OOF. Je suis cuit as they say in my native tongue. Literally speaking, this means ‘I'm cooked’, but not in the sense that Hugh Fairly-Witless has in mind for us four-legged folk. (Let's hope he doesn't come foraging in France anytime soon, as I'm worried I might fit his definition of organic and end up in his cooking pot).
The reason I’m tired is because my pet jumped out of bed before dawn this morning shouting, ‘Come on Biff, we’re going to watch the sun rise.’
I opened one eye and gave her my glare but she dragged me out of my doughnut and into the car saying, ‘We’ve seen lots of sunsets in France but not many sunrises.’
We drove to a country track and waited. And waited some more. (She had found the timing on a UK website, which meant we were an hour early.) I wouldn’t have minded if I’d been allowed out to join in the night life - deers, foxes, wild boar and rabbits all having a fantastic time - but instead we sat staring at the horizon until the dark faded to cold, grey daylight.
My pet was very disappointed. ‘Was that it? she said. Why no wonderful pinks and reds? Where was the bonfire in the sky?’
As we drove home it finally dawned (pun everyone!!) that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west; that basically the fireworks had been taking place behind us. Yes, we’d been facing in the wrong direction. (In case you're wondering, that's why there is no picture of a sunrise to accompany this post.)
The pet is downstairs right now typing away furiously on a blog entry of her own - something to do with a phone call to France Telecom yesterday.
As for me, I’m hoping that the man from A Taste Of Garlic might be reading this as I wouldn’t mind one of those blog awards that he gives out every week. I’d also like to let him know that I’m available for interviews. WOOF!