As a Manc myself, yes, makes me feel right at home here in Normandie! The direct translation would be it's raining ropes.
Storm on the way. Il pleut des cordes as they say in France, the odd flash of lightning, rumbling in the distance. A few raindrops are making their way down the chimney too. Oh, and the satellite's out. No TV for us this evening.
That brings back memories of my undergraduate translation exam. From Adrian Mole - school dinner today was toad in the hole. All hole and no toad. I floundered and came up with "croque Monsieur sans le Monsieur"!
And we'll be on a flight on Thursday, from Beauvais. What great timing, eh? I hope your flight and mine both leave on time, land safely, and that Storm Kirk passes way to the south.
Morning all, the start of a hectic week. Have resorted to keeping a to-do list. Hedge cutting and felling a tree at the weekend nearly killed me, but we have found a local gardener to help. Turns out he was practically a neighbour when we lived in Manchester, part of the great Brexit exodus.
One of the oldest wooden churches in France, and they still light candles all over the place. Adds a certain frisson to the visit.
A cupboard? I have a whole attic room for "projects". Some of my fabric stash is 50 years old...
We had root veg and chicken au gratin last night. You could probably serve me some old shoe leather covered in toasted cheese and I'd eat it.
One day I found Johnson's novel in the free library of my village shop. I put it in my handbag. Over the period of one winter, I used a couple pages each time I lit a fire in the fireplace. I look forward to doing the same with this book.
