Unfinished business

You may remember back in September a blog post called “Back with a bit of a travelogue” where I promised a number of future offerings or as I called them in the blog post things to “look out for ~ lof’s!”?  Well this is one of them!

I’m going to take you back to the Costa Brava in early spring sunshine in March of this year, when Fergus (the dog in case you’ve missed that event!) was a mere 7 months old and I had just turned 58 and was realising that as the days and weeks went past, Fergus was not only growing rapidly and getting bigger than his puppy paws would have led us to believe, but he was also needing an increasing amount of exercise, increasing at a similarly alarming rate to his size!  This unfortunately coincided with me having a few problems with my legs and feet, nothing serious just a combination of lack of decent length walks and not getting any younger.  I know that 58 isn’t that old, but as I read somewhere the other day, you know that you’re not getting any younger, when you can’t stand up quietly, and I certainly seemed to have got to the early groaning stage.  Since realising this I now, not always very successfully, try to jump up effortlessly and above all quietly, after all as they say, you’re as old as you feel.

But, more seriously, I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to give Fergus enough exercise as he certainly had more energy than me.  Fortunately, he runs like the wind and can even on the dullest of days still find a shadow to chase, thinking it’s another dog that wants to play, and regularly covers several times more than I do on our twice daily walks.

Well, north of the caravan site we were staying at, was a large expanse of relatively flat, just slightly undulating landscape, backed in the far distance by the peaks of the eastern Pyrenees still snow covered at this early part of the year.  Then, tantalisingly in the middle distance was a small rocky ridge, rising to a castle topped peak in the middle, a veritable mini-mountain rising steeply from the surrounding plain just begging to be climbed.  At the foot of the mountain closest to our campsite, was a small town the environs of which could be seen climbing tentatively up the lower slopes, before the landscape became too steep and too rough for development to creep any further, and it was the roads that similarly crept part way up the mountainside that finally persuaded me that a good walk, up part of the mountain – perhaps to the saddle that dipped between the castle topped peak and the next peak – ought at least to be attempted, despite my slightly dodgy legs and the dogs still developing legs!  So off we set in the car across the plain and after a couple of wrong turns managed to find somewhere to park, just below the now rather daunting-looking climb to the saddle, having got this close the scale of the climb had become all too apparent.  A surprisingly flat path headed away from the car park, but all too quickly started zigzagging up the rapidly increasing slope, before getting to the rather alarming looking final near vertical scramble up to the saddle, but having come this far we had to at least try to get some of the way and gain enough height to enjoy the view spread out below.  Armed with camera, water, some sustenance for us both and I have to admit, at least on my part, something of a faint heart we hit the trail and quickly reached the zigzags and gained height at an amazing rate, it felt great to be in “them there hills” again and experience once more the speed with which you can find yourself ascending a mountain, with the landscape quickly dropping away below your feet.

It was very hot and I started worrying about whether I had enough water for the both of us, but Fergus seemed less concerned darting in and out of the scrubby undergrowth without a care in the world, until a group of young hippies came towards us with a number of large dogs, one particularly snarling and fearsome looking, causing Fergus to now worry and hide behind me with an almost audible “Daddy, save me!”  But as with all such dogs they quickly came to heel and we were once more able to concentrate on the climb and reaching the saddle, on which there appeared to be some sort of monument or large waymark, which as we passed the second small bothy like building and got to the final ascent, it became apparent it was a cross, hopefully not commemorating the demise of the last “mad dog and Englishman” who had ventured out in the mid afternoon sun and tried to climb the mountain.

Amazingly, despite the heat and thankful that we weren’t the only ones making the climb, we were still going well and half way up the final scramble, got in conversation, in French, with a Spanish couple who lived in the town below, who were bemoaning the economic situation in Spain and wondering, somewhat tongue in cheek, whether I thought they could get a job in England, and could maybe even help a little to get them on the employment ladder!  They realised then that as I actually lived in France, the best laid plans were somewhat thwarted and we parted with a laugh and a cheery “au revoir, bon après midi, bon continuation ....” as now seems to be the norm, certainly in France – none of this quick bye, a wave of the hand and off you stride.

Still chuckling about the earlier informal job interview, we were suddenly there at the saddle, standing next to the cross, with the rest of the mountain still towering above us:

We then exchanged something of a meaningful glance at each other, Fergus and I that is, and perhaps both feeling better than we had anticipated, mutually decided to go for the top, even though it was obvious that after a short grassy slope, the path then zigzagged its way through a barren rock field!  The going wasn’t easy, particularly on two feet, and it was apparent a number of times that tender age wasn’t holding Fergus back, and several times he stopped a level or two above me as if to say, come on what’s holding you up!

We then had another conversation with a French couple, this time in English, who were on the way down and did what people the world over do in situations like this; they lied and said not much further now!  And, funnily enough on the way down I did the self same thing to another couple puffing their way up through the rough boulder field!!  But eventually, and after quite a bit further, we crested the top, admired the view, read a plaque about the unfinished castle at the top, inside of which we found a shady spot to sit and rest contemplating, for me at least, the effect that the descent might have on my knees, but above all we both had that real sense of achievement, of actually standing on top of this little part of the world.  A first for Fergus, doesn’t he look proud, and proof perhaps for me that there were still mountains to be climbed!

We made it down, quite uneventfully, and both arrived back at the caravan, babbling excitedly – we made it, we did it, we climbed a mountain!!  Maybe the castle on the top is unfinished, but perhaps not my “climbing” days, maybe I can give the dog a run for his money – I must point out  with this last statement that euphoria was slightly clouding my judgement, as confirmed earlier today, when Fergus put up a hare and gave it quite a run for its money!  Indeed, at one point I had visions of hare on the menu tomorrow!!

And, whilst thinking of tomorrow, more importantly the next day, although not quite as raring to go as Fergus, I was fit and well enough for the hill behind the campsite, well it was merely a blip in comparison with the previous day, but it still felt good, and below, the view from the previous day’s summit, is one of the reasons why it would be a shame not to climb the odd mountain or two in the future and if the going gets too tough, Fergus is now big and strong enough to pull me up some of the way!!

 

 

          

Mes amis les français

This post is dedicated to Heulwen, who recently enquired as to when the next instalment was due out and therefore encouraged me to put fingers to keyboard.  Also Happy 80^th Birthday to her!

When we first moved to France we made a decision that we would try despite limited French, to integrate as much as possible into the life of our commune, or parish as it would be in England.  This has meant attending meetings where proceedings were at best hazy and playing four hours of Lotto (Bingo) after which the head hurt somewhat, but this has been a small price to pay for other events such as the annual village walk and picnic, which once we moved takes place each year by the bread oven that borders our garden and then moves into our neighbours garden for the picnic.  This picnic starts with a glass or several of trouspinette, the local aperitif made from the new spring shoots of the blackthorn bush, which has a surprising fruitiness, despite the lack of any fruit other than the grapes that are used to make the rosé wine that the concentrate is blended with.  The concentrate is simply made by soaking a large bundle of the blackthorn shoots in eau de vie or “alcool pour fruit” that is sold in the local supermarkets with some added sugar, and within half an hour of mixing the liquor takes on an amazing fruity smell, which intensifies over the two weeks that the leaves are steeped for.  Accompanying the aperitif are large trays of the local flattened garlic bread, called préfou, made with lashings of butter and garlic added to a squashed baguette and cooked with other tasty morsels in the bread oven, which has been warming up since being first fired up on the Thursday before, the picnic taking place on Sunday.

Other activities have included other picnics, games afternoons and for the last three years I have “ho ho ho’ed” my way through the children’s Christmas party and am booked again for the end of next month!  Interestingly, on my first appearance Père Noël was the strong silent type, hopefully not too much of a shock for the children, as the previous year he had spoken French fluently and was incidentally obviously an imposer as he was short, thin and clean shaven.  However, as the years have gone by the language has improved and last year a petit histoire was enough to impress our French neighbours, although there was nearly an incident the previous year when having told the children I had lost my reindeers in the nearby wood, one of the children informed me that one of them was behind me (had my French been better a pantomime might have ensued!).  Slightly at a loss as to how to proceed, as the child was most insistent that there was actually a reindeer behind me, I played along and turned around, to come face to face with the most amazingly large stag’s head hunting trophy that I had forgotten adored the wall of the village hall just behind where I was sitting!  The incident, well at a loss as to what to say, I told the thirty or more excited and expectant faces sitting on the floor in front of me that it was no good as IT WAS DEAD!  You can imagine what the headlines in the local paper might have been the following day “Santa grounded by death of Rudolph!”  But, fortunately chocolate saved the day as I quickly went on to ask the children “if they had been good” and presented them with their chocolate Advent calendars.  Thinking about it, I’m not sure if I’ve been invited back again this year, although I have a feeling that once in it’s a job for life!!

So, you get the picture, we’ve been trying to integrate, at times the only English people at various events such as hamlet soirées, and also trying hard not be too much the “ex-pat,” a term I dislike intensely and that reminds me rather of those unfortunate few that are around and do little other than attend English clubs and activities, and as we once overheard on a ferry, make statements like:  “I’ve lived in France now for six years, I spoke none of the lingo when I arrived, still don’t and have no intention of learning any!”  How very sad and excessively rude to what is his adopted country.

So, we now have a number of French friends with whom we are able to pass the time of day, even if we’re not quite at the “politics, religion and sex” stage yet, although we did touch on a couple of these topics at a recent dinner party, when neighbours of my cousin who has recently brought as house close by, and who speak no English, were the only French people there.  We found that the whole evening ended up being carried out in French.  This was made much easier as the couple in question spoke slowly and clearly, not least because there were not native French speakers there.  As happens when a group of English people get together, the French en masse speak too quickly and often over one another, making it very difficult to follow. 

Having acquired a few French friends is indeed the very reason that after renting a house in this commune for two and a half years, we have ended up buying a house that doesn’t perhaps tick all the boxes, but is still within the same commune.  When we were about to embark on house hunting in earnest, and thinking about moving somewhere within a radius of 10 miles or so, we had visitors and I dashed to the bread shop in the local village.  On the way there everyone I passed I knew enough to wave cheerily to, once in the shop I bumped into a French friend who lived just down the road from us and passed the time of day with her, whilst the lady behind the counter reached behind her for my “usual” loaf of bread.  Then, on my return again I knew everyone I passed.  I got back and said to Linda, “we can’t move away from this commune as we’d have to start building up friendships and acquaintances all over again, we come a long way in two and a half years, it would be silly to have to start again!”

Since living in France and particularly over the last couple of years we have renewed a friendship with a French couple, Ray and Yvonne, who live near Brest in Brittany, whom we first met through a European school link project, some 15 years ago.  This year we met up with them in Brittany and later near Rochefort, on the coast south of La Rochelle, where they go each year for La Cure, which is a three week long spa treatment, provided by the state, to ease a back condition that Ray has, Yvonne is also allowed to go along as part of the package, all they have to pay is for the apartment they rent.  It’s all part of France’s amazing preventative / alternative medical system, designed to ease problems before they happen.

On the second occasion we met them this year we took the caravan down to a lovely coastal site at Fouras, just north of Rochefort and on one of the days met up with them to visit an amazing working transporter bridge that spans the river just south of Rochefort.  Whilst with them, Yvonne who was previously a Headteacher of an école primaire near Brest, started reminiscing about a visit she had made to us in Stroud accompanied her Chair of Governor’s wife and two of her children.  The eldest child, then about 14 or 15 and now incidentally working in a high powered financial job in the City of London, found my mispronunciation of various French words rather amusing, as the French tend to be very precise with their pronunciation, and often Yvonne will correct something I say and tell me I should say it in a particular way, which to my ear sounds exactly how I have just said it!!  

One word that particularly made the son rather giggly, was a word I was saying that I made sound rather like a French word for bottom!, and apparently all these years later I’m still doing it!!

It was as we got off the transporter bridge that I politely “merci beaucoup’d” the young lady operating the controls and who had been able to tell us some of the history of the bridge and similar ones around the world in excellent English.  This exchange reduced Yvonne to fits of giggles as apparently I had just said to the young lady “thank you, nice bottom!”

Well, as I’ve been “merci beau ... coup’ing” everyone, male or female, for the last five years and more in the same manner, maybe this has done more to help our integration than any amount of attendance at village events and could also explain, why so often they reply “mon plaisir!”         

Wow – what a lot of sand!

 

I must admit to cheating a little with this blog post, as most of it first saw the “light of day” in a magazine I edit for the Association of Countryside Volunteers, of which I am currently the chairman, under the title of View Across La Manche, a regular feature I write about various countryside issues on the French side of La Manche.  I guess for obvious reasons the French don’t call the narrow stretch of water between them and England the English Channel, instead referring to it, for again obvious reasons, as La Manche or The Sleeve.

 

Back around Easter time, we visited Bordeaux and courtesy of my daughter Victoria climbed the highest sand dune in Europe, not once but twice and this after the last time I walked just a little way on a sandy beach left me, for some time, in a lot of pain, something having complained in my left knee!!

 

But, the Great Dune de Pilat or Pyla, was worth every step, even though when we started off the easy way; a plastic staircase up the side was closed for maintenance, so it was soft sand all the way up, down the far side to dip a toe in the adjacent Atlantic Ocean and back up over the top.  Incidentally, the correct name is apparently Pilat, which comes from the Gascon word for heap or mound, and which ever meaning you opt for it’s something of an underestimate.

 

 

Now, the dune in question totally exceeded my expectations and was quite simply mind blowing.  You approach it through pine woodland, from a well kept albeit rather complicated parking area, passing through the ubiquitous gift shops and restaurants offering such things as dune burgers, reminiscent of childhood picnics on the beach, when however careful you were sand always got in the sandwiches and inside your swimming trunks!!  The tat over and you get your first glimpse through the trees of the splendour you are about to encounter, a steep bank of sand rising at the back some 50 metres above you, falling away the other side slightly less steeply in excess of 105 metres down to the blue Atlantic Ocean, with a number of interesting sand bars and spits spreading across the entrance to Arcachon Bay, near the small town of La Teste de Buch, in the Gironde department of South west France 40 miles from Bordeaux.  

 

 

This massive 100m plus dune is 2.7 km long and 500 m wide and these breathtaking dimensions can be admired throughout the year. Even in winter it is worth the visit, when if you are really lucky you might experience the dune covered with snow.

 

The dune is always in motion, created by wind and tidal movement, which combine to make the dune move further inland by several metres each year. The moving sand therefore has gradually swallowed the surrounding pine forest and several campsites as the overwhelming mass of 60,000,000 cubic metres of sand continues to move.

The dune is currently being considered as one of Grand Sites of France.

 

Currently there are about 14 sites (sites can come and go dependant on the strict criteria) that have been confirmed with this label, such as the Baie de Somme, the Marais Poitevin marshes near to us, Pont to Gard and the Puy de Dôme.

 

Something like a further 31 sites are currently under consideration, ranging from the Dune de Pilat to the Abbaye de Beauport, Cité de Carcassonne, Baie du Mont-Sait-Michel, Gorges du Verdon, Mont Ventoux and many many more.

 

Chaque site membre adhérent du Réseau des Grands Sites de France travaille à améliorer les conditions de protection, de réhabilitation et de gestion active du paysage, à mieux accueillir ses visiteurs, à générer un développement local durable et bénéficiant aux habitants, afin de pouvoir prétendre, dans un délai précis, à l'obtention du label Grand Site dEach of the Great Sites of France are working to improve conditions for the protection, rehabilitation and active management of the landscape, to better accommodate visitors, generate sustainable local development and benefit the people.

 

Having obtained the label, qualification is for a specified period, after which the site is reassessed.

 

Ce label appartient à l'État, qui l'a déposé à l'Institut national de la propriété industrielle en 2003. Il est géré par le Ministère en charge de l'ÉcologieThis label belongs to the state, and is awarded by the National Institute of Industrial Property in 2003. It is managed by the Ministry in charge of Ecology. Il est inscrit au code de l'environnement Art.

 

"Le label Grand site de France peut être attribué par le ministre chargé des sites à un site classé de grande notoriété et de forte fréquentation. L'attribution du label est subordonnée à la mise en oeuvre d'un projet de préservation, de gestion et de mise en valeur du site, répondant aux principes du développement durable. "The label Grand Site de France may be assigned by the Minister to a site listed as high profile and high visitor numbers. Award of the label is subject to the implementation of a project for the preservation, management and enhancement of the site, complying with the principles of sustainable development.

Ce label est attribué, à sa demande, à une collectivité territoriale, un établissement public, un syndicat mixte ou un organisme de gestion regroupant notamment les collectivités territoriales conc

 

This label is granted, upon request, to a local authority, a public institution, a mixed union or management body consisting in particular local authorities concerned. La décision d'attribution fixe la durée du label." The award decision sets the length of the label."  Sorry if some of this is lost in the translation.

 

Ce label est un label sélectif et exigeant.Il est la reconnaissance d'une gestion conforme aux principes du développement durable, conciliant préservation du paysage et de "l'esprit des lieux", qualité de l'accueil du public, participation des habitants et des partenaires à la vie du Grand Site.

 

It is the recognition of management that conforms to the principles of sustainable development, balancing preservation of the landscape and "sense of place" quality of care, public participation of residents and partners in the life of Grand Site.  

Il peut être retiré à tout moment en cas de manquement aux engagements de protection, de mise en valeur, de développement économique local et de respect du

 

It can be removed at any time in the event of breach of commitments for the protection, development, local economic development and respect for the visitor.

Le Réseau des Grands Sites de France rassemble des Grands Sites qui ont déjà obtenu le label et d'autres qui oeuvrent pour l'obtenir un jour.

 

Further information can be obtained from the Grand Site de France website:

www.grandsitedefrance.com

 

or there is a Wikipedia site which can easily be translated from French into English, for the less adventurous of you!!

 

Back with a bit of a travelogue ~

and a preview of what to “look out for!”  

As I mention in the latest blog post from “Roger’s Creative Urge,” my other blog; I seem to have been away for ages, and the reasons in that post – Little Green Men – were, how shall we say, somewhat creative.  In reality, the reason at least in part, has been that now much of the renovation of our French house has been completed, although in recent weeks we seem to have found plenty of “brico” (DIY) to do as my back will confirm, we decided that this year we will make up for lost time and do some long awaited travelling. 

Before we were half way through the year, we had managed two weeks in the caravan in Spain, taking a further week to get there and back. (Look out for ~ Unfinished business and Fly drive and the caravan came too!)  A further week in the caravan in Bordeaux, when we also visited Europe’s highest sand dune (Look out for [ Lof! ] ~ View across La Manche), then two weeks in England during which, Daniel, my son got married to Lisa in a lovely ceremony at The Rococo Gardens in Painswick and to get over this we had a week in Marrakech.

As our guide book for Marrakech says, P. J. Barnum has always claimed that his circus was the “Greatest Show on Earth”, but in fact as we can now confirm categorically, the actual greatest show on earth takes place each night on the square in the middle of Marrakech, Djemma El – Fna, and the surrounding rabbit – warren like multitude of souqs or markets.  (Lof  ~ Ali Baba’s tales!) 

 

We then took the caravan to Brittany in July, for ten days, for a week long post wedding party for some a couple of Victoria’s college friends, and then went on to visit French friends at Pougastel Daoulas, near Brest, for a few days. (Lof at the very least ~ Transported by the mist)  

 

And ... still to come, with who knows what Lof’s may come from these: A surprise invite to a large gîte in the Dordogne, for a “Stroudie” gathering in deepest France, a caravan trip for a few day to Fouras, between La Rochelle and Rochefort (not Roquefort where the cheese comes from!) to catch up again with our friends from Pougastel Daoulas and try to practise our French, if they are not busy practising their English!   Then, a trip to England in October (when we hope to catch up with some of you!) and who knows what the rest of the year will bring? 

We have also had numerous summer visitors who tell us that they are coming to see us, but I can’t help feeling that the wine and the sun might also be something of a pulling point!! (Lof ~ Snore de France and maybe others!)

 

In addition to all this, we have despite me undertaking a fair amount of structured procrastination (Lof ~ The benefits of Procrastinating Positively ~ I’m still “thinking” about whether this should be on the other blog or not!), as I said above, we have fitted in a fair amount of home and garden improvements, perhaps here Lof some before and after photographs.  There’s also our own Clochemerle type controversy, in our case “guerre de parking,” updates on the various skirmishes to follow in due course!

 

Well hopefully, this has wetted the appetite and if nothing else, will spur me on to put fingers to keyboard and bring you the promised Lof’s, and all in all so far not a bad year considering I started the year quite literally singing to the wrong tune!  (Lof ~ I started the year singing to the wrong tune!)

But, I’m forgetting something, or should I say someone, who has just right on cue come and lay down on my foot, no not Linda – as if!!!, but our faithful furry Fergus, or Fergoose as the French call him, as if I would or could forget him.  He’s recently turned one and thinking back has taken a fair amount of our time and energy, which could also explain some of the lack of blog posts.  Suffice to say we wouldn’t now be without him and despite a few quirks, as people keep telling us “You’ve got a goodun there” and although he’ll feature in many of the above Lof’s, look out also for: Van du pain, Still chasing shadows and A tale of two dogs!

So Look out for or Watch this space:

 Bye for now or Á bientot, I’m definitely back amongst you and will probably also find some time to get creative!

 

Incident diplomatic averted

A brief Fergus incident with a further update to follow soon!!

But first, an opportunity to say “My, hasn’t he grown!”

 

Oh, an also on our recent holiday in Spain,

he found a passion for chasing and

drinking (!!!!!) the waves on the beach.

Unfortunately, the sea water quite literally

went through him like a dose of salts!!!!

But, back now to the narrowly averted diplomatic incident.

As Fergus has grown in size, so has his speed increased and he has become braver, although some time ago, when he was still very young, in an email to my cousin I said: Fergus - cats, large dogs, horses, goats, chickens, cows, sheep, gunshots, low flying jets, people including children - no problem! But his shadow and trees that look like giants that's another story!, and indeed the latter will feature in a future story.

His speed and bravery combined have turned him into a chaser, great for exercise, although at times this habit creates something of a “one-track mind” and before you know it and he realises it, he is disappearing over the horizon, a mere blur not only because of how far away he is, but also because of the speed he is travelling at!  But, he duly pants back and sits obediently hoping for a treat!!

Well, as I believe may also be happening in the UK, as the clocks have changes so there is a definite feeling of spring in the air, although having just gone to get Fergus in from the garden, as he was barking, well it is gone 1 o’clock in the morning and the neighbours are in bed!, there was a bit of a nip in the air, so all might not be sunny days and balmy nights!  It transpired he was trying to chase the relatively new moon that is hanging in the sky, just above the fields behind our neighbouring gîte!  But with the springing out of spring everywhere, as well as the multitude of stunning wild flowers, many of which need sniffing and occasional watering, the fluttering butterflies, that require a rather half hearted chase as they flit this way and that, and there has been a proliferation of birds all seemingly intent on heralding in the better weather.  So the cuckoos are doing just that, the woodpeckers are not only pecking, but also “laughing” at Fergus, both of which need to be put in place with a wouf or two, no not woof in this case, as Fergus is being brought up bi-lingual!, and the multitude of other twitters and tweeters, of the featured variety,  if not teasing Fergus from a safe vantage point are flying around and trying to get him to chase them.  And chase them he does, along the track, over the field, through the hedge and along the other side, only just falling short, and not without the want of trying, from actually taking to the air.

On this particular day, a couple of small songbirds had already been put in their place, a blackbird stalked along both sides of a hedge and a couple of soaring buzzards were lucky his “wings” had failed him that day!  We were at this point heading up the hill, the other side of the valley from home, towards a favourite walk that skirts through the edge of a large expanse of woodland, good shelter from both the sun and the rain and ideal cover for raiding parties out into the bordering field, taking the unsuspecting birds pecking about in the mud, totally by surprise and more effective than a scarecrow, as he not only moves, but also moves effectively in their direction and at great speed.  They always make good their escape, but sometimes out of sheer bravado, not taking off until the last minute, and I’m sure a couple of days previously after some fairly heavy rain which had forced the worms to the field surface, the large flock of birds that had gathered to make the most of these rich pickings, carried out an orchestrated “let’s wind up the dog” routine, as when he chased one group a nearby group would fly up from feeding and head him off.  This happened repeated, so didn’t just seem to be a happy coincidence, but did lead to a peaceful rest of the day, as Fergus lay on his bed for several hours afterwards, with only the odd twitch, wouf or flick of a paw or two, when his dreaming turned to chasing!

Well, he was walking with me for once, perhaps hoping the hand would go to the plastic bag in the right pocket, an action and sound he can, if in the mood, hear from a good hundred metres away.  I say he was there, but suddenly without warning he was off, galloping at enormous speed over the field and heading, before I knew it, over the brow of the distant hill.  At first I couldn’t see what had triggered the chase, but then I saw them flying quickly from left to right just proud of the horizon.  I realised it was Thursday, and this was our weekly fly pass of a couple of French Airforce, MIG fighter jets on exercise!!

As luck would have it, he didn’t get them, so fortunately a diplomatic incident was narrowly averted, but not I’m sure without an initial degree of alarm and I could almost hear the hasty radio message back to base: “Je pense les anglais avez un nouveau weapon secrete,” before realising that it was in fact just a bit of harmless child’s play – well he was only five and a half months old at the time!!

Don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today...

We’ve all heard this and I’m sure many of us have not heeded the advice and found a multitude of reasons why tomorrow might be better – I’ll have more energy after a good night’s sleep, Maybe the light will be better tomorrow, Maybe I won’t have this bone in my leg tomorrow!!!, you know the sort of thing.  It must also lead to lots of marital discourse, when that shelf or picture needs putting up or the lawn needs cutting and excuses such as maybe tomorrow my eye will be straighter or that wisp of cloud way over there on the horizon may be coming this way and what a shame to get everything out, only to have to put it all away again if it rains.  Certainly in my house there are times when ‘er indoors tuts, raises an eyebrow or sighs loudly, before asking out loud to anyone who might be listening, I wonder if this will ever get done.

Well, for years I have known deep down that there was a reason for delaying certain things until tomorrow, the latest being cladding the ceiling in our new mezzanine area, even if at the time the excuses seemed a little flimsy, but now I have had it all explained to me when reading a copy of Good Housekeeping instead of being good at the housekeeping!  It’s all down to a small snippet that suddenly clearly puts down on paper just what I have been trying to say for years.  But as with most things in life there are certain conditions!

John Perry is an American professor of philosophy who explains: “Procrastinators seldom do nothing, they do marginally useful things, like gardening or sharpening pencils” (today I sorted out the offcuts of wood in the workshop and put the tools tidy!).  He advises going along with this, explaining that you are still getting other things done, whilst freeing up your brain to mull over the chore you’ve put off.  The upshot then of this is that said chore, having been mulled over and therefore better planned, is more effectively carried out.

So as long as you potter constructively, your procrastination therefore becomes positive or “structured” as John Perry refers to it and suddenly I find that not only am I positive and structured, or procrastinating positively, as I tell ‘er indoors, but also it has done my self esteem a huge power of good, as I no longer feel guilty when I make sure that the cutlery in the draw is tidily stacked together, the glasses in the cupboard are all in neat rows according to type, my socks and pants are neatly folded and colour coded or my toothpaste tube is carefully rolled up and squeezed from the end, it will all mean that important job tomorrow will go that much more smoothly and be finished just that bit quicker, albeit a day or two later and all those other things will have been done into the bargain!!  

On the other hand, some of those things might just be put down to my “autistic” tendencies, but that’s to discuss another day, once I’ve raked the gravel outside into neat lines!!!     

I know it’s only just gone 1^st April, and maybe you think I’m making it all up, well if you’re one of these Doubting Thomases’s, then check out the link below:

 http://www.structuredprocrastination.com/

Not only the hunters I now have to worry about!!

As many of you will know hunting is a passion amongst many French people, the difference being that in most cases it is something for the pot and has moved on quite a long way since the French reportedly shot anything that moved, still admittedly for the pot, but multiple quantities of the required two dozen blackbirds needed to bake in a pie, had in the past denuded the countryside of much of its wildlife.  Now there are strict rules about what can be hunted, where and when you can open fire and strictly enforced quotas for each hunt, although sanglier or wild boar seem to be very successful and are in parts of France, like the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire, wreaking havoc, and rules have been relaxed in the hunting of said beasts.  Apparently allowing night time hunting of sanglier, a previous definite no no for any hunting.  As it is afternoon hunting has its concerns, as part of the game seems to be frequent liquid toasts to the day, with more during lunch, so add to that a whole afternoon of toasts and wine with dinner, it could be problematic to say the least!

But, back to hunting in general, again not all is rosy and there is growing opposition to hunting, not least because of the “power” of the hunting lobby and their authorization to hunt every day, seven days a week, although I must say around us it seems to be most common on Thursdays and Sundays, so I take extra care walking Fergus on those days, as well as other days when gunfire is close by, particularly after lunch.  But tensions continue to grow between the different factions, particularly with the anti-hunting lobby pressing for a Sunday ban, arguing that this should be a family day for other countryside pursuits. 

However, it was not my intention here to discuss the merits or otherwise of the hunt, or La chasse as I should call it, but rather to bring up another potentially worrying issue, for me, which might lead to me being falsely arrested!!  On the main hunt days, or as I said on those days where gunfire, as well as lots of shouting, horn blowing and dog barking is obvious – which I find far more evident than the actual firing of guns, as often an hour or two of frantic activity can occur before any shots are fired!! – I take sensible precautions, namely; tend to walk in the opposite direction to the noise, keep to roads or wide tracks avoiding woodlands or isolated tracks, keep Fergus on the lead if at all concerned about the closeness of any shots not that the noise seems to bother him, make a lot of noise myself, whistling or calling the dog rather than wandering around singing at the top of my voice or talking loudly to myself, causing a few shouts of l'anglais fou (the mad English – I get enough of those without trying !!), and above all I wear loud clothing, including during the cold weather a rather fetching bright red polatec fleece hat, great as it also keeps the ears warm, and making me look a little like Father Smurf, as opposed to Grandfather Smurf, the caption that appeared together with a picture on my daughter’s Facebook!!

And herein lies the problem.  France has over the years had a disastrous road safety reputation, not least because of things like the toasts that take place frequently at hunts and elsewhere, and although it might seem as though I digress, please bear with me!  Well, various Presidents and governments have taken it upon themselves to try a make a significant impact on this carriageway carnage, one of the strategies involving the proliferation of speed cameras, traditionally marked and with a sign placed about 3 or 4 hundred metres before warning of frequent speed traps, followed by a reminder of the correct speed, all in good time for motorists to make the necessary and often temporary adjustments to their driving so they pass the yellow marked cameras as good law abiding citizens.  So, with maybe financial concerns foremost in this time of severe constraints, as the system above would seem to me to have the desired effect of slowing people down in know accident black spots, it has become more clandestine, with the camera markings becoming much less obvious and a proliferation of other methods such as; unmarked camera cars, roving mobile cameras with long leads so the operators can hide in their cars behind trees, houses, bridges or the like,  and handheld cameras operated by the local constabulary again often hiding in the shadows.  These, together with many other measures seen as an attack on the humble motorist, has led to a group of individual forming a vigilante-style group, who have amongst other direct actions, been setting fire to the fixed camera.  The group is known as Les Bonnets Rouges, as part of their disguise in addition to masks over their faces, is a red hat (bonnet) very similar in design to my own that I use as hunt safety clothing.  So now, whilst out walking in the countryside not only do I have to be vigilant about the hunt, but I also need to keep an eye out for passing gendarmes, and then have the dilemma of whether to keep it on or hastily remove said hat, hoping the passing gendarmes don’t see me suspiciously removing the anarchist badge.  Perhaps in hindsight, I will have to start wearing a green hat and singing loudly, but then it might be another van that I’m bundled into and a different secure institution I’m taken to!!!  And, having just got a new dog I don’t have the option of staying safely at home!