À la recherche du temps perdu.

 

À la recherche du temps perdu. In Search of Lost Time 

by Marcel Proust

 

When I have nothing to write about here I just go out in the garden and sit on an easy chair and think. I just think about anything and before I know it ideas come to mind on what to write about. 

 

Today for instance, as I sat there in the sunshine I heard a cock crow. Some neighbours nearby keep chickens. As you'd expect, one thought followed another and I wondered, which came first, the chicken or the egg? So I ordered both from AMAZON and I'll let you know when they arrive.

 

By the way, are you one of those people who click on words in blue to see what the link is? I often do, but only on Wednesdays.

 

As I was saying, I was sitting there in the garden when I heard a noise overhead. It was a hot air balloon. You know ... the ones with a wicker basket underneath. In a town not far away from here they have a weekend of hot-air balloons enthusiasts. They all gather in a large field and fly away. This one must have lost his way. As he flew overhead the man up above shouted "Where am I? Where am I?" in a foreign accent.

 

I replied, "You can't fool me Mister, you're in the basket hanging off the balloon!"

 

Thinking back, I believe he had a French accent. I like to use French words in conversation sometimes. It adds a bit of je ne sais quoi to what I say. Once at a business lunch in a restaurant to impress my guests I ordered the whole meal in French. Despite my impeccable accent the waiter did not understand one word. It was a Greek restaurant.

 

Why is it when we're a bit melancholy we think back to times gone by ... times lost for ever ... and we try to tease out some comfort from our past? 

 

I had a difficult childhood. I often did not know myself. The only way to find myself was to play hide and seek alone. My parents avoided me. I used to get home from school and discover they moved to another town.

 

We were very poor. We lived in an old cold house. It was so damp we had a permanent rainbow in the kitchen. And in summer it was very hot. No air-conditioning in those days. It was so hot the hens laid boiled eggs. It was so dry that the trees fought each other over one stray dog.

 

By the way, did you know that in the desert the wild dogs run faster because the trees are further apart? But I digress. 

 

I was not loved or wanted at school either. You know when they pick two captains and they have to choose from the pupils who would be on their team to play football? One captain chooses a pupil, then the other chooses another and so on. I was always the last to be chosen; and at the end the two captains would fight as to who should not have me. 

 

I was so unwanted that even the mirror refused to show my reflection.

 

In those days my parents often made me walk the plank. We did not have a dog.   

Did I mention we were poor? I kept asking my parents to have a dog. Eventually they decided that in order to get me a pet we'd have to save on essentials like towels. We used to dry our hands on the dog and then put him out in the garden to shake himself.

 

I liked my dog. He was a bit confused at times. I called him Sit.

 

Our elderly neighbour at the time was inspired to get a dog also. He called him Help I think because I recall one day hearing him shout all day, "Help ... Help ..." He must have eventually found him because he stopped shouting. We never found out why there was an ambulance outside his house the following day. We never saw him again since. 

Anyway, enough thinking for now. Share your thoughts below. And also share this Blog with your friends.

CAUTIONARY NOTES: This post is for entertainment purposes only. No truth should be implied by anything written here and readers should not be concerned about any people being lost in a hot air balloon. Chances are the balloon has been caught in a tree somewhere anyway.