Missive 26 ~ Friends Along the Way

January 2011

Dear All

Hopefully you will find Missive 26 attached. Christmas was a time for family and friends, which leads rather neatly into this missive.

Those we saw over the festive season, will know we were coming back to look at a possible house purchase, in the village and that had been on the market for some time. Unfortunately, someone beat us to it and we’re back to square one, and as you will see from this missive, as we are beginning to really put down some tentative shoots, we’ve decided we would like to stay in the village – so we’re back to the waiting game!!! I wasn’t so calm and collected at the time!!!

In the meantime, we’re off in the caravan, heading south and hopefully somewhat warmer climes, towards the end of this week for about three weeks. On our return I’ll officially be an “early” pensioner and we will be looking forward to welcoming our first visitors of the year! Then, apart from the visitors, who knows what our return may bring!!

And finally ......

Happy New Year! ~ perhaps a little belatedly!!

Love

Roger

Mes chers amis

Friends Along the Way ~ Missive 26

“To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend. And if I forget him I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures!
From “Little Prince” by French writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery

“In the New Year, may your right hand always be stretched out in friendship, never in want.”
Old Irish Toast

The first of these quotes comes from a writer who has an uncanny knack of seeing things through the eyes of a child, or in this case his Little Prince – it’s almost a case of “out of the mouths of babes and sucklings” except the author was adult when he wrote it! He must have had a very good memory or time to sit and watch, but how very true this statement is today, in the competitive world we live in!

The second one reminds me of a good friend – a lay preacher, who is not adverse to pinching you, in public usually the middle of Stroud High Street, in a very delicate place and greeting you, exceedingly loudly, in a none too delicate or indeed polite way – you know who you are Brian!! Well, some years ago he was due to take Midnight Mass, and knowing what I do about him, I was intrigued sufficiently to forgo some of the Christmas Eve festivities and delay the traditional wrapping of my presents until an even later hour and go and see him in action. Initially, indeed throughout most of the service, he wasn’t the man we knew and “loved?” The delivery was polished, albeit possibly a little staid, but he had the little old ladies eating out of his hand! Only at the final blessing did the glint in the eye appear and the Brian we all know came out, as the blessing started with the line “May all you ewe’s be pregnant!” and carried on for some time in a similar vein. The Irish have a lot to answer for, as well as the gift of the gab, and this was a traditional Irish blessing! And before you ask no, I’m not Irish, but you might not be surprised to hear I have kissed the Blarney Stone!!

Friends along the way

Shortly after we arrived in the Vendée, we noticed that there were a lot more English people around than we were expecting, and that was before the summer invasion! We even found details of a monthly English film show at one of the nearby towns, and the more alert amongst you will remember we got to see “Slum Dog Millionaire” in English but with French sub-titles, where the characters were talking in Hindi!! As we sat in the cinema waiting for the film to start we were surrounded, for the first time in many weeks by English people and unfortunately, many the type of ex-pats that at best don’t make any attempt to integrate and worst expect everything to be very English and everyone, including the locals to be able to speak perfect English, to make their life easier!! One such ...... person, we’ll call them as this blog has a family following, we encountered once on the ferry returning to England, in the early days of our adventure! He was heard to answer, in response to a question from a young couple, with young children who were about to move to France, whether he could speak French. His reply sums up the latter category “I spoke no French when I moved here five years ago, I speak no French now and I bloody well (sorry for the family readers, but a necessary verbatim quote!!) don’t intend to learn!!”

So it was when we had watched the highly enjoyable and at times rather harrowing film, but certainly a true portrayal of India as we remember it, we came out into the fresh French air and simultaneously turned to each other and said “we’re not getting into that scene!”

That’s not to say we haven’t made English friends, there are three or four couples we have met and get on very well with, but they have all moved out here “lock, stock and barrel” selling up completely in England and all trying to integrate slowly into the local culture, whilst still retaining English friends. It could be a very lonely existence otherwise, particularly if, like us your French leaves much to be desired!! You could end up going for long periods not “talking” to anyone other than the odd hello, goodbye or restaurant order! On the latter, those ex-pats determined not to make the effort, become very much the embarrassing and cringe-worthy English person abroad – shout loudly, wave their arms around and expect the natives to not only understand, but jump to it quickly! And on this note that leads neatly into the next section:

Christmas Party

Sorry you weren’t all invited, but having not had a Parrot House Christmas Party for a couple of years we had begun to have withdrawal symptoms!! So as we were going to be in France for Christmas, we decided to invite the few good English friends we have made, but saw it as a good opportunity to invite the local farmer, his wife and son, who have over the time we have been here helped us out on a number of occasions, as the farmer acts as caretaker for the chateau and is first port of call should we have a problem. Just recently, we had occasion to call the farmer as we were having another problem with our, at times rather temperamental, fosse septique, or septic tank, and without putting too fine a point on it, he had quite literally ended up with his arm up to the elbow in “notre merde!!” If anyone needed an invite to the party and thanks for helping us out, he did – at the time I was sure that was over and above the call of duty, but the builder who he called in the next day did the same thing, but did ask for a bowl of water and soap before he started!! I then felt very guilty that the farmer had very matter of factly, simply rinsed off in the nearby water trough, with not a bar of soap in sight!! But, enough of this s__t!!, back to the party!!

Some of the English friends mentioned above have lived here for much longer than us and have a much better grasp of the lingo, and so could be fairly crucial should the French contingent arrive, who between then speak really no English at all, and quite rightly don’t expect to have to!! So we phoned around them first and made sure that they were available, before finalising the evening for the soirée. We then sent the farmer and son Christmas cards to thank them for their help over the year and enclosed a party invite, saying we were having a few friends around for some Christmas drinks and would be delighted if they would like to join us and then popped them into the post-box at the end of their drive and hoped they would come.

During the winter, when there is less to do in the fields, we see less of the farmers, and had not seen them before the day of the party and hoped that as they hadn’t responded to the contrary they would put in at least a brief appearance, join us for a drink and have allowed us to use the festive season to thank them. So, with preparations almost complete and Linda barely out of the shower, I went outside half an hour before the party was due to start to light some candles and make the front look welcoming and came face to face with the farmer, his wife and son getting out of the car in party mood. I managed to hide my panic that they were early, as well as stopping myself from commenting on how unlike the French it is to be punctual, let alone early, for anything!!, and loudly showed them in, in case Linda was still dressing after her shower and went to finish lighting the candles. At this point monsieur the farmer with a glint in his eye presented me with what at first glance seemed to be a litre bottle of whisky. I was just about to tell him it really wasn’t necessary and was certainly too much, when touched my arm – something he does when he wants to make sure he has your full undivided attention – and drew my attention to some writing on the label which said “Pineau” a local aperitif, and this he told me was one he had made himself, as he unscrewed the top for me to smell, and mighty good it smelt, although the tasting had to wait (and proved to be worth the wait) as he had bought it for us for Christmas to share with our son who I had told him some weeks before was visiting us over Christmas.

When I came back from lighting the candles the family had made themselves at home, Monsieur on the settee, his wife; a very large but short and jovial lady on a dining chair next to him and their son on a comfy chair opposite. I saw that Linda had sorted out the drinks, but was somewhat dismayed to see the parents drinking water, although the son did have a glass of red wine, which we knew from previously to be his chosen tipple. Panicking slightly, I thought perhaps I had misunderstood what Monsieur had said and that he was expecting to have some of the pineau with his water, but no water was fine! I hastily put on the mulled wine (vin chaud as it called around here and a common winter drink) to mull and there followed at interesting 40 minutes or so before the next guests arrived! But, partly thanks to our digital photo frame that shows various members of the family we managed to cover a lot of ground with a little help from a dictionary. Then when a picture of Max came up the son, who’s 40, was visibly sad to see the picture, although try as he might he had never been able to really make friends with Max, who he came for the cows drinking water from the trough at the front of the house, always needed to be seen off by Max! There are also some arty shots of some of the farmer’s Charolais cattle and every time one came up the son announced in a loud voice to everyone “Ah les vaches!!”

The others did finally arrive, and I did finally manage to persuade Monsieur and his wife to try the mulled wine of which they both approved and came back for more, Monsieur several times, although on each offer initially refusing, but the twinkle in his eye saying otherwise! So the multiple refills, became each time – well, perhaps just a little more as it is Christmas!! They also tucked in heartily to the various nibbles including some English Mince Pies and Coconut tarts and a very rich chocolate cake bought my one of the other guests for us to sample and mark out of ten!! He has just got into making cakes and other sweet things and there’s now no looking back!!

Finally, nearly four hours later and after lots of flowing conversation and a vast amount of entente cordiale, the majority in French, our French friends left in a very much friendlier manner than they had arrived. Their arrival had been friendly enough, but was rather formal handshakes all around, but departure was plenty of kissing and lots of emphasis on what a great time they had had. The party continued for several hours afterwards, and once everyone had left and we were tidying up we agreed that it had been a very worthwhile evening and was just another event that had made us more determined than ever to, when we finally buy a house, to stay in the area as obviously the last two years haven’t been wasted and our French has obviously started to improve albeit slowly!

Hello my Friend

Or should I say “Bonjour mon ami!” This was the greeting that I was met by the other day when I went to the end of the drive to see what all the commotion was. The hunting season or “chasse” is well and truly underway at the moment and not just on the traditional Sunday and maybe one or two other days a week. Almost daily you can hear the horns blowing, the hounds howling and see small convoys of predominately battered old white van tearing around the place!

That was exactly what was happening today, a convey had just gone down the road, at breakneck speed; all the more worrying as you will read later on, and then hurtled back up the road as I wandered over to do my daily check on the garden and the few bits of produce still doing battle with the local wildlife. With a screech of brakes the first two vehicles came to a stop jumped out and despite the rush gave me a cheery bonjour, just as the next couple of vehicles arrived, one containing the farmer’s son, who jumped out waved to me with the cheery greeting “Bonjour mon ami!” and proceeded to tell me that they had lost the dogs and had I seen them. Being unable to help and with no dogs visible or indeed audible, they jumped back in the cars and sped about fifty yards down the road before the lead car, spotting something far across the field, once more screeched to a stop with the following cars very close behind and out they jumped bellowing and horn blowing at one of the dogs they had espied. This dog ran across the field jumped into the opened back of one of the vans and the whole convoy swiftly hit the road once more! Had there not been a fair amount of rain recently, I would have been left choking in the dust they left behind, but barely had they gone than I heard a distant howl and looking down the green avenue opposite our house, noticed two dogs, who noticed me and came running towards me obviously thinking I was part of the proceedings!

I should mention here, that we are not talking great packs of hounds charging over the fields followed by hooray Henry’s in full hunting livery, but a motley collection of both hounds and hunters, in all different shapes and sizes, again both the dogs and predominately men, all out for a jolly good time, with all the kit and some impressive looking weapons, which in fact they barely discharge, the fun seeming to be in the camaraderie, chase, shouting and horn blowing, with the occasional kill for the pot. It actually never ceases to amaze me, when enquiring about how successful the hunt has been, that normally I’m told that they got away and all they saw was a fleeting glimpse. They make so much noise; I’m surprised they get near enough for a glimpse!!

Well, these two dogs ran down to me, realised I wasn’t either a hunter or a deer, one of them was rather old and probably short sighted!, and ran off again back to where they had started with the odd sounding howl, usually reserved for when they get a scent, but this time seeming to say “Wait for us we’re over here!”

I went back in the house to change into my wellies and see if the dogs and hunters had been reunited. On rounding the corner at the end of the drive, I was confronted by a convoy of five vehicles, thankfully stationary, with all the occupants standing in a circle drinking! The farmer’s son saw me, beckoned me over and having enquired about the dogs and been assured they had been found, done the customary round of hand shaking, Mickael drained his glass, passed it over to me and instructed the pourer to pour me a drink. So, I found myself, at 11 o’clock in the morning with a large glass of something poured from one of several unlabelled old battered plastic squash bottles, but obviously of higher alcoholic content than your average “Fruits of the Forest!” With a “bon année” to the assembled company, about eight men and one woman, I fairly hastily drained the glass as the refreshments were obviously over and the chase was about to resume, wished them a “bon chasse” and quickly sought a safe place to wave them on their way, as the convoy once more took to the road. It was fairly obvious, not only from their general bonhomie and the half empty bottles, but also the increasingly erratic driving, that this hadn’t been the first refreshment stop of the morning.

I was particularly careful when going out later for my afternoon stroll, as by then they had spent a couple of hours in the hunting lodge at the end of the barn and was a bit worried that if the convoy came speeding past they might not by now be able to see me. However, it did bode well for the wildlife, because I’m sure that any kill that afternoon would have been more by luck than judgement, if not one of their friends. Comical as the picture may appear, there are always a number of such tragic accidents in France during the hunting season each year, so I was careful not to become one of this year’s statistics!

La ceremonie des voeux

And, indeed “le verre de l’amitié” along the way! It’s that time of year again, the “AGM of the Parish Council” and like many things parochial in France, in the broadest sense, it’s one of the highlights of the local social calendar. I can almost hear the groans of derision from where I’m sitting, but I jest not, the salle communal was once more packed, and it’s a fair sized room, as a conservative estimate there must have been 150 people (getting on for half the population of the commune / parish), young and old alike, not including M. le Maire and the members of le Conseil Municipal, and even M. Joël Sarlot, Vice-President of the Council General of the Vendée and President of the Departmental Committee of Tourism, puts in an appearance at these parish events!!

The evening starts with the somewhat lengthy hello’s, where everyone shakes hands with everyone else and generally enquires about their health and if they don’t recognise you; who you are, where you live and where you fit in with the general scheme of things. But there is the added confusion, that grows the more we are around and that is “to kiss or not to kiss,” at this stage only the opposite sex, but in time who knows!! Even the kissing isn’t straight forward, as an absolute minimum is one kiss on each cheek, but depending on “rules” that seem to change dependant on different circumstances, it could be three, four or even more!! At the moment, two seems appropriate where required, but that isn’t always too clear, and four or more it seems is just for close family or if you are Parisian, in Paris or to another Parisian. Paris is held in high regard across the whole of France, but as for Parisian’s, they’re the butt of many a joke, certainly more cruel that our own Irish jokes and often followed by a stream of phlegm! In reality, you just have to mention Parisians and you’ll be guaranteed a bout of mass expectoration!!

But back to the meeting, eventually, when the councillors deem it time, they flow gently towards their seats at the front, being sure to greet anyone they missed in the general melee before, and then all in good time the mayor is introduced and takes the stage for his annual report and to welcome newcomers to the village. This year M. le Maire was considerably more relaxed, albeit it rather bleary eyed as his wife had just a day or two before given birth to their third child – a little girl after two boys before. He had also bought a new suit, as last year he wore his wedding suit complete with long jacket, and had obviously lost weight since the occasion! But, with the greater confidence that experience brings, he started by thanking every one for coming, thanking them for their good wishes on the birth of his daughter and even joked about how he and his wife were doing their bit to keep the population of the village up! He followed this up with the suggestion that this might be an example to one or two other younger members of the council!

Much of the rest of his report went above my head, with just snippets making sense, such as talk of the restoration of the church roof and the sale of a further two or possibly three of the newly serviced building plots that the commune has for sale. Then there was much talk, in large figures, which the 4½ hours of Lotto (Bingo) in French and with numbers between 1 and 90, in the same equally packed hall the previous week, did little to prepare me for!! I’m alright on the odd thousand or so, as every time we go away, the farmer’s son wants to know how many kilometres we have done and it’s often “trois mille cinq cent kilometre” by the time we have done all the folks back home. But my pronouncement never fails to receive a long drawn out whistle, from a local lad who for his very occasional week’s holiday ventures to Normandy with the lads!

Then, at the end of his presentation it is time for M. le Maire to welcome the newcomers to the village and present them with, this year the same “Gardens of the Vendée” book we received last year and that had been specially produce by the Vendée Council for this purpose. Sadly, although there were 8 new households in the village last year, only two had attended and a third sent their apologies as they were at work, despite receiving personal invites from the mayor. I guess it might be a sign of the times, but hopefully it will be a long time before such events are so badly attended as to make them almost superfluous.

The formal part of the evening over, and most people rose, not to rush off, but to stack the chairs and make room for some mingling, more greeting and kissing and to allow the members of the council and their partners to bring around large trays of nibbles – rounds of bread with paté or sausisson and large quantities of the local flat garlic bread, prefou, which quite literally oozes and drips strong liquid garlic butter, down your chin and makes the kissing even more interesting. We now caught up with one English friend and a number of French friends, no longer simply acquaintances as they now expect at least two kisses, one on each cheek!

Balancing drink and nibbles and trying to avoid too much garlic butter on the chin, was interesting to say the least, and still the greetings continued. It was then that a lady came up to say hello, she’s the best friend of the farmer’s daughter-in-law and with her husband looks after the other chateau in the village. She also is often around during the hunt, sometimes bringing the lunchtime food for the men, but was the sole female amongst the group of hunters who I had greeted and had a “bon année” glass with the previous Sunday, when having initially lost some of their dogs, found them and decided (at eleven o’clock in the morning) that another drink was needed to help with the proceedings. Initially, thinking that only a handshake was needed I was juggling drink and nibbles around to free up my right hand, when said lady uttered something that in Yorkshire would have translated as “Bugger that give me a kiss!” With a kiss on both cheeks she wished me “Good Evening” and turning to Linda repeated the greeting, but this time adding a “bon année” and further adding that she didn’t have to wish me a Happy New Year, because she had already done it last week with the lads the whole thing accompanied by plenty of bonhomie!

We stayed a little longer, went onto the pamplemousse (grapefruit) troussepinette, a favourite local aperitif, which comes in a variety of flavours and proved to be much drier than the horrendously sweet sangria we had originally mistaken for red wine. It was so sweet that it was impossible to disguise the shock on the first sip, and many of the French around us concurred with us when we told the member of the council who was serving the drinks how much better the troussepinette was to the drink we had previously mistaken. Mind you it had been a good excuse to have another soggy piece of prefou – if only to take the taste of the sugar away!!

A further very enjoyable evening and yet another example of beginning, very slowly after two years, to become a part of the community and for roots to be growing just a little. Who knows, another twenty years and maybe not only will we be speaking the language like the locals, patois and all, but maybe we’ll no longer be “the newcomers” or “les anglais”, I wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to say one of the locals – that I’m sure takes a lifetime and probably has to start from birth!!

New Year Resolutions ~ with a twist!

A little more of what I call and maybe others too: “free form” or “as it happens” poetry, something of a none rhyming slow rap, and in this case inspired by a recent TV holiday ad!! With not having a television in France, it’s surprising what you end up glued to when you get your hands on a remote!!

New Year Resolutions, for longer than the 5th Jan!

I want to ......
watch a thousand stars in a dark sky
eat fresh food under a French apple tree
wander, at will through the green lanes of France
grill freshly caught fish in the summer sunshine
for friends who have sought us out
hear the hoot of owls at night
and the jubilant chorus at dawn – sometimes!
my times ......
have the noise of a crowded beach
fringed with an azure sea, breaking gently on
warm sand or crashing noisily on the rocks
or the quiet of the deepest countryside
dappled or damp as the season dictates
have time to put my thoughts on paper
have time to find that bird in the book
have time for friends to share
have ...... quality time
to watch the hare startled in the car headlights
and stop to watch it cross the moon-beamed field
I do ......

I don’t want to ......
have the stars washed out by neon lights
rush dinner under a pile of paperwork
sit in interminable lanes of solid traffic
rush round the 24 hour supermarket
with brief encounters over the fish counter
hear the hoot of car horns late at night
and the grind of the rush hour traffic – never!
at no time ......
have the noise of a crowded shopping mall
fringed with all manner of rubbish and waste
blowing idly like a late night film
of a deserted city street
dreary, damp, depressing
just think fleetingly, and ephemerally
barely see the bird that remains unknown
not enough time to go around
watch ...... the clock
hare around adding to the wanton road kill
petrified by the beam sweeping the dark lane
I don’t ......!

“Ici devant nous!”

This time two years ago I was in the middle not only of packing up the house ready for storage and renting out the house, but also undertaking a mega-sort. I was so busy, that there were several times that I thought being back at work, oiling the wheels of education, was a calmer and less tiring option, but as the 25 missives in between will confirm – I was wrong!! It was all worthwhile, even if it didn’t seem it at the time, and our sanity was maintained at the time by many good friends, who realising that our departure was imminent invited us for a farewell dinner. I don’t think I have ever eaten out, or indeed so well, in a period of a month, but if nothing else, it made us stop for a while and recharge the batteries, even if after we had been fed and watered we often returned for the night shift and more boxes to sort and to pack!!

The sorting was very like one of those “clear out the clutter” TV programmes, and was made all the easier as so much can now be recycled or taken to charity shops. For a bit of light relief, late at night when I needed to sit down, but felt I couldn’t be inactive, I sorted through seemingly huge mountains of old magazines: Caravan Club, Wildlife Trust, Country Walking to name a few. Loathed to part with them, but needing to prune down our accumulated life, I flicked through them quickly and tore out interesting articles for future reading or reference, so the mountains slimmed down to a document wallet or three.

Having moved finally into the French house, albeit still only rented, the document wallets found their way in some sort of order into the filing cabinet. Well, with a week or so to go before setting off once more for an adventure in the caravan and the weather and other circumstances not being conducive to outside work, I decided for old time’s sake to have a sort out and see what was there. In many ways it was like finding old friends, but more excitedly many of the wildlife / nature cuttings I rediscovered related to things common in our neck of the Vendée, the very first article relating to a splendid summer resident the Libellule déprimée, or Broad bodied chaser as you may know it as. These are simply quite enormous (body 5 cm and as you may have guessed broad with a wing span of about 8cm) and rather noisy dragonflies, their wings brushing together to make an audible clatter – you hear them coming.

Having spent two or three years as a “gothic-looking, mud coloured, slow moving gargoyle” of a nymph, skulking around hidden in the depths of the local pond, in amongst the water weeds, they emerge as a “fairy-winged dragonfly” the males with a powder blue body and the females a cleaner than the nymphs, almost glossy brown, both edged with a pale yellow. They are supposedly common in the UK, but I can’t particularly recall seeing them in profusion, but here the males at any rate are everywhere during the summer. Perhaps, it’s just that it’s easier to spot the brighter males, but the females certainly seem much scarcer, or at least know their place, back at the kitchen sink – oh dear there goes the keyboard again running away with inexcusable sexist comments, good job I don’t work for Sky News (just to let you know although we’re out in the sticks we do keep up with current affairs!!).

The males are fiercely territorial, flying around their patch and often using the same perches to keep an eye on things, so it is easy to stand and watch for them coming back, often hearing them before you see them! Having mated the females fly far away in search of pastures, well ponds, new and will often be the first insects to colonise newly dug ponds – this might also explain the lack of females around these ‘ere parts. Our ponds are obviously male territory!

Well, this week the woodpeckers have started hammering again, there are celandines coming out in the chateau park and the violets and primroses have been out for some time, so the seasons are doing it again and coming around, despite the rather cold biting wind we have today, and hopefully it won’t be too long until the sun warms and the dragonflies start to clatter!

My original “thought!” or two!

Brief and totally not to the point, at least with the first thought! Linda, before the festive season and at other times last year, became an avid and rather accomplished furniture restorer. First the beds and dressing table that belonged to my Nana, which now elegantly grace the guest room cum study, and matching the other pieces of furniture in the room – all very “Homes and Gardens!” Then, we acquired a “mini dresser” comprising an old floor standing meat safe with a shelf unit on top that in a previous live had consisted of a number of detachable trays used for storing and distributing hymn books in a church and now a lovely looking addition to our increasing number of kitchen items.

This finished and the old school dresser, we purchased some years ago in an antique shop in Nailsworth, near Stroud and that had for years sat in the hallway of The Parrot House, collecting amongst other things piles of Christmas cards for party goers at the annual Parrot House Christmas party and now is used as our crockery cupboard, started to look a little shabby!! This is no longer the case, as it is now cleaned, sanded, varnished with a smart new tongue and grove back and competing admirably with the meat safe and top!!

Then, there were the old chairs we had acquired from Linda’s Mum and Dad’s house in York. Many years in the sunny conservatory, had taken their toll on the fabric which was perishing badly. So we acquired some old wooden framed chairs, that had belonged to my Aunt, which although serviceable, needed refreshing and have subsequently been stripped down and recovered, and now Linda is eying up the first chairs and planning to reupholster them on our return from our forthcoming holiday in the caravan.

All this renovation got me thinking – maybe she’s going to renovate me next!! On second thoughts maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, as if look it up in the thesaurus, it means: to make better, enrich, enhance, touch up .... the list goes on and on!!!!!! So, maybe the next time you see me, it won’t be me but the new improved me, and you might not even recognise me!!

But my final thought for this time, is I hope that I’ve not forgotten any of our friends and not wished them a Happy New Year!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda

And, next time? The next missive will probably come under the title of “A Thought popped into my Head!” with thanks to Alain de Botton and his book “The Art of Travel” which for anyone who shares his, and indeed my love, of motorway services or airport terminals in the dead of night, it’s a must!! It is also, something of a departure from earlier missives, as some of it regresses ......
back to my childhood!!