Missive 29 ~ Twinkle twinkle little bat!

1st May 2011

Dear All

Missive 29 attached, and yes I know I just missed the end of the month but I think it explains itself!!

Also, sending it to coincide with the May Day Bank holiday and after all the excitement of someone or other’s wedding has died down, will give you plenty of time to read it – and it’s only shortish!!

Love

Roger

rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Shortly to be slightly further west (approx 3 km) and up a bit (1 ½ km north),
oh!, and down a bit (10 m elevation)!!!

Mes chers amis

“Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at.” (with thanks to the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland!) ~ Missive 29

"There’s so little time and so much to do, There’s so little time for dreams to come true.
Many a ship to sail, many a magic land, Many a moonlit trail, many a road to walk hand in hand”From the song “So Little Time (So Much to Do)” on the Louis Armstrong album “Pocket Full of Dreams”.

“Gardening requires lots of water, most of it in the form of perspiration!”
Lou Erickson

“Gardening is a matter of your enthusiasm holding up until your back gets used to it!”
Author Unknown (but very wise!!)

The first quote explains the amazingly “short” length of this missive, the other two explain it further, as I sit my back sticky with sweat after another two hour workout in the garden, seeking rest and recuperation on the keypad. So this time, it’s to be a small offering with little of the wit, scintillating comments and in depth observations of human live that you have hopefully come to expect. But, as you read on you may realise that this is what you will have to get used to, as shortly we’ll be “back to work” replacing hours spent with wire cutters, sickles and sledge hammers, interspersed with numerous trips to the nearby tip, where we have become such regular customers that the “waste operative” there greets us like long lost friends and before helping us unload must shake hands and pass the time of day, with paint brushes, screwdrivers, saws, hammers and further aching backs, legs and arms!!

England!

As you may remember, we have just had a couple of weeks back in dear old blightly, managing to escape just before “the wedding,” but my plans to declare a “wedding-free zone” were thwarted, as when I returned from a couple of hours working up a sweat in the garden and with another trip to the tip, I found Linda and my Mum and Dad who have returned with us for a couple of weeks, huddled secretively around the computer, waiting to see the dress and the kiss on the balcony! All sounds a little like a BBC repeat!!

Well, we had a busy couple of weeks, including something of a busman’s holiday doing various jobs for my Mum and Dad in their house and garden. But we also managed to tie the visit in with a warden meeting I needed to attend in Broadway, a flying visit to Stroud and also caught up with most of the family, for much of the time there were between 7 and 11 people sitting down for meals, so lots of cooking, eating, drinking and missing the dishwasher!!

Then there was the visit to B and Q for the paint – paint in France being both very expensive and very poor quality, even if carrying the same brand name. The list was very long, a trailer load in fact and we were delighted to find a “three for two” offer on all paint as well as a very helpful and knowledgeable sales assistant who pointed us in the right direction for the best buys and quality, to the point of rubbishing one of B & Q’s own paint lines, recommending a different line for nearly the same price!

We went to the till with two trolleys piled high, due to the offer we had rounded up to three when with some we only needed two, well the third was free – or was it!?! Having paid for the goods and scrutinising the bill, we found we had saved £77 instead of the £113 we were expecting and off we went to Customers Services for an explanation, which was simply that it was a “mix and match” offer so you got the cheapest items free!! So, the manager was summoned, who wasn’t particularly helpful, but did agreed that if we returned the goods and made a number of separate purchases we would indeed save the expected amount, and this is what we did, fortunately not having to return into the store, but all being dealt with by the man in customer services, who by the end of it all quite understood how sensible we were to save all that extra money!!

So the journey back included a paint packed trailer with a wheelbarrow strapped on top, lashed on by a huge quantity of rope, so we were very relieved not to have to untie it all for the trailer to be inspected, and a very laden car with barely enough space for my parents – they would I’m sure have had more room on a budget airline!! But safely back the car load was added to the growing mound of “things for the new house,” thank goodness that our “cave de chauffage” (boiler house) has a floor area well in excess of a squash court!!

One day perhaps we’ll just have time in England to catch up with everyone!!

Such snatched moments will now be of the upmost importance!

One of those all too rare magical “stolen” mornings – I’m not normally up in time, but then if I always got up at this time, I guess some of the magic would dissipate anyway! Written as it flowed from the pen having returned to the warmth of the house and a welcome cuppa!

“Call me a lunatic, 7.00 a.m., quick nip to the loo and as I didn’t need to be up, back to a nice warm bed!! But then I saw the fantastic moon (it was the time of the moon being particularly close to the earth and therefore seemingly extra large!), waning but just one day off the full, dipping majestically down behind the chateau out back! Not wanting to miss the photo opportunity, it was a quick throwing on of a few clothes and off at breakneck speed, surrounded by the early twitterings of the dawn chorus, as the moon was going rapidly.

Several shots, with the camera, later and I was behind the chateau near to its large lake, when I realised that the multitude of fritillaries that were at that time bedecking the hay meadow, were clothed with a fine layer of frost, and I realised that my own clothing was painfully inadequate for the chill of this particular early morning!

But, as I came back round the chateau and headed back to the house for a warming cup of tea, with the cuckoo cuckooing and the woodpecker alternatively tapping and screeching, that I noticed that the sun was just beginning to lift clear of the distance trees and beautifully illuminating the “iconic tree” that sits on the bank of the pond at the bottom of the field opposite our house. The splendour of the morning won over the cup of tea, for half an hour or so necessitating numerous more photo shots, at which the inquisitive cows in the field the other side of the lane came over to see what was happening. Maybe it was the sense of occasion, but I had a long conversation with the cows – in French, and covering a wealth of topics including the moon, the sun, the previous cold night and how I wasn’t coming bearing gifts and how there seemed to be the promise of a great morning to follow – who said the vocabulary wasn’t improving!? Over the delayed cuppa, I mused about; the sun, the moon and the long conversation I had already had that morning and noted that for once even the rather aloof bull hung on my every word!!”

The House!

In some ways not a lot has changed, the compromis signed we are now awaiting the “act de vente” which will make the house formally ours and we can start to do things inside, as opposed to the jungle bashing you’ll read about in the next section.

However, we have begun to get artisans in to give us “devis” (quotations) for the electrical / plumbing work, which we are hoping to get started as quickly as possible after we finally officially “get the key,” although unofficially and we’re not allowed to tell anyone, we have a key to allow access for the artisans, which has proved great for showing visitors our new abode.

Those who haven’t yet seen the house have commented that the various communications have a dearth of photos of the inside of the house. Well, quite simply there’s really not much to see, it’s basically a blank canvas, albeit a rather dirty one!

We did initially think we had a few mice that had made the most of the house being empty for the last few years and moved in! It was however, rather a mystery why the piles of droppings were confined to the corners of the rooms or under little niches. Then, when we showing an electrician around the house, out from the workshop flew what initially we thought was a small bird, but closer examination revealed it to be a bat, flitting happily around the house between all the rooms as it had obviously done for the last few years. Hopefully, shutting the interconnecting doors will discourage it in the future, but at the moment we’ll hang on to the comment made by the electrician – “In France it is considered lucky to have a bat in the house!” As with many things a bit different in France than in England, where the presence of a bat, although perhaps rather exciting, could be anything but lucky, necessitating the cessation of work and the need for a professional bat survey before being able to continue work!!

Now, it’s simply a case of wanting to get in and start the cleaning and subsequent painting – as I said above the paint (specially imported from the UK) is in the cave, waiting with baited breath. But in the meantime we’ll have to work up a sweat and hope that the back gets used to it before the enthusiasm wanes ~ that’s then the garden sorted!!!

The Garden!

Seventy plus “person hours” and we’ve hacked and sweated, pushed and pulled and been scratched and stung and have finally found the garden, well, three corners of the five it contains, and the others are within striking distance!! The jungle bashing discovered what was almost like a lost world, because as well as large head high bramble patches, there were a number of ham built animal sheds and runs; ham built but fortress-like, with multiple layers of chicken wire or thicker fencing wire, knitted together with thick wire or barbed wire strands or thick rot resistant binder twine and fastened to the uprights and random cross pieces by large staples, or bend over four inch or bigger nails. Sandwiched in the layers of wire were thin concrete slabs, corrugated iron or black plastic sheeting, with the whole held down by being set into concrete that was set into the ground, and with large areas of corrugated roofing nailed on top where the animals could sleep or roost!

The whole was then surrounded by a multi-layered fence interwoven with thick black polythene, topped with at least one strand of barbed wire. We have heard that the previous inhabitant had had a long deep-seated feud with one of the other residents of the hamlet, and it was almost as if every time the warring factions had words, another layer of “defence” was added. In a similar fashion, there are a number of hastily boarded / bricked up windows in the house, including a couple of what we see as authentic and architectural features.

But, we’ll get there; we have to, to be able to get the caravan into the garden and I’ve already started to dig up one patch of bramble / nettle roots and thistles ready for some veg planting – at the very least I want to have some courgettes and potatoes! Then one day we’ll be able to sit down under the ancient spreading vine we hacked through to, that will provide dappled shade for our new sitting area – well at times like this you need imagination and the ability to dream and maybe a sense of humour!!!

¡qué un sorpresa!

What a surprise it was indeed, as we pulled up outside our house and found that Monsieur from the chateau was back from Spain and seemingly to stay as he had put out his bins. A day or so later he realised we were back, when Toutoune went missing and was obviously around at our place, he rushed around and greeted us like long lost friend, warmly shaking my hand as I tried out my newly revised Spanish greeting and kissing Linda on both cheeks, whilst saying how pleased he was we were going to stay in St Laurent for ever, so we could be friends for ever, and telling us that even once we had moved we were now his friends and could walk in the chateau grounds whenever we wanted!

The following quick five minute chat ended up as an hour and a half cup of tea, as we picked up from last summer; it was as if he hadn’t been away for any time, let alone over seven months. It promises to be a long fun-filled summer, when we are not doing house renovations!! We also couldn’t help but feel that the poor winter weather in Spain was a good excuse, when actually spending time with us before we move, might have featured in the decision to migrant north much earlier than normal

“Ici devant nous!”

Actually this time possibly not! As the “processionary pine moth caterpillars” should really live further south, but are moving northwards, but after we moved south!!

I’m sure many of you will be aware that certain hairy caterpillars contain irritant hairs, and writing this I’m reminded of a particular campsite, in southern Brittany, where we were inundated by SAS style caterpillars that abseiled in vast numbers down from the many trees. Unfortunately, once they managed to abseil between my neck and shirt collar, then became squashed between my back and the chair making for an irritating rash for a couple of days.

But the processionary caterpillars are in a league of their own and without wishing to be alarmist – potential killers!! The first sign, in spring are light coloured web-like cocoons swinging in the tree tops. These are caterpillar nests, from which the caterpillars march out, nose to tail in single file and lines of up to sixty, to feed on pine needles, leaving a pheromone trail to find the way back to the nest.

The nests damage the trees and the advice is to carefully cut them off and burn them, but even when dead they are dangerous. The caterpillars have fine hairs on their backs which contains a protein that causes severe irritation and dermatitis and can cause anaphylactic shock to both humans and animals, and if eaten by cats and dogs can kill them so quickly that there may not be time to reach a vet. The symptoms include vomiting, swelling of the tongue, staggering and breathing difficulties. If you come across them, as we did recently, best to leave them alone as they can release these dangerous hairs with the risk of subsequent poisoning!

My original “thought!”

The English call it “Wickedness,” the French “Pleasure!” ~ the jam on the morning croissant!! I’ve always said we could learn a thing or two from the French, but on the other hand their beer isn’t as good!!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love,

Roger and Linda

And, next time? Whatever the spade unearths as well as fighting with a large snake!!!

Missive 28 Maison Boutet ~ Working Title

March 2011

Dear All

Hopefully you will find Missive 28 attached. Believe it or not it features a house rather a lot, but “her indoors” tells me “this is more like it, more what I thought the missives were going to be like!” Praise indeed! I guess the missive says it all! In the meantime, we look forward to seeing you at the pendaison de crémaillère, but don’t forget the paintbrushes!!

Love Roger

rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

Maison Boutet: “Working Title” ~ Missive 28

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts" William Shakespeare, As You Like It (Act II, Scene VII).

“All changes are more or less tinged with melancholy, for what we are leaving behind is part of ourselves”. Amelia Barr

I felt we owed it to Monsieur (M) from the Chateau, to tell him the news of our new house and therefore fairly imminent departure from our current abode. After the relationship we had established over the previous summer it was, I felt, the least we could do. But finding the right words proved quite difficult, and for several evenings I put it off, until after our first visitors of the year had gone and I could give the task my undivided attention!!

This then is the bulk of what I finally sent, although thanks to Babelfish it was in Spanish, M’s first language:

“As you said at the end of last summer “All good things must come to an end!,” and as you will no doubt remember, we have been waiting to sell the house of Linda’s mother in York, before deciding where we go next. Well, the house has now sold and we are in the position to buy our own “little piece of France” and have found a suitable house in Le Boutet, still in the commune of St Laurent de la Salle, where we feel we have begun to get to know people and put some roots down. The house is an old stone farmhouse, which needs quite a lot of work doing on it before we can move in, so it will be our intention to remain at La Loge for some weeks after the sale is completed in the middle of May, principally to allow an electrician / plumber time to make the house safe and habitable – then we can start with the paint brushes!!

It will be with more than a twinge of sadness that we leave La loge, as we have been very happy here and will take with us many happy memories of our first two years in France, living in “the little house at the end of the drive!” These happy memories will include many about times spent with the man from “the large house at the other end of the drive” and his dog. But, will of course have much of the summer to renew this friendship over a cup of tea or two and, who knows, maybe dance a jig or two, to the surprise of the good citizens of Fontenay le Comte!!!

We will obviously give our three months notice to the Notaire, in due course, probably at the beginning of May, if we are able to arrange the necessary works to tie in with this date. I expect that the Notaire will be in touch with you, but felt that we wanted to contact you personally, in the true English fashion courtesy and good manners!

In the meantime, with Spring arriving with a wonderful display of magnificent flowers everywhere and some lovely warm sunshine to broaden the smiles, we will wish you good-bye, until we see you later in the Summer. There are also some suitable “leaving / moving on” quotes below!!

Kind regards and best wishes......

Then I waited with baited breath! I didn’t have to wait long as by lunchtime the next day I had received M.’s reply, in English, my first language, and it was its normal blend of eloquence and eccentricity! Here are some verbatim excerpts:

First of all, I congratulate you to stay in Saint Laurent de la Salle for ever! I shall have, in that case, the pleasure to see you...for ever! If you had choosen a house in the moon, the song would have been different!

So, with great pain, I shall see you going away but I shall rejoice knowing you do not go too far from home in which you will always be welcomed with open arms and with Toutoune's (his dog!!) open legs!!

I shall never forget those magic moments spent together, Indian dinners, tea party, and moments spent in front of my computer...!!! But, everything ends on this planet!

He also thanked us for the “elegance” of letting him know before the Notaire, “writing” it in Spanish and for the quotes which were included and for which we both share a passion. The Shakespeare one was particularly chosen for him and my email was headed with an anonymous quote that also seems very apt:

“Tres cosas dicen a un hombre: sus ojos, sus amigos y sus cotizaciones preferidas.”

“Three things tell a man: his eyes, his friends and his favourite quotes.”

And, I suppose, that as the new house is the news of the moment there is little more to write about – well after all it is just about filling our every waking moment, and may well provide a few nightmares along the way!! So the rest of this missive is centred around our new abode, called by the estate agent Maison Boutet, but we are working on a different name, (ideas on a postcard please!!) as there are actually eight Maisons Boutet; three owned by French people, one of whom has a rather lovely gîte in their garden, one recently bought by an English family, initially as a holiday home, but maybe for renting out in the future and another three houses in various states of renovation, but at the moment not lived in.

Le Boutet, as it appears on the signs, may I like to think after researching it, be a variation on boutée, which is French for a full boute or hogshead (barrel), and as a hogshead full measures in at 52 ½ gallons, or a mere 198.73 litres, it bodes well for the pendaison de crémaillère (House warming party)! Mind you if we don’t get the heating in in time for next winter, we might need the house warming.

Yes, and before I forget you’re all invited – just bring old clothes, paint brushes and rollers, secateurs ...... and a pint or two of good English beer – one of the few things I miss about the UK and it does seem to quench the thirst better than the French stuff!!!

The Search!

I’m sure you will remember the utter dismay we felt, having returned from the UK, ready to view a house we had both fallen in love with close to where we are now and still within St Laurent de la Salle, where we had decided we wanted to stay, only to find it had been sold, although to date it remains empty. A trawl of the multitude of estate agents and a couple of trips to the local Notaire (Solicitor) who was selling the first house, unearthed nothing suitable within the chosen area.

So the holiday in the caravan was a welcome break and a chance to get over the disappointment, and to think about where we went from then. The decision was that certainly in the short to medium term we would hold out for a house in this commune, staying where we are living at the moment, a great place, with a chateau in the garden and an owner who became a great friend and who would once again move back from Spain for the summer – so as I said in the last missive: “But, on reflection and now the disappointment has dwindled somewhat, fate hasn’t done us too bad so far!!”

But on our return, there was still that niggling feeling that it wasn’t ours and should we plant the garden – what if?, I’m sure you know the sort of thing. We had however, decided that we would go shopping later in the week and buy some things to plant in the veg plot! Linda then came across, almost by accident details of “The House” which we had seen before we were in a position to buy but which we thought had been sold, and although it perhaps didn’t tick all the boxes, it did most and particularly the all important St Laurent de la Salle box, although the reason we hadn’t found the details before was that they were listed under La Caillère, the neighbouring commune!!

Hoping it wasn’t a false alarm and that it was still on the market, Linda emailed to arrange a viewing and what a relief when we found it was still available, and off we went to have a look and veg planting was at least for the time being put on hold!

The Viewings!

It wasn’t quite love at first sight, as it didn’t tick all the boxes and probably had more needing to be done than we were thinking of doing at the time, but that was well and truly reflected in the price, which was quite a lot less than advertised – the estate agent obviously keen for a sale, told us of a previous offer that had been accepted, but the potential buyers needed a mortgage and weren’t able to get one. We also at this stage asked about the other piece of land and being in France, shouldn’t have been surprised when he said he didn’t know where it was, but then after a phone call took us to a place it might have been, and subsequently transpired that it was!!

We mulled for several days, looked at maps, google earth and made the odd sortie to look at the property from afar, its position making it very difficult to walk past it unobserved! To my untrained eye, and disregarding the various piles of mouse droppings the house looked to be in a fairly sound state, solid walls and a fairly new roof, despite the fact that everything else looked rather archaic, to the point of obsoletion and eventually we decided to pay a second visit with our retired builder friend and if he agreed with us that it was sound of wall and roof, to make an offer. He had a good poke around, declared us of sound mind, at least in relation to our thoughts about the house and our initial draft plans of what we wanted to do, as well as offering a few suggestions of his own!

Love then blossomed and we made a verbal offer, followed it up with a written offer once a couple of points had been clarified and the rest is history, not least as it’s being written down here!! There was then the wait to discover if the offer was acceptable and to get a date to sign the compromis, to make it all legal and binding. It was an anxious wait, despite the fact that in France, once an offer has been accepted then it is unlikely that the estate agent will show anyone else around and the house is as good as yours, but there’s still the worry if you haven’t signed on the dotted line!! So, what is it we’re buying:

The House!

In the estate agent’s blurb the description says: DANS HAMEAU CALME GRANDE MAISON DE PIERRES A RENOVER COMPRENANT 3 PIECES REZ DE CHAUSSEE PLUS CELLIER 4 CHAMBRES ETAGE ET DEUX GRANDES DEPENDANCES OUVERTURES EN PARTIE REFAITES DOUBLE VITRAGE PETIT JARDIN ATTENANT ET TERRAIN NON ATTENANT 1500M2 or if you prefer: IN A CALM HAMLET LARGE STONE HOUSE TO RENOVATE COMPRISING THREE ROOMS DOWNSTAIRS PLUS CELLAR 4 BEDROOMS UPSTAIRS AND TWO LARGE OUTBUILDINGS (attached to the main house and very large) PART DOUBLE GLAZING SMALL GARDEN ADJOINING AND LAND NOT ADJACENT 1500M².

It’s almost right; although the house isn’t that large, 7 rooms but none of them big, the cellar is in fact a ground floor cave / back kitchen, the small garden isn’t that small and doesn’t adjoin, it’s about 20 metres away and the other land is much nearer to 1000m², but you get the gist of it and the hamlet is certainly calm!!
Basically, plenty of space, the living space is about a third more than where we are renting now, and with loads of potential and the all important sound walls and roof, at least over the living area, so now it’s up to us to transform the place, which is both daunting and very exciting! Watch this space!

Nelly knew!

You might think that the fact Linda had her hair cut the other day, doesn’t really fit in with the rest of this missive and isn’t centred around “The House,” but you would be wrong! A few days after we had put a formal offer for the house into the estate agent, Linda went to make an appointment to have her hair cut. When she arrived there was a lady under the dryer and a man waiting to have his hair cut, but Nelly the hairdresser was able to book Linda’s appointment for a couple of days later. It was as Linda left that the lady under the dryer turned around and recognised Linda and said hello. This lady who lives between us and the centre of St Laurent de la Salle, had come to see Monsieur at the Chateau the previous summer, we think this lady’s mother used to work at the “big house” and is probably a similar age to Monsieur, so may well have known him as a child. Much to his chagrin M. had forgotten the appointment and the lady appeared at our front door asking if we knew where he was. We tried phoning, and had a chat with the lady, who subsequently takes delight in introducing us to her friends when we attend a village function – we’re her English friends who live next to the chateau, no not that one the other one!!

Back to Nelly’s and Linda had a brief chat with the lady and left, returning a couple of days later to have her hair done. Part way through the haircut, Nelly suddenly remembered something and excitedly said to Linda “You’ve found a house to buy!” On previous visits they had talked about where we lived, how we rented the house and were hoping to buy somewhere, but how did Nelly know?

Well, when Linda had left Nelly’s a couple of days previously, the lady under the dryer had informed Nelly and the gentleman waiting who Linda was and where she lived! At this point the gentleman’s ears pricked up and he said well in that case she’s going to be my new neighbour! How did he know, well ...... good friends of ours, Geoff and Chris, had stayed for several months in the gîte whilst completing the purchase of their house just down the road. During this time they became good friends with our new neighbours and had accompanied them the previous weekend to the Hunt Dinner and told them all about their new neighbours – well perhaps not everything, because when we went to introduce ourselves they were pleased to see us!!

The bush telegraph works just as well in France as in England, but just for once we were able to trace the calls!

The Garden!

This is also covered in the section below entitled Next!?! But, just a little more here. The house itself simply has the courtyard, although one long term plan involves removing the roof from part of the “dependances” (out buildings) and creating a little hidden courtyard with a covered summer dining area and summer kitchen, but the emphasis on long term!!

The garden for the house is a short step or two down the track in front of the house and borders on one side an area owned and looked after by the commune of St Laurent de la Salle. This attractive area includes the communal oven, that is still fired up at least once a year to cook the delicious local delicacy – prefou, a flat garlic bread sometimes stuffed with other fillings such as tuna, tomatoes, salmon and the like, but always with dripping down the chin quantities of strong garlic butter, for the local “parish walk” in June. This could well be our first social event after getting the keys.

Our garden, as I recently promised the neighbours will one day look magnificent! Perhaps, rather a rash way to keep in with the neighbours, who have an enormous, indeed magnificently kept plot, hence my rather rash promise when complimenting them on their wonderful garden, containing flowers, lawn, stream, woodland, potager (vegetable plot), orchards, sheep fields, barns (numerous), wood stores, gîte, chicken runs and I’m reliably informed a cave (wine cellar!) all looked after by the neighbours – a sprightly couple who we’re led to believe are in their eighties, although they certainly don’t look it. Maybe, hopefully, it’s the Le Boutet air that does it and the next time you see us, well maybe in a year or two when all the hard work has been done, we’ll look rejuvenated and my re-growing bald patch will have thickened into a fine thatch!!

Our 350 m² of garden slightly pales into insignificance when you look at the neighbours plot, but it didn’t stop Madame popping down to see me in the garden the other day to say hello. She stood in her very typical blue French boiler suit; she was on the way to do some strimming on the bank of the lane, she surveyed the garden and said somewhat incredulously “Oh, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!! It kind of said it all, but it’s to be hoped that each day after we’ve left they pop down to vet what we have done and are suitably impressed, by what at the moment looks more like a demolition scene than a garden! But, one day hopefully in the not too distance future, she’ll stand at the gate and simply “Oh la, la!” said admiringly will suffice!!

In the meantime, Linda has got lots of pots and planters ready to put in the courtyard to make an instant impact and to make the place look loved and lived in, and the front of our house does look over the neighbour’s beautifully tended garden, giving us a good view and something to aspire to!!

Roger’s Retreat!

You may have seen the pictures of this, a piece of land it seems now nudging just over 1000 m², a strip 8 ½ metres wide and about 120 metres long and really something of a bonus, but not uncommon in France where the succession laws split everything up amongst the offspring, even as is probably the case here, splitting a field into strips. Its “development” is way down on the “to do” list, but when it happens, and it is probably a good winter job when the accumulated prunings can be burnt, there are some sketchy plans!

I have always wanted a piece of woodland, and as the edge of this has a number of semi-mature oak trees, with some smaller saplings encroaching onto the strip, a woodland is there for the making. I think also, there will be some sort of temporary shelter, to keep dry or to shade from the sun, next to one of several grassy glades to encourage wildlife – we’ve already seen a large deer on the edge of the plot! Then, possibly a small orchard / growing area, there’s a splendid and well maintained vineyard next door on a similar narrow plot, but whatever goes there will need to be low maintenance, as the house garden will come first.

But basically, it’s a lovely spot surrounded by fields on two sides (one short, one long!, the vineyard on the other long side, and with scrubby woodland giving way to an amazing flooded quarry, with high cliffs and plenty of wildlife opportunities.

So, if I go missing or I’m in the doghouse, you could do worse than to look for me first at Roger’s Retreat! Maybe the development plans should also include a wine cellar; it’s near enough to walk home!!

Next!?!

Strange, but in a way the next bit has started already! We are coming up to the “cooling off” period, where after the signing of the compromis we have seven days to change out mind, but the sellers can’t!, and although we have no intention of pulling out, it normally takes up to eight weeks for the next bit to be completed and the house become ours. However, at the signing of the compromis we asked if we could make a start in the garden, which as I said before is head high with brambles and about half of it covered in rather ramshackle sheds and chicken houses. Ramshackle they may be, but they’re certainly not Gerry built, with several layers of chicken wire liberally nailed to the wooden frame, which is put together with nothing less than 4 inch and mostly 6 inch nails, conveniently bent over once through the pieces of wood they are being used to hold together!

So, nearly 24 person hours later (our last visitor roped himself in!) as well as Linda and I we have made a start, although in reality barely scratched the surface and already the local tip, fortunately only a couple of miles away, has become a frequent haunt!!

In addition to the garden we have also been busy checking out the local, and not so local DIY shops, once scarce in France, but now thanks in part to the Brits, springing up everywhere. We seem to have visited most of the shops in a 30 miles plus radius and one or two of them twice, and perhaps rather jumping the gun, we started even before the compromis, buying the trappings of civilisation. Our cave de chaffauge, boiler room, which is fortunately something like an aircraft hanger, has started to resemble a builder’s merchant – bathroom furniture, wash hand basins, log burner, radiators, the odd cupboard or two and even a kitchen sink and base unit! The kitchen has even less in it than the house we rent, it has two taps coming out of the wall, but only a cracked tile shelf underneath them to hold a washing up bowl, and nowhere to tip it other than outside!!

I’m tempted to think that the jungle trekking we have been doing in the garden is actually the lull before the storm!! Next is the storm – rewiring, plumbing, hot water, heating, painting, tiling ... and whatever next is unearthed! Both of our new neighbours, Monsieur and Madame, independently from on another, mentioned the state of some of the roofing on the “dependances” – out buildings and there are a number of broken tiles under the eaves. But the roof on the main house is sound and fairly recent so that’s something!! But this leads me neatly on to the next section.......!!

“Ici devant nous!”

The neighbours! The delightful couple, who will shortly become our “nouveau voisin” seem delighted at the prospect, when we went around to introduce ourselves Monsieur when he had checked we were actually going to live in the house chuckled pleasantly and muttered “nouveau voisin” with a sufficiently broad smile to show he was pleased. Now we have to make the right impression and will know we have been accepted when beckoned into the cave (wine cellar) to try a glass or two!!

Reliable sources, however, tell us that this lovely gentle older couple had a very long running (many years) and extremely deep routed (our house features a lot of barbed wire fortifications) feud with the inhabitants of our new house! Let’s hope it wasn’t about the dependances roof, as our first priorities will be making the house habitable and comfortable, but just in case, I think the roof may have just gone higher on the “to do” list, for reasons of entente cordial, oh, and the chance of a visit to the cave!!

My original “thoughts!”

Oh my god! What have we done!! I’m going to be too busy to become a fully paid up member of the GOD’s as reported last time. It will be more a case of Growing Old Demoniacally, with all the work needed on the new abode!

Over the years, Linda and I have read many books about people who have escaped, bought “house wrecks” and spent the following years turning them into their “little bit of peaceful and idyllic France.” Yes, we dreamed but always said “How do they do that!” Well, we’re about to find out and already I’ve had lessons on stud walling and wall lining from a good friend who before retiring to France was a builder!!

And, at the end of the day, there may not be a chateau in the garden, but it’s ours, or will be very soon!!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda

And, next time? So little time, so much to do – who knows, but it may feature what the English regard as wickedness and the French pleasure!?!

Missive 27 ~ A Thought popped into my head! / Moments in Time

February 2011 (just!!)

Dear All

Hopefully you will find Missive 27 attached. A bit of a mammoth, but plenty of short sections, hopefully making for easy reading, although “her indoors” tells me there will be lots of huffing and puffing, as its heavy going!!!

As the spring starts to spring out everywhere, we’re beginning to look forward to our first visitors of the season, having just had a lovely three weeks away in the caravan in “warmer” climes – sunny 20˚ in Biarritz!! Needed shorts which we hadn’t packed!!

In the meantime, enjoy the painting!! Read on and all will be revealed!!

Love

Roger

rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

A thought popped into my head / Moments in Time ~ Missive 27

“...... a brief moment in the retina of an observer ......”
From “The Art of Travel” by Alain de Botton

“Memory is complex, as well as fragile. It isn’t just a list of dates and events. You might argue that it is much more to do with scents and textures, and less tangible elements than those. The cadence of a voice uttering a single word. A bird’s song at dawn on one significant day.”
Said by Dr Nicholas Grosseteste in the book “Iris & Ruby” by Rosie Thomas

I love the first of these quotes, how often does an image flash briefly through your mind of something long ago; thought about because of something you have seen (a person who reminds you of someone you know), a smell (it’s the proverbial smell of boiled cabbage taking you back to the school canteen – although for me it’s sweet smelling baked beans!), the feel of something (a well laundered pillow case takes me back to the days – half a century ago! – when I got to sleep sucking my thumb and flicking the hem with my nail!), a piece of music can transport you many miles and also over the years (three years back I sang once again at the folk club in Leeds I frequented, as a student, probably on too many nights, the song I had last sung there over thirty years before, but with the spotlight blinding me the audience became all my old friends once again – helped not a little as the whole pub was unchanged, even not redecorated!, during the intervening years) and in a similar way a tasty meal can not only transport you to heaven, but the very same table that you sat at years before!!

When I first read this quote, I was reminded of snippets of India, featured briefly in my book “Moonlit Guruji Travels” and I quote: “Who could have failed to wonder where the old man hobbling along the seemingly endless road was going, or what would happen to the two old men whose motorbike ground to a halt in the midday heat far from anywhere and why were the group of young children poised ready to flee whilst one brave (only just) soul poked, very gingerly, with a very long stick at something (a snake?) hiding in a crevasse in the corner of the walled garden in the middle of an area of wasteland.” All these were viewed fleetingly from the window of a bus or train and, as I reread them they’re there once again on the retina!!

On the second quote, Michael Gove (currently Secretary of State for Education, should anyone have missed this rather insignificant gentleman!) take note, at this time when you are talking about returning to a “fact-based” curriculum! Who knows, soon maybe he’ll have had his day and the bird’s will once again sing to herald the dawn of a new era!!

As many of you will know, I’m often amazed by little things and certainly by much of modern technology, but surely the most amazing is the human brain which is surely the original hard disk drive, capable it seems of storing endless snippets of information, thoughts, processes and the odd fact or two if you so desire, although these days the knowledge of how to Google has in many ways superseded this requirement!

Finally, by way of introduction John Ruskin talks about how, when travelling (at the moment this is being written on the laptop, in the caravan surrounded by vineyards pruned ready for this year’s growth, close to the world famous St Émilion, a year older than I was yesterday!) everyone should not only draw, they should also “word paint” or write, so colourfully painted below for your edification and delight, are some of my sensory snippets from the last five and a half centuries – makes me feel quite old!!

But I might be stolen!

This one is relatively recent; in fact it dates back to a very cold January day in 2009, just before we set off on our adventures! We were walking up Stroud High Street for our then regular Saturday morning coffee rendezvous at Mills Café, when I overheard a young boy of about nine being asked, by his mother, to stay outside the shop and look after the baby in the push chair, whilst she very quickly popped into the shop.

It was a bitterly cold day with a biting wind and obviously the somewhat agitated young lad felt the shop would be more comfortable, so loudly protested saying “But Mum, it’s freezing!” When that didn’t work the quick thinking boy, who I’m sure will go far said “Mum, I might get stolen!” But unfortunately, that didn’t work either, but may well have made Mum’s “pop in” all the quicker, as the thought might subconsciously have crossed her mind – what if!

Overheard in an Irish coffee shop

In Dublin for a short break with some friends a couple of years earlier, this time on a fairly chilly February morning, perhaps it’s the cold that sharpens the wit, we had popped into a café for a warming cup of coffee.

We were sitting looking out onto the busy streets; it was the day that the England rugby team were playing Ireland in the Six Nations Tournament, so Dublin was awash with the red and white of England and the green of Ireland. A large group of English supporters came around the corner, all patriotically dressed in their team’s colours, but in amongst them and obviously one of the crowd rather than a hostage!, was one solitary figure wearing the green of Ireland with the lucky shamrock emblazoned on the front.

One of two Irishmen sitting in the window drinking coffee, turned to the other one and anyone else who happened to be listening, and said: “Obviously, one of them masquerading as one of us!” which raised a general chuckle. Somehow, I just can’t seem to imagine a similar scenario happening in the streets close to an important football match, indeed I doubt we would even have been able to drink coffee in the same café as the opposition!

We then went on to an amazing pub called the Porterhouse, (if you’re ever in Dublin do find it, the one situated in the old brewery building and quite close to the Liffey, it’s full of little rooms all on different levels with a very interesting collection of quotes – “I drink to make other people interesting” George Jean Nathan, one that particularly caught my eye! – and of world beers displayed everywhere, interspersed with lots of bottles surprisingly looking like Carlsberg – the whole pub and brewery being devoted to the best of real beer. Closer inspection of the famous “C” labels showed the tag line to read “Probably the worst lager in the World!” The food is great as well!) owned by the Porterhouse Brewery who brew a small range of exciting beers, including a stout that gives “The Guinness” a run for its money, and has at various times, guest brews from all around the world.

Today, being match day and the pub full of supporters, English and Irish, as well as Italian and Scotland, who were playing earlier in the afternoon (for the aficionados amongst you, it was the year Italy gave Scotland an early fright – three tries in the first few minutes of the game, but then unfortunately ran out of steam and couldn’t maintain the early lead!!), the numerous wide screen TV’s didn’t seem as intrusive as rugby was today’s theme, and it was great to see rival supporters engaged in friendly banter, but also prepared to praise the opposition where praise was due.

Rugby certainly won on this day, a day when the media had hyped up the possibility of trouble at the England – Ireland match being played for the first time at Croake Park, normally a hurling stadium, and in the distant past scene of a bloody massacre by English troops. It was almost as if the media were hoping that memories of events well before anybody’s living memory would spark off new troubles. But, as I said rugby won the day and never has an opposition stood more respectably for the playing of the opponents National Anthem – you could have heard the proverbial pin drop as well as the tears of emotion in many an eye. The Irish did however get the last laugh, they trounced us, but by the time of the kick off we were at the airport waiting to fly home, and had to endure the agony of watching the excited Irish supporters – we were at the time still reigning world champions, but it didn’t show!!! But as I said above, the one or two moves worthy of world champions were met with warm applause and credit where credit was barely due!!

Overheard in the Turk’s Head

This one I’ll report verbatim, a conversation overheard in the Gents of the Turk’s Head Pub in the Isles of Scilly, between two seemingly strangers, but it could have all been an elaborate ploy – for a laugh, but as they went back to different tables I don’t think so!!

Having finished what I had gone in to do, I was washing and drying my hands, with one gentleman going about his business in one of the two stalls in the fairly cosy space. In comes another gent, who has obviously imbibed freely and needs to make room for more, with a loud “Room for a small one?” The other gent peering over the low dividing screen said “Yes ... and it is a small one isn’t it!”

The other gent then looked back and said “My!, that’s a real porker, what do you call it!?!” I just caught the reply as I stumbled, trying not to laugh, out of the door – “Freddie!”

Again, I can’t imagine this happening at a football match without a certain amount of bloodshed!

Eenie Meanie

Driving home from work one day, yes I did have to do that once!, with the radio on to keep me awake, a rather jaunty little song started, that if I hadn’t been driving in a stream of traffic, would have quite literally stopped me in my tracks! It was the chorus that caught my ear;

“If you don’t give my ball back to me, I’ll get my dad onto you!
I only kicked it over your fence, and broke a silly gnome or two!!”

Why did I find this so arresting, and why still on reading it does it make for such a vivid sensory snippet? Quite, simply, something that happened when we first moved into our second Stroud house, some sixteen or so years ago. Our next door neighbour had a patch of gravel, about 4 metres square on which he had serried ranks of Garden Gnomes, carefully painted and lined up looking towards his bedroom window! Later we discovered, in conversation with the neighbour once he had decided that we weren’t all bad, that there were two hundred gnomes in total and during the inclement winter weather he carefully wrapped them up, possible affectionately patting them on the “bottie,” and boxed them up until the spring!

But back to the retinal incident when we first moved in! It more or less happened like the song says, Daniel had a friend for tea, the football went over, the friend started to climb over and get the ball and the neighbour impounded the ball, which incidentally hadn’t so much as grazed the knee or bloodied the nose of any of the small white bearded gents or their less than traditional lady friends! But I returned to find an indignant Daniel and friend, the incensed pair wanting their ball back and annoyed at the injustice of it all. Binding my time a little, not wanting having just moved in to fall out with our new neighbour, I had tea, a couple of drinks, which made the fact that the neighbour looked uncannily like one of his red hatted charges, all the more hilarious and as darkness fell it took a great deal of self control not to stage a “kidnap the prize gnome” raid and hold it as ransom for the ball!

As time went on, the ball having been returned the next morning, the point having been made, relationships thawed and we ended up getting on quite well with the short legged, pot bellied, gnome-like next door neighbour and even ended up cutting his hedge for him, partly so it didn’t spoil our view across to the picturesque hillside over the valley, but also to help the neighbours out who were both too old to be climbing ladders and cutting hedges. Although, the neighbour remained quite a cantankerous soul, we did end up getting on quite well and even found out why he was so bitter and twisted – he was a Maxwell Pensioner who had ended up losing much of his pension during the financial scandal – I’ve always gone on record as saying that there is usually some explanation for people’s behaviour, particularly when it is rather erratic!

The song, in case you are wondering I finally tracked down, courtesy of the internet. It’s called Eenie Meanie, and sung by a singer called Jim Lawyer!!

Glasgow Central

As a relatively young child, about 15 years old, my parents abandoned me, late at night, at one of Glasgow’s main railway stations. If we hadn’t later been reunited, who knows I could, like a well known cuddly bear, have ended up being named after the station and a series of stories about a lost boy called Glasgow Central (doesn’t have quite the same ring as Paddington!!) taken the world by storm.

Glasgow late at night, as you might imagine can be a little scary, but they (my parents that is!) had the presence of mind to leave me our two dogs, but would two “wee corgis just like the Queen brings to Balmoral each year” be any defence against the numerous local neighbourhood drunks who through the haze, just might have imagined me to be one of the princes, rather than a lost child shortly to become known as “Glasgow Central!”

Shocking, how awful I hear you gasp. How could your parents who seem so pleasant have done such a mean, heartless thing!! Well, I ought to explain!

My brother had spent much of the preceding summer “chilling out” on the island of Tiree in the Inner Hebrides, off the Scottish mainland and having been holidaying in Scotland, we had arranged to meet him off the train to take him home. Unfortunately, having arrived at the main station, we discovered that Glasgow indeed has two mainline stations either of which it seems could have been the arrival point for my brother’s train and all this before the days of mobile phones and a quick call to check which station we needed to be at!

It was therefore decided, indeed I probably being such a delightful child!!! even offered to stay there whilst my parents went to check out the other station. Leaving the dogs, I’m sure was my idea as they were very protective at the best of times. It was quite difficult, a young boy with two corgis trying to wait inconspicuously at a Glasgow station in the dead of night, so I quickly or at least I think it was the dogs that became the blurred focus of attention of a group of drunk down and outs, who started to come over to say hello to the “lovely wee doggies” seeming at the time to ignore me, but who knows maybe it was a case of befriend the “wee doggie” and get to know the “wee laddie a bit better!!” Fortunately, the dogs came up trumps, rose to their full height, raised their hackles and bared their teeth menacingly; both emitting deep threatening growls that were enough to sent the drunks on their way, mindful of being bitten by the now not so lovely wee doggies. Unfortunately, with their minds somewhat befuddled by the drink they quickly forgot about the threat and returned for another go, but the dogs were more than equal to them and drove them off again. I was however, quite a relief to see the rest of the family, my brother now in tow having come in at the other station, coming down the platform for a welcome reunion!!

After this experience, I’m surprised by my fascination with stations, airports and the like at night, finding them in the words of Alain de Botton: “unexpectedly poetic travelling places – airport terminals, harbours, train stations and motels” not forgetting motorway service stations. I guess inherent in all these places is the thrill of travel to faraway, unknown places in wonders of modern technology ranging from the relatively simple motorcar to the mind-bogglingly sophisticated and gravity defying monster of the sky – however scary you find the takeoff of an huge metal aeroplane, you can’t fail to be mixed up in the wonder of it all as you swoop gracefully high, into the air leaving behind the toy like houses and cars, populating the map that spreads out in front of you, quite simply taking your breath away! And, next stop – who knows where!

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

The final two snippets...... the first decided upon before our holiday to warmer climes and the second as a result of our time away, both take me back to my younger days. The first, also with an amazing coincidental link to our present life in France as well as strong unexpected links to one of the visits we made on our holiday, the other to my late teens, but both as you will see never far from retina!!

Himalayan Village

Many years ago, when my age could still just be counted on the fingers of two hands, my brother and I belonged to the BOAC (British Overseas Aircraft Corporation, one of the fore runners of the present day BA) Junior Jet Club, by dint of the fact we regularly during school holidays flew to visit my parents who were living in the Far East – first Bangkok, the capital of Thailand and later Singapore. At this age we were travelling as “unaccompanied minors” and were under the care of a steward or stewardess – our BOAC Uncle or aunty, who signed the Junior Jet Club Book and how many miles we travelled, made sure we got to visit the cockpit at some point on the trip (now sadly a thing of the past as cockpits have had to become secure fortresses) and made sure we got safely on and off the plane at the various refuelling stops that aircraft had to make in those days!! By an amazing coincidence, one of our new friends who lives down the road was a new recruit to BOAC Cabin Crew on the Singapore route, at about the time we making the journey and may well have been the one to sign our books – they are still somewhere in my Mum and Dad’s loft – I’ll have to dig them out and see!!

Well, on this particular flight we were flying over the Himalayas very early one morning, just as the sun was rising and with the new dawn painting the snow clad mountains the most stunning colours, for ever changing as the sun rose from behind the mountains and grew in intensity. I seemed at the time to be the only person awake on the plane and glimpsed far below, but very high in the mountains a small, snow covered settlement with no obvious roads to it, just a few barely marked tracks that converged on the village like the fine filaments of a sparse spider’s web. At the great height that we were flying, it was impossible to see much detail, although as it was a strikingly clear morning, you could make out different buildings and imagine in each families with children some possibly my own age, waking up to another morning of survival, in a very different culture and much more extreme environment to any I had ever experienced or indeed the one I was hurtling towards at several hundred miles an hour. At this speed it was surprising how long the village remained in view (it must have been the 35,000 plus feet we were flying at!) from my lofty eerie, and my thoughts (at my very impressionable age!) were of lost worlds and extreme exploration, the sort of books I devoured in those days, and the hot sun and swimming trunks of the beach in Singapore later that day seemed a million miles away.

I had already got this glimpse from a faraway retina on the list for this missive, and then our hair-raising trip by cable car, 1000m up to the nigh on 3000m Pic du Midi in the central Pyrenees, bought it all back even more clearly. The cable car took us up to an observation platform and laboratory / observation complex surrounded by snow and ice with tantalising glimpses to the town where we were staying (the campsite was clearly visible through the telephoto lens) 2 ½ thousand metres below, to the south and to the north an amazing mountain panorama (watch this space as to how to view some of my panoramic pictures from here as well as many others from the growing collection!!) seeming to go on forever, and with a number of intrepid skiers and snow shoe walking parties seemingly in the middle of nowhere and certainly with a long way to go before nightfall. There were even some skiers preparing to ski down from the top, obviously there being some sort of exit from the scientific station, giving access to the perilous slopes surrounding the lofty summit, I just couldn’t help thinking of that rather modern saying “Way to go!!!”

Porte de crayon

It must be something to do with just having had a birthday and now being an official “early retiree!”, but again I find myself equating this sensory snippet (perhaps this ought to be my original thought as I’m claiming, but prepared to accept otherwise, that this is my own “new” terminology!) to time gone by, and how long ago it all now seems!

Anyway, whilst still at school (a Victorian boarding school that was only just starting to catch up with the times!) I became interested in Folk Music, thanks to one of the local clergy, who had previously helped to set up the famous folk club in St Martin’s in the Field in the centre of London, as well as being very involved in helping homeless people through soup kitchens and a hostel next to the church called Centre Point. This respectability I guess helped to ease the relaxing of school rules, allowing me at nearly 18 to be allowed to stay out after dark!!

Hugh, the vicar set first set up a discussion group who met in his converted garage, lay around on the floor doing nothing more risqué than drinking coffee, discussing current affairs (of the state rather than more promiscuous ones!) and singing the odd song – largely of a quasi-religious / folk style accompanied by anyone able to strum along on that most decadent instrument – the guitar. One thing led to another, and could have done in more ways than one as the “clientele” were not only other boys from my single sex boarding school, but also other parishioners, some of the opposite sex!!, and talk turned to the setting up of a Folk Club in a nearby redundant church using Hugh’s contacts from his time in London.

In what seemed like an amazingly short space of time the first acts were announced and the venture was underway with amazing acts such as; Decameron, Mike Maran, Davey Graham and Holly Gwinn Graham amongst many more professional acts and local amateurs doing a number of “floor spots” each week! I even made my “singing” debut as one of the “Falsetto Three” backing a friend playing guitar and singing “Monster Mash” – well with folk anything seems to go!!

But, one thing led to another and I became very friendly with a young couple, regulars at the club, who in time invited me back to their house for singaround sessions and largely coffee. It helped considerably that the mother of the lady in the couple was very friendly with the Headmaster of my school, so again making staying out easier. They were great times, and further instilled a love of folk music in me, but also provided a very welcome retreat from the austerity of school. Initially, the couple and their two young children lived in a tiny cottage the front room of which had initially been a shop and the shop window was still there filled haphazardly with an array of interesting and obscure knick knacks! Indeed, the tiny house was an absolute treasure trove of instruments, records, pictures, interesting furniture and even more knick knacks!! There wasn’t a spare surface anywhere and it was all so homely, and looking back, how large groups of us managed to fit into the tiny sitting room, barely big enough for the two large armchairs and three-seater settee as well as five doors and a fire place that between them all took up most of the wall space, is hard to imagine.

Eventually, they moved on to a bigger house and all the interesting knick knacks could spread out a little and indeed be added to!! It was here in the much bigger lounge that they had built in a shelving unit of lovely rich wood all along one wall, to largely house many of the smaller knick knacks! On here there was an ornate pen stand that I fell totally in love with and vowed one day to own one like it.

Well, it’s taken 35 years of looking in antiques shops, junk shops, flea markets, car boot sales and the like for one and in all those years, vowing that if I saw one I would have to buy it, the nearest I came to finding one was an advert for a modern day version in the back of a glossy “Homes and Gardens” style magazine! Then, whilst staying near St Emilion, in a small Brocante (flea market) there was one and on first sight the heart pounded and I broke into a cold sweat with the excitement of it!! But, I didn’t buy it, not because it was too expensive but because it was the wrong colour, gold instead of black! But, don’t despair of my as having realised that the “holy grail” I had searched all these years for was in danger of slipping through my fingers at the last moment, on our return to St Emilion at the end of the holiday, first port of call was to the Brocante, hoping that it was still there, initially thinking it sold but relieved to find it hiding behind another item, and now I’m pleased to say it is sitting next to me, bringing back happy memories every time I set eyes on it. What exactly is it I hear you ask? It’s a simple object, named a porte de crayon (pencil holder) and consists of two identical arched end pieces with Chinese-style decoration, that have a number of short finger like projections for laying pens or pencils across horizontally, the ends held together by three thin plain horizontal bars – simple but has the retina working overtime!

“Ici devant nous!”

A king called Martin, who is an accomplished fisherman, has moved into the chateau in our back garden, or I suppose to be precise he’s moved into the moat and his full name is Martin Pecheur, better known in England as the kingfisher!

I first saw that unmistakable flash of electric iridescent blue when coming back from a short walk around the lake and coming past the end of the large stable block that now houses the gîte, up he flew for his perch overlooking the now water filled moat – in the summer the long periods of hot dry weather dry up the moat and stop it becoming “des res” for a hungry kingfisher. I must say even now when the current wet weather has filled the ponds and made the water trickle steadily around the chateau moat, it’s still little more than a reed filled shallow hollow in parts and in others a tunnel overhung with laurel hedges on either side, not where I would make my first examination, if on the lookout for a kingfisher.

But a couple of days later a further sighting seemed to confer it was not just a one-off, but indeed a local resident. This time I was coming from the other side of the chateau, just as the kingfisher rose and flew off towards the gîte – it had obviously seen me coming!!

Martin Pecheur, Common Kingfisher, Eurasian Kingfisher, River Kingfisher or Alcedo Atthis (surprisingly in both “French” and “English” Latin which isn’t always the case, making some comparisons between my French and English field guides difficult at times!!) is a small bird, not much bigger than a sparrow, but certainly more colourful and instantly recognisable by even the most amateur of bird watcher. My guide tells me “Nothing else looks so stocky and big-headed, nor so colourful except the much larger bee-eater,” but it’s a Britain and European Guide and although we might have seen an early bee-eater whilst in the far south of France, it seems unlikely you’ll see one in England!

Closer inspection of a Kingfisher shows it to be carefully designed to plunge from a riverside branch or from hovering above the water, its long streamlined bill and large head effectively followed by its compact body, small feet and very short tail to catch small fish or water insects. This excerpt from Wikipedia, I must share with you as it has always puzzled me how a diving bird catches a fish: “A challenge for any diving bird is the change in refraction between air and water. The eyes of many birds have two foveae (the fovea is the area of the retina the greatest density of light receptors), and a kingfisher is able to switch from the main central fovea to the auxiliary fovea when it enters water; a retinal streak of high receptor density which connects the two foveae allows the image to swing temporally as the bird drops onto the prey. The egg-shaped lens of the eye points towards the auxiliary fovea, enabling the bird to maintain visual acuity underwater. Because of the positions of the foveae, the kingfisher has monocular vision in air, and binocular vision in water. The underwater vision is not as a sharp as in air, but the ability to judge the distance of moving prey is more important than the sharpness of the image.” Isn’t nature wonderful and in this case leaving nothing to chance!!

The Kingfisher nests in tunnels dug into vertical riverside mud banks, anything up to a metre in length, lays six or seven glossy white eggs, which hatch in about 20 days with the young flying between 23 and 27 days after hatching. The young are then left to teach themselves to fish, as the parents may well be busy rearing a second brood. That tells you quite a bit about these spectacular birds, it just remains to ask why are they so brightly coloured – surely alerts the more observant minnow of their approach!! Although one of the guides does say, that despite their bright colouring they can be difficult to spot and you should therefore listen out for its call, which the book reliably informs us, is a loud, shrill “chi-keee” or”tseee!”

But undoubtedly, the “piece de la resistance” came several days later when I happened to glance out of one of the windows at the back of our house and that unmistakable and unforgettable, I can remember clearly the few kingfisher sightings I have had over the years, flash of blue passed rapidly across the light coloured front of the “chateau in our back garden!”

My original “thought!”

Both of us keep saying that we are firm believers in fate, and indeed if it wasn’t for fate we may well not be where we are today. However, last month fate dealt us a heavy blow, having set our hearts on returning from France and viewing what we hoped was to be the house of our dreams, only to find someone had beaten us to it and it was sold.

But, on reflection and now the disappointment has dwindled somewhat, fate hasn’t done us too bad so far!!

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love,

Roger and Linda

And, next time? At the moment in the lap of the GOD’s, which I have now joined being in possession of a pension – Growing Old Disgracefully!!

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!!