My eldest son Paul lives with his family in the Pyrenees, or near them. They own some land there and are doing up a ruin of a house to live in. To help finance the project they are trying to sell some of the land and another ruin. I just received this email from Paul.
We've just had a very uncomfortable few days with a couple of guests who'd come to look at the ruin and the land. Sarah ended up nearly chucking them out and said she'd rather work seven days a week for years than have them as neighbours. The woman was a bloody awful sanctimonious New Ager, absolutely no respect at all. I prefer "ordinary" people; fuck, I prefer people with really big tellies and who wash their cars on Sunday mornings!
Anyway, we've got some other people interested including a pretty sound French guy who'd make a good neighbour I think. We've set the "hippy filter" to maximum strength now - anyone named after a tree, a rock, a pagan festival or a heavenly body is out for a fucking start! Someone e-mailed us this morning saying that they loved the advert, but would wait a couple of months & if it was still unsold that might be the time! Fuck off! Her name was Saphire apparently. I should have put "fruitcakes need not apply" at the bottom of the ad!
How the hell did something so good as the original hippy ideal turn into such a nightmare. We've got kids round here called fucking Leaf and Tree - for fuck's sake. What next eh!
Happy Birthday, Mr. DeVice!
11 hours ago