Happy New Year and all the very best for 2025.

Having just posted on my other blog after being absent for several years, although active with other things, I thought I should also put something here and try and be a bit more creative in 2025, amazingly a quarter century since the millennium!

Here's something about our two French gardens, both rescued from wildness, an article I submitted for a competition in the Connexions newspaper, which won - although I never received the prize!!

Potager tales

When we first escaped to France, leaving behind busy lives in a school and a hospital, we decided to rent a house and bind our time.  It didn’t prove initially very easy to find something in our chosen triangle, in the South Vendée, until one fateful day.  We had had to persuade the immoblier to take us to see the property, as he kept telling us it was in the middle of nowhere, he was even reluctant to get out of the car when we got there.  But to cut a long story short it ticked most of the boxes, and when he opened the back shutters the view of the chateau convinced us that this, a largish, fairly primitive, farmworkers / managers house, was where our French dream would start.

One of the unticked boxes was a vegetable plot, and as we were leaving, we asked Pierre the immoblier, if he thought we could dig up some of the large rough front courtyard, only part of which was gravelled.  Somewhat puzzled he asked us why?  When we said to grow some veg, he said somewhat surprised “You want a garden?”  When we answered in the affirmative, he turned swiftly around and marched off out of the front of the courtyard and down the road.  Some fifty metres down the road he disappeared into the overgrown hedgerow, opened a large rustic gate that hung on its supports at a jaunty angle, and pointed inside – “Here is your garden for you to enjoy and do with what you wish!”

Well, the position was superb, behind a large hedge bordering the road, it was a long thin triangle cut out of the cow field, with another hedge at the bottom, and the other side demarcated by a single strand electric fence, over which the view was rural, calm and wonderful, despite it seeming a little flimsy to hold back the extremely large and inquisitive Charolais cattle in the field beyond.  The garden however, was somewhere beneath the metre high matted grass and weeds, and showed little evidence of any recent cultivation other than a tumble-down shed housing some old pots, stakes, twine and other gardening detritus.  There were four spindly fruit trees, which as it was spring time added some colour with their blossom to an otherwise rather bleak scene, but it ticked the garden box!

So soon after we moved in, the garden became a priority to make the most of the growing season.  The first problem was that we only had an electric strimmer, and finances at the time were a little tight, so we had to find a way to run a power cable, or more precisely four (but we had left health and safety behind with our jobs in the UK!), into the garden.  The task was daunting and I imagine even more so for the rather underpowered strimmer that was more used to the edges of a suburban lawn. But, both the strimmer and ourselves rose to the occasion and with plenty of cooling off periods for both ourselves and the inadequate strimmer, and with the help in places of some sturdy hand tools we found the ground!  It was also at this time that we found it was rather prudent to wear both long-sleeved tops, long trousers and stout wellies, as some of the accumulated growth was far from friendly and we realised that snakes were rather more common here than in the suburban garden we had left behind in England!  Other nasties came later with the fruit in the form of wasps and large fearsome hornets, by which stage we were beginning to wonder if we had done the right thing, but a glass of wine sitting outside as the sun went down soon sorted that one out.

We then sorted out the layout of the beds, leaving a fair amount of lawn, much to the disgust of our long-suffering strimmer, and commenced the back breaking task of turning the soil and turfs over, raking the soil into a fine tilth and getting some plants in.  Fortunately, the underlying soil remembered a time when it had previously been cultivated and this made it a little easier.

We produced plenty of fine tasty food, as well as too many courgettes, and had many an adventure in that tamed wilderness, including a pair of leverets that went to ground amongst the onions and conversations over the fence with our bovine neighbours, during the two and a half years that we lived there, and just occasionally had time to sit and admire the view, before buying our own place and moving on to pastures new.  Well actually a garden fifty metres down the road from our new abode, and about 350 square metres of chicken sheds, rabbit hutches, rusty metal, random thick concrete areas, all ham-built and buried under two metre high brambles and other assorted mal herbes.  It was all surrounded by a multi-layered fence containing several layers of chicken wire, green wire fencing and sheets of thick plastic.  It might have all been somewhat ham built, but the previous owner was a little eccentric, and liked to add strands of wire and a plethora of nails, screws, fencing staples and bolts.  On one fence post alone, at an idle moment I counted well over 100 fastening holding on the various layers – did I say eccentric, mad might have been a better description, which is why it took us nearly three months to raze everything to the ground, before starting on the house renovations!

All that remains now is the question we are often asked, bearing in mind the house somewhat reflected the garden – “Would we do it all again?”, to which we give a resounding …. NO!, twice is sufficient!  And, still we rarely have time to sit and appreciate our newly tamed garden, but the produce is worth the effort, as well as giving us the energy for the next weeding session!

 

 

Garden 1

 

       The neighbours come for a chat     

 

       At last, time for a sit down!

Garden 2

        It’s here somewhere!

       The garden today, with newly refurbished shed

 Wassailing brought to France

The village where Victoria is now living, Whimple in East Devon, was historically a cider and perry making area and the former home of Whiteways Cider, now sadly replaced with a housing estate.  

However, cider is still produced there by a Courtney's of Whimple, www.courtneysofwhimple.co.uk, who bought out, in 2015, the retail section of Vigo Presses, who sell all the equipment for cider making and much more.  Whimple is also famous for it's wassail, in this case an orchard visiting ceremony as opposed to the more common traditional house visiting carol singing.  This is an annual event held during the evening of 17th January each year, old twelfth night, where the locals continue a ceremony of pagan origin, where the previous harvest is celebrated and to wish good luck for a bumper harvest for the coming year, through incantations, songs and general merriment!  For more information look up Whimple and wassailing on  Wikipedia.

Well, this year due to the covid lockdown, the event was not able to take place, but Vigo Presses decided to invite people to enter a virtual wassail competition and send in their photos and videos, which can be viewed on the Vigo Presses Facebook page, linked from their website. vigopresses.co.uk

Well, I decided to introduce the idea of wassailing to our French neighbours, which unfortunately couldn't be done at night with flaming torches as we have a covid curfew currently in place.  But a good time was had by all with plenty of noise, cider apple cake and even a French version!  I'll post a link, to  to people who receive my blog notifications, to a full version of the video on my OneDrive, and some shorter pieces below here and in another post, as the videos are too "big" to all go on one post!

The end of Incantation

 

A couple of other short wassail videos

End of the wassail song

Part of the French Version 

Sorry only short snippets, as the blog won't allow me to put on the full version, it's nearly fifteen minutes long and too big for the blog!  If you haven't received the link from me and would like it, leave a comment, including your email address and I'll send you the link.

 I’m back!  Happy New Year 2021

Hi, yes maybe a bit of a surprise, but I’m back!  It’s not that I’ve been idle since my last blogposts, working on a number of projects that either haven’t been finished yet or simply haven’t been posted on either of my blogs.  I’m posting this on both blogs, as neither has had a post for some time and hopefully that will be rectified over the coming weeks and months.

The main reason for the sudden return, was a timely reminder of how long it had been since my last blogposts.  I have just had an article published in the current edition of a storytelling magazine called F & F (Facts and Fiction), which I’ll reproduce on the “Creative Urge” blog, so if you’re on the “It happened ….” blog, you’ll have to go to the other one to read it! (see below)  Well, I submitted the article for consideration on an older version of my Hotmail account, as the newer one was playing up and also doesn’t have some of the features I needed.  I forgot on this version I had embedded, on the bottom, the information about my two blogs, and when the magazine was published earlier this week (online for this edition due to the current covid-19 problems), I found the blog information printed on the bottom of the article.  This led me to look at the blogs and realise just how long I had neglected them for, hence this brief blogpost, to reassure anyone who ventures onto the blogs, that they’re not totally dormant and forgotten!

So, although I didn’t make a New Year’s Resolution this year, as it was rather a none event, after the rather nice duck comfit supper earlier in the evening, hopefully this will have kick started me back into posting more frequent posts.  Also, a reminder that if you do find your way here, it would be good to have some feedback, good or bad, so I at least know somebody out there is looking and hopefully reading my offerings!!

Oh!, and before I forget Happy New Year, and most importantly this year wishing you not just a prosperous year but also a healthy year.  Or, as they say in these parts, Bonne année et bonne santé.  And as we now seem to say more and more Keep Safe, and also try to keep happy!  I’ve always pointed out, it takes less energy to laugh than to scowl, as it uses less muscles!

Below are my two blogs, so if you are on one you can click on the link and find the way to the other!!   

http://ithappenedonethursdayinfebruary.blogspot.fr/

a blog that tells you about our life in France.

http://rogerscreativeurge.blogspot.fr/

does "what it says on the tin" and contains my more creative/ esoteric posts.

 La Belle France en confinement! – Beautiful France in lockdown!

We missed the first confinement in our sleepy little French hamlet, instead being locked down in the UK, first in Plymouth a normally bustling Devon city, and then in Whimple, always it seems a sleepy little East Devon village, although in less strange times one of the pubs does put on live music and then there’s the annual Whimple wassail, where the cider orchards are fed toast soaked in cider and the assembled masses sing to the trees and it seems a good time is had by all!  I look forward to it when the world has hopefully returned to some sort of normality, albeit what people are calling a “new normality.”  Although, those of you who know me well, will possibly question any notion of normally, but I digress!

But we were here for the second confinement, although the announcement took us, and most of the rest of western France, a little by surprise and we were away in the caravan near Pornic, when the news broke!  So, we beat a hasty retreat home, without the necessary “attestation”, as we don’t have a printer with us in the caravan.  Fortunately, with the first weekend of the confinement being the Toussant weekend, when families traditionally put chrysanthemums on the graves of departed loved ones, meaning many people had already travelled away to their childhood homes,  some leeway was given for returning home, during what otherwise was to be a strict and long confinement with very rigid rules and possible severe fines for those who didn’t abide by them – we even needed a paper attestation to leave the house to go shopping or for a walk and were then restricted to an hour’s walk within a ONE kilometre (not much over a 1000 yards) radius of the house!

But in many respects, we were very fortunate, living as we do in sleepy rural France, well off the beaten track, with just a few houses tightly packed together, which meant we saw neighbours to talk to over the garden fence, and were cushioned from the worst of the obnoxious virus that has affected so much of everyone’s lives for the best part of the last year.  What we really needed were projects and as the DIY shops remained open, we decided to start the renovation of both our small Tolkeinesque shed at the bottom of the garden, previously a rather tumbledown glory hole and the haunt of the odd snake or two!  Then, there was the barn attached to the house, which needed sorting and something doing to it to make it useful.  This project had been on the back burner for some time, although being mulled over from time to time.  What it really needed was the back two thirds or so to be levelled in some way – either with a raised decking like floor, dismissed largely due to the underneath becoming another favoured haunt for our local, not very uncommon reptiles (grass snakes and western whip snakes of up to 2 metres, non-venomous but somewhat scary all the same!).  Or more favourably the floor needed to be built up on one side by a good 50 cm and levelled across with suitable rubble to allow some sort of floor to be laid.  The former was potentially cheaper and easier, the latter requiring us to locate and transport some two to three tons of infill before even thinking about the floor surface.  But help was at hand in the form of an industrious new neighbour who had moved into the old mill opposite us, formerly an old mill and in need of some updating.  The neighbour had amassed a very large and expanding pile of rubbish waiting to go to the tip, much of it consisting of old walls, plasterboard, tiles and all things eminently suitable for levelling a sloping barn floor!  Better still, it was local much of it already bagged up and more importantly free!  As it was destined for the tip, and would save the neighbour multiple trips there and lots of precious time, he even helped us to move the first lot, after I had constructed a retaining wall and Linda had done the massive job of pointing or chauxing all the interior walls, it was a job that ended up mutually benefitting us and them!  It’s finished now, awaiting the sand and paving stones for the floor, we now joke with the neighbours that we are going to turn it into a disco room, and as both sets of relatively new neighbours are younger than the rest of us, they’re quite excited!  The shed is also finished and usable and as snake proof as I could make it, although I still think I’ll bash the door and walls a little before venturing in for the garden tools!

So, we haven’t been idle during our confinement and certainly for us some good has come out of the terrible situation.  However, towards the end of the works, whilst putting the finishing touches to the shed in early December, I did think as I looked around the hamlet that perhaps the confinement was taking its toll on both us and our neighbours as on this particular day we seemed to be regressing slightly back to our childhood!  First there was our forty something new neighbour, in the house behind us, she had taken up tree climbing and was some way up her old and rather large apple tree in the middle of her garden.  Then, the young neighbours from the mill, from whence came our underfloor, had started to play with water, and despite some weak winter sunshine, it wasn’t really warm enough for that sort of thing!  Moving on round, our older neighbour in the other house opposite our front was in his garden playing with fire, although there seemed to be more smoke than flames, but as the saying goes “there’s no smoke without fire”, although the rules in France forbid both – but the French and someone very close to the keyboard writing this seem very good at forgetting the rules!

Further afield, part time residents higher up the hamlet were playing house with the next-door neighbour and other part time residents in the wooden house around the corner were playing hide and seek in the long grass of their large and wild garden.  And, me I’d regressed to making mud pies and getting thoroughly messy!

Actually, perhaps it was only me that it was getting to, as the neighbour up the tree was pruning it, those playing with water were putting in a new water feature at the front of their house and the fire was all the bits of a tree that had been cut down and were no use for firewood!  As for the home makers, that is exactly what they were doing helping the neighbour get the house he was renovating ready to move in to, so he didn’t have to spend another winter in his draughty old living caravan!  Finally, the neighbours in the wooden house were in fact scything pathways through their large wildlife garden that has been designated as a small bird sanctuary, and at least one of them welcomes any snakes we send their way, and me, I was mixing up the last bits of cement to finish off the floor and lower walls of the shed!!  So, it wasn’t childhood regression, but rather a case of “C’est la vie” as they say around here – It’s life!

 

 A couple that I forgot to post, which explains why I didn't think it was that long since my last posting!

Nudge,nudge,wink,wink!!

I’m waiting in today, to see if last night was my Peter Mayle, “truffles in paper” bag moment, or my NHS “you’re in severe pain, aren’t you?” moment.  The latter I should perhaps explain, the other might become more obvious later on, but suffice to say it refers to being “in the know!”  But, the pain goes back to when out walking on the edge of Minchinhampton Common, near Stroud, about ten minutes walk from where I had parked the car.  On a short, steep bank made treacherous by days of rain, I slipped a short way and experienced a searing pain in my right knee, which it soon became obvious wasn’t going to be “walked off.”  It took me an excruciating hour and a half to get back to the car and then somehow I managed to drive the three miles or so home, at the end of which I was barely able to get out of the car.  It was one of those few occasions that my wife, then an intensive care nurse, took pity on me and accepted that something was seriously wrong, so back into the car, with increasing difficulty, and off to A & E at the local hospital.  There after a reasonably short wait, I was seen by the on-call doctor who, it transpired, also worked in the same ICU as Linda.  He diagnosed a torn cartilage, gave me painkillers and set about sorting out an appointment to see the consultant about an arthroscopy.  It was at this point, winking at Linda; he told me that I was “in severe pain, aren’t you?”  I was and therefore it took me a while to understand the winks at Linda, and I was certainly in no fit state to utilise the Queensbury Rules and fight for her.  But, with nothing more than a wink and a nod, it was a case of it’s not what you know, it’s who you know, and the appointment came through quite a bit quicker than I expected!!

But, back to today, well actually last night when it was the Annual General Meeting of the commune’s council, or the rather better sounding Ceremonie des Vœux, as it’s known here as not only are the parish accounts presented and the future works for the year discussed, but newcomers to the village, either through birth or moving in, are welcomed with a small gift.  After the formal part of the proceedings there is offered a verre del’amitié (a glass of friendship) or indeed several with ample supply of tasty morsels including the amazing local garlic bread - préfou - flattened baguette dripping in butter and with lashings of garlic, not for the faint hearted!  It’s perhaps this latter part which accounts for the amazing turnout, as we estimated about a third of the whole commune were there, from the tiniest tot (one of the newcomers, only a few weeks old) to our eighty two year old neighbours and beyond.  Conversation, for us, is difficult as the room is very full, very noisy, very hot and the French particularly en masse, talk incredibly fast!  We however got by, and ended up catching up on some of our neighbour’s news as well as having to remind many of those there (the adults!), that on this occasion incognito, I was Roger, not Père Noël!  I nearly had my cover blown several times, particularly as the glasses of friendship became more plentiful.

With the party largely in full swing, we decided our brains needed a rest from an overload of French, the language rather than the people, I should add!!  So we fetched our coats and made the rounds saying goodbye, a cheery wave to each group sufficing with this number of people,  the customary double bissous (kisses) would have taken forever, (it was however unavoidable on arrival, double kisses for the women, handshakes for the men and in most cases as it was the first time we had seen people this year a bonsoir, bonne année and woe betide us if we forgot the bonne santé as well!) but we did feel it polite to formally take our leave from the Mayor and thank him for his hospitality.  Linda passed first and shook his hand and said good-night and thank you and I followed.  At this point Sébastien , the Mayor, much to the amusement of someone he was talking to, fired of a rapid stream of French at me, before I was able to ask him to slow down.  Looking puzzled he rethought what he had said and slowed down enough for me to get the gist of what he was saying.  Basically, our hamlet has over the last year drawn the long straw, and had a lot of work done, that involved a new drain being put down the road, resulting in the road being resurfaced and a new parking space created, largely for us, in front of the communal oven and by our garden entrance.  Not only a superb large parking spot suitable for the car and the trailer, but its construction involved the filling in of a ditch and some levelling to the side, which makes it considerably easier for us to get the caravan in and out of the garden.  Many of you will know that absent Welsh neighbours had effectively blocked our previous parking space, and despite the best efforts of the Mayor to resolve the issue, up until this point he had been thwarted in his efforts, the neighbour ending up being rather rude to him!

So, what he was saying was that the work in Le Boutet, and in particular but without having said as much, the parking space, was a thank you – a petit Cadeau - for being Père Noël for the children’s party!  Well, they do say it pays to keep in with the Mayor of your commune in France! Having finally “d’accord”(ed) him and realised what he talking about, I then said not a little present but a large present, hopefully with a suitable glint in the eyes!  I followed it up, rather tongue in cheek, with a question as to what might be next year’s present?  To which he responded a small box of chocolates – before I could get in my suggestion – getting us a decent internet line, an ongoing bone of contention, which he thankfully saw the funny side of!! 

As we parted both chuckling, Linda followed me out and said, I only came in part way through that conversation, but it seems that he wanted to know if we would be in tomorrow so he can bring you around a small gift for being Father Christmas!  Hence, my reading of the conversation was totally thrown into doubt, and why I am waiting to see if Sébastien arrives today with a box of chocolates and I have to explain my weird response to him yesterday evening!!   Suffice to say, with each gust of wind I think it’s his car arriving, but it’s getting on in the afternoon and still no sign of the chocolates, and despite the rain starting up again, perhaps I’ll take the dog out for a walk, in case he calls!!

 

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

As a slight rider to this, talk of my trying to remain incognito whilst not dressed in red and sporting a large beard, reminds me that my cover may have been well and truly blown during the last census in France.  Local people are employed to go around and give out the forms and help with their completion. 

The census lady arrived for our appointment, was shown in by Linda, took one look at me and said “Ah! Père Noël”, so I’m not sure if that was what she wrote down on the form or not!  And, I wasn’t even dressed the part!

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

P.S.  It’s now tomorrow and still no sign of the Mayor or the chocolates, so perhaps my French is coming on after all!!

January 2018

All my kingfisher experiences rolled into one.

All my kingfisher experiences rolled into one and more.  The darted drive across the narrow inlet alerted me to its presence.  Then it returned to the same branch, to dive again in case I missed it the first time!

Then came the curved fly pass, low over the water, closer and closer to where I sat silent and enraptured.  First the orange underside, then the once seen never forgotten brilliant electric blue as it levelled out passing close by, and did I imagine the slight dip of the wings in proud salute to the watcher?

Several minutes passed, before I was alerted once more to the flash of blue coming in low from the left to another overhanging fishing branch.  Another darted dive, further along the bank this time, followed by several more, the pickings were obviously good.

Then from through the woods along the trail behind me, the sound of an approaching excited young child coming at a run, just as the kingfisher came in for another low level fly pass alighting on a post stuck in the water, above a sign – Entrée Interdit; missed photo opportunity as the child’s exuberance sent it on its way before I could shush the young boy and point out the magical encounter.  An earlier, rather fuzzy long distance photo had to suffice, but you could make out the shape and above all that memorable blue.

This was only the fourth or fifth time I’ve had the privilege of sharing a moment or two with this majestic and secretive creature, coming shortly after one of our neighbours had just told me there was a kingfisher, or Martin pecheur as they are know in these parts, frequenting the stream below our house.  Each of these other sighting, exciting enough but largely just a vivid splah of colour etched permanently in the memory:

·       Jogging, yes I was younger then but still not particularly fond of this form of exercise but it was for charity, over a small river near Huntingdon when we briefly lived in a doctors flat, whilst waiting for our house purchase to go through, at a brand new hospital that Linda had been given a job helping to set up the new ITU.  Just a flash of unmistakable blue.

·       Walking the dog, in this case Max, near St Michael’s Mount, Penzance, early in the morning before catching the first helicopter to the Isles of Scilly, for our then annual pilgrimage.  Another flash of blue.

·        Near the railway viaduct at the end of Frome Banks Nature Reserve, a small secretive place a mere stone’s throw from the centre of Stroud.  This time a first, as the jewel of a creature sat briefly on a suitable fishing branch, intent on the clear rippling water below.  All too soon it gave up and flew away, perhaps sensing my watching graze, but without undue alarm.  I can’t now even remember if it made its distinctive whistle, a “tee - eee” or a “tsee” sound.  If it did it was probably drown out by the water trickling over a small waterfall, or indeed the excited pounding of my heart!

·       The most recent before today, was several sightings, all in the same place.  Again on the River Frome, near Stroud, this time just across from the District Council offices in Ebley Mill.  On the first occasion I was walking alone except for Max, the dog, and had that fleeting flash once more burnt into the memory.  Some weeks later whilst leading a guided walk, I chose this spot for the lunch break.  As we sat on the river bank chatting, I did that classic no – no for a guided walk and said that here was a good spot for looking out for a kingfisher, but as there were quite a few of us, chattering away over our sandwiches it was very unlikely to happen (a bit like on a misty day waxing lyrical about the fine view that you can normally see here!).  Then low and behold, a top speed fly pass, unfortunately so quick that none of the others saw it, and I’m sure had it not flown back a couple of minutes later and been briefly spotted by a couple of others, they would secretly have been sure I was making it up!

Interestingly I wrote this just prior to reading an article in the paper about someone’s trip to India and more specifically to the Ranthambore National Park for a spot of possible tiger spotting – it’s by no means guaranteed that you’ll see one, it’s a vast area with a resident tiger population of only about sixty tigers, and if you were an endangered species would you visit the tourist hotspots!  Mandy Appleyard, who wrote the article “As holiday experiences go, seeing tigers in the wild is, for me, as good as it gets.  I have to concur having been there and fortunately had similar good luck on our safaris!

This got me thinking about not only my kingfisher experiences, but other sightings that stay similarly etched on the brain, long after the event, so there follows a few more close encounters of the natural history kind.

17^th Sept 2018   Lac de Léon

Tidying up some scribbled snippets:

Down the K9 Road

Having travelled down past Bordeaux and Biarritz, not incidentally on the K9 road, we arrived at the campsite near St Jean de Luz, that we had been to before and provided a good base for exploring the surrounding Basque area, as well as providing a great overnight stop for people en route to Spain and Portugal.

The caravan pitched, I was finishing off tidying away things like the peg and pole bags, when our new neighbours, a Dutch couple who had arrived just after us and were off to explore the site, stopped to talk.  They initially “bonjoured” me, before continuing in French and were a little surprised when I answered them in Franglais, a posh word for poor French as spoken by an Englishman with a limited command of French, so prone to inject the odd English word into the sentence, at least whilst trying to fathom the correct word from deep in the dictionary of the mind!   Unfortunately, despite having lived in France for several years, it wasn’t particularly that they thought I looked French, but the confusion was caused by us having a French number plate, having as residents had to re-register the car in France, a bureaucratic nightmare worthy of a chapter somewhere else!

Realising their mistake, as only the Dutch can, they slipped effortlessly into perfect English, to the extent that I had to double check that I really had seen their car with Dutch number plates!

During the course of the conversation, I discovered that they were very excited, as they were en route to Portugal to pick up their new dog!!  Apparently, there was at that time a real problem with stray dogs in Portugal, and a Dutch charity had been set up to try and re-house as many of them as possible in Holland.  Normally, the dogs are flown from Portugal to Holland, but this couple didn’t like the idea of their new addition being crated up and flown all that way, so had decided to go in person.  It was, they agreed a long trek, but they were making a holiday of it, although it was a case of speeding their way down, picking up the dog and making their way leisurely back – I did say they were excited.  Needless to say, when I got up the next morning they had already packed up and set off once again along the K9 road!

Good Deeds for the Day

It was obviously a day that I was feeling extra helpful, maybe because I was on holiday, relaxed and in no particular rush to do anything or get anywhere.  So in the course of the day I did not one, but four good deeds, helping a total of seven people from three different countries.  It left me with a good feeling, so I poured myself a glass of wine that evening to celebrate, which I would probably have done anyway as I was on holiday!!

Being a pleasant day, the sun shining and relatively warm despite a strong on shore breeze, I decided to make the most of it, as the weather had been a little inclement over the last day or two.  So I got Linda, my wife, to drop the dog and I off, down the coast a little and arranged for her to pick us  up some way back towards the campsite we were staying on, as it was inland a little and rather too far to walk back to.  We walked north along the Cote Littoral, on a lovely stretch of cliff top path, with pounding breakers being whipped up by the breeze and seabirds floating on the eddies on one side and the snow covered foothills of the Pyrenees on the other, enjoying the fresh air and scenery.

The first of my good turns of the day was when I encountered a Spanish couple who were attempting to do a circular walk first along the cliff top and then doubling back to their car through the countryside back from the cliff.  This area was riddled with pathways and they had become disorientated, and liking to be prepared I had a simple map guide with me.  So in broken French, English and Spanish I was able to point them in the right direction with a cheery “Adiós y buena suerte”, Good bye and good luck, although as this happened some time ago my memory might have got that muddled and it could have been a simple adiós, au revoir or even good bye, but the first response was undoubtedly more impressive!!

Then a little further on I encountered a couple of rather attractive young French women, as I was climbing up some rather muddy and slippery steps and they were coming down.  Ever the gentleman, I stepped off the path to let them come down, slipped and ended up throwing myself at their feet, well I did say they were attractive!  As they descended, as well as telling me to be careful, I’m sure they told me there was no need to throw myself at them!!  And I’ve only just thought of it, but perhaps they meant that my gentlemanly charm was enough for a shared drink at a nearby bar, when in fact all I did was laugh sheepishly and wish them a bon continuation, literally good continuation, but more an “enjoy the rest of your walk!”   I suppose hindsight is all well and good, but Linda was waiting just up the coast a bit and we needed some shopping for tea!  

Next were a Dutch couple, in a large campervan, stopped in the supermarket car park near to our campsite, pouring over a map and looking lost.  Having parked the campervan, the man had disappeared into the shop, probably to ask for directions, so as it was that time in the afternoon when people who have travels are looking for the next campsite in time to make camp before preparing their evening meal and settling down for the night.  As it was out of season and our campsite was really the only one open nearby, I enquired from the lady; if they were trying to find our campsite, which indeed they were, so I was able to direct her.  On my return I chanced upon them again and asked if my instructions had been good and they had managed to find the site easily, to which the gentleman, replied “Yes, my wife told me she had met a very helpful Englishman!

Having given the Dutch lady directions, I continued into the supermarket to do some shopping and found a lady in a slight predicament!  She was struggling with her husband’s boxer shorts, so being in a helpful mood I proceeded to help this elderly French lady to take down her husband’s new boxers! .. the size she wanted were on the top rack of the supermarket shelf!

Lunch with a friend over the telephone

I’ve never been one for long conversations on the telephone, and well remember once, at work, being asked by someone if they could conduct a somewhat lengthy interview with me about some latest educational fad or other and could they do it over the phone.  My reply was simply “No!” if they were that keen to hear my opinion, I would only be too happy to talk to them face to face over a cup of coffee in my office.  They never came, and I’ve often wondered if in fact they didn’t really value my views or simply had enough other people prepared to talk, at length, over the telephone.

So I was rather amused and indeed staggered some time ago to sit and have lunch at a campsite cafe, during which time a single lady on the table next to us, completely ate her two – course lunch having an animated conversation with her friend, who could for all I knew, have been in distant Timbuktu, as the whole rather one sided conversion, was conducted over the phone.  Thinking again, actually, it didn’t really amuse me, as people have an infuriating habit of talking very loudly on their phones in public, so rather impinged on the enjoyment of my meal, and perhaps even more infuriating was the fact that being only able to hear half the conversation, I didn’t know what her friend thought about the various dilemmas and problems that the woman on the next table choose to share with everyone on the terrace and if it hadn’t been for a mouthful of food, I might well have told her where to go, not I hasten to add in a rude manner, but politely tell her that as far as I was concerned the best option was to make an appointment with her doctor as soon as possible!  Well she had asked her friend what she should do about the nasty rash on the inside of her left leg!!!   

Paris, London, Old York

A few years ago we had some friends to stay from York, the plan being they were flying out to La Rochelle, spending a few days with us and then we were going with them to visit Paris, Steve had been before but Anne hadn’t.  From there we were taking them back to York, en route as it were for one of our trips back to the UK.

We had a great time, Steve helped with some of the house renovating and Paris was, as always fantastic, and extremely tiring, as the hotel we had chosen was a fair walk from the nearest Metro and for most of each day we choose, what is always the best way to soak up any city, to walk it.  We ended up walking miles each day and apart from one evening when we stayed in the centre, having had a quiet morning at the hotel, we returned weary and exhausted early each evening for a meal at the hotel.  Unfortunately, one evening we had failed to notice that the restaurant was shut, so had a long walk to rather unsuccessfully, find an alternative place to eat.

But, by and large, a good time was had by all; Anne was introduced to the wonders of the length and breadth of Paris, the rest of us were glad to be reunited with this most magical of cities.  It seemed that if it was in the guidebook we did it and a few “local” non- tourist attractions, having been shown them on a visit to a Parisian friend a few years previously.

But all good things have to come to an end and weary, but happy, we set off for the UK, on quite a long trip. Paris to Calais, M3 from Dover to the M25, M11, A14, A1/A1M and A64 with a few minor roads in between!

It was only a couple of days later when, when I had a thought, we were on a bus going into the centre of York and overheard a young American lady talking to a friend on her mobile phone, the conversation going something like this; “ Hi Stace, it’s Kathy”, Stace obviously then asked where Kathy was, to which she replied “York”.  Stace then obviously said what New York and Kathy replied “No, Old York!” before going off on one of those excited squeals, that only Americans seem able to do, when visiting somewhere old, about how wonderful and ancient it all is! 

But, my thought, our journey a couple of days ago was a little like an expensive scent bottle – “Paris, London” and (OK, I did say a little like!) in this case “Old York” instead of New York!   

A seat on the Paris Metro

A couple of little snippets, both from the Metro, from the visit to Paris mentioned above.  On the night we travelled back from the centre of Paris, it was the end of a long evening in Paris and we were glad to rest our feet as the train made its way to the end of the line.  There were a few other passengers spread out amongst the carriage, including a somewhat shady looking character, certainly one you wouldn’t have fancied meeting in a dark alley.  He was an enormous Jamaican-looking chap, both tall and thick set and certainly with an air of menace about him.  Imagine how surprised we all were, as well as chastened by our stereo-typing of this chap, who as he got up and left the carriage at his station, wished everyone in the carriage and cheery bon nuit (Goodnight), as he strode out into the night, probably into the arms of a loving family.  Such public displays of good manners and general bonhomie, are very common in France, we just made the mistake of judging a book by its apparent cover!

     

On another day, heading into the centre, in a very busy carriage with standing room only, we were strap hanging, something that always takes me back to my childhood with my Aunt in London.  How I longed, at that time, to be tall enough to reach the hanging straps and really ride the tube, like a seasoned commuter!! 

After a couple of stops a seat became available, but I was now tall enough and enjoying riding the strap, imagining all sorts of commuter adventures.  I was roused out of my day dreaming by a young Chinese girl carrying a violin case. She said “ Excusé moi” and offered me the seat, before sitting down on it after I declined, it was much more fun riding the bucking bronco holding the thin rein, I did say commuter adventures, perhaps that should have been cowboy adventures.  My wife always says I’ve got a vivid imagination! 

Afterwards, talking to my friends, I put it down to good Chinese / French manners, my companions had the cheek to suggest it might have been something to do with the white hair and aged appearance!  It’s good to know who your friends are!