Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 23 attached. But, oh dear after the mini-ness of the last one this has broken all records and is a truly mega-missive.
However, the covering letter I will keep short and reassure you that the attached missive is at least broken up into plenty of easy to digest pieces.
Also, I guess in part it is therapy, as despite contracts nearly being exchanged on the York house and us being able to think towards the future, we heard a couple of days ago that the prospective buyers have pulled out ............ arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!
Lucky we love where we’re living, even if it is not our own!
Love
Roger
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
The Summer of Our Content ~ Missive 23
“The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, And took them quite away!”
Lewis Carroll; author, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon and photographer.
“True contentment comes with empathy.” Tim Finn; New Zealand Pop star.
I’m all sixes and sevens, after this missive was high jacked by last month’s mini-missive!! And, also as temperatures plummet here in the Vendée, but not quite as much as in the UK, contented summer living seems a long way away, so it will be a case of wracking the recesses of the brain, well trying to make sense of the variously scribbled notes. As I’ve said before, there is a good degree of planning, as well as thought, goes into these idle ramblings – it’s a bit like the Dolly Parton quote “You’d be surprised how much it costs to look this cheap!”
Campsite Capers ~ Holidays and People Watching
I hear you say that life must be one long holiday, and certainly the joie de vie felt when opening the shutters each morning has not diminished, so I would have to concur. But as they say a change is as good as a rest, and certainly the couple of short caravan breaks we have had this year got us away from watering and tending the garden for a little, but also provided some interesting “people watching” along the way! The first four during a heat wave, when staying near Saumur on the Loire the others later on at the end of the summer, down the coast a little from us near to Royan.
It was another “Maud moment!” Many of you will have heard me tell of “Maud” a fictitious character who has manifested herself – in different guises – in several of my writings! She’s a type; be it the sad lonely lady in the bar in Malta with the gold lamé handbag, the strong silent type with the strong thumb many years ago at a French school social or as in this instance – the good woman all but ignored by her other half, even when she delivered his food to the table, and who then reciprocated by doing her own version of looking right through him! - all very different but somehow in each case the name seems to fit!
I christened this “Mr Maud” as Mr Sourpuss, a small man with a very large caravan and enormous four wheel drive, who was pitched the other side of my mum and dad who were pitched next to us. He was together with his slightly oriental looking wife who he never seemed to speak to and who appeared always to walk one step behind him and be constantly at his beck and call, and with a small furry dog who was obviously like it’s owner feeling the heat and unable to cock a leg, let alone lift a finger – or maybe just pain lazy!! I surmised that there real name might have been Martin as the dog was rather grandly called Remy, but certainly not, in my humble opinion, one of the finest of vintages. On the other hand it might simply have been pretentious! The dog spent most of its time sitting on the man’s knee being preened, and certainly received far more attention than the lady in the ensemble, who on second thoughts might have been a paid employee and was certainly expected to be seen and not heard at times watching the man eat at the outside table from behind the plastic strands of the fly screen in the caravan doorway. As you know I’m usually a tolerant sort of fellow, but this rather aloof and stand offish “gentleman” brought out the worst in me not least as when anyone tried to make conversation, including another couple who were staying close by and had obviously been neighbours for some time came to say good bye, as they were on the way back to England, it was all too much for him and more often than not he simply ignored you and looked straight through you as though you weren’t there!! Fortunately, he moved on a couple of days after we arrived, without so much as a wave or a nod, and apart from making sure that Remy was comfortable on his padded back seat bed, did little to help pack up ready for the off. In fact it won’t have surprised me if he had driven off leaving his good lady behind; well he hadn’t acknowledged her the whole time we had been there! The departure fortunate, as the more I was ignored the more incensed I became and the more likely it was that I would say something, if not directly to him, certainly loud enough for him to hear!! A case of people watching at its worst!
An autopsy and birth or two in the pool! Swimming is a great leveller, tall or short, fat or lean, when swimming it doesn’t matter as it is largely your head that shows! “Does my bum look big in this” doesn’t need asking, as long as you can carefully slip into the water making as little fuss as possible, so as not to draw attention to yourself.
Also when swimming people’s inhibitions appear to plunge and you end up making friends, in whom you seem happy to confide your inner most thoughts and feelings, and also seem to think that none of the other swimmers can hear a word you say despite talking in a voice little short of a shout! Perhaps they’re ended up with water in their ears!!
So it was that gently and quietly swimming up and down in the Loire Valley sunshine, I was told in graphic detail all about an older gents arthroscopy and subsequent complications, which were in fact being told to a younger lady who he had only just met who, not to be outdone, was motivated to recount the intimate details of a little operation she had had, and due to the volume of their voices, I didn’t miss a word, even when at the far end of the pool!! But that was nothing, I was then told by a group of young mothers, with their toddlers in tow, all about their various confinements, labour problems (as in birthing rather that working) and their preferred methods of contraception, and they weren’t even in the same pool, they were splashing around, in the baby pool, with the very offspring that had caused them so much grief, that now they wanted foolproof contraception to avoid it happening again!!
Strange noises in the loo! At the same campsite, whilst making a late night call to the loo, I was preceded into the ablution block by two gents who had obviously had something of a skin full and needed to consign some of the excess in the direction of the porcelain! They were talking excessively loudly at such a late hour and this together with an obvious “belching and farting” competition, meant they didn’t hear me slip into one of the nearby cubicles. There followed a long conversation, they obviously had much to get rid of, that rambled around almost incoherently, but kept returning to the same theme, which produced further loud guffaws (from both ends!) every time they mentioned that they had lost count of the number of times one of the females in the company, who was obviously well oiled, had enquired as to whether one of the other men had found his boules yet!!
As they noisily departed, it came as no shock to hear someone in Reception the next morning asking to move – because of their neighbours! At least with neighbours like that we would have been acknowledged, even if we couldn’t get any sleep and if you can’t let your hair down when on holiday - when can you!?!
World Cup! I wasn’t going to mention the World Cup, as I know it’s a long time ago and quite probably, whether wearing my English or French hat, best forgotten, but it does add a multi-cultural element to the people watching and the missive as a whole!
Well, after France and England’s dismal performances I had lost what little interest I had had in the World Cup, but found myself drawn to the loud cheering in the campsite bar, where the final stages of the World Cup were being played out. The big screen rather unhelpfully told me that the match was between PB and Brezil, the latter easily translated possibly accounting for the loud cheering, I thought, until events told me differently. So PB, or as I discovered by a little research Pays-Bas, had me initially flummoxed! But, to put you out of your mystery, unless of course you are initiated, this country is better known to us as Holland or the Netherland (Pays – land and Bas – nether!), and as there were many Dutch visitors on the site, including one very excitable oriental looking Dutchmen and a number of equally lively middle-aged females obviously knowledgeable about the “beautiful game” and who on every Dutch attack jumped up and did a little jig complete with pumping arms, this explained all the excitement! The initial excitement was nothing compared to the first goal when PB went one up against Brazil and the reaction echoed around the campsite. The celebrations were short lived as Brazil soon equalised, so at one all the tension was palpable, and emotions running high, so when with just ten minutes to go, PB took the lead the cheer this time echoed around nearby Saumur and beyond!
What a last ten minutes it was, me doing more people watching than football spectating and finding out into the bargain what “I’m desperate to go to the toilet, but I’m not going at the moment!” is in Dutch. Additionally, I learnt the word for “Rubbish” when the Dutch squandered a chance to go further ahead, as well as some rather colourful language, not for polite company, when the Dutch team fluffed a few breaks and half chances. Then with just a couple of minutes to go, Brazil won a free kick just outside the Dutch box and the two French barmen, who had been harmlessly winding up the Dutch supporters, started very pointedly to remove anything from the bar that could be used as a weapon – bottles, cutlery etc. and took cover under the bar!! Fortunately, the free kick went wide and was quickly followed by the final whistle and much Dutch partying, and I was reminded of those famous Dutch sayings “It hangs upon a silken thread” and “He who waits long enough the world will be his own!!” At least until the next game!
The sun sizzled down into the sea - twice! Amazingly, with all the sky watching I have done I only recall two
previous times when I have seen the setting sun slipping and sizzling into the sea. Both interestingly enough in Cornwall, one at Sennen Cove and the other over the Western Rocks, part of the Isles of Scilly archipelago, viewed from my island paradise – St Agnes – when the children were young enough to humour me, and we listened for the sizzling steam as the hot sun touched the surface of the Atlantic Ocean! Any other time, the promised hiss has been thwarted by a thin band of cloud building up and getting in the way at the crucial time!
But with the beach just a short stone’s throw from our caravan and largely days of unbroken sunshine, even through the hot summer sun was beginning to fade as we were into September, it made for great sunset watching. We were not alone either as each evening after dinner with the things cleared away there was a steady procession of watchers, some armed with chairs, cameras and jumpers at least over the shoulders, as when the sun finally dipped so did the temperature, although we did still have shorts and sandals on and on one of the days I was wearing my swimming costume and had a great time leaping about in the ever increasing breakers as the sun sank slowly out at sea beyond me. After two magical nights where there was barely a ripple, the sea had started to get up and the sun competed with more clouds and on the day I swam with the setting sun, I competed with some really quite large and powerful waves, body boarding and being thrown around completely powerless again the mighty ocean, and on one particular wave, having not quite ventured out far enough, I was mercilessly picked up and deposited on the beach, the wind quite knocked out of me but thankful to avoid the many shingly beds largely made up of empty and broken oyster shells. It was certainly a reminder of how you need to respect the amazing power of the sea and this was on a relatively calm late summer evening!
But, as the pictures I took, quite literally in there hundreds, bear testament that the colours were stunning, different each night and enhanced by the boats, shipping, clouds and bicycles going past! Confused well you’ll have to wait for the posting of some of the pictures on the blog, when all will be revealed!! No, the waves weren’t quite powerful enough to strip me of my cossie, but they had a damn good try! And, yes on two of the nights the sun slid and sizzled down into the sea and it was quiet enough to hear the hiss as it went!!
Is it art!?! It was these rather superb pottery fish that had attracted me initially to the poster and had then persuaded me to seek out the exhibition, which it transpired was in a large well spread out college campus, comprising of a number ,
of large deserted terrapin light buildings some for teaching and others used as sleeping accommodation, with the associated canteen, laundry and the like. Deserted save for the one building that housed the exhibition, which also spread out around the grounds, the wonderful fish flying in all directions.Entering the exhibition, the first thing that struck you was the vast space and the plush interior filled as it happened with a somewhat eclectic if not esoteric collection of largely strange pieces of art. Of the many pieces I was only moved to take photographs of two, apart from those fish swimming around the field, one a glass panel painted with a swirl of many falling people, reminiscent I suppose of wind-blown leaves – well I did tell you it was eclectic!
The other is reproduced here,
but was it art? Well actually no, it was the silhouette of the window frame on the blind pulled down over the window to give some ambience to the gallery. My accompanying critic was heard to think that it was about the most artistic thing around, and I almost found myself agreeing!
Flapping bird! They arrived part way through the afternoon and he had obviously been holding on for some time as on finding the route to his newly acquired pitch, he abandoned his outfit (car and caravan for the uninitiated!) and tried not to appear in too much of a hurry as he hurried off in the direction of the gents! That’s when she started flapping, his wife had got out of the car and whilst looking around for the owner of the vehicle that was preventing them from getting onto their pitch, appeared quite agitated and the lower part of her arms flapped quite simply like a young bird that had fallen from the nest too early and although trying could only flap their wings ineffectively. As she strutted around flapping, I began to wonder if it was in fact her that was desperate for the loo, but didn’t want to leave the outfit in case it got pinched whilst she was away!
But no, on his return he was greeted by renewed flapping and what could easily have been excited squeaking in anticipation of a juicy worm, but was actually squeaks to the effect of “They’re still blocking our way and I’ve no idea who there are or where they have gone and I been flying up and down looking ever since you left!” Further frenzied flapping had me looking around for the other parent with a tasty morsel, but in fact announced the arrival of the offending driver, who without so much as a conciliatory squeak drove off leaving the new arrivals to set up camp. Whilst the man reversed the caravan, to frantic flapping, into the allotted space and proceeded to meticulously set up camp, he was followed, albeit surprisingly silently, around accompanied by much flapping, the intensity increasing when tasks were perceived as being more difficult, such as checking levels or positioning the jack pads (the blocks of wood under the caravan jacks to spread the load and stop the jacks sinking into the ground!).
The flapping continued unabated throughout the setting up, until it all became too much for the lady and she stood dramatically hands on heart, when it also almost became too much for the French couple next door to us, who were obviously also doing some people watching and could barely contain themselves – I certainly didn’t at the moment try and make eye contact!!
This year’s holiday coincidence! We all have them don’t we! Strange and varied coincidences that happen on holiday – meeting someone we know, or someone who comes from the same town, or a group busking, who you subsequently meet again some weeks later when back from holiday busking in your home town, and what is all the more amazing is the frequency with which they happen, rarely does a holiday go by without one!
So it was that we got talking to an Englishman, purporting to be puzzled as to why we have an English car, with a French Plaque, or number plate, and a GB sticker – easy really, living in France when the car insurance needed renewal, meant that we had to re-register it, and the GB sticker has stayed in situ as a subtle pointer that our steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car, at least whilst in France. I say “purporting to be puzzled” because I actually think he thought we were on a scam to avoid UK Road Tax and annual MOT’s, supposedly a growing problem as in France there is no Road Tax and biennial Control Technique’s or MOT’s. We have even been advised to retain proof of our fairly frequent ferry crossing to the UK, in order to prove we are in fact resident in France with just the occasional UK holiday. Who knows perhaps said gentleman actually worked for the DVLA in the UK and was on an undercover mission to trap unsuspecting and unscrupulous holiday makers!
Well, having explained things to him, he was joined by his wife who wanted to know what he was doing, so he had to explain the above conversation, I guess so as not to blow his cover! We then chatted about caravanning in France and, as you may remember from a previous missive or two, how difficult it is to register an English caravan in France. One thing led to another and they said that following an accident some years earlier, when they were unable to take their caravan home, they had put it into storage in the South of France and subsequently found it beneficial for this to become a permanent arrange, the storage facility, each year towing their van to the chosen site, leaving them only a ferry crossing and drive through France with their car. It’s actually a very common arrangement and extremely cost effective.
They then went on to tell us that in order to see different parts of France they had now move the caravan into storage in the Vendée, and what a coincidence that’s where we live!! But no!, that’s not all, it transpires that their caravan is stored with Tom and Eleanor, the Irish farming family whose caravan site we first stayed on when we initially arrived in the Vendée!! What’s more the fact that Eleanor has become pregnant, given birth and now had a 10 month old son, made us realise just how long we have lived in the Vendée, because when we left Tom and Eleanor’s she wasn’t even expecting!
More from “Our patch!”
As you will have gathered from previous missives during the summer, events are plentiful with every commune or village holding a fete or music festival, with not a little good natured rivalry I’m sure! The other amazing thing is in the majority of cases, at least part of the proceedings are gratuity or free!! Here are just two such events.
Music dans la Rue de la Loge You would be forgiven for thinking that with time on our hands we had decided to plan a street party and, as the French have a habit of doing, close the road and party! But no, this Rue de la Loge is in nearby Fontenay le Comte, but does indeed have connections with “our chateau!”
The poster about this event looked enticing and so as we had visitors, friends from Scotland who we hadn’t been able to catch up with for years, a music festival and a stroll around the market and old quarter of the local town seemed a great way to while away a Saturday. Indeed, Fontenay bathed in hot summer sunshine was at its best full of happy contented people going about their weekend chores in the bustling market, and we were even greeted by a bagpipe troupe (not sure of the collective noun for a group of bagpipes!) who were to process down to the music festival, acting quite literally as “pied pipers” to make people head towards the music festival. Booked to start at midday and go on until the early hours of the next day it could have been a long haul, but as our visitors had their twelve year old daughter and ten year old niece with them it was a case of seeing how it went.
Immediately on entering the street it was obvious that there had been an amazing transformation from the rather dreary and run down street I had first discovered over a year previously, whilst wandering to pass the time when Linda was at the Coiffure or Hairdresser. At that point the Rue de la Loge that runs parallel to Fontenay’s main street Rue de la Republic, had certainly lost out in the battle to be top street. In the intervening time, not only was money being injected into restoration project, but also new premises were opening and the street was becoming quite a cultural and alternative area of the town; bars with music, galleries, brocante (antique shops), music shops and the like, quite a rebirth.
We proceeded to spend a very enjoyable couple of hours mingling with the happy crowds, who were being entertained by a variety of folk style acts from a number of different countries, performing at various small stages, no more than a thick sheet of 8 X 4 plywood, and rotating on a carefully planned programme. Arriving at the main focus of the evening performance, the square at the end of the street, an elaborate “meccano-like” stage was still being assembled together with a number of buskers providing entertainment to the throngs of people sitting on the multitude of long trestle tables and benches, owned by the community and always part of French partying.
Over the months we have been here and as we have explored it more, Fontenay has grown on me. It is certainly a very vibrant cultural centre, and on this particular day, for the first time reminded me of Stroud and its various festivals, carnivals and celebrations. It was once more this summer, really rather a contented feeling and the large portion of moules frite (amazingly just 3€50) washed down with a glass of beer helped considerably.
Luçon night This was all the better as we stumbled across it both by default and unexpectedly. By default because we had decided to have a day out at the seaside for Linda’s birthday, but as the weather forecast was, as it happened erroneously, not too good, we decided to go the next day and if we hadn’t we would have miss this “One Night Only” event completely.
Well, setting out in brilliant hot sunshine, we decided to head towards Les Sable-d’Olonne, on the recommendation of Monsieur from the Chateau (there you didn’t think I could go a complete missive without mentioning him!!, but that’s the lot this time, but maybe a book to follow – The Count of .....!!), and a splendid typically French seaside town we found, busy as it was August but fun just to soak up the atmosphere and know we were not a million miles from home and there weren’t in any case the traffic jams of St Tropez and Cannes.
We settled on a “picnic” lunch overlooking the sea and decided to head south towards our normal haunt – La Tranche sur Mer for an early dinner. But with the long hot summer afternoon ahead of us and despite a sea in the languid Atlantic, we got ahead of ourselves and ended up with time on our hands, so decided to head inland and dine somewhere at Luçon, a charming small town that we had visited once or twice before.
Arriving in the town, we were surprised to find the whole of the centre of the town closed, with “Route Barré” signs everywhere and as there was something of a carnival feel to the place, complete with a fairground set up in the main car park, felt it safe to investigate. What we found was that there were three free stages being set up for an evening of live music and a real buzz about the place. Having wandered for a while we settled on a hotel restaurant, well it was Linda’s birthday treat and had the fixed menu; three delicious courses for 17€, vin et café compris!
Then it was out to see how the setting up was going and we were just in time to see the start of a fantastic, professional and very energetic group called Mélisse, who were quite simply superb, playing a wide range of material including many rock standards and looking as though they were enjoying every minute of their set that just seemed to go on and on, with little in the way of introductions between the songs. After over on hour we felt we had to drag ourselves away and go and see what the other stages had to offer, but they would have been hard pushed to better Mélisse.
The second stage we encountered, a smaller more intimate affair had a group called La Marguise we recognised as being at one of the other tables in our restaurant, and consisted of three young men and a slightly older lead singer, who were all giving their all and although not at first seeming as professional as the first group, were actually very accomplished at what they did best – protest songs and I re-christened them “The Angry Young Men – with a smile! As they were obviously thoroughly enjoying themselves, despite having been on stage for what must have been over an hour and a half of high octane dissent!! When they finished we wandered up the road to stage three to be confronted by the local high school band – average age 16, with a much younger lead singer. Called Sex Fesst, as I guess would seem appropriate at 16, they were not at accomplished as the others but obviously had a large following and would certainly be one to watch in the future!! They were having some sound problems but when they sorted them out, they belted out a great “final” encore, although I think their groupies had other ideas and we left them to it and went back to Mélisse, who we could just hear were still performing, between the songs of Sex Feest!
Back at the main stage, Mélisse were indeed continuing unabated and didn’t even seem to have had a break. By the time they finished it was gone midnight and they had been on stage, performing brilliantly for at least three hours. We drove the few miles home buzzing, after what had been an amazing and unexpected end to a great day, and the music festival was gratuit or indeed free!!
Visitor Numbers
The visitor count for this year is down a little on last year, perhaps the novelty has worn off I hear you say, but no all those visitors who came last year have, where circumstances allowed, returned this year. Last year’s numbers were also up a little because we had our annual “Family Weekend” at Chez ‘iggs, which meant not only a large influx of visitors, but also several repeat offenders!! In real terms we had 20 individuals visit us last year, some as I said more than once, and this year to date we have had 22 individuals, with two more to come – Daniel and Lisa have finally managed to find some time and are spending Christmas with us; flying out and then hitching a lift back just after Christmas, in time for our traditional seeing in of the New Year in York.
Of this year’s visitors, at the moment by the end of the year, 8 will be first-timers but that’s not to say that it’s not too late to get yourselves in the Visitor Book and have a stone added to the Visitor Cairn, Autumn is lovely in the Vendée, indeed we have just sat outside in warm sunshine having our lunch, although the nights are closing in and becoming colder. Although flights become less during the winter months, they do still fly from Stanstead to La Rochelle, with some great offers if you book early, or there are some great ferry offers for short breaks or on the Dover – Calais route, which although a good drive from us, could see you meandering through Northern France, soaking up the sights for a couple of reasonably leisurely days on the way here and back, making for a great out of season break!!
Blanket of Night or “Dog’s bark changing to a howl in response to the owl?”
Thoughts from a balmy, or should that be barmy evening at the very end of July!!:
Night falling like a blanket, as the blanket gets heavier
The night becomes darker,
And the different layers of stars become “uncovered!”
With the darkness come the sounds and sights of the night –
A loudly croaking frog on the edge of the water trough,
Doing its best to drown out the other sounds.
The dog barking at the end of the road, urgent and incessant.
The water cannon, cutting through the field edge trees
As it waters the riot of maize in the distant field.
Far distant drone of a lone vehicle,
Blocked by the harsh hoot of our neighbourhood owl.
The flapping of the bats in the still of the night,
Hopefully keeping the “biters” at bay!
The strange and ceaseless unidentified squeak from the flower border.
On the table the flickering citronella candle,
Losing the battle to keep the high pitched whining “mossies” at bay.
Low rumbling of a far-away aircraft, high in the darkening night sky.
Something rustling over the wall in the fallen leaves
Of the chateau garden, and not yet August, but autumn on the way.
The nearby mooing of a cow causing, or coinciding with,
The jump of the frog into the water.
The metallic clacking of the cockchafer beetle
Drawn relentlessly to the shade of the outside light.
Dog’s bark changing to a howl in response to the owl?
Drawn back to the stars, as the settling blanket uncovers
The “plough-handle” and the North Star, before
The light dips to reveal Ursa Major, that Great Bear in the sky.
That dog would annoy me if I lived closer, far more intrusive
Than the quiet drones of the remote car and noisy aeroplane.
Shimmer of the candle on the side of the house,
Further flickering of moths in the candlelight.
Clicking of the cooling down sides of the caravan.
Further rustling in the border, Shouting at a distant party with music pulsing
Seemingly in time with the relentlessly marching water cannon.
But, I’m off in as the candles and bats don’t seem to be doing their jobs
And the blighters have started to get me!!
“Ici devant nous!”
The “ditch food” has once again this year been plentiful, as I believe it has in the UK, and we have found supplies of apples, pears, chestnuts and blackberries to date. It was whilst picking blackberries close to the nearby village of St Cyrs de Gâts, which I came across a fearful looking beast, on the lookout and guarding its particular part of the hedgerow.
At first I thought it was a large hornet, quite common in these parts and when we first arrived we were warned to check when taking in the washing that there wasn’t one trapped amongst it. The consequences of slipping on a pair of freshly laundered underpants and ..... ouch!!, it doesn’t bear thinking about!! But, back to the beast, having realised it was not a hornet but a large spider doing a very good impersonation! Indeed, research told me this was a Argiope bruennichii, simply called Argiope in France but commonly known as a Wasp Spider in England, where it can be found very rarely in the south. It is a spider that makes an orb web, with a very noticeable thick zig zag pattern under the entrance, that gives it another common name of Writing Spider (of Charlotte’ Web fame for the teachers amongst you!). The purpose of this “writing,” web decoration or stabilimentum to give it its proper name, is unclear but may serve to attract insects or as the webs are rarely more than a metre off the ground, be a warning sign to prevent the web’s destruction by animals walking into it.
As is the case with spiders the female is much larger than the male, in this case by as much as 5 or more times, with the male coming in at 3 – 8 mm and the female 25 mm, so not providing much of a meal after doing the business!! However it seems, as is often the case in our part of the world, the female that I had spotted came in larger than the normal maximum, a good 30mm or more! A common question is “do they bite!” to which, in this case is yes possibly if grabbed, although they are regarded as harmless to humans and won’t attack. But further research tells me that their venom is a “library of polyamine toxins with potential as therapeutic medical agents” However, I didn’t feel the need to go back to check!!
And, just to prove that life here is a bit like an ongoing Nature Watch, I’ve just been disturbed by a commotion outside the back window and on investigating it, there not more than four metres from me a large buzzard had come cautiously but noisily to ground, obviously having just caught some prey, which the long grass was hiding from me. After a couple of minutes, during which time I was able to quietly call Linda in from the other room for her to see, and when it was sure the coast was clear, it lifted of carrying its prey, in order to dine in a safer place. This afternoon, the unfortunate meal turned out to be a green woodpecker!
My original “thought!”
What does my scribbled note, attributed to a good friend (name to follow!!) who visited in the summer, mean? When visiting Ile de Ré, Dorothy, when in the back seat of our car, was heard to say “I’m not stroking your bottom, I’m just holding your thingy!!!” Just goes to show what a exciting and fun summer we have had, as the above hopefully testifies! Thinking back, long and hard, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it called that before – that’s the catch for the seat belt, before you ask!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
P.S. The jam tarts et al. (see the top) weren’t half bad as well, the kitchen working overtime during the busy summer season!
And, maybe to come next time? Quite simply this time “Who knows what tomorrow brings!” and as the nights draw in and the weather turns cooler, what adventures lie ahead! But whatever, the title will come from Dr Seuss’ little book – “Did I ever tell you how lucky you are!”
