Buffy Sainte-Marie

This is one of the songs I want for my funeral. To save you waiting, I’m letting you listen to it now. The Indian calling in the back ground gives me goose bumps every time I hear it. Listen until the very end. Afterwards go and read about her on Wikipedia. I was shocked at the censorship she suffered in the past. She’s still a prominent social activist today.

Raymond Bergevin - Still looking

I was checking my visitor statistics the other morning as usual, when I saw that I’d had a visitor from France looking at my post on Raymond Bergevin. ‘Gosh’, I thought, ‘fame at last’. When I told Rob about it he laughed – it was him. At first he didn’t realise that it was my blog, he only knows about the other two. It didn’t even click when he saw that I was writing about someone called Rob. In fact he though that the post was very well written and was pleased when he finally realised it was me.

We shall await your immediate response

Amongst all of the emails about the enormous amounts of money I’ve inherited and won (my sex life seems to have been put on hold by the spammers for the moment). This one caught my eye. How long do you wait for an immediate response?

Why did I dream about that?

I was running down a corridor with someone, Dom or my little sister, I’m not sure. We were being chased by someone I knew would kill us when he caught us. As he was going along he was hitting everyone who came in his path over the head with some sort of heavy bar; pieces of skull were falling to the ground. When he caught up with us I just hoped that I would be killed straight off, but that was unlikely. The first blow I didn’t feel at all - then the alarm woke me up. I was quite upset by the dream at first until I began to piece together where it came from:

Yesterday evening I watched The Da Vinci Code, that explains some of the violence. I was disappointed with the film, good job Tom Hanks was in it. I also had two accidents (One and two) on my mind. Where did the pieces of skull come from?

When we first came to France I was given a book of short stories to read by one of Rob’s pupils; Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet. My French wasn’t good enough to read it back then. Dom bought a copy of the same book this summer so I decided it was time to read mine. It is a delightful collection of stories about the south of France. I recommend it. One of the stories starts off with the author having received a letter from one of his readers asking for a cheerful story for a change. Instead he tells the story of the man with the golden brain who eventually falls in love with a woman and removes all of the gold in pieces to buy her everything that she wants. A sad and strange story indeed… So that’s where the pieces of skull came from.

If you want to know why the good people of Avignon dance on the bridge and not in the streets read this book.