There ain't nothing' like a dame

Especially a dame like the Old Bat when she has her dander up. Which is one reason why I was not at the Lions' meeting on Wednesday evening.  Had I even hinted that I was likely to attempt to decamp she would have had me hog-tied in a jiffy.  Not that she (or I) really knows what is ivolved in hog-tieing, but I'm sure she would have managed something equally effective.  To be frank, I knew there was no way I would have been safe behind the wheel to drive myself there and none of my fellow Lions would have agreed to provide transport.  What's more, I knew I wasn't up to it.  So I stayed at home and watched a new episode of Lewis.  I know that at least one of my American friends enjoys the show but others may not know that this is a spin-off from the old Morse detective series featuring John Thaw and based on the books by Colin Dexter.  Lewis (played by Colin Whateley) was Morse's sidekick but is now the lead character, cupported very ably by Laurence Fox as Sergeant Hathaway.  I think if I am to be completely honest I must confess to a preference for the spin-off over the original.

This could very easily lead into a dissertation about the various police procedural shows I have enjoyed (or otherwise) on television, from Maigret to Lynley, from Van der Valk through Bergerac and Midsomer Murders to Gently et al.  But I will not be drawn into that today.  Back, instead, to the dames.  Specifically, my dame.

I have so far been unable to make up my mind if this otherwise intelligent woman has a complete blankness when it comes to the laws of physics or if she was away from school on the day the law of gravity was explained.  I incline to the former since I know from personal experience that there are some things a brain just will not assimilate.  I once sat an end of year chemistry exam and was given one mark for spelling my name correctly at the top of an otherwise blank sheet of paper.  There was absolutely no way I could answer any of the questions - or even begin to do so.

The Old Bat has a thing about towels, especially the hand towel in the kitchen.  Near to the sink we have a space under the working surface where is fixed an expanding towel rail, to sort that sits under the surface out of the way but can be pulled out when needed, like when one wants to replace the towel.  But the Old Bat rarely bothers to replace the towel because she doesn't remove it to dry her hands.  She just wipes them underneath the working surface.  This means that the towel is gradually pulled onto one side of the rail and, in the fullness of time, the law of gravity prevails.  The towel falls onto the floor.  OK, no great hassle.  Just pick it up, pull out the towel rail, replace the towel and puch back the rail.  But how would you hang the towel on the rail?  Approximately midway along the length of the towel?  So that the towel hangs eother side of the rail more or less equally?  I thought so.  But not my wife.  Oh dear me no.  There will usually be at least 80% of the towel drooping from one side of the rail and quite frequently the towel falls off again before the rail has been full retracted.  I have seriously wondered if the dear soul thinks there is some magnetic quality about towels and towel rails which means the law of gravity is suspended (Gravity - suspended!! Get it?) or if she just doesn't appreciate that an apple falling from a tree gave Newton such thoughts.

But never mind.  It keeps me amused.

~~~~~

And so to today's picture.  I am still having to run repeats as I can't face the struggle up our steep drive to fetch my camera from the car.  This is a window in the troglodyte village of Rochmenier between Angers and Saumur in the Loire valley in France.  That heavy old shutter and the vibrant geraniums just speak to me of warmth.