August had (has still?) the tradition of being the ‘silly’ season. Traditional letters to the ‘Times’ from ‘Disgusted’ from Tonbridge Wells turned to what, for the Times, was levity. You were on holiday, the weather was great, Festivals abounded. Here, in Lorient, huge festival of Celtic Music (if you are allergic to bagpipes do NOT watch). Notting Hill Festival to come. Then, back to school, work, and start dreading Christmas. Boredom having set in with a big ‘B’ here I was going to have a good moan, then looking at the news anybody who wants to wallow in the Apocalyptic state of the world has my blessing. Why has not addiction to the news been added to the list of  addictions  needing treatment?

Anyway, the picture is of the local bus in Viet-Nam. It looked like the alternative to our broken down car. As our son had a temperature of 104, and the only solution to serious illness was being flown out to Hong Kong or Singapore things looked a bit dicey. The rolls of bamboo on the roof contain pigs. From my terrace I can see buses, trains and trams. I have yet to summon up the courage to use them, hence ‘TAXI’.

But looking through my old church articles for inspiration I came on one for transportation. It was called ‘Flights of Fancy’. We were staying in the delightful town of Villefranche sur Mer, near Nice. The old part is steep and stepped, you walk, and carry your shopping and luggage. Opposite our flat was an abandoned house, piece of ground with orange trees and a donkey stable. My business plan was to buy it, install donkeys, and charge the tourists a fortune to cart their luggage (and perhaps themselves) up to the top for a car or bus. But Mr Sensible, Mr G, pointed out that we would have to walk up and down with the donkey, spoilsport.

Back home, editing the parish mag with Big Vic (he was), good for a laugh, I proposed my idea for getting people up to the Abbey on the Mont St Michel. He was all for it, super tourist attraction as well. It is 360 steps up to the Abbey. There were frequent concerts up there; everybody walked, carrying their instruments, double bass a bit difficult. The grand piano came in by helicopter. I thought a baritone singer in a Requiem, must have weighed 25 stone, was going to collapse.

But read on, enter the Americans and Amazon. The US were using drones to spy on other countries, Amazon using them to deliver parcels. Flushed with enthusiasm, I thought one could fit a drone to my donkey and programme it to guide donkey plus passenger up to the Abbey. Although France is less fussy about Health and Safety than the UK I don’t think the idea would get by. Why cannot a drone be designed like a magic carpet and you sit on it? Sort of tame James Bond stuff. My family seem to have a chauffeur called Huber, do you?

The Gardener

A Moodscope member