This weekend I finally cracked, and have thrown in the towel with French TV. It was talking to Jill that did it, she's in New Zealand but seems to get everything that I was missing about England whilst living here in the south of France. I've been without the Sky box for several months, as I left the dish etc. at the old pile. We both love those foodie programs, those garden to kitchen bacchanalian visual feasts, Jamie Oliver pottering. O_O Not him, the Garden! Its stupid, but its those little things I miss, especially now that I no longer have the back yard..
So, getting on with the subject, I was on my roof, erecting the satellite dish, trying to get it high enough above the crumbling chimney to pick up the astra satellite signal from above the surrounding roof skyline. I had it up, loose, way above my head and was maneuvering it around, when horror of horrors, the whole thing shot down the metal pole, guillotine like, hitting me squarely on the brow and upper nose. Chop! Boy, did I see stars!
Visions of Rod Hull came to mind, the following night I even dreamed of him plummeting to the ground, wrestling with Emu, twisting, trying to land on the Emu's padded part, but Emu finally getting the last laugh! When I heard about the original accident, several years ago, I was doing faux finishing in a US lawyers apartment, next door to the British Museum in London's Bloomsbury. He saw the daytime news and said; "There's no fool like an old fool". I was freaked at the time because he was always a big treat to watch, attacking celebs, from way back and here I am several years on, doing the same, Yikes!
I guess 'Doing a Rod Hull' will unfortunately become quite popular over the coming winter. I've already heard that somebody I know has lost a million US dollars in investments. Thank goodness I laughed when they suggested putting your money in property wasn't 'an investment', its a typical stock market conceit to look down on all other forms of investment.
Now, when I walk the dog, I see people looking at my cut and bruised brow and nose, edging slightly away, and see them thinking; 'He's one of those bad boys, drinking and fighting on Saturday night and rolling in the Beziers gutters'. I've attained a kind of grudging respect with the local petty drug dealing youths, 'Yeah, one of da 'beauf'!
Thankfully, I lived to tell the tale, unlike poor Rod Hull who died on impact.
Oh, and yes, I now have all the UK channels I could ever wish to see.