9th October 2009
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 11 attached and after the last one’s somewhat heavy content, this one promises a return to the more light-hearted!! However, I will say that the last missive generated more comments than normally, so maybe I’ll get philosophical again in due course!! However, it’s rather on the lengthy side, but with Monsieur from the chateau awae (tell I’ve been to Scotland!!) back to Spain, life might become less interesting – read on!!!
My flying visit to Edinburgh at the end of last month for a Warden Conference, has been and gone and despite pointing out that living in French might not be the best thing for the Association’s Chairman, I have been returned unopposed! I wonder whether it’s a vote of confidence or that nobody else wanted it!!
Don’t forget we’re back in the UK from 28th October until 16th November for my Mum and Dad’s 60th Wedding Anniversary. We’re in Stroud for the first few days and hope to catch up with some of you then!
Love
Roger
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 11 attached and after the last one’s somewhat heavy content, this one promises a return to the more light-hearted!! However, I will say that the last missive generated more comments than normally, so maybe I’ll get philosophical again in due course!! However, it’s rather on the lengthy side, but with Monsieur from the chateau awae (tell I’ve been to Scotland!!) back to Spain, life might become less interesting – read on!!!
My flying visit to Edinburgh at the end of last month for a Warden Conference, has been and gone and despite pointing out that living in French might not be the best thing for the Association’s Chairman, I have been returned unopposed! I wonder whether it’s a vote of confidence or that nobody else wanted it!!
Don’t forget we’re back in the UK from 28th October until 16th November for my Mum and Dad’s 60th Wedding Anniversary. We’re in Stroud for the first few days and hope to catch up with some of you then!
Love
Roger
La Loge, rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Nothing heavy this time! ~ Missive 11
Great it’s raining cats and dogs (as I’m avoiding heavy!!), perhaps a strange sentiment but the gardens and fish in the ponds desperately need it and apart for some isolated heavy showers about a week ago, I can’t remember the last rain we had (except on our soggy July visit to England!). Apologies however, to our friends from Stroud, who should have just landed on French soil, hopefully, the soil won’t be too soggy and it will get it out of the system before they arrive with us! I am reminded though of when I used many years ago to visit my grandmother, in her sleepy village on the edge of the Forest of Dean, twixt Wye and Severn, although in those days; we’re talking black and white televisions, no mobiles or personal computers and street lights had yet to reach the village, we weren’t allowed to call it “The Forest” as it didn’t fall within the Hundred of St. Briavels!
More night sky gazing
Perhaps inspired by the section in the last missive – What a Shower! – Victoria was determined to make the most of our amazingly clear and unpolluted night skies, on her recent visit. So desperate was she to see a shooting star, that on several evenings we could be found sitting outside the house lying back in the reclining chairs scanning the amazing night sky, before the waning moon rose and still proved to be bright enough to upset our viewing.
Shooting stars proved somewhat elusive or at best very faint and very short-lived, but we were treated to a wealth of satellites that seemed to be crossing the sky in every direction and varying from the very faint to the extremely bright.
But the most amazing of all, was something that in all my time walking and sky gazing at night, I had never experienced before, and no for those of you who know me well it didn’t involve any aliens!! Instead, an inordinately bright satellite appeared, travelling at a fair speed from west to east over the top of our house. Then barely had it come into sight than it was followed by a further dimmer satellite and in a perfect line and perfectly spaced a further dim satellite and the line ended with another very bright one. The line, like a row of racing cars, travelled across the sky and was out of sight almost before we realised what we had seen. Imagination raced and thoughts of star wars or indeed alien invasion came to mind, and I even noted down the time, date and location (9.45 p.m., 10th September 2009, Southern Vendée, so when it hit the news, I could say “I saw that!” But Victoria being ever practical came inside, Googled “four satellites in a row” and in moments found out that the “strange phenomena” was nothing less than a series of well documented weather satellites!!
Joie de vie
It’s another case of gazing skywards, not this time cloud or star watching, but drawn by the unmistakable mewing call of a very close buzzard, Jean Brun, as they are known in the Dordogne, a little south of here or buse in French. It swooped into view low over the nearby avenue of trees, unflapping wings stretched out wide and proud. As it glided passed the barn and out into the cow field opposite it hit a thermal and gracefully circled, gliding higher and higher with not one beat of its wings, until it was lost out of sight in the vast blue expanse of the sky.
Not once had it needed to flap its wings and all for the sheer pleasure, as surely even with its extremely keen eyesight it couldn’t have spotted any prey from such a height?
Then, the very next day two buzzards mewing and similarly soaring over the next door lake, not so high but still obviously enjoying the freedom of flight and periodically folding back their wings to swoop low before once more banking upwards their mewing almost changing to whoops of joy!!
Amazement at the Hotel de la Poste
On our second visit to the area last year, to look at houses and generally check out the area, had found us staying at Hotel de La Poste, you’ve guessed it next door to the Post Office, in La Châtaigneraie. It is a very typical old fashioned French hotel, off one of the main thoroughfares through the town, through a frosted glass door by the side of a typical bar invariably frequented just by men, except when we stayed, the whole concept of “men-only” bars being a little like a red rag to a bull, as far as Linda was concerned.
The room was comfortable enough, sparsely furnished with an array of old heavy furniture, no two items, including the bedside tables matching! The unevenness of the floor hinted at a very old building and as you went down the sloop into the bathroom, the plumbing confirmed this. It’s interesting how France seems to have two distinct camps, diagonally opposed, when it comes to la salle de bain; très élégant with everything automatic (lights, taps, flush) or primitive (no shower cubicle / curtain and only a hand held shower head and a cistern that seems to be forever filling up!) and this was clearly in the latter category!
But fortunately, the restaurant and food were altogether far superior to the bedroom and particularly the plumbing! However, it didn’t pay to be in a hurry as you were certainly unrushed, if at times almost feeling ignored, but it was worth waiting for and as our bedroom was, quite literally, just above the dining room, we didn’t have far to go!
It was the quality of the food and the very homely French feel about the place that made us, despite worries about how long it would take to eat and our bed being a good twenty minute drive away, that made us return. Fortunately, the service did seem to have speeded up, without rushing and it made us wonder if it hadn’t been that long before, just this time we had other people to talk too, whereas before it was just Linda and I and after a busy day together we were tired and had run out of things to say!
So we have visited the restaurant fairly regularly, with many of our visitors from the last few months, and on every occasion even on a fateful evening when the regular menu was replaced by a simpler hand written – beef (bœuf) , pork (porc) and fish (poisson) without the interesting sauces and served plainly with chips (frites) the food and service has been excellent and the older lady who seemed to run the place has started to recognise us, and although knowing we live fairly locally, can never remember and asks each time. She also likes to sort out just who is who and where they all come from! We think on the evening of the simplified menu, it was either the chef’s night off or as there was a very large table obviously set up ready for the next day they were busy preparing for a big party the next day? It therefore seemed the obvious choice for a last night dinner for my Mum and Dad, Chris, Chris and Sara (my brother’s family), Victoria (daughter) as well as Linda and myself.
Nothing heavy this time! ~ Missive 11
Great it’s raining cats and dogs (as I’m avoiding heavy!!), perhaps a strange sentiment but the gardens and fish in the ponds desperately need it and apart for some isolated heavy showers about a week ago, I can’t remember the last rain we had (except on our soggy July visit to England!). Apologies however, to our friends from Stroud, who should have just landed on French soil, hopefully, the soil won’t be too soggy and it will get it out of the system before they arrive with us! I am reminded though of when I used many years ago to visit my grandmother, in her sleepy village on the edge of the Forest of Dean, twixt Wye and Severn, although in those days; we’re talking black and white televisions, no mobiles or personal computers and street lights had yet to reach the village, we weren’t allowed to call it “The Forest” as it didn’t fall within the Hundred of St. Briavels!
More night sky gazing
Perhaps inspired by the section in the last missive – What a Shower! – Victoria was determined to make the most of our amazingly clear and unpolluted night skies, on her recent visit. So desperate was she to see a shooting star, that on several evenings we could be found sitting outside the house lying back in the reclining chairs scanning the amazing night sky, before the waning moon rose and still proved to be bright enough to upset our viewing.
Shooting stars proved somewhat elusive or at best very faint and very short-lived, but we were treated to a wealth of satellites that seemed to be crossing the sky in every direction and varying from the very faint to the extremely bright.
But the most amazing of all, was something that in all my time walking and sky gazing at night, I had never experienced before, and no for those of you who know me well it didn’t involve any aliens!! Instead, an inordinately bright satellite appeared, travelling at a fair speed from west to east over the top of our house. Then barely had it come into sight than it was followed by a further dimmer satellite and in a perfect line and perfectly spaced a further dim satellite and the line ended with another very bright one. The line, like a row of racing cars, travelled across the sky and was out of sight almost before we realised what we had seen. Imagination raced and thoughts of star wars or indeed alien invasion came to mind, and I even noted down the time, date and location (9.45 p.m., 10th September 2009, Southern Vendée, so when it hit the news, I could say “I saw that!” But Victoria being ever practical came inside, Googled “four satellites in a row” and in moments found out that the “strange phenomena” was nothing less than a series of well documented weather satellites!!
Joie de vie
It’s another case of gazing skywards, not this time cloud or star watching, but drawn by the unmistakable mewing call of a very close buzzard, Jean Brun, as they are known in the Dordogne, a little south of here or buse in French. It swooped into view low over the nearby avenue of trees, unflapping wings stretched out wide and proud. As it glided passed the barn and out into the cow field opposite it hit a thermal and gracefully circled, gliding higher and higher with not one beat of its wings, until it was lost out of sight in the vast blue expanse of the sky.
Not once had it needed to flap its wings and all for the sheer pleasure, as surely even with its extremely keen eyesight it couldn’t have spotted any prey from such a height?
Then, the very next day two buzzards mewing and similarly soaring over the next door lake, not so high but still obviously enjoying the freedom of flight and periodically folding back their wings to swoop low before once more banking upwards their mewing almost changing to whoops of joy!!
Amazement at the Hotel de la Poste
On our second visit to the area last year, to look at houses and generally check out the area, had found us staying at Hotel de La Poste, you’ve guessed it next door to the Post Office, in La Châtaigneraie. It is a very typical old fashioned French hotel, off one of the main thoroughfares through the town, through a frosted glass door by the side of a typical bar invariably frequented just by men, except when we stayed, the whole concept of “men-only” bars being a little like a red rag to a bull, as far as Linda was concerned.
The room was comfortable enough, sparsely furnished with an array of old heavy furniture, no two items, including the bedside tables matching! The unevenness of the floor hinted at a very old building and as you went down the sloop into the bathroom, the plumbing confirmed this. It’s interesting how France seems to have two distinct camps, diagonally opposed, when it comes to la salle de bain; très élégant with everything automatic (lights, taps, flush) or primitive (no shower cubicle / curtain and only a hand held shower head and a cistern that seems to be forever filling up!) and this was clearly in the latter category!
But fortunately, the restaurant and food were altogether far superior to the bedroom and particularly the plumbing! However, it didn’t pay to be in a hurry as you were certainly unrushed, if at times almost feeling ignored, but it was worth waiting for and as our bedroom was, quite literally, just above the dining room, we didn’t have far to go!
It was the quality of the food and the very homely French feel about the place that made us, despite worries about how long it would take to eat and our bed being a good twenty minute drive away, that made us return. Fortunately, the service did seem to have speeded up, without rushing and it made us wonder if it hadn’t been that long before, just this time we had other people to talk too, whereas before it was just Linda and I and after a busy day together we were tired and had run out of things to say!
So we have visited the restaurant fairly regularly, with many of our visitors from the last few months, and on every occasion even on a fateful evening when the regular menu was replaced by a simpler hand written – beef (bœuf) , pork (porc) and fish (poisson) without the interesting sauces and served plainly with chips (frites) the food and service has been excellent and the older lady who seemed to run the place has started to recognise us, and although knowing we live fairly locally, can never remember and asks each time. She also likes to sort out just who is who and where they all come from! We think on the evening of the simplified menu, it was either the chef’s night off or as there was a very large table obviously set up ready for the next day they were busy preparing for a big party the next day? It therefore seemed the obvious choice for a last night dinner for my Mum and Dad, Chris, Chris and Sara (my brother’s family), Victoria (daughter) as well as Linda and myself.
Fortunately, there was a table for us and the “interesting” menu was on and we were served by a half-English waitress, who despite having a sound grasp of English, was as the dining room wasn’t too full, quite happy to converse and take our order in French, even if this did end up taking a little longer! It seemed that the waitress, who we hadn’t seen before, was on trial as Madam, wearing her slippers, regularly bristled in in a rather shuffling manner from the bar, where it appeared the “men-only” rule didn’t apply to those behind the bar! So it was after a most enjoyable and very tasty evening, having only cursorily exchanged pleasantries earlier with Madame, that she came in towards the end not only to sort out the bill but also to sort out who was who. She remembered Linda and I, but again had to ask where we lived, and has always been surprisingly generous in her praise for my limited command of the French language, on more than one occasion saying “Vous parlez très bien français, Monsieur!” She had obviously not got us totally sorted out in her mind and had mistaken me for someone else, on more than one occasion!!
Well, as best I could I introduced Linda as my wife, Victoria as my daughter, Chris as my brother, Chris as his partner and she wanted to know how old Sara was, amazed at how tall she was compared to her own grand-daughter of a similar age and she fussed over her, stroking her long hair and saying how grown up she seemed. At this point my mother had gone to spend a penny, as her generation tend to say, albeit now often twenty pennies, but that somehow doesn’t have the same ring to it, when Madame turned to my father and said “Monsieur, autre frère?” and was astonished to be told no, this was Papa, who was 84 and had not only driven here from England, to which she was suitably impressed, but incredulously, stood back in amazement went told he was also towing a caravan. All she could manage was a heart-felt and reverential “Superb!!” At this point, with Madame still in wide eyed amazement, my mother reappeared, and Madame indicated that she was the only member of the party she hadn’t had placed and visibly took a step back when I introduced Maman and rather dreamily uttered “tres chic,” and on being told that on Sunday she was also turning 84, stepped forward, told her hand and shook it warmly with a deferential “Bon Anniversaire!”
It rather wonderfully finished off, particularly for my parents who are celebrating their 60th (diamond) wedding anniversary next month, what had been an excellent evening, as Madame saw us out still rather incredulously shaking her head, having just in her amazement and as we were the final customers of the night managed to turn the light off and lock Chris in the loo!!! Joyeux anniversaire!
“Clever Words”
· Seen on a banner held by a fan at George Best’s funeral: “Maradonna Good, Pelé Better, George Best!” (Dec 2005)
· “good friends are like stars. you don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there!” Seen on a card in a New York shop (Feb 2006)
· Des Lynam in a T.V. tribute to the late Fred Perry: “When Fred came into a room, all the lights came on!”
· “An eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind!” Tolstoy
· "A man who has no imagination, has no wings!” Muhammad Ali
I’ll stop there for fear of becoming too profound if not heavy and starting to fly!!
Tea fit for a King!
Monsieur from the Chateau was around the other day, as with his departure back to his beloved Spain looming rapidly, he was trying to tie up loose ends and get the barn roof fixed.
Some months earlier I had been writing an earlier missive in the wee small hours (you can tell I’ve been to Scotland recently!!), when suddenly outside there was a tremendous crash. With a degree of trepidation, and certainly sending the intrepid Max out first, Linda by now sound asleep, although I was a little surprised that the loud deafening noise outside hadn’t woken her up, I ventured out into our courtyard. The outside light and bright torch didn’t at first show any obvious cause of such a commotion and it was only as Max reached far enough down the courtyard to turn on the automatic security light that a large pile of woodwork and tiles, some it transpired amazingly intact, could be seen having fallen from the eaves of the barn some ten or more metres above, leaving a gaping hole.
Each time we had subsequently spoken to Monsieur he had mentioned the need for a repair, often at the same time as complaining that when in France it seemed to be nothing but writing cheque after cheque. Finally, he had got his local roofing contractor in, the one that seemed to do annual checks on all the roofs and who had come a fixed a leak in the roof shortly after we had arrived. Long discussions, both inside and out of the barn ensued and after a good degree of puffing from Monsieur about all the extra expense, and having seemed to originally say that the whole enormous roof needed to be redone, it was agreed that simply the eaves would be cut back and the roof would finish flush with the wall in much the same way as the end pitch of the house.
As the roofing contractor left with the customary good-byes, handshakes and other parting comments, Monsieur turned to Linda and I who were sitting outside in the late summer sunshine and said “Now I pay you a visit, as I am leaving soon and need to tell you what is going on!”
So Monsieur accepted both the offer of a chair and also a cup of tea, having told me a couple of days earlier that he loved a cup of English tea in the middle of the afternoon, so the timing was just right.
Having put the kettle on, set a tray with cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and teapot, as it seemed wrong somehow to make the tea with a teabag in a mug, I joined them outside in time to hear what was being done to the roof and further moans about all the expense that he always seemed to incur when visiting France, notably a re-run of the water saga and how some of the pipe was having to be redone. He said that when in France it was spend, spend, spend, but in Spain he “Lived like a King” with no thoughts of France or the Chateau, safe in the knowledge that Monsieur Michel, the local farmer, would be looking after his affairs in France. But then added, that sitting having a cup of English tea made by an Englishman, in the Vendée sunshine would at least for a while suspend his French woes and he could for a while “Live like a King in Spain!” No pressure then!!
The kettle boiled, the pot carefully warmed and just the right number of teabags added and the water, just off the boil added, and I carried the tray outside as “His Majesty!” visibly sank into his chair in anticipation. It felt that much hung on this cup of tea and if it didn’t come up to expectation, a rent rise might be on the cards!! As the tea brewed, conversation turned to the pleasures of sitting surrounded by such a beautiful “English” garden (luckily we had recently done some weeding and dead headed the roses and geraniums, and those geraniums that Linda had recently taken as cuttings were beginning to bloom, and indeed everything in the garden did look rosy. I had even strimmed one side of the front yard that sent Monsieur into raptures about the English, their love of beautiful “louns” (lawns) and how the English “louns” are the greatest in the whole world! He even cast a loving eye over the close cropped weeds and straggly grass, growing along the side of our gravel courtyard, that I had tried my best to make at least presentable, but it certainly a long way from the manicured lawns of Middle England!!
The tea now brewed and I ventured the all important question “Milk in first?” A surprised Monsieur was at first flustered, realising that for years he had been doing it wrong and then perhaps by way of cover, asked if it made a difference? Having been assured that it did and it was all something to do with the relative temperatures of the tea and milk, or something like that I remember reading once!, I somewhat tentatively proffered the tea, that had somehow been built up so much you would have thought that I was giving him the “elixir of life,” perhaps fitting for someone who thinks so much about death. But more of that in a bit, more crucial at the moment was the vital question; “How is your tea?” To which I got the reply “Ah, perfect English tea, now I can go to bed tonight and sleep with the angels, and when I get up in the morning, stand by my bed and sing ‘God save the Queen!!,” never before has one of my cups of tea had such a profound effect, and it was even made in a cheap, badly pouring stainless steel teapot, our proper porcelain one packed away somewhere in Stroud. I must say that it never ceases to amaze me that we have managed to put a man on the moon, but fail miserably to make a stainless steel teapot that pours properly. But I suppose on the plus side, it does keep those trolley dollies at Motorway Services in work, as they constantly should be swiftly manoeuvring their trolleys laden with every type of cleaning material to spray the offending spill with the latest “health and safety” product, passed by the management, carrying the necessary warnings for every eventuality, including the fact that the delivery lorry may have passed a shop that may have been selling nuts!! The fact that the “Spillage Removal Operative” is nowhere to be seen, probably out back having a swift drag, is of little consequence when, the spillage is finally removed and the table wiped down after being spray sanitised, with a cloth that could at best be described as “seeing better days” and at worst as being disgustingly filthy!!
But, I digress; perhaps it’s the effect of being in the presence of “royalty” and the thought of what the citation might say on being awarded in the next honour’s list – “For services to the tea industry and the manufacture of ‘The Perfect Cup of English Tea!”
By now Monsieur had relaxed, thoughts of money far from his mind, how therapeutic is a cup of tea, and conversation turns back to gardening and our obvious way with plants, not sure if he didn’t say “Green Hands!” but I think I was still back at the “Arise Comte and Comtesse ‘iggs” stage!! But he was saying how good it would be to have some Virginia Creeper or Ivy to cover up the old rustic stone walls of the barn and dependencies (outhouses) and the weathered weather boarding of the garage, and would we try and take cutting from the creeper around his stable blocks and plant them to hide what we see as rustic charm and he obviously sees as unrendered, and indeed expensive to render, stone walls!!
We then talked about various things, including the visitors (sister, partner and one of her sons) he had recently had, and how he was always pleased to have the place to himself again, as though there aren’t enough rooms in the chateau to hide away and have your own space. We then talked about our own family and how Victoria had just returned from a cheap break in a rich Middle Eastern tourist hotspot, Dermot having been put up in a five star hotel, one of very few perks I guess you get for being a submariner, having to pay a supplement of £10 a night for double occupancy of the room, not bad for a £200 + a night room!
Talk of this place reminded him of a previous good friend, who in his early thirties had built up what must have been a very prestigious architectural business, and having just been commissioned to design and build a new mega-complex here; mosque, shopping mall and seventy luxury houses, died before its completion. This he said had made him very sad, determined to live life to the full, hence I guess the new sport of kite surfing that he had just taken up, but also made him “think every day about death!”
To change the subject more than anything, Linda asked if he had managed to rent out the gîte long term, rather than just for the summer season? Rather bashfully, he admitted that after 13 years with the same company “Budget Gîtes,” he had something of a soft spot for the English husband and wife who ran the company and so when they had asked about the following year, he hadn’t the heart to say “Not this year, I’m renting it out long term!” So, sadly he would have to spend another summer in France, welcoming visitors to his estate, rather than being able to step out of his penthouse flat onto the beach near Benidorm and spent his day kite surfing across the bay! But he went on to tell us about the “Budget Gîtes” couple and how in the early days they used to tell him off for saying he was old, but had now started to call him an “old man!!” Pre-empting that the conversation might be returning into the realms of death and we might be about to get at least our fourth invite to his funeral, he really does think about death a lot despite seeming to be a very healthy 68 year old who has just taken up kite surfing, to lighten the mood once more I suggested that he should get “Budget Gîtes” to sponsor his funeral. Fortunately, he thought this was hilarious, and through his booming laugh, said he couldn’t wait to share the joke with the company. For a minute I thought he was going to leave straight away and phone them up!! Well, I did say nothing heavy!!
But no, with a second cup of “perfect tea” poured, conversation returned to family matters and where in England I had gone to university. When I said Leeds, he chuckled and said that the family used to have good friends, mill owners who had lived and worked in Leeds and proceeded to tell us how they had met, many years ago when it was unusual to see an English car in deepest Vendée. He had been driving with his parents, in their rather old “rust bucket” (he liked that one!) of a car, to go to an agricultural show, when they came across this English car and family who had crashed into a ditch. He pleaded with his parents to stop and help them, which they duly did, ending up taking them with them to the show and then taken them home whilst their car was rescued and repaired. To this day he remembers well, and it’s a long time ago “I expect they’re dead now!,” the look of amazement when his father turned the battered old car into the front drive of a rather nice chateau!!
After several attempts of “I leave now and leave you alone!,” with other conversations kicking in and covering huge tracts of land, finally Monsieur did rise rather stiffly from his chair as we had been sitting for so long, and bade me a hearty good-bye as he wouldn’t see me before I left for my Edinburgh trip and would be gone after my return. Said to Linda that he would give her some unused food that he didn’t want to take back to Spain, and remembering he must phone “Budget Gîtes” to arrange sponsorship, said “I go now, having drunk your tea, and tonight I lie in a bed of roses without thorns!!” and he turned and with Tottoon, who throughout had been lying peacefully at his feet, trotting behind him and beseeched us to “Be happy!” and left with good-byes, au revior’s, despedida’s, lebewohl’s, arrivederci’s and sbohem’s flying randomly over his shoulder!! He turned the corner and was gone, leaving us as always exhausted by the far ranging and rapid conversation we had just had!! Postscript: How apt, my French word for the day on my google homepage has just come up and is tombe – grave!!
My original “day’s thought”
“Glory be, we’ve found Religieuse!”
Sorry, to those of you who have started to get excited and think we’ve been saved and now spend Sunday morning visiting the local église! No it’s more likely that we will be communing with nature by walking the green aisles beneath the lofty cathedral-like boughs of the chateau wood, in order to walk off the previous evening’s excess – a “Religieuse” is a decidedly wicked French dessert – basically a large profiterole filled with fondant coffee cream, topped with coffee or chocolate icing and piped butter cream around the base of a second smaller, similarly filled and adorned profiterole sometimes topped with a chocolate coffee bean, that sits on top of the first! Pure decadence and with a calorie count that should make the consumption about as infrequent as our visits to the place of worship they are supposed to represent – rather more like the onion domes of a distant Russian church (designed that way to shed rain water and prevent the build up of snow so Google tells me!!) than the ornate, and usually at night, beautifully floodlit spires of the local churches. The only trouble is, it really is something that all our visitors should experience!!
End piece
Well the title said nothing heavy this time, hopefully I’ve achieved that? Linda thought the last missive missed the light hearted banter of previous ones, but I guess I needed to say it, to prove I wasn’t totally vegetating and maybe it had something to do with biorhythms, but I’ll stop there as I’m in danger of getting heavy again!!
Well, as best I could I introduced Linda as my wife, Victoria as my daughter, Chris as my brother, Chris as his partner and she wanted to know how old Sara was, amazed at how tall she was compared to her own grand-daughter of a similar age and she fussed over her, stroking her long hair and saying how grown up she seemed. At this point my mother had gone to spend a penny, as her generation tend to say, albeit now often twenty pennies, but that somehow doesn’t have the same ring to it, when Madame turned to my father and said “Monsieur, autre frère?” and was astonished to be told no, this was Papa, who was 84 and had not only driven here from England, to which she was suitably impressed, but incredulously, stood back in amazement went told he was also towing a caravan. All she could manage was a heart-felt and reverential “Superb!!” At this point, with Madame still in wide eyed amazement, my mother reappeared, and Madame indicated that she was the only member of the party she hadn’t had placed and visibly took a step back when I introduced Maman and rather dreamily uttered “tres chic,” and on being told that on Sunday she was also turning 84, stepped forward, told her hand and shook it warmly with a deferential “Bon Anniversaire!”
It rather wonderfully finished off, particularly for my parents who are celebrating their 60th (diamond) wedding anniversary next month, what had been an excellent evening, as Madame saw us out still rather incredulously shaking her head, having just in her amazement and as we were the final customers of the night managed to turn the light off and lock Chris in the loo!!! Joyeux anniversaire!
“Clever Words”
· Seen on a banner held by a fan at George Best’s funeral: “Maradonna Good, Pelé Better, George Best!” (Dec 2005)
· “good friends are like stars. you don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there!” Seen on a card in a New York shop (Feb 2006)
· Des Lynam in a T.V. tribute to the late Fred Perry: “When Fred came into a room, all the lights came on!”
· “An eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind!” Tolstoy
· "A man who has no imagination, has no wings!” Muhammad Ali
I’ll stop there for fear of becoming too profound if not heavy and starting to fly!!
Tea fit for a King!
Monsieur from the Chateau was around the other day, as with his departure back to his beloved Spain looming rapidly, he was trying to tie up loose ends and get the barn roof fixed.
Some months earlier I had been writing an earlier missive in the wee small hours (you can tell I’ve been to Scotland recently!!), when suddenly outside there was a tremendous crash. With a degree of trepidation, and certainly sending the intrepid Max out first, Linda by now sound asleep, although I was a little surprised that the loud deafening noise outside hadn’t woken her up, I ventured out into our courtyard. The outside light and bright torch didn’t at first show any obvious cause of such a commotion and it was only as Max reached far enough down the courtyard to turn on the automatic security light that a large pile of woodwork and tiles, some it transpired amazingly intact, could be seen having fallen from the eaves of the barn some ten or more metres above, leaving a gaping hole.
Each time we had subsequently spoken to Monsieur he had mentioned the need for a repair, often at the same time as complaining that when in France it seemed to be nothing but writing cheque after cheque. Finally, he had got his local roofing contractor in, the one that seemed to do annual checks on all the roofs and who had come a fixed a leak in the roof shortly after we had arrived. Long discussions, both inside and out of the barn ensued and after a good degree of puffing from Monsieur about all the extra expense, and having seemed to originally say that the whole enormous roof needed to be redone, it was agreed that simply the eaves would be cut back and the roof would finish flush with the wall in much the same way as the end pitch of the house.
As the roofing contractor left with the customary good-byes, handshakes and other parting comments, Monsieur turned to Linda and I who were sitting outside in the late summer sunshine and said “Now I pay you a visit, as I am leaving soon and need to tell you what is going on!”
So Monsieur accepted both the offer of a chair and also a cup of tea, having told me a couple of days earlier that he loved a cup of English tea in the middle of the afternoon, so the timing was just right.
Having put the kettle on, set a tray with cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and teapot, as it seemed wrong somehow to make the tea with a teabag in a mug, I joined them outside in time to hear what was being done to the roof and further moans about all the expense that he always seemed to incur when visiting France, notably a re-run of the water saga and how some of the pipe was having to be redone. He said that when in France it was spend, spend, spend, but in Spain he “Lived like a King” with no thoughts of France or the Chateau, safe in the knowledge that Monsieur Michel, the local farmer, would be looking after his affairs in France. But then added, that sitting having a cup of English tea made by an Englishman, in the Vendée sunshine would at least for a while suspend his French woes and he could for a while “Live like a King in Spain!” No pressure then!!
The kettle boiled, the pot carefully warmed and just the right number of teabags added and the water, just off the boil added, and I carried the tray outside as “His Majesty!” visibly sank into his chair in anticipation. It felt that much hung on this cup of tea and if it didn’t come up to expectation, a rent rise might be on the cards!! As the tea brewed, conversation turned to the pleasures of sitting surrounded by such a beautiful “English” garden (luckily we had recently done some weeding and dead headed the roses and geraniums, and those geraniums that Linda had recently taken as cuttings were beginning to bloom, and indeed everything in the garden did look rosy. I had even strimmed one side of the front yard that sent Monsieur into raptures about the English, their love of beautiful “louns” (lawns) and how the English “louns” are the greatest in the whole world! He even cast a loving eye over the close cropped weeds and straggly grass, growing along the side of our gravel courtyard, that I had tried my best to make at least presentable, but it certainly a long way from the manicured lawns of Middle England!!
The tea now brewed and I ventured the all important question “Milk in first?” A surprised Monsieur was at first flustered, realising that for years he had been doing it wrong and then perhaps by way of cover, asked if it made a difference? Having been assured that it did and it was all something to do with the relative temperatures of the tea and milk, or something like that I remember reading once!, I somewhat tentatively proffered the tea, that had somehow been built up so much you would have thought that I was giving him the “elixir of life,” perhaps fitting for someone who thinks so much about death. But more of that in a bit, more crucial at the moment was the vital question; “How is your tea?” To which I got the reply “Ah, perfect English tea, now I can go to bed tonight and sleep with the angels, and when I get up in the morning, stand by my bed and sing ‘God save the Queen!!,” never before has one of my cups of tea had such a profound effect, and it was even made in a cheap, badly pouring stainless steel teapot, our proper porcelain one packed away somewhere in Stroud. I must say that it never ceases to amaze me that we have managed to put a man on the moon, but fail miserably to make a stainless steel teapot that pours properly. But I suppose on the plus side, it does keep those trolley dollies at Motorway Services in work, as they constantly should be swiftly manoeuvring their trolleys laden with every type of cleaning material to spray the offending spill with the latest “health and safety” product, passed by the management, carrying the necessary warnings for every eventuality, including the fact that the delivery lorry may have passed a shop that may have been selling nuts!! The fact that the “Spillage Removal Operative” is nowhere to be seen, probably out back having a swift drag, is of little consequence when, the spillage is finally removed and the table wiped down after being spray sanitised, with a cloth that could at best be described as “seeing better days” and at worst as being disgustingly filthy!!
But, I digress; perhaps it’s the effect of being in the presence of “royalty” and the thought of what the citation might say on being awarded in the next honour’s list – “For services to the tea industry and the manufacture of ‘The Perfect Cup of English Tea!”
By now Monsieur had relaxed, thoughts of money far from his mind, how therapeutic is a cup of tea, and conversation turns back to gardening and our obvious way with plants, not sure if he didn’t say “Green Hands!” but I think I was still back at the “Arise Comte and Comtesse ‘iggs” stage!! But he was saying how good it would be to have some Virginia Creeper or Ivy to cover up the old rustic stone walls of the barn and dependencies (outhouses) and the weathered weather boarding of the garage, and would we try and take cutting from the creeper around his stable blocks and plant them to hide what we see as rustic charm and he obviously sees as unrendered, and indeed expensive to render, stone walls!!
We then talked about various things, including the visitors (sister, partner and one of her sons) he had recently had, and how he was always pleased to have the place to himself again, as though there aren’t enough rooms in the chateau to hide away and have your own space. We then talked about our own family and how Victoria had just returned from a cheap break in a rich Middle Eastern tourist hotspot, Dermot having been put up in a five star hotel, one of very few perks I guess you get for being a submariner, having to pay a supplement of £10 a night for double occupancy of the room, not bad for a £200 + a night room!
Talk of this place reminded him of a previous good friend, who in his early thirties had built up what must have been a very prestigious architectural business, and having just been commissioned to design and build a new mega-complex here; mosque, shopping mall and seventy luxury houses, died before its completion. This he said had made him very sad, determined to live life to the full, hence I guess the new sport of kite surfing that he had just taken up, but also made him “think every day about death!”
To change the subject more than anything, Linda asked if he had managed to rent out the gîte long term, rather than just for the summer season? Rather bashfully, he admitted that after 13 years with the same company “Budget Gîtes,” he had something of a soft spot for the English husband and wife who ran the company and so when they had asked about the following year, he hadn’t the heart to say “Not this year, I’m renting it out long term!” So, sadly he would have to spend another summer in France, welcoming visitors to his estate, rather than being able to step out of his penthouse flat onto the beach near Benidorm and spent his day kite surfing across the bay! But he went on to tell us about the “Budget Gîtes” couple and how in the early days they used to tell him off for saying he was old, but had now started to call him an “old man!!” Pre-empting that the conversation might be returning into the realms of death and we might be about to get at least our fourth invite to his funeral, he really does think about death a lot despite seeming to be a very healthy 68 year old who has just taken up kite surfing, to lighten the mood once more I suggested that he should get “Budget Gîtes” to sponsor his funeral. Fortunately, he thought this was hilarious, and through his booming laugh, said he couldn’t wait to share the joke with the company. For a minute I thought he was going to leave straight away and phone them up!! Well, I did say nothing heavy!!
But no, with a second cup of “perfect tea” poured, conversation returned to family matters and where in England I had gone to university. When I said Leeds, he chuckled and said that the family used to have good friends, mill owners who had lived and worked in Leeds and proceeded to tell us how they had met, many years ago when it was unusual to see an English car in deepest Vendée. He had been driving with his parents, in their rather old “rust bucket” (he liked that one!) of a car, to go to an agricultural show, when they came across this English car and family who had crashed into a ditch. He pleaded with his parents to stop and help them, which they duly did, ending up taking them with them to the show and then taken them home whilst their car was rescued and repaired. To this day he remembers well, and it’s a long time ago “I expect they’re dead now!,” the look of amazement when his father turned the battered old car into the front drive of a rather nice chateau!!
After several attempts of “I leave now and leave you alone!,” with other conversations kicking in and covering huge tracts of land, finally Monsieur did rise rather stiffly from his chair as we had been sitting for so long, and bade me a hearty good-bye as he wouldn’t see me before I left for my Edinburgh trip and would be gone after my return. Said to Linda that he would give her some unused food that he didn’t want to take back to Spain, and remembering he must phone “Budget Gîtes” to arrange sponsorship, said “I go now, having drunk your tea, and tonight I lie in a bed of roses without thorns!!” and he turned and with Tottoon, who throughout had been lying peacefully at his feet, trotting behind him and beseeched us to “Be happy!” and left with good-byes, au revior’s, despedida’s, lebewohl’s, arrivederci’s and sbohem’s flying randomly over his shoulder!! He turned the corner and was gone, leaving us as always exhausted by the far ranging and rapid conversation we had just had!! Postscript: How apt, my French word for the day on my google homepage has just come up and is tombe – grave!!
My original “day’s thought”
“Glory be, we’ve found Religieuse!”
Sorry, to those of you who have started to get excited and think we’ve been saved and now spend Sunday morning visiting the local église! No it’s more likely that we will be communing with nature by walking the green aisles beneath the lofty cathedral-like boughs of the chateau wood, in order to walk off the previous evening’s excess – a “Religieuse” is a decidedly wicked French dessert – basically a large profiterole filled with fondant coffee cream, topped with coffee or chocolate icing and piped butter cream around the base of a second smaller, similarly filled and adorned profiterole sometimes topped with a chocolate coffee bean, that sits on top of the first! Pure decadence and with a calorie count that should make the consumption about as infrequent as our visits to the place of worship they are supposed to represent – rather more like the onion domes of a distant Russian church (designed that way to shed rain water and prevent the build up of snow so Google tells me!!) than the ornate, and usually at night, beautifully floodlit spires of the local churches. The only trouble is, it really is something that all our visitors should experience!!
End piece
Well the title said nothing heavy this time, hopefully I’ve achieved that? Linda thought the last missive missed the light hearted banter of previous ones, but I guess I needed to say it, to prove I wasn’t totally vegetating and maybe it had something to do with biorhythms, but I’ll stop there as I’m in danger of getting heavy again!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Good job I’m “très sourd” (very deaf) or I’d have been terrified when he sent me out to check out the loud crash the other night – however, I’m finding my feet and getting braver and now realise that the yellow van that comes to the bottom of the yard is La Poste and une bonne chasse !!)
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Good job I’m “très sourd” (very deaf) or I’d have been terrified when he sent me out to check out the loud crash the other night – however, I’m finding my feet and getting braver and now realise that the yellow van that comes to the bottom of the yard is La Poste and une bonne chasse !!)
And to come next time, who knows, may be the weather will break, the rain lash down and fill up the empty ponds, on the other hand that could be when we return to England at the end of October!!
