Posted by: kathandroger | January 21, 2018

Rumours of my Death…. and the New Arrival.

For over thirty years I lived and worked in deepest Dorset, in a county community where any local professional was well known. As the village Doctor, one was talked about widely, often not with the adulation one would have desired! I had a phone call from my younger daughter this week. “Dad, how are you feeling, because there is a rumour all around that you are dead”. It is true that I tripped over a few days ago, into a muddy puddle, and damaged some ribs. Even the dog laughed. But generally I didn’t feel dead at all. No one seems to know how the story started, or even how my demise came about, and I have tried to telephone one alleged perpetrator with no success. I have yet to read a nice obituary.
There are many strange experiences in life. This is the first time that my demise has been reported, to my knowledge anyway. I can see the funny side, indeed that was my first reaction. I realize that the years are fast passing, and that the youthfulness felt within is not matched by the haggard exterior appearance, especially when a pretty young lady on the London Tube offered me her seat when I was visiting in the Autumn. I refused of course, but that was before I knew of my imminent departure from this world. Each week seems to pass so much more quickly nowadays, and the acceleration will only end abruptly one day. I hope the memories of me back in Dorset are not too unkind, and that the correction of the rumour does not make people too unhappy!

But life in France goes on unchallenged. We are expecting some lambs any day now, although the two ewes do not seem ready to pop yet. I thought the same thing last year and then discovered triplet lambs the next day! Good shepherding is another of our failures. The chickens, however, are a different kettle of fish.( a French friend reads this blog and often finds the language somewhat challenging, so I look forward to her interpretation of the latter phrase!) One of our new girls, Sandra, decided that mid winter would be a good time to hatch some chicks. We do have a cockerel, Decker, who Kath reliably informs me had be very attentive to his manly duties over the past month or so. We did not bother to get any fertile eggs, therefore, but Sandra started to sit before we went to the UK for Christmas, and we left her in the house with the other chickens. When the birds sit, they do so on any eggs that are nearby, pulling new laid ones from other chickens under them. Sandra was sitting on twenty one eggs! The gestation is about 21 days, some some would have been much less than that when we heard the tweeting of a newborn chick.IMG_3904 We left her for a few more days, but no more appeared, so we took her off the nest and threw the other eggs out. We have more than enough birds now in any case. The little yellow chick is a Cou Nou, the local breed with bare necks, and must be the offspring of Black, the last chick we hatched. So Black and Decker have produced a youngster, and a name had to be found. Kath launched the question on Facebook, and so far the favorite seems to be Chucky, from chuck and key. But I also like Makita, Chisel, and Spanner. We only hope the awful weather can be endured by the little chap or chapesse.


  1. we heard that rumour too – but quickly disproved it by referring to your most recent blog – posted after your supposed demise…
    Your certainly well remembered in this Dorset household as a fine GP – and surgeon!

    • Thanks, Kerry, hope all is well with you and the family.

      • All the well, thanks – and planning retirement not a million miles from Chez Prior…. 😎

  2. I think that ” a different kettle of fish” can be translated in french :
    “c’est une autre paire de manches” ou “ce n’est pas de la tarte” !

  3. Merci Josette. Je essayerai d’utiliser les deux phrases frequament!

  4. Thistle 37 beat me to it – I looked up the French equivalent to find it is, indeed, a different pair of sleeves, rather than a different kettle of fish! It’s interesting how these things change in “translation” – a cat in your throat, rather than a frog, for example (does the cat fur make you cough, rather than the frog making you croaky?), and in France you call a cat a cat, rather than a spade a spade. I like the “je ne suis sur mon assiette” for I’m not feeling all there/ I’m not feeling well…I’m not on my plate? Quoi?!

  5. Thanks for your help, fatdormouse!–and love your Zentangles etc, but must go now ..J;ai le cafard!

  6. For fatdormouse
    It’s not “je ne suis pas sur mon assiette”
    but “je ne suis pas dans mon assiette”

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