'Messages indesirables'.

'Messages indesirables' is what my French Spam box is called . And, oh , are they indesirable! Not that I read many, well, only by accident have I opened one or two, and wished I hadn't. Apart from the fear of a virus popping up I feel grubby even reading the headings of these messages. My spam box will suddenly announce that it has 150 messages. where do they come from??
Who are these people? Do they really think I would want to read a message from fjggh lohaix entitled 'tiafici'?
Dionne Tally, Jouan Tones, Fletcher Hobart, do they feel that their names are going to inspire confidence in me? That I shall open their letter (enlarge your ...) with eager anticipation?
The oddest ones are those who style themselves by letters, ie. bblg5x, and head their message with the same sort of unreadable nonsense.
Just occasionally a letter slips through, which is why I check the spam box every week, and delete the lot. A perfectly normal letter entitled Wedding photos, sent by my niece was placed in Spam, whilst yet another Viagra type message came sailing into my inbox. Even whilst I have been typing this, two more messages have crept slyly in, one headed 'ithalogo'. What???
I suppose it gives some people something to do...or maybe it is all automated. I dont know. Neither do I want to.

Is Spring really on the way??

I've been gardening this afternoon and rejoicing in a day that was sunny and warm-ish. All I meant to do was to get some of the more obnoxious weeds out before they got to entrenched, but found so many things to cut back, to move, to tidy up. and then I started finding my bulbs! Just a half inch of green tips, but growing!

There should be daffodils, grape hyacinths , crocus, and tulips. I feel like Mary in the Secret Garden when I see those first green shoots poking their little heads through the earth. So pleased, so excited that there is growth amongst the dead wintry things in the flower bed. and so looking forward to Spring.

The most exciting thing was to find that the 'wild' hellebores that I brought back from the Basque region last year are regenerating themselves. I'd never seen anything like them, masses of tiny flowers in green and cream. We found them all over, in forest, on mountains, and a few in private gardens. So I'm hoping they will look equally wonderful in my shady bed under the Birch tree.

Austria

I had a text from my daughter telling me that the queues in M and S were 40 deep just before Christmas. That is when I knew how fortunate we were to be in the little mountain town near Salzburg, a town with shops, varied and beautifully decorated, but with no crowds. Even the two Spar shops had only small queues of very good tempered people. No where was there the frenetic atmosphere of the British pre Christmas crowd. White lights were everywhere, lighting up the town in the evenings.
Ten days passed too quickly. There was a covering of snow, but not enough to make walking difficult. We walked the 4 km to the next village , we wandered up the mountain walks. We took the train, running every half hour, into Salzburg several times, just a half hour ride away. We went to concerts, to the famous Marionette Theatre. We saw the colourful Christmas markets. We shopped, had coffees and gorgeous cakes, particularly Apple strudel. We rode in our village horse and carriage, having been offered the last two places one morning.
But, come with me for one evening...crunch your way through the snow into the little village churchyard, where each grave is lit by a single red candle, gleaming against the snow. The silent church waits. Over 200 people are there for Midnight Mass. The church is dimly lit, the only light reflecting the gorgeously golden altar candles. Doors are thrown open , and the priest and acolytes process down the aisle to the acompaniment of an organ voluntary. The lights go up, and the service begins. Although we dont speak German, the service isnt hard to follow as it runs in a similar pattern to our Anglican one, readings, gospel, sermon etc. The music, a Mozart Mass, is incredible, with a full choir and orchestra ...such a spirit of worship.
At the end of the Mass, the lights go down, and the whole church rises to sing their 'local' hymn, Stille Nacht. It's sung with love and passion, and epitomises the whole evening.
And, as we go out into the snow, we all stop. The trumpet players are echoing Silent Night from the bell tower. Over the village they ring, welcoming in Christmas morning. Where better to be?