it, but I'm not counting my chickens...

Yet.