Friday, 3 March 2017

CORSICA AND EMBARASSING PYJAMAS





How Utterly Marvellous to be so Deliciously Decadent.













On the roof, a glass of wine in one hand, a smoke in the other, surrounded by local cheese  and charcuterie. Yum Yum.


 I am sitting on the roof watching the twinkling lights of Ajjacio and the sun setting over the "Blood Islands"...so called because at this time of day the string of islands opposite Portico are covered with every shade of red and orange clouds.

No matter that I am stinking dirty (no water for 2 days)..My hands are raw and bleeding from unaccustomed manual labour. Shreaded jeans tucked into stout leather boots and the cowboy hat I nicked off my eldest son when he came back from New Orleans.

In short, I look a right fright,
 but feel BLOODY MARVELLOUS.

Now some one curious may wonder why I am on the roof....Well, to satisfy the "nosey parkers", it is because the roof is the only place that doesn't look like Lebanon...a real war zone...

You see, there was a minor explosion in the kitchen which has necessitated the whole thing being renewed, including the walls.

The salon, which 'tho I say it myself, I feel I have surpassed myself with its current decor...a fusion between forest and a blues club, has become the resting place for all those sorts of needless gadgets that over time accumulate in a kitchen.
Machines to whisk, wiz, chop, crush, shred and "juice"to name but a few....have I ever used any of them?
Yet, I can't bring myself to throw them away.
So, they, and all manner of other complicated devices, have spread through the house like bacteria on agar jelly.

The workmen spend more than half their time drinking the local red    which is really quite drinkable (as I can now attest for) and discussing the merits of their various girlfriends.

In another life I would be cracking the whip and reminding them upon which side their bread is buttered...but that would be entirely ineffective here.
 The locals work when they feel like it,  and don't when they don't. 
 All madly               
 frustrating........
And yet,  I feel as if I have been slowly seduced by this mad, bad, crazy and utterly enchanting piece of paradise named Kalistra (the beautiful one) by the Greeks.

I have learnt to just let the tides take me where they will...any attempt to resist would be as futile as that Shakespearean character who tried to hold back the sea...?king Lear???

I started my journey here in a flurry of panic and pandemonium after being shown 'photos of hurricane damage to the house..no. 27.

 I had left the house for much longer than usual so that I could see how the edit of our film "Malevolent Shadows" was coming along.
If the rest of the film is as good as the first 35 minutes, A&E Productions and Team Gaudeamus will have a blast of a celebration.

Anyway, for reasons too complex to explain, I found myself on a plane to Stockholm..

Ha! so much for airport security!...
My ticket and boarding pass clearly stated Ajaccio via Nice....
 (those of you who know me will understand how I got myself into that sort of pickle)


Now, to address the matter of my pyjamas.
Unless husband is here, I wear exceedingly trendy psychedelic affairs...quite sufficient to blast any retina into the stratosphere.

The downstairs of the house having been drained and dried...and repainted by ME...nothing like as easy as I thought it would be (had to cut off half of my remaining hair which got covered in paint)

So, up with the proverbial lark, I decided to repaint the stairs from the upstairs bedroom to the downstairs salon.
 Quite logically, I started painting from the top and after 2 1/2 hours of back breaking artistry, I finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

Understandably, very pleased with myself, I thought I could now go down to the village and get some much needed grub in.......

But , Oh Dear!....
I couldn't climb back up the stairs to the bedroom where all my clothes were and most importantly where my bag containing wallet and identification was. Not to mention makeup, hairbrush and everything else required to make myself look half presentable for an English woman of a "certain age" to go shopping....Why not?
  Because the stairs were still wet and the tin said "12 hours to dry"

So there I was in my jolly pyjamas, bedroom hair and no shoes.
Quite a sticky situation don't you think, since I simply couldn't countenance wrecking all the hard work and starting again.

Only one option available ....which is why I found myself standing in line at the bank barefoot in my nightwear.
No one seemed particularly perturbed by my appearance until I finally reached the front desk behind which, stood a rather formidable looking woman whom I had never seen before.

 I said I would like to withdraw some euros, upon which, quite reasonably, she asked for some identification.
Now, my French, while adequate, is not really up to explaining very clearly the complexities of my life...But in order to get some cash....(if for nothing else to buy some jeans and a sweater,) I related the story of how I had painted myself out of my bedroom. 

For cultural reasons, the Corsicans, unlike the Italians, have a slight streak of the morose about them.
 You only have to listen to their music and the lyrics...."Oh my son is in prison and will be dead tomorrow".."Oh my wife has left me so I must kill myself"
But on hearing my half baked explanation for why I was wearing nothing but eye boggling pyjamas, they all fell about laughing.

The manager(who fortunately knows me) came out of his office to see what the broo - ha - ha was all about.
 He gave me the necessary cash but not before  I heard him use an expression I had never heard before. 
  "Elle a un grain de folie"
i.e.: she's slightly bonkers, but he continued, "what do you expect from a great artist?!"
 The later remark was said in my direction with more than a mere "grain de folie"

Oh Blimey, It's completely dark now so I must get myself and the remains of dinner off the roof while feeling somewhat wobbly wobbly.

Toodle pip for now,
Morag
PS. note to Old Looney Tunes.(who I know is reading this) Would you be kind enough to call your Old sister regarding your forthcoming arrival instead of sending some gobboldy gook text which doesn't make any sense..God help your poor patients if that's how you communicate with them.