WET, WET, WET! ~ Missive 9

18th August 2009

Dear All

You will find attached Missive 9, which will also be on the blog now, and amazingly for once I think the missive says it all!!

Hope you're having a good summer and the weather has picked up from our visit to the UK.
Love
Roger

Mes chers amis
WET, WET, WET! ~ Missive 9

Once again, it’s some time since the last missive, partly due to us having been in England for a couple of weeks and also see the profound thought for the “day” at the end.

Why “Wet, Wet, Wet? I hear you collectively ask, and I’m sure you’d be partly right! Yes, we chose to return to England that fortnight, and for the fifteen days we were on English and briefly Welsh soil, it rained heavily for 14 of the days, at its worst it seemed when we were travelling. So with journeys from Dover to Stroud and back, Stroud to The Forest of Dean, Stroud to Broadway and back, to York and back, in total well over 2000 miles, of which only 800 was in France, the windscreen wipers were given a good work out.

The rain even had the cheek to follow us back over La Manche, and for the first hundred or so miles, 160 km now we were back in France, the rain lashed down. But on our return the only sogginess now is caused by sweat, or perspiration for the sensitive amongst you, as temperatures soar into the 30’s!! And, when you look around at the numerous reservoirs in the area that are becoming seriously low and some of the less hardy / less deeply rooted trees have already started their autumn, and it’s only the beginning of August!! We’re in a drought big time, but more about that in the next missive.

The Moon’s in “A”

For some year’s now, Victoria (my daughter) and I have “communed,” or perhaps that should be “commooned!,” through the moon and its various phases! I guess it all started when Victoria, Daniel and I would walk on Rodborough Common, on the night of the full moon, in order to wave to the man in the moon!! I should point out that was some time ago, when the children were only little, but Victoria, now 22, is still known to do it now – a girl after my own heart!!

Just before Victoria finished her “A” levels and then afterwards, with almost undue haste, jetted off for adventures in South Africa and Swaziland, I was watching a fascinating programme about the moon and there was this amazing, although when you think about it unsurprising, revelation that in the Southern Hemisphere the moon is upside down, well at least you see it the other way up to how we do in England. I suppose really, it’s you the observer who is upside down!

So on a moonlit walk prior to her departure, no doubt after a glass or two, we decided to view the moon “African” style, by standing legs apart and looking through our legs at the moon! Then it sort of stuck and rarely a full moon goes by without us contacting each other and reaching out – commooning, across the sometimes thousands of miles that separate us, sort of secure in the knowledge that we can both see the same view, clouds permitting!

Why am I telling you this now you may wonder, well as some of you may know, for her dissertation research, looking at the effects of the Aids pandemic on orphans and vulnerable children (OVC) in Sub-Saharan Africa (SSA), (you can tell I’ve been reading through the first draft of her dissertation!!) she has recently returned to Swaziland. After, her first visit she has rarely stopped talking, sometime in SiSwati, about the country and particularly the people and orphans she worked with, in a country that has become very dear to her heart. So to build her dissertation around research to be carried out in Swaziland, whilst hopefully catching up with people she had met previously seemed a good idea, and I can only imagine at some of the squealing that must have gone on when she met Ziyanda and her new youngish child, Esphile who Victoria hadn’t met, the intensity no doubt increasing when she found out another was on the way!!

Well, the night of the full moon coincided with both her visit to Swaziland and us having friends to stay from York. The day before, right on clue, she beat me to it and texted me to say don’t forget to look at the African moon tomorrow night! So, to cut a long story short, at gone 11 o’clock the following night, in near perfect moon watching conditions; a clear sky and a warm still night, we have photos to show Linda and I, with our friends from York, legs wide and looking through them at the moon that is clearly visible in the background!!! Then, by the wonders of modern technology, we were able to first text some pictures to Victoria, much to the amusement of her friends in the bar, and later email some better pictures from the camera, so the tradition continues!

The title, The Moon’s in “A,” well it started life as the title of a song by Decameron, a popular Folk / Rock group from the late 60’s / early 70’s, but seems rather fitting when viewing the moon in “A” for Africa!!

Blog UK

This section was going to “dish the dirt,” as it were, on those friends we met up with on our recent UK visit, news of those particularly who haven’t ventured Vendée way and therefore not had the opportunity to feature in a missive or on the blog!!

Sadly, maybe due to the soggy weather putting a dampener on things, there’s little scandal to report. We did however catch up with a few friends and quite a lot of the family, finding people in good spirits despite the weather. Daniel’s kitchen is all but finished and he was getting ready to spend a week at The Wilderness, an outdoor pursuit’s centre in the Forest of Dean, completing his Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award, which we are both very proud to say he has now successfully finished. My Mum and Dad returned from their second trip to France with the caravan, just after we came back, we had seen them at the beginning of this holiday, and they were busy unpacking and getting the caravan ready for their third trip to France (there was a time when I would have said “It’s alright for some!) to holiday with my brother and his family and end up here once again for our annual Family Weekend, which this year – is it the pull of the sunshine (fingers crossed!), cheese, wine, oysters ........ or do they want to see us!?!

Victoria returned from Swaziland so we were able to catch up with all her news, and we met several friends who have threatened to come us see us – but so far only the Chalford contingent have booked up, the rest we are awaiting the call! Seriously though, visitors are actively encouraged, we’re not just saying that, we are delighted to see people, otherwise we only have each other, and the neighbouring herd of cows to talk to!!!

In York, we were able to meet the latest edition to the family, baby Jack who entered the world in March and is a happy soul, who if he isn’t giggling or smiling is eating or sleeping. Victoria has just met him and her “He’s adorable!” pretty well sums him up!

The nearest to scandal, was when I briefly met one of the many Ann’s I know, India Ann, who works on the customer services desk on Sunday in one of the Stroud supermarkets. I popped in waited for her to finish serving a customer, and in my best French greeted her warmly, hugged her and kissed her in the French style on both cheeks. Not, I should add here, with a French kiss, as one of our recent visitors announced on arrival and after the customary peck on both cheeks – Oh! French kissing! It’s at times like that that we are grateful not to have any close neighbours!!! Well, after the initial shock of my appearance, India Ann quickly composed grabbed me tightly and nearly pulled me across the counter, I remember thinking, I hope there is not one of those automatic security grids that come down when a panic button is pressed, as the young “Saturday lad” also at the counter looked decidedly worried, a look that changed to one of utter astonishment when, Ann finally released me and turned to him and said “I’ve no idea who this is!!!”

Then it was back, as they say after a holiday, to reality, except we’re not really sure what that is anymore!!!

Why’s that jogger up in the sky?

The more observant amongst you may well have viewed the video piece called “Blue Sky Thinking” on my blog (“It happened one Thursday in February,” just in case you’ve forgotten!!). On this you get an idea of my delight for gazing skywards and seeing what shapes the clouds, or indeed the silhouetted trees, particularly at night, appear as.

I’m reminded of a time a couple of years ago, when camping with the children from school. They had all gone to bed and all was quiet, that’s wishful thinking for a start!, and the adults were relaxing around the campfire, swopping stories and having a well deserved rest, when suddenly, I announced “Look there’s a jogger!” The other adults, I’m sure not for the first time, thought I had gone mad, until I drew attention to the old gnarled tree at the bottom of the field, standing starkly in front of the darkening sky. Indeed, before the end of the evening the tree had taken on many forms, finally stopping at a footballer, with a remarkable resemblance to David Beckham, volleying a football towards a certain goal, or perhaps that should be volleying a ball well over the top of the cross bar!

Shortly afterwards I found a fantastic book, published by “The Cloud Appreciation Society” (www.cloudappreciationsociety.org) called The Cloudspotter’s Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of the society, and subsequently another book “A Pig with SixLegs and other clouds” edited by the same person.

In the words of W.H. Davies, who spent the last years of his life in the Stroud Valleys at Nailsworth ~ “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?” I commend both the Cloud Appreciation Society and the poems of William Henry Davies, to give him his rarely seen full name. Also, why only stop at the first two lines of his famous poem ~ it really is rather apt, and in keeping with a framed quote I always rather liked, that hung in the gents at a conference venue used regularly by the Gloucester School’s Partnership Headteachers. Indeed, when I left this august body, I received a framed copy of the quote: “Be not so busy making a living that you forget to make a life!” printed with the background of a rather splendid sunset.

Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth canEnrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare.

Both sort of sum up the way the missives, the wider blog and life generally is shaping up!! I now have quality time, energy and passion to become philosophical, observant and to think!

The silent wolf!

I’m sure that on an earlier blog, I’ve mentioned our close proximity to the 16th century wolf pit, deep in the chateau woods. Well, back then in the 16th century the servants of the good people of the chateau, plagued it would appear by a proliferation of wild wolfs, preying on their livestock and who knows, perhaps the odd unwary human ambling peacefully in the wood, dug a deep pit with sheer stone-lined sides and would bait it, cover it in twigs and leaves and hopefully trap and kill the unwary beasts.

Enter Tottoon, the chateau hound, a large shaggy black beast who pads silently around coming up when least expected! You might be bent over weeding the garden and suddenly you’re aware of being watched, and sure enough after the initial shock of thinking wolves are still around, you realise its Tottoon come to call. Other than looks that where the resemblance to a wolf stops ~ she’s quite a charming, happy, self contained soul, who seems to like nothing better than accompanying us on our evening walks, padding silently on ahead, as Max sniffs along behind, stopping every so often to check we’re still there, and on our return she’s off without a backward look, to go and check up on Monsieur!

The egret has landed

Strictly, I suppose this should be the “egrets” have landed, but that’s not how it was for Neil Armstrong or Michael Caine in the film of book with the “similar” name, by Jack Higgins!!

We had first properly encountered (I had seen them from afar, amongst a herd of cattle a couple of days previously) what was a rather large flock of these brilliantly white and excruciatingly shy birds, when they had taken up residence on the low trees surrounding Monsieur’s grand lac (large lake). Here they were hung haphazardly like the incredibly white washing, pummelled in the muddy water of an Indian river and spread over the surrounding bushes to dry. I often ask myself the question – just how do they get the washing so white? You could similarly ask how the egrets stay so pristine, when surrounded by murky water, muddy foreshore and the increasingly dusty banks of drought affected ponds and lakes.

However, before we even broke cover the egrets had flown and were heading over the distance trees to drape themselves on some other waterside location. However, not to be daunted we returned the following night complete with camera and telephoto lens, found they had returned, and crept up on them altogether more quietly, only to be thwarted once more by an alert bird giving a warning and the others going into flight mode so quickly as to only be able to get one clear photo opportunity, through the trees, before they were gone. Slightly disgruntled we left, wondering whether we would have to resort to some sort of camouflage or hide to get sort good shots, but didn’t really give it much thought for a day or two.

Imagine then our surprise, when returning from a shopping trip, through the back way, we found that they had moved in with our neighbouring herd of cows, and as the cows nonchalantly grazed their way across the field they seemed to be chaperoned by one or two of these magnificent birds, looking I guess for rich picking amongst the dung!! No sooner had the car come into sight than these shy birds took to the air and disappeared far away over the distant trees, we thought never to be seen again. But, as the days have gone by they have come back and even begun to stay grazing in the field as we walk by, if they are not too close to the fence, and if they do fly it seems now they do a quick circuit and return when we are safely past.

The photos? Well all that talk of camouflage and hides was somewhat premature, as some of the best shots I have got sitting at the table after tea, in comfort, with a glass of wine to hand –isn’t this called being an “armchair naturalist,” or is that only when the wonderful natural world unfolds in front of you on a small scene!?!

What a shower!

Not in this case relating to the glass cubicle in the bathroom, which it could quite easily, as the other day I heard Linda informing someone that “It’s quite simply the best shower we have ever had!” So there you have it –praise indeed!

No in this case, I’m referring to the Perseid shower, an annual occurrence that brings an even greater majesty and wonder to our night skies, and yes before you ask, unlike the African sky in “The moon’s in “A,” our Vendéen night sky is much the same as that in old England, albeit suffering from no light pollution from street lights or the like, except if Max goes out and turns on the automatic security light, by walking underneath it, not by dexterity of paw, you understand!!

During the course of said evening, several times I ventured outside, and as suggested lay back in a reclining chair and enjoyed. It was a perfect night for star gazing, so often not the case when the evening weather-person tells us what a great sight we are in for, later in the night – weather permitting, and it rarely seems to! I sat feeling very small with the vast firmament that seemed to be pressing down, so intense was the light and the sheer number of stars and I thought about early man and their need to worship the “heavens.” I also couldn’t help feeling that somewhere, just somewhere, there must be life out there, we can’t be that special and unique and how unimaginable it is that it just goes on infinitely – powerful stuff !!

Then as the near quarter moon rose, as the shower lived up to expectations, at times not short of a firework display, I found myself reminiscing, and two incidents came back. The first a similar if not quite as warm (it was still 20°C at 1.30 in the morning) Welsh evening, sitting late at night in a field outside Brecon on an annual Gastrell’s Ramblers weekend, and as the stars started shooting, one of the assembled company was astonished – he thought shooting stars only happened in the southern hemisphere – how easy it is to pick up the wrong message I thought.

The second, with also a Welsh connection, was sitting late at night on the common above Stroud with my boss, and her husband I hasten to add, hoping to snatch a promised glimpse of the Northern Lights only to be thwarted by the clouds. But we sat on a chilly evening with cars parked next to each other chatting through the open windows. But, being more that the permitted 15 yds from the road a passing police car drove over to ask what we were doing! I can’t remember if the boss used her Welsh to baffle the policeman on that occasion or not – but see frequently did and probably continues to do so!!

A quote and profound thought of the “day!”

In a magazine I was recently reading I came across this quote from Dr. Joan Harvey from Newcastle University’s School of Psychology: “Humans adapt brilliantly to the countryside; we sense time passing differently, even the smell of the air. The countryside isn’t silent of course; what we’re enjoying is our natural ability to recalibrate to its rhythm.” I’ll like to tell you it was in some learned journal entitled “Psychology Review” or “Psychology Today” but it was actually in a Country Walking magazine! Nonetheless, how very true, and as we recalibrate, perhaps that explains why it has taken so long to send you this, the latest “Nouvelles de la Vendée,” (News from the Vendée)!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love

Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Continuing the weather gloat, whoops theme – how pleasant it is, to once more be able to lie outside in the warm sunshine and come in and out without the ignominy of having to have one’s wet paws wiped each time, as the UK gardens did seem to be rather soggy on our recent visit!!)

And to come next time, maybe: “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink- nearly!,” or “When the cat’s away the mice will dance!,” “What came first – the trolley or the trap?,” “Something good from Swaziland” and “Children.” The “day’s thought” – a good book.

“What about the Citizen Blog?” Oh, these media people! They have been looking for the right “platform” on which to launch me to the unsuspecting people of Gloucestershire! They think they have now found it and will be in touch shortly!! They seem keen, but not sure if it’s a case of “Don’t call us, we’ll call you!,” leaving me in true “Britain’s Got Talent” fashion sobbing outside the audition room! That Simon can be so cruel(!!!!) and we don’t even watch it, in fact we don’t even have a television now, despite “Phonezilla” from the France Telecom office telling us our package comes complete with 40 FREE channels. We’re told that French television isn’t a patch on that in England. With the likes of the afore mentioned programme and others like “Big Brother” “Jeremy Kyle and “Loose Women” (included to annoy Linda!), Dieu aide les Français!

What a Wonderful World! ~ Missive 8

Dear All

We have shortly returned from La Rochelle, where after a fabulous lunch outside a restaurant next to the old harbour, where a set price three course lunch, with loads of choices (except for me with oysters as one of the starter choices, there became no real choice!!), gives you change from £13-00!, we delivered guests 15 and 16 to the airport ready for their flight back to Stanstead and onward journey to York.

During the meal, Anne one of our guests, with a satisfied sigh, pushed her chair back, sank into said chair and somewhat dreamily said “This is the life!!” To which Linda hastily replied “Yes it is!” Which seems a good moment to remind you all that you are welcome to join us as part of this new life, and have an opportunity to see the sights and sample the food and wine! But “book” early to avoid disappointment!!

We look forward to seeing as many of you as possible, either here in the sunny Vendée or on our forthcoming visit to England, which promises to be something of a mad dash, fitting in as many people as possible (Stroud, Forest of Dean, Broadway, York and many places in between!

Love

Roger

85410, Vendee, FRANCE
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

What a Wonderful World!

It is some time since the last missive, and not only have we had other visitors (My Mum and Dad and one of their old friends, all en route for a holiday further south, and Anne and Steve, friends from York) but I’m on a mission!! And, this mission is one of those that is likely to run and run, with hopefully some sort of “holy grail” at the end, but lots of cans of worms along the way. Some of you will know that, in October I was elected as the chairman of the Association of Countryside Volunteers (ACV), formerly the Association of Countryside Voluntary Wardens (ACVW), a small national organisation that exists to bring like minded people together, set up training opportunities and "to promote effective and enjoyable work by volunteers throughout the countryside." Having then moved to France meant that carrying out this role was going to need good reliable internet access, particularly as I have set myself the task of tracking down an estimate of how many countryside volunteers operate in the UK and as a by product of this research, trying to promote the ACV and make a small organisation bigger. Well over 500 emails down the line: 15 National Parks (not good responders to date!), 48 Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty (even worse responders to date!!), Wildlife Trusts (the worst responders so far!!!), 448 Local Authorities (at present the best responders) and various other groups and organisations, the multitude of replies is keeping me busy, but providing some very interesting leads!

Mid May and warfare broke out in the surrounding fields!

It’s a while back now, but in mid May the peace and quiet of our rural idyll was shattered. Warfare had broken out all around us and the brown earth turned imperceptibly green as a result. Why? I hear you ask, concerned no doubt for our safety in this corner of a foreign field! But, don’t worry our lives were not at risk* from either the crops that were shooting up at an alarming rate, or from the distant gunshots, that it transpired were simply bottled gas operated bird scarers!! All we could think was “Thank goodness Max is now all but deaf,” that’s unless you count being able to hear a baguette being drawn from a cotton bread sack and the subsequent cutting up!!

*However, the numerous coypu (see below) might not be so lucky!!

Also, shortly afterwards, we seemed to be under siege each evening when we went out and walked down the inner avenue of lime trees, towards the moat that surrounds the tightly shuttered chateau. We were followed and surrounded by a strange hum, not some strange new doodlebug weapon designed to eradicate the coypu population, or indeed the “incomer” population, or caused by a lack of showering during the preceding hot sweaty weather!

No, but it was an invasion! As the lime trees came into flower, the bees set to work collecting the pollen, if you stopped and focussed on the fair sized trees surrounding you, you were indeed surrounded by the busy bees from miles around, the whole outer edge of the tree buzzed and moved, as the bees frantically collected pollen from the multitude of insignificant flowers that proliferated on each tree. Fortunately, our own body smell that had developed since our last shower was not at all attractive to the thousands upon thousands of bees we found ourselves in close proximity with!

Wildlife Watch

One of the great things about living in the deepest countryside is that we are privileged to share it with some incredible wildlife, and as the weeks go by the list of “hidden glimpses of our secret nature” keep on growing:

The list of deer sightings continues from the first distant fleeting glance to a better view when Linda and I were walking quite noisily back from St Laurent, on our evening amble. We passed a line of trees to be confronted by a deer grazing in the field. Not sure who was most surprised the deer or us, but certainly the deer moved fastest, after the initial shock, nimbly leaping into the nearby trees. Then, close by the same spot, when walking with my mother, we again disturbed a deer that took flight, not into the nearby wood, but jumping wildly and high as it made its way across a wide field of standing grain into the cover of a distant wood.

On another occasion, when on the search for the last few elderflowers to make another batch of cordial, I took off on my own on one of the circular walks from our house and taking in a number of grassy green lanes. Walking along minding my own business, I passed a break in the trees that opened into the middle of the wood, and had all but gone passed when I thought to myself that one of the tree trunks didn’t look quite right and stopped, took a step back and came face to face with a roe deer, frozen and watching, thinking it had got away with it. I then froze and for a fleeting moment or two we stared at each other, before it realised that it hadn’t got away with it and with surprising agility and surprisingly quietly, it leapt away from me through the dense undergrowth of the surrounding woodland. And, finally for now the latest sighting, deep in the chateau woodland and close to the wolf pit, showed the remarkable jumping ability that deer’s have. Along the path in front of us a deer that had probably gone to ground and then realised we were getting too close for comfort, broke cover and ran down the wide woodland path leaping quite two metres in the air and twisting backwards and forwards in case the excited finger pointing it out was a gun being levelled to the shoulder, and in a flash it was gone bounding through the dense surrounding woodland.

They’re big rodents, or rats, but there is something rather endearing about the huge number of coypu who seem to frequent any patches of water, and there are lots of those, in the area. I guess it’s the British Wind in the Willows syndrome, as we get up early, make special journeys to and stand for long periods to watch and shoot these engaging creatures, with a camera I hasten to add, whilst the natives, who really are very friendly, try to capture them and shoot them in a totally different manner! One evening amble, or dodle as we tend to call it, courtesy of M. Chateau, strolling as if we own the place down the grassy tree-lined avenue, there was a scurry of activity as first one then two, three, and four young coypu followed by mum ran back to the safety of their pond and close proximity to their burrow, before stopping to look at us and posing long enough to allow Linda time to get out her camera and take a photo.

Then, early one morning, the rising sun beckoned and I quietly walked to the lake just up the tree-lined road and spent a little while watching and photographing a swimming coypu, that was obviously oblivious to my presence, a convenient clump of brambles providing useful cover over which to poke the telephoto lens! Such encounters are all the more satisfying knowing that you have glimpsed the animal’s secret world, without disturbing them and frightening them away, or indeed them knowing that you were even there.

As we walk along the many tracks and green lanes that surround us, there are often scurrying noises from the undergrowth, as animals that hear us coming and go to ground, decide that we are too close for comfort and make a dash for it. Often these frantic sounds of escape are no more than that, and the animal; mouse, rat, coypu, lizard or whatever, remains hidden and unobserved and on the occasion I thought the snuffling sounds might have come from a foraging sangier, or wild boar, I was quite relieved not to be confronted!! But just occasionally, the cover is broken and we are rewarded with a tantalising and exhilarating glimpse, like when with a loud and hurried flapping of obviously very large wings just the other side of the hedge revealed, as it lifted off, an enormous buzzard with trailing bright yellow legs and enormous talons – thankfully I was too large a prey!

Whilst on our feathered friends; there was the family of goldfinches, like a group of excited children on an outing, chattering as they flew hurriedly around, seeming to chase one another as they searched the thistles for seeds but also flew hither and thither for the pure joy of it, twittering noisily as they went. Then, whilst lunching on the terrace one day the peace was shattered by an altogether different, more persistent and urgent tweeting, and looking up we were confronted by three young swallows precariously and not very proficiently clinging to our telephone wire, indeed one of them seemed so nervous that it was very reluctant to leave the safety of the bracket that holds the wire to the post. As we looked at them the excited tweeting had all but stopped, until one of the long suffering and hard working parents were spied by one of the youngsters, who all continually scanned the sky, whilst clinging on to their wobbly claw holds. At the time they were spotted and food was imminent then all hell let loose, seeming at first that the chick that could tweet the loudest would get the next tasty morsel. But, further watching showed that both parents were very fair and shared the food they constantly gathered, with little time for themselves to take a bite. These carefully choreographed antics went on for some time, with the tweet crescendo followed by the careful watching, until with some unseen sign the parents coaxed their offspring off the wire and into the air, albeit initially rather shakily.

Sometime later in the afternoon, the lunchtime performance all but forgotten, a less frantic tweeting made me look skyward and there were the three youngsters and their parents performing an incredible aerobatic display as if to say “look at us now!” indeed, so proficient had the three timid chicks of earlier become, that it was impossible to tell them apart from their parents, who were obviously seasoned fliers as well as great travellers, returning to this corner of France to rear their young before flying back thousands of kilometres to somewhere in North Africa – a mind boggling feat and for me one of the natural world’s greatest secrets, just how do they find their way and above all keep going without stopping! In honour of today’s maiden flight and with a huge amount of respect for the speed with which the youngsters had progressed, I found myself laughing out loud and giving the family a cheery wave, to which I’m sure they dipped their wings in acknowledgement –it reminds me of those famous words of W.H. Davies, famous poet who spent his last days in Nailsworth, close to Stroud: “What is this life, if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.” It also reminds me of home and how so often when “full of care” I didn’t have the time to “stand and stare.”

See the blog “It happened one Thursday in February,” and in particular the slide show called “Blue Sky Thinking,” to see that time isn’t now at such a premium. Also, watch out for the next missive – see below!!

Then there are the hares, sightings of which are too numerous to mention, suffice to say; they’re huge, incredibly fast over long distances and by far the best stolen moment was when one grazing on the chateau lawn outside out sitting room window, being oblivious to our presence, sauntered right up to the roses outside our window, nearly close enough to touch, before unhurried and certainly unafraid went about it’s daily business.

Then there’s: The Red Cage ~ Strange or what? See below:

Fortunately, the natives are friendly!

As I write this the natives are partying by the lake, it’s Bank Holiday Weekend and it seems that M. Joe’s family are celebrating, or as we now know M. Jode’s family. It seems to happen a lot around here, no not the partying, although the French are good at that too, but rather the changing of identity, remember Madam becoming Monsieur? I think I also missed out on an invite to join them, as I wasn’t sure if when I waved and shouted Bonjour, if the raised hands were a greeting or a bottle and glass being proffered!?

Well, we recently greeted a walker passing with her two dogs in our best French, but on her return I forgot where I was and called Max back, from seeing off her dogs, in English, at which point she said “Oh, you’re English!” So we must be making some progress with the language and trying to blend in, although I would have thought that the English car parked at the front might have been a give away, but even that is soon to change as we have had to reregister the car in France to obtain insurance. The new number will be going on when we return from England in a couple of weeks time. It seems a bit strange going on holiday to England. So it transpired that the English woman lived in La Goupillaire, our nearest very small hamlet and in the two years that she has been there has begun to sort out who is related to who, and many of the families seem to have a Jode connection! So our detective work was advanced some way with one short conversation, and we’ve been invited for coffee so may be able to find out even more!!

But, I’m jumping ahead of myself as I need to go back to when we first moved in. From that very first day, when suddenly the normally quiet road seemed to have a constant flow of traffic, heads turned our way as they passed and waving vigorously if we happened to be in sight, the natives, or perhaps locals would be better, have been very friendly. And, even after the initial surge of interest, any walkers, joggers, cyclists or the occupants of vehicles that chance to stray off the beaten track and down our way all wave and greet us in the most friendly of manner – no simple nod or raised hand but a real backwards and forwards friendly wave, as though they really mean it! We did for a while wonder if there was a local sweepstake to see who could get the incomers to wave at them the most!!

But even out walking, cars were passing us and all the occupants energetically waving, with even the driver turning so obviously towards us that they were in danger of leaving the road! It’s also not uncommon for a car to stop and the occupants to pass the time of day, as when we were waiting for my brother and heard a car pull up outside the chateau. Thinking they had arrived and were admiring the chateau before turning into our drive, Linda and I both strode out to be confronted by a strange French car, with a couple in it who wound down the window and chattered happily for some time, even telling us about all the English people who had moved into their village.

M. Jode, as we now know him and it wasn’t the rather bemused man that Linda had accosted some weeks previously and asked if he was M. Joe. At the time he agreed he was, perhaps to appease the mad English woman, but there again he may simply have been one of the Jode’s boys as there seem to be a lot of them around, but not M. Charles’ guardian or caretaker, who with his round smiley face waves like a long lost friend whenever we see him, at times leaning precariously out of the ancient tractor that he often drives! His son, Michel, is the farmer who usually collects the water from the trough outside our house, to fill up the cow troughs out in the fields, and he always makes a point of coming over, shaking hands and passing the time of day, even if it is only a comment about the weather! But when my brother and family were here he was passing as they were in the car about to drive off and he speeds up, screeching to a stop in his battered old tractor, emulating his father and leaning out and waving through the car window to then wishing them “Au revoir et bon retour!” Good bye and good return journey!

Then, seemingly at pains to make sure we were invited on the annual parish walk, we had two albeit rather vague invites, pushed into our letterbox – buts that’s for another missive.

They are also obviously beginning to feel comfortable with us being around, as the other day, admittedly something of a scorcher, Michel arrived stripped to the waist and in a pair of baggy shorts, as well as heavy work boots and a baseball cap, certainly not a pretty sight!! After the initial pleasantries, talk turned to the heat and how he needed his hat today. As I was wearing mine I agreed and indicated how important it was when you had little hair on top, although mine continues to grow back! With a chuckle, he removed his cap and indicated his own, somewhat smaller, bald patch!!

Any ideas for courgettes!?!

Well, the baby courgettes have grown and generally seem set to take over the world, well perhaps our little part of the Vendée! It’s a long story, but in a nutshell, some of the first plants that we put in the garden were ten healthy looking courgette plants, but conditions; hot very dry weather and a long journey with the watering can, meant that although they flowered quickly, by the time that our first vegetable expert visited they were looking rather sad for themselves, despite a stern talking to each morning! So the expert decided that we needed some new plants and another batch of ten, the label promising them to be prolific producers of wonderfully flavoured and beautifully coloured courgettes, were duly planted. However, at the same time Linda, under the guidance of the expert, gave the first lot of plants a bit of TLC and some compost.

Now whether it was the TLC, compost, stern talking to or the desire not to be outdone by the new-comers, as the new-comers romped upwards, most of the first batch decided to keep pace and so two or three weeks of picking has seen us harvest over seventy courgettes, ranging from mini pan-fried and too young to be taken from their mothers to monster, size fours, well stuffed with lentils, rice, onions and French beans (both from the garden) as well as some further cunningly disguised grated courgette to bulk it up a bit and get rid of some more courgette.

Fortunately, courgettes are versatile, and our present visitors are partial to a courgette or six!! But, despite frying them, grating them into stews and raw in salads, adding them to casseroles, lasagne and ratatouille, barbecuing them, making them into crepes, pickling them and generally stretching their versatility to the limit, they continue to grow and grow, and you can almost see them sneering at you as they stretch a little more between trips to the tap with the watering can, and muttering under their breath “That will teach you to talk sternly to us!!” I’m sure that I’m not alone in having a glut of courgettes, so why not send me your favourite disguise (edible!!) for courgettes, or better still add them to the blog! “It happened one Thursday in February”

But, the gardening is repaying the initial hard work, and as well as courgettes we have harvested lots of leaves (a local type of chard), leeks, onions, shallots and handfuls of French beans, which pan-fried in some oil go with everything and I think I will never tire of! Amazing really, as we only moved in in the first week of April!

We also have tomatoes, peppers, cabbages, beetroot, carrots, potatoes and broccoli still to come, so we are hoping it rains at least some of the time when we visit England next week for a couple of weeks, in France that is!! The only things that didn’t take were two melons, which are grown locally, but didn’t rate our garden and we only got three lettuces (2 rather scrawny and the other a real whopper!) out of the eighteen we planted!! The others succumbed to a strange fate, appearing to dissolve into the soil –caused by some sort of insect we have been told – all very sci-fi, but then how about this for sinister goings on:

This is a red cage or lattice fungus, that starts as a simple small puff ball like fungus, that shrinks, develops a honeycomb pattern before slowly splitting and revealing the red cage, up to about 8 - 10cms across, that appears irresistible to flies that devour it until it collapses!! All very Steven Spielberg!

A Question? Did Delia get an MBE because Gordon Brown mistook everyone saying how patronising she is*, for how patriotic she is!?! Many of you will know my feelings about said woman!!

(*I got no further than “This in the trade is what we call an egg!” when watching the first and last Delia TV programme that I have watched!)

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love

Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Off oyster shells now I’ve discovered the delights of “Moules à la Bretonne” and realised there’s something soft and delicious inside the shell!!)


And to come next time, maybe: The Moon’s in “A,” Why’s that jogger up in the sky and Blog UK?, where some of the less adventurous, who haven’t ventured to our “back of beyond!,” might feature!!

Oh, and I hear you say – “What about the Citizen Blog?” Well, it’s not forgotten, but “my Editor” (sounds rather grand doesn’t it!), tells me there is a slight delay!!

About me ~ Profile update!

Thought the picture of me wrapped up against the wing and cold of Selsley Common, back in the autumn, needed replacing with the sunshine of the Vendee. So here I am, Blogger Roger as christened by Mary, on the way back from the garden!

Vie en Vendée ~ Missive 7

Dear All

Missive 7 already, but I promise not as large as the last one, and as we seem now to be properly online, hopefully the attachment will cause you no problems.

Well, if we thought things would quieten down when we were settled and there would be less to write about, they certainly haven’t and I have a growing backlog of items for forthcoming missives; idle snippets, people we have met along the way or sometimes simply observed, places we have visited and regular wonders of the world around us.

The amazing thing at the moment is that the missives continue, and will probably run for some time, but already you can get the repeats (and much more!!) on the Blog “It happened one Thursday in February.” But it doesn’t stop there as they are to be repeated again, in short edited snippets, with possible extra bits, on my very own weekly Blog on the Citizen’s webpage – “This is Gloucestershire!” (Gloucestershire’s local paper for those who don’t know!). It is due to be launched sometime next week (Week commencing Monday 15th June) with an “Introduction to their New Blogger” to feature in the paper before the blog goes live!!! Watch this space!

As promised, the covering letters are going to be kept short, just a final nudge, to say that we would love to hear from any of our readers about what they are up to in snowy / windy / wet / sunny?!? England!!

Love

Roger

La Loge

rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis
Vie en Vendée

Having returned, unpacked sorted out priorities like washing machine, dishwasher, lights, wine racks etc., life could have become quite quiet and sedate, but what with the garden (see below) and a pleasant stream of visitors (13 to date see blog “It happened one Thursday in February”) and generally getting to know the place life has been very busy. However, I hardly dare say it, but our trips to France Telecom seem to have finished, and with a hiccup caused by who knows what but put right by Linda over several hours and just a couple of billing errors to sort out, hopefully online, we now seem to be reliably in contact with the outside world. Indeed for the princely sum of €7-00 a month we have added calls illimité (unlimited) to English land lines to the package, so if you want to speak to us phone the fixed line number above and we’ll phone you back, or text us and we’ll phone you.

La Loge

Our new abode, affectionately known in private and amongst friends as Chez ‘iggs, is providing to be a great place to live, it is isolated and maybe our French won’t come on as well as if we were living in the heart of a village. But the peace and tranquillity more than compensate for that. We think the house was probably servant’s quarters / farmhand accommodation in the past and may have been as many as three or four very small and humble dwellings with the attics used either for storage or sleeping areas for the lowest of servants.

It’s ours for the next three years if we want it that long but can give three months notice should we want to leave. However, Monsieur can’t give us notice unless; he sells it or wants to move into it! As he has a chateau next door and hates France with a passion, he is unlikely to want to live in it and selling the estate in his words “won’t happen” and he seems to have something of a soft spot for La Loge. We think that perhaps, as a boy, he used to play here and maybe whoever lived here had a soft spot for the master’s son and slipped him the odd cake! Monsieur did, rather wistfully say at the signing of our contract “I won’t sell it, I love that little house!” When we discovered a primitive wooden sword and woven headdress in the rafters of the attic we wondered if they were some relic of monsieur’s past, we must ask him sometime, if we can get a word in edgeways!

The house is set well back in a long thin courtyard, which provides the terrace and front garden. There is no way out at the back, but the windows look out over the front of the chateau. Inside, we have a good sized living area and kitchen, three double bedrooms, one of which doubles up as a study, a hall area outside the bathroom which has a “his ‘n hers” double sink, shower and toilet. There is also another toilet. Outside we also have a small “cave” or wine “cellar” and an enormous boiler room which houses the boiler, oil tank and water purification plant, as our water comes from the chateau’s well! There is also a rather tumble down garage and three dependencies, which we don’t use at present but were a stable and two chicken houses. As for the garden see below! But, to appreciate the tranquillity and simplicity of our Vendée life fully, view the latest film on my blog; “It happened one Thursday in February” and become one of my growing band of followers!!!!! Well I am now living in a commune (see below!) so maybe you’re witnessing the birth of a new spiritual leader!!!!!

Monsieur Joe

Space has run out so M. Joe will have to wait until another time. However, like Monsieur he is a bit of a mystery. We think we met him once, but as said gentleman was helping himself to some mushrooms off the front lawn when Linda accosted him and said “Are you Mister Joe, pleased to meet you!” It could just be that it was best to agree with the strange English woman and escape. The latest theory I have come up with is that perhaps the mysterious Monsieur is a master criminal and M. Joe is his alias should things go wrong – I’ll let you know if we ever see them together!!

How does our garden grow?

When we first viewed the house we had decided to have it and then realised that the only thing it didn’t have on our “Must have” list was a garden. There were however, a couple of areas in the extended courtyard that could possibly be dug up and there was always container growing so we decided that the lack of a garden wouldn’t stop us renting the house. But we mentioned the possibility of grow some veg along the side of the courtyard to M. Pierre, the estate agent who by now we were convinced thought us mad to want to live in the country! Yes that was possible, but was it a garden we wanted, he said? On confirmation of this he somewhat puzzled said “Follow me,” and set off down the courtyard, past the large old barn, onto the road and turned right and seemed to be heading out into open countryside. But a little way down the road, hiding behind a hedge, was an amazing faded blue and very rustic gate that opened onto a large wedge shaped plot cut into the side of the bordering field, complete with a number of beautifully blossomed trees, which we were to discover were almond and plum trees, an overgrown small opened fronted corrugated tin shed and a patch of radiant daffodils seemingly growing wild in the large and very overgrown plot. You want garden said M. Pierre – Ici, and again you could see a certain bafflement caused by the excitement of us ticking the last of the essential boxes on the list.

Very quickly after moving in we tackled the garden, being careful a) not to be over ambitious with the size of the plot we dug over for planting and b) to make sure that when we did dig it over that we removed all the rank grass and pernicious weeds that had taken over the garden, which had obviously been well cultivated once, but not for some considerable time!

First we dug two large plots and trimmed, by hand the weeds and grass around the edges, then we managed to connect several electrical extensions together, including my father’s caravan cable and were just able to reach with my trusty Black and Decker strimmer, which did an absolutely fantastic job at cutting through the tough weeds and matted grass, until on the second cut it went clunk and bits flew off!! Fortunately, the damage sounded considerable worse than it was, and new parts were ordered over the internet, delivered to my parents and forwarded to here, all in the space of less than a week. Interestingly the postage from the English supplier to my parents was more expensive than it was to send the package on to France, by airmail. It was given in at the post office near my parents on Friday afternoon and delivered to our Vendée post box, over the road, under an ancient oak tree (See the latest Blog film!), first thing Monday morning. La Poste certainly seem to have the edge over France Telecom!

We are also now starting to eat our own produce – baby courgettes and greens for tea today, with some local creamy Mogette beans and double lamb cutlets with a herby salsa – home grown or hedgerow herbs of course, and all captured on camera!!

Slumdog Millionaire

To rave reviews, and just before it won a raft of Oscars, Slumdog Millionaire hit the screens of Stroud and Gloucester at a time when we just couldn’t find the time to go and watch it, and our plans were further thwarted as it hadn’t reached the depths of “The Forest” (of Dean for those that don’t know!) and wasn’t showing in Coleford until the following week, when we would have left my Mum and Dad’s, whose nearest cinema is Coleford, and headed off into deepest France.

But, it had arrived in France and was obviously a big hit, with posters prominently displayed all over the place. It was tempting, but I think our French will need a year, two or possibly longer before we could understand and enjoy a film in French! Although, I am having an almost daily conversation with the local farmer, who comes to a large trough at the front of our house to fill up a large water tank to top up the troughs of the nearby cattle, our closest and at times quite noisy neighbours. He always makes a point and coming and shaking hands and offering a cheery “Ca va?” to which even my schoolboy French can respond, remembering at least for the present that he is vous not tu! But he definitely speaks NO English and as do many of the locals laughs charmingly at the notion that he would! But, with my pigeon French and a degree of sign language we cover quite a lot of ground in the five minutes or so it takes the tank to fill up. Finally today, we learnt each other’s names, he’s called Michel, and talked further about; the weather and how although yesterday’s rain had gone, although we agreed it was “belle pour la jardin” (good for the garden) and the sun was back he still found it cold, he was surprised to hear that there had been snow in parts of England the day before (admittedly a rarity in June but a good talking point!), and how hopefully the sun would stay and the wind drop. He learnt Max’s name, but still failed to befriend him, Max just standing there all big and brave until Michel tries to pat him when he runs off. Michel is not the slightest bit worried about Max’s rather false show of guarding the place and on an earlier occasion, when Linda asked if he was worried about Max, his reply had been “Non, il ne mange pas moi!” (No, he won’t eat me!). Today, I also discovered he has seven medium sized dogs “pour la chasse” (for hunting) and he found out that Max is thirteen years old, which quite surprised him. He’s basically a very friendly chap and rather touchingly, when passing as my brother and family were leaving after their visit, made a great thing about leaning out of his tractor, waving and wishing them “Au revoir and bon retour.” (Good-bye and good return journey). Then our conversation the next day was about the length of their journey and he was shocked by the seven hours it takes to get to Calais. My guess is that he doesn’t venture far and certainly not to the slums of Mumbai, which is where this section started!

So, we seemed destined to watch Slumdog Millionaire at some time in the future, when somewhere with a television and the DVD, as although our France Telecom package could give us access to 40 television channels we have resisted the temptation, although having internet does mean we can keep up to date with the news and listen to English radio. Then we noticed a cinema billing that included a monthly English film and the next one was in a couple of Saturday’s time and was the original Slumdog Millionaire, with French subtitles!

Tickets booked we duly arrived, picked them up from a couple who were manning the ticket office, who together with the man checking tickets on the door, who I think may have moonlighted as the projectionist, were it seemed the only French people in the building. As we made our way to our seats and listened as we became surrounded by the La Châtaigneraie ex-pat community, I made a mental note to tell Linda after the film, that I didn’t want to join, but 26 years of marriage beat me to it, and she knew what I was going to say which agreed with what she had been thinking all along. OK it might make us a pair of outcasts, but I’ve better things to do than worry about which satellite dish will be the best to pick up English television, to find out what’s happened in “Britain’s got talent,” the “Eurovision Song contest” that would appear to refute the first item, and who’s bedding who in all of the Soaps!

I was delighted, although I could only understand a little of the speech made but the man who was issuing tickets on the door; welcoming us to cinema, telling us that this was the last film in this year’s season and that they would be back in the autumn and I think about major works that were due to be carried out in the cinema during the close season!, that he stoically talked to the room full of English people in French and that was that!

All went swimmingly, although the storyline in the first few minutes wasn’t quite what I was expecting, until the two young brothers who are pivotal in the film started to talk in Hindi and the subtitles were in French – but we got the gist of it and came out having thoroughly enjoyed the film, which had the memories of our visit to India flooding back – our guide Hamza, had even had his shoes misappropriated whilst we were visiting the Taj Mahal! If you’ve not seen it and get the chance, it’s a powerful film that highlights some of the shadier sides of modern and booming India, a boom that unfortunately, not all Indians are able to benefit from and enjoy!

Leaving England

It was rather strange and somewhat final, as the large noisily vibrating cross channel ferry
reversed out of Newhaven Harbour into the early Sunday morning channel, leaving behind the town that was only just beginning to wake up, and knowing that several decks below was a large and heavily laden van, hired from the SuperU supermarket in Pouzauges, holding the items for our new life in the Vendée.

As the ferry reached deep water and turned, a last glimpse of Newhaven and Brighton, with the white cliffs in between, and it was full speed ahead towards Dieppe, France and our new rented house with a chateau in the garden. The rising sun then rather aptly made a golden pathway over the water and I closed my eyes, with the warmth of the sun on my cheek and with a degree of trepidation dreamt of adventures to come!

White Van Sunday

One sunny Sunday recently, I threw open the blinds from the hall out onto the front of the house and as is my wont greeted anyone who happened to be listening with my standard “Bonjour tout la monde.” As we are so isolated, to date no-one has answered, but as a long distance footpath runs past the front of the house who knows when I might get a cheery “Bonjour Monsieur!” or more likely a somewhat surprised “Mon Dieu, vous me fightened à moitié mort!” (My God, you frightened me half to death!”) Whilst on the subject of isolation, I have just been surfing, the Internet not the Atlantic, and discovered that the commune (similar to an English parish but much more hippy sounding!) in which we live has a population of about 350 and an average of population density of 18 people per sq kilometre – well I reckon in our sq kilometre there are most of the time (except rarely when monsieur is home) only two people and their dog, who whilst retaining a passion for French bread, has refined his taste somewhat and now goes a bundle on oysters – the only thing is he hasn’t realised that it isn’t the shell you eat and has a daily raid on our shell midden of empty shells that is growing, almost as well as our veg, in the garden.

But what a surprise, I digress!! At this quite early hour, there was a veritable cavalcade of small white vans heading somewhere in the same direction, where they were going or what they were doing remains a mystery, but I’m reminded of two things: first the clandestine passing around of unmarked paper bags in a Year in Provence, when the truffles were in season and second the bike ride I did with my brother Chris, where we rode between my school in Stroud and a partner school in France. We set off at 2.30 in the morning and for several hours nothing passed us except white vans. I must get up really early one Sunday and lie in wait, in the car, and follow them to see where they go!!

M. Pierre, Immobilier (Estate Agent) Extraordinaire!

I keep promising to tell you more about the estate agent in whose window we saw our new abode and subsequently, quite miraculously managed to wade with, sometimes seemingly in sinking mud, through the intricacies and idiosyncrasies of house rental in France to eventually, after all the bizarre rules and regulations to get the keys a day before we should have, and to move in before we had signed the contract!!

We looked in M. Pierre’s window at the very start of our housing quest and were impressed by the number of properties he had on offer, so went in and disturbed a rather bumbling, old before his time, somewhat scruffily dressed Frenchman, who seemed to be more flustered by the fact that customers had come into the shop, than the fact that we were English with only limited French. He professed to speak no English, but as we got to know him he became braver and at the inventory and key handing over ceremony, he was confident to make a little joke in part English. When welcoming us to La Loge he told us that the commune, St Laurent de la Salle that we were moving into was a small village with only 350 inhabitants, but now we would make it 352!!

Not only his own appearance, but the appearance of the office, did little to inspire confidence, as every available surface, including those areas of the floor not needed for circulation, were covered in haphazard and toppling piles of paper, and indeed in later dealings we worried that copies of documents we gave him would join the great filing cabinet on the floor. But, to give him credit, it was obviously his mess and he appeared to know where things were however disorganised it all seemed. Well, we made our intentions clear and he fished out some details of possible properties, from a random pile that obviously in his mind was clearly marked – “Rental Properties in the correct price range!!” However, he had obviously misread us as the suave sophisticated type who wanted a neat little villa, on the edge of town with a neat easy to maintain garden surrounded by high green fences to keep out the neighbours! So all he offered us, didn’t really fit the bill and becoming increasingly flustered, he had to take his leave of us, as he had an appointment to keep. As we left the shop, thanking him and saying we would return another day, didn’t give the window a second look, as independently, we had both made the decision that nothing would make us return there!!

Little did we know that many very plush and well ordered offices later, many with good English speakers, and with only a couple of disappointing viewings for all our effort, that we would have to eat our words and at least go back and look in M. Pierre’s window, with the plan drawn up if there seemed to be something suitable in the window, that we would ask him to step outside, at least then we couldn’t see the chaos that rained inside, point to any properties we were interested in and make appointments to see them. The window scrutiny yielded, in the first instance, two possibilities and we duly stuck our heads around the door and flustered M. Pierre once more, but managed to get him to step outside and pointed at those we wanted to see. Unfortunately, the first one had gone, and the second one he seemed almost reluctant to rent us, merely dismissing it as being “Out in the Country!” When we said that was fine and when could we see it, he almost unenthusiastically suggested we go straight away, and almost before we knew it we were following M. Pierre, at breakneck speed through an unfamiliar French countryside and trying to read his mind at junctions as to which two wheels would leave the ground as he cornered without the use of artificial aids and no signals! Did I say earlier he was bumbling? Well, certainly that wouldn’t apply when he got behind the wheel of his car and tried to emulate fellow countryman and former Formula 1 Driver Alain Prost.

Eventually, many turns later, both physical and mental, we raced down a tree lined avenue and just where the road almost peters out, screeched to a stop on the loose gravel. M. Pierre, looking calm, collected and bumbling again, stood by his open car door as if ready to make a speedy getaway, cast his eyes around the surrounding countryside and said I did tell you it was in the countryside. To which we enthusiastically answered yes, much obviously to M. Pierre’s amazement. The rest is history and we are now well and truly ensconced, although we did have numerous dealing with M. Pierre, before the signing of the contracts and him finishing the bit he was paid to do! Two other meetings are worthy of note; the second previously alluded to, when his presence was well and truly overshadowed by the larger than life and highly confident M. Charles, our landlord and owner of the chateau we have in our garden! The first was to arrange the signing. Early one evening shortly after we had moved in, there was a quiet knock on the door, so quiet that afterwards I thought that perhaps he was hoping that we didn’t hear and he a could escape! But on opening the door, there was M. Pierre dressed just as he had been ever since we had first met him, come to tell us the arrangements for the Contract signing. Hopefully he was just passing as it was late to be working and home we discovered was some way away. Well, I invited him in, shook hands and sat him down, enquiring as to whether he would like a café (coffee), to which I’m sure out of courtesy he said yes, rather wishing he could escape straightaway. Never before have I seen anyone drink a coffee so quickly, sitting on the edge of his chair and ready, with a speedy “Merci et au revoir” to escape, after all we were in the country and who knows what might be lurking!!

Would we recommend him to a friend? In a funny sort of way, if you can look past the untidy office and bumbling nature, we ended up with a bit of a soft spot for M. Pierre and he certainly by “doing it his way” came up with the goods, so I guess we would. He was certainly better to deal with that the lady in France Telecom, who courtesy of a good friend, will from this day forth, be referred to (which hopefully we won’t have to do!!) as Phonezilla!!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love

Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Un douzen huitre No 4 s’il vous plaît!”)

And to come next time, maybe: The Red Cage, Wildlife Watch and Fortunately the natives are friendly!?!

La Loge ~ Slide Show

Setting up home again ~ Missive 6 ~ and it's all a bit like Christmas

Dear All
I’ve suddenly realised that the covering letter has been steadily increasing in size, from a simple “Here’s the next missive,” to almost another chapter in itself!!
But not this time, simply an apology to all my readers that events have become a little muddled as to time line, and hoping that this has not marred your enjoyment of the contents too much and a thank you to all those who have replied and further apologies to those who have requested to be included on the list and have slipped through the net – hopefully now rectified?
Further replies, comments, suggestions (hopefully polite!!) gratefully received!!
Ladies and Gentlemen, pray silence whilst I prepare to entertain you forthwith, with mirth, merriment and near murder, Missive 6 attached for you edification and delight – I hope!!
Love
Roger
PS Largely due to problems of communication it’s a long one!!

La Loge
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

Setting up home again and it’s all a bit like Christmas

Having returned with what I’m sure was a seriously overloaded van, although remarkably fuel consumption remained the same full or empty, we then started to unpack, and sort out the rooms, though thankfully, in many ways, Victoria’s visit was delayed a little giving us a little more time. So we sorted out lights, washing machine, dish washer and filled the freezer as well as to having a Christmas experience, unpacking boxes and discovering what was really in them, as the contents scrawled on the top, didn’t always correspond too closely to what was actually contained therein!!


Communication problems

This was to be by way of an introduction but, as time goes by, warrants a section all for itself, and who knows may run and run and become a whole mystery / thriller novel, with a bit of bloodshed thrown in!! I’m afraid it might also mean that as the saga continues to roll, that this may become a monster missive!

The original introduction started ...... Soon communication will be easier, as on one of our less stressful and traumatic visits to bureaucracy, we found a lovely lady working for France Telecom, who despite professing to speaking little English, actually as is often the case spoke excellent English, but also insisted that we should at least try to do some of the transaction in French and we ended up agreeing, me speaking French and she speaking English, that the problem was not so much knowing what to say but being able to understand the answer, as it was delivered “très vite – very quickly!!” ...... We left the office buoyant and confident that in a couple of weeks we would be: on line unlimited, have a French phone number and have unlimited calls to English landlines, there must have been a spring in our step as bureaucracy had been overcome!!

How deceiving can things be. The time of the rendezvous with the technician came and went and they didn’t arrive and try as we might to contact the help desk; a lack of someone who spoke English, even just a little and our limited French as well as the broken promises to phone us back, saw me late in the day returning to the France Telecom office to find out what had happened, whilst Linda waited in just in case they were running late. Thankfully, I got the same lady, but she had obviously undergone a personality change and didn’t want to know and all she could do was make a further appointment, of which the earliest available was nine days hence. Protest as I might, the lady was not for turning, claimed it was out of her hands and ALL she could do was rebook the technician, and hope he came on the new date but she couldn’t guarantee it and didn’t know what she could do if he didn’t!! Very disgruntled and with a few choice words about the poor quality of service and I left with a very curt Au revoir. Arriving home, Linda was equally dismayed and we resolved to return to the shop the next day and do battle to move things on quicker. The next day brought no softening of the iron maiden and a point blank refusal to do any more, so with further disgruntled comments, and no Au revoir, we left the shop and waited the nine days that seemed inevitable.

Come the day of the second rendezvous, a Tuesday, and we had what seemed to be the first appointment, so rose early and spent the first couple of hours of the day standing in the road, so as to get a mobile signal should they be trying to contact us to find our rather out of the way location, but also to flag them down if they turned into the road and thought there was nothing down the road, as we’re a little tucked away beside a barn and could possibly be missed. Well, the allotted two hour block came and went, with no phone call and no sign of the engineer. So, becoming more and more disgruntled we waited for a reasonable time after lunch, again in case they were running late and once more returned to France Telecom shop, to find the iron maiden tied up with another customer and when we asked another assistant if she spoke English, it was an emphatic no! However, with broken French I explained the problem and suitably horrified the new sales assistant was straight on the phone, something the other lady had told us was impossible and there followed a series of heated exchanges on our behalf, culminating in the English speaker becoming involved and seeming finally to get somewhere, but sadly that some where was only another appointment another nine days hence, much to everyone in the shop’s annoyance.

Well, I’d kept quite calm to this point and demanded to know why they hadn’t arrived for the two rendezvous, to be told that they hadn’t been able to find us and weren’t able to phone an English mobile – which was news to us as this had been the contact number that had been taken!! It was then “toys out of the pram” time and we pointedly and fairly loudly said that the service was appalling and cancelled everything, storming out of the shop to make us feel better if nothing else.

We then went on the search for an alternative supplier and realised our mistake, all the opposition, whilst able to give us a contract, relied on France Telecom for the line!! A case of over a barrel, but at least the alternative we chose dealt with France Telecom and sorted it all out for us. But when they phoned up to get the wheels in motion, they were told that our number was barred!! With a liberal amount of steam rising, I stormed back to France Telecom to ask what was going on, to be told that as we had cancelled the contract it was common practise to bar the number for three days, but as Friday was a Bank Holiday and Fontenay shuts on a Monday it would be Tuesday!! I couldn’t help to feel that we were now in the realms of childishness, and not for the first time incredulously left without then energy, or sadly sufficient suitable language to argue. However, the other providers had been very helpful, so we returned, explained and said we would be in the following week to sort it out!

We returned home, resigned to further bouts of sitting outside local tourist offices or churches and using a Vendée Wi Fi hotspot!! Imagine then our utter surprise, to receive a phone call early morning a couple of days later, in French, seeming I thought to say that the engineer would be with us at midday and ending abruptly as the language was causing a problem!! Part shock and part insufficient language again made me accept the appointment and not mention that we had cancelled the contract, deciding we could go in and reinstate it once the engineer had been. Then they didn’t arrive and I started to have doubts about whether I had properly understood the conversation! But, at one thirty a blue car skidded to a stop outside the house, out jumped a man who shook hands and introduced himself and I had to check he was in fact the engineer, to which he replied “Of course” and did have the grace to apologise for being late! What’s the odd twenty one days amongst friends!!

But the job was done and the telephone connection would become live twenty four hours later, so back to madam at the France Telecom office (incidentally a round trip of about 22 miles each time) who was at her charming most UNHELPFUL yet and told us that it was impossible that we were connected and why had we let them do it! We explained!! But no, the contract was terminated and couldn’t be reinstated or indeed a new one drawn up, she was finished with us, that’s it, final!! So what were we to do we asked, to which she said if you’re connected use it – I don’t know!! End of conversation. So pleased to be connected, but worried about not having a contract we returned home, surfed and emailed all night, and were promptly cut off in the morning, even before we had time to email France Telecom / Orange and ask them what we should do – our chosen course of action. Unfortunately, this meant a return to the iron maiden, but you may have worked it out that it was now Friday, Bank Holiday and our visit would have to wait until the following day.

On arrival, the maiden was busy so we approached another assistant, who spoke no English and said we must wait for …… yes you’ve guessed it. Well, an element of surprise seemed a good strategy, as she hadn’t seen us come into the shop and we waited conveniently out of sight behind a pillar. However, when she came with her customers, over to the till she saw us, was obviously not pleased and in the middle of serving the other couple proceeded to start an argument with us as to how our dealings together were over. But, I had decided that I wasn’t taking no for an answer, at least not from the monkey – I was going to straight to the Organ Grinder and asked to see the boss!!

Unfortunately, the boss spoke no English so the maiden had to act as interpreter, but we were able to understand enough, for her not to try and get away with anything, and after a couple of phone calls, miraculously a new contract was a possibility, but then there would be the nine days ….. well, my expression was sufficient to get that down a little to seven days and we left, displeased but thinking there was light at the end of the tunnel, and at least this would be quicker that the other provider who would have been over three weeks getting us online!

On Thursday a phone call told us that there was no-one available for Saturday, so it would have to be possibly the following Monday and they would let us know when. Friday morning the phone ran and expecting it to be the time of the new appointment, or someone trying to sell us the internet (ironically a common occurrence!) or indeed what seems to be fairly frequent calls for Orange to ask us something, but which, due to language difficulties usually fizzled out without a conclusion!! We even had one from customer relations asking if we were happy with the service we had received – not sure if they understood the English that we used, but the line went dead! This time, someone seemed to have seen sense and were hoping that they could come today – three days early to get everything sorted, and they arrived on time, had some difficulties sorting out the signal through our exceptionally thick walls, ending up selling us, at great expense, this gismo that feeds the signal through the electricity cable, to replace the wireless dongle thingy that the previously engineer had insisted that we needed and although sold us at great expense and failed to leave a receipt – so a battle remains to get the money for the first ineffective item refunded. After an age, trying all sorts of configurations, including putting the “Live Box” and associated wired in the middle of the floor just inside the front door, to save us money, we finally settled on the gismo!!

He left, we had to return to the France Telecom to check a minor thing on our contract and caused quite a stir when we arrived, tense to say the least, until I put the maiden out of her misery and said “no problem, l’internet c’est bon!!” when there was an audible sigh of relief throughout the shop floor! There was almost that same bounce in our step as there had been all those weeks previously went we had first started the process off!! But sadly, once again the euphoria was to be short lived!! Twenty four hours came and went and no Internet phone line, that was when we discovered, quite by chance that there was a English speaking helpline and no one had bothered to tell us. Nearly a week later the phone remains unconnected, despite a promise it would be done yesterday and today the internet went down and despite hours of fiddling, Linda has only managed to get it back on then main computer, not on the laptop. We now wait, the breath hardly now bothering to be baited to see if the helpline phone tomorrow, as promised, to see if all is well!!

As I said this story could run and run and once it has run it’s course, there will be a heated email or two winging their way off to complain bitterly about the atrocious service we have received – so who knows, we’ll probably be barred again!!


Madame becomes Monsieur

Well, as I mentioned in the covering letter of the last missive, quite out of the blue, and involving no surgery whatsoever, Madame has mysteriously become Monsieur, and a fine fellow he seems to be, as despite residing most of his life in Spain, he has been back and we have met on a couple of occasions, but more of that in the next section!

Throughout our discussions and negotiations with M. Pierre, the Estate Agent, he always spoke about madam: Madame, the owner spends most of her time in Spain ... It is difficult for me to contact Madame in Spain ... We must wait to see if Madame agrees to you moving in, and when it was obvious that we would be moving in before signing anything ... You will have to meet with Madame as soon as she returns from Spain.

So imagine our surprise, when having taken procession of the keys, hired the van and returned to England, to meet Monsieur, with no sign of a Madame, as we pulled into our courtyard on our return. Read on for the full version of events!!

But, how strange, I am at times baffled by the French use of gender, or should that be sex?, and le and la etc., but certainly have no problem with sex, that is when sorting the men from the Madames!! M. Pierre is himself a strange but kindly chap, with limited English, but a very strange mistake to make as he appeared to know M. Charles the owner, when we met the following week for the signing, but more about that next time, and M. Pierre will undoubtedly feature in some future missive, although our dealings with him are now over, his job complete as he doesn’t manage the property.

Our first three or so visitors!!

Hardly had we arrived, parked the caravan and unpacked the car, taken delivery of some heating oil and it was time to sit outside in the warm early April sunshine and have our first meal at La Loge Grimouard, an alfresco lunch which we hoped would be the first of many, but also a chance to recharge batteries before picking up the hire van and collecting the white goods, before an early night and then the journey back to England to pick up the next instalment. With my mind wandering to the tight schedule of the next few days, my deep reverie was broken by the sound of a vehicle fast approaching along the road. As it reached our entrance there was a screeching of brakes and flying gravel as the van stopped abruptly and out jumped, almost before the vehicle had properly stopped, a tall well-built Frenchman wearing workmen’s overalls plentifully covered in fluorescent strips to help spot him in the dark!! With what seemed to be three enormous and rapid strides he was bearing down on me, as rudely awoken from my daydream I jumped up and met him halfway across the courtyard and clasped the proffered hand, sharing a hearty handshake and equally enthusiastic welcome, which was equally energetic when Linda joined us. This was Monsieur La Poubelle, (Dustbin) or Boneur (Dustman) to give him his proper name and he was coming bearing gifts. After an initial torrent of French and him cheerfully telling me that he spoke no English at all, the mere thought of it made him chuckle, we managed a good conversation about the various dustbins we were provided with, when each of them was collected, and where we had to put them for collection on a Monday morning, but as they leave the depot at five o’clock in the morning we might like to put them out the night before. Then, with similar wholehearted Au revoirs he was, in a cloud of dust, gone but from that day on whenever we see him, and he appears to be not only a Boneur but also the local Cantonnier (or road-labourer) we get a vigorous and genial wave.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

With a great degree of relief, I turned the large hire van into the avenue of trees leading to La Loge, a cup of tea and a rest after four days of hectic activity, including the drive from the Vendée to Gloucestershire and back. Not only something of a feat of endurance but thankful that the van springs had held up!!

Well, part way down the avenue, just after the bend that shields the end of the road from the end of our courtyard, walking towards us was a tall rather flamboyantly dressed man with a rather shabby large black dog, which he called to his side and stepped onto the verge to let us pass. I acknowledged this with a wave and received something of a puzzled frown in return and as we passed, I noticed in the mirrors that the gentleman had promptly turned around and followed the van up the avenue. By the time I had manoeuvred the van ready to unload, he was turning the corner by our garage and striding towards me.

I walked out to meet him and remembering we were back in France proffered my hand which he took and asked, still somewhat frowning if we were going to be living here and when I affirmed this, his demeanour changed dramatically and with a broad smile and an expansive gesture, he said, “Well I’m the owner, welcome home!!” There followed quite an hilarious exchange, which being very tired was almost hard to keep up with, but at least confirmed that the natives, at least those that choose to spend most of their time in Spain, were friendly.

Fortunately, Monsieur is fluent in English, and we were to learn later also German, Spanish and his native French, and because his sister has married someone from the Czech Republic, is in the process of learning Czech!! But, he keep repeating that we were most welcome – “Welcome Home and Be Happy,” liberally scattered through a conversation that covered how, almost to his regret his parents had left him this chateau, completed with various outbuildings, stable yard, chapel, two lakes, park and wood, the extent of which we still have to discover. He informed us he had lived in Spain, first the Canary Islands and now Benidorm, for 40 years and was therefore more Spanish than English, but duty insists that he must spend the odd week back at the family chateau!

The conversation was fairly one-sided as Monsieur, was obviously not only pleased to meet us but also delighted to be able to try out his English, and I was exhausted after the numerous journeys we had made over the last four days. But it covered a little about ourselves, how the water came from a well 2 kilometres away and he and his family had always drunk it with no ill effects, but he had put in a purification system just in case. Collecting my thoughts sufficiently to say that he certainly looked very well on it and perhaps he should bottle it, and the conversation turned to how it wasn’t as good as Lourdes otherwise he would bottle it and become a millionaire. We then for the first time were treated to his booming infectious laugh that started deep within and took some time to rumble out!!

Mentioning Max, we were told this was no problem and introduced to his motley companion, who we were told had been abandoned by the roadside and was obviously now his constant companion, and if he were to come sniffing around to send him back to the chateau!

He then told us that he spent most of his time in Spain, only visiting by necessity, and really after 40 years he was more Spanish than French. We then asked if the chateau was empty when he was not there and he told us it was and that he had a caretaker, Monsieur Joe, who lived in the stable block. He then, with a twinkle in his eye told us that if we saw anyone in the chateau then it would be the ghosts of his ancestors! I retorted by saying that we would be sure to invite them in for a drink, and we were once more treated to his distinctive rolling laugh, when he said that therefore they would have to invite us back!!

His obvious love of languages then came to the fore, as again he welcomed us home and said that when he was not there we were to treat the park, woods and lakes as our own, and were free to fish in the lake, although he had no idea what we would catch, and could “wander, ramble, dawdle (which he pronounced dowdle before realising his mistake), walk, stroll, meander, roam, amble or mooch!!,” at will in the woods or park. We were to find out that it seems that Monsieur likes nothing better than to go to bed with a good Thesaurus and brush up on alternatives for any word that took his fancy. I wonder if he has a whole shelf of Thesauri; English, French, German, Spanish and a shiny new Czech one!

After some time he bade us a cheery good-bye, as he guessed we must have lots to do and left, bowing out with further expansive gestures, “welcome homes” and “be happy” as he disappeared round the corner and back to rattle around the chateau, with it would appear only his ragged dog and ghostly ancestors for company!!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The third visitor was an altogether more slippery customer. We had just had lunch sitting out on the terrace and I collected the things and started to make my way towards the front door, when I was abruptly brought to a halt and couldn’t stop a suitable expletive from passing my lips, as there heading gracefully towards the front door was a snake, not huge but even a couple of feet is big enough. Linda asked what the matter was and when I explained she disappeared inside, not to get the long handled broom that I had asked for to try a persuade the snake that it was better to go back the other way, but to get her camera, and pictures taken, in the nick of time the broom was got and the snake beat a hasty retreat, first dropping under the cave door and again having to be persuaded that this didn’t make a good home and finally disappearing, not to be seen again down a crack at the corner of the house into with the down pipe flows. It was some days before I could comfortably pass that crack and still rather gingerly open the cave door just in case it’s changed its mind!! Fortunately, it appears to have only been a grass snake, but I wasn’t taking any chances and it was still a bit of a shock to find it on the doorstep!

A couple of other notable visitors also need mention, and who knows this might become a regular feature:

One night, shortly after the visit from the snake, when in the early hours I opened the door to let Max into the garden, there sitting watching me from the doorstep was a large frog! I was tempted to kiss it and see if it turned into a beautiful princess, but it looked rather slimy and I didn’t think Linda would have been too pleased to have a stunning blond princess move in!!! Bet it would have been a different story if it had been a handsome flaxen prince!!

Then, during an idle moment just yesterday, when after lunch we were both sitting having a read before continuing the day’s labours, me with my back to the open day and Linda facing it. Suddenly, she screamed as she leapt from her chair, scarcely avoiding a collision with an extremely fast moving black object that hit the window behind her chair and fell to the window sill, collected itself got its wind back and fluttered around the room a couple of time before heading back through the open door. I’m not sure who was the most shocked the poor swallow who had mistaken the open door and the closed window beyond as a clear way through, Linda who thought that a missile had been fired at her, or me when Linda shrieked!!

Out and about

This section is in danger of pouring out so fast as to trip over itself, and become so excitedly garbled, as to become more hard to decipher than normally!! As we went out and about our new patch the wealth of flora and fauna, or plants and animals if you prefer!!, is just staggering and the list just keeps on growing. But rather than a complete run down, rather unscientifically, suffice to say the animal list stands at 10, the bird list at 13 (including the undoubted highlight of two sightings of a hoopoe), the tree list an incomplete 11 and the star of the show, the flower list has reached over 30 and still counting!

But, like the visiting grass snake and hoopoe above there are some highlights, so here goes!:

When digging the garden, I noticed a small hole in the ground and as the spade dug perilously close to it, I jumped as a scurry of activity saw a family of field mice disturbed, mum rather surprisingly leaping for the cover of the nearby hedge and leaving three small babies to fend for themselves, I’m hoping they were reunited after I left the digging in that part and moved away. Then the next day when digging not far away, a sudden movement in the soil revealed a chunky black and yellow lizard, a salamander, about 15 centimetres long, who also determinedly, but slower than the mouse sought the safety of the hedge bottom.

Just beyond the hedge at the bottom of our vegetable patch is a large pond in the corner of the field. Here a family of coypus, large rodents a bit like beavers, live and when I’m digging the garden, you can often hear them chirping to each other or see them swimming across the water ducking down to collect weed, which is what they eat. Then the other day, peering around the hedge that separates the garden from the field and pond I was just in time to see a large heron, obviously intent on catching one of the large fish that regularly can be seen jumping clear of the pond’s surface, unfurl its enormous untidy wings and almost lazily take flight and fly low over the field to the next pond and potential meal.

On another occasion, Linda and I were fruitlessly waiting out in the road for the France Telecom technician, to either arrive or at least telephone for instructions. Waiting inside is similarly fruitless, as the walls of La Loge are too thick to allow mobile telephone signals to pass through. At the same time we both saw a movement further along the tree lined avenue, as a relatively large animal came out of the undergrowth and lolloped towards us. At first it was too far away to identify it, and we thought from its gait that it might be a fox, by as it got closer, obviously totally unaware of our presence we could see it was a large hare, lazily strolling down the avenue before disappearing off once more into the undergrowth, looking very unlike the sleek champion sprinter it could be, when in full flight across an open field running scared.

Finally, the flowers – wow what a show April put on and each time we went out we discovered new delights, from enormous early purple orchids, through swathes of bright bluebells to more hidden delights such as violets and vetch. But there remains one mystery, a flower we have watched grow from an early cluster of broad almost daffodil like leaves, with a long flower stalk capped with an untidy black flower head that continued to grow, reaching four or five feet in height and opening out into a long white flower head with delicately striped petals. At first “our” avenue seemed to be the only place that they were growing, but as the flowers have come out we have realised they are more widespread, and what they are remains a mystery.

A Night in the Country


And the encounters don’t stop when night falls!!

Like something out of a sci-fi horror film, there are the relatively large wall spiders, whose bulbous bodies you rarely see, but who live in small holes or crevices and you see, at night, hanging their legs out hoping to catch an unwary and unsuspecting insect passing by!

And, by far, the loudest of our wild neighbours, in all the lakes and ponds around, are the noisiest frogs I have ever heard, they sound like lots of ducks all quacking loudly together, and are even worst at night – as the nights get warmer and we have to have the windows open they will probably keep us awake and maybe we’ll have to think seriously about eating vast quantities of that French delicacy – frog’s legs!!

There is also something, with claws, that sounds much bigger than a mouse living in our attic!! Occasionally, late at night when all is quiet and I am reading or writing, the footsteps cross the floor above me, sometimes quite quietly and at other times with a strange thump or two! The morning brings no tangible evidence of visitors, when complete with wellies (interestingly the spell checker wanted to change this to willies – also rather apt in the circumstances!!) tucked carefully into trousers I have gone, rather timidly, to investigate!! Perhaps M. Charles’ talk of ghostly ancestors wasn’t in jest and we should be going up into the attic and inviting them in for a drink – then we could get a return invite to the chateau!!

All these encounters, which continue on an almost daily basis, are largely down to the tranquil nature of our new surroundings, as commented on by the farmer who farms the fields around us and maintains the chateau gardens, when we met him recently and in a mixture of pigeon English and rather more pigeon French introduced ourselves to each other. He heartily agreed when I commented on how well I slept, but that only after having overcome the intense quiet of the place somewhere beneath the croak of the frogs, the hoot of the owl, the nightly whistling, cheeping and cackling of the bird in the tree outside our bedroom window, the crickets and the occasional farmer ploughing his field well into the early hours of the morning – who put headlights onto tractors!! Actually, little has ever kept me awake, and even more so with a plentiful supply of good, cheap wine!!

Cheque Book update!

Now where were we with the cheque book? Oh yes, the good news is we have the cheque book, but unfortunately it has the wrong address on it and we need another one, but eventually, they decided we could keep it, just in case we needed it until the new one arrived in eight days time, which is already nearly two weeks!!

We found this out when we went to pick up the cheque book and associated cards and were told by the struggling young man behind the desk, struggling I hasten to add with his gallant and at times failing attempts to converse in English, but at least he tried, that Madame, with whom we had originally made contact needed to see us, and an appointment was made for a couple of days hence – yet another visit to Fontenay-le-Comte our local town 12 miles away. He also gave us our new cards but there was some confusion as to how we were to activate them, with numbers it seemed that we had already been given, but a thorough search of welcome pack didn’t reveal. However, all was revealed at the meeting with Madame, at which she nearly took back our cheque book. The security codes had been sent to the wrong address, returned to Madame who was now giving them to us, the envelopes open, as she needed to ascertain what was inside, but the security envelope intact inside, so we could now activate our cards and in time have a second correctly printed cheque book. It was fortunate we did keep the old cheque book as we had to write our first cheque for the telecom engineer, well at least get him to write it to be sure it was correctly filled out!! Watch this space!!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love

Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Who put those large white cows in the field next to my garden and don’t get personal, it’s alright for another dog to have a sniff, but a cow – really!!)

And to come next time, who knows but it may contain:
Leaving England, La Loge, Monsieur Joe, How does your garden grow? Slumdog Millionaire, and White van Sunday!