Well, well

For the first time, I looked into the well. It is deep.

The walls are beautifully put together in local stone, with footholds all the way down. M lowered the bucket and collected some water, but not much because the level is rather low (although there has been a lot of rain). I think the road surface prevents the water from soaking in: when the rain is heavy the lane becomes a small river which debouches in the field down in the valley, and sometimes floods it. M sent a camera down on the bucket-chain, and video'd the descent - a slow spin of pale stones and a splash into the water. The soundtrack is lovely; a recording of inside the well would be excellent for editing into music.

Looking round the garden, you can see the effects of the early winter followed by a slight warming-up: the trees and shrubs are in bud. The trees are in dire need of pruning (both cherry trees are much too tall, and at risk from the winds), and it should be done before they wake in the spring and start budding; usually December-January is a good time for pruning, but now it seems the chance has been missed. Besides, there is still winter to come, and it will kill the buds. Last spring the nectarine lost all its fruit in a late frost, and I was so much hoping that it would be alright for next year.

How many of your English Pounds?

No toll on the French part of the journey, but on this side of the chunnel there isn't an easy way around the Dartford Crossing. I got there in the pre-dawn with no UK money.

Me: "er, do you take cards?"
She looked at me and laughed.
Me: "I've only got euros."
Her: "Oh, no problem. And I can give you change."

To the Tunnel

I took the slow but pretty no-toll route. The toll-roads are very good, but dealing with automatic tolls from a RHD drive car is difficult, especially for someone with walking problems.

At Parthenay it was time for a break, and I parked in the mediaeval town intending to get a drink and wander round the old buildings. The drink was duly drunk but I missed the old buildings, having been distracted by some vaguely musical noises. A big band (not a "large band", but a band comprising a particular range of instruments which plays mostly jazz-derived dance music) wandered up the hill and congregated outside the cafeé; they sounded... enthusiastic, but possibly not all playing the same tune. They looked even more enthusiastic, wearing assorted garments of yellow and black, with lots of stripes and even black-on-yellow leopard-pattern. More players, wearing red costumes, joined them, followed by people wearing fairly random things, and a group wearing standard-style royal-blue brass-band jackets with grey trousers, topped off with blue-and-grey hats of curiously huge construction. They mingled into a huge ensemble and began to play again (conducted by an extrovert of the blue and grey persuasion), well-drilled and in time and apparently playing any piece they individually fancied. I took some photos with camera-phone, of middle-aged men in t-shirts and tights and boots and pink tutus or long red cloaks, and girls in vivid yellow outfits, and managed to get one photo of the mad conductor in action. It's silly season in France, with the autumn festivals in all the towns :)

Driving past the chess-piece roundabouts of Alençon (a lovely place once you get through the industrial area) and the waterwheel roundabout at La Flèche, I decided there's a photographic book to be made of French roundabouts.

On one of the massive industrial complexes of Le Mans there was a large odd-shaped orange thing above the road ahead. I couldn't work out what it was for a while. It was the moon, gibbous.

I must remember to drive through Bernay centre if I take this route again. That stretch of road is almost Milton Keynesian; in the dark and feeling tired I started to wonder if I was hallucinating when, on one of the many roundabouts, I noticed a sign on the first exit saying "Bernay 2"... the third time Bernay had been on the right. The next two roundabouts also said "Bernay 2". I was relieved to see "Bernay 3" on the following roundabout.

Abbeville has a wonderful gothic church which I've looked at in daylight. This was the first time at night, resulting in a marvellous discovery: the roads in the town centre are sparkly!

For reference -
St Genis de Saintonge (outline of ship on the roundabout); past Pons (wave to the Donjon) and Saintes; St Jean d'Angelys; Loulay; Niort; Parthenay; Saumur; La Flèche; Le Mans; Alençon; Rouen; Abbeville; Saint-Saëns; Boulogne; La Coquelles.

Of grapes and wrath of Australis

Yesterday the weather forecast for Jonzac today was warm and light southerly winds, and the forecast for Bordeaux the same. Partly right: it's warm. I was woken by things going crash in the garden as it became rather breezy, and I've just seen Neighbour get blown off his bike. Fortunately he was passing the row of little ex-houses and was only blown against a wall. It is quite amusing to sit here at my desk in the nearly-finished room and watch life in the slow^W lane.

There is green mush all over the front of the car. Passing Sainte Ramée yesterday, I was admiring the grape harvest and drove through a shed load (that's load-which-had-been-shed, not shed-load, but it was quite a heap). So, the Big Blue Yes has been trading grapes.Yesterday the weather forecast for Jonzac today was warm and light winds, and the forecast for Bordeaux the same. Partly right: it's warm. I was woken by things going crash in the garden as it became rather breezy, and I've just seen Denis get blown off his bike. Fortunately he was passing the row of little ex-houses and was only blown against a wall. It is quite amusing to sit here at my desk in the nearly-finished room and watch life in the slow^W lane.

Oh, the green mush? It was all over the front of the car. Passing Sainte Ramée yesterday, I was admiring the grape harvest and drove through a shed load (that's load-which-had-been-shed, not shed-load, but it was quite a heap). So, the Big Blue Yes has been treading grapes.

New living room and office space

The new room is looking almost ready to use. Photos of the renovation and construction are here.

Fitting the flooring anywhere close to the wavy walls has been very difficult. Ben has done a marvellous job.

There's still quite a lot of work to be done: put the rail on the stairs, cover the edges of the flooring, fit the sockets and wiring, fix the walls around the sockets, apply another coat of varnish, cover the steps with something (bamboo or tiles, not sure which) and sort out the join with the kitchen door.

I don't know what to do about the kitchen entrance. It would look better to remove the grotty old door and surround (put in as a temporary measure by the owner-before-last) and just have an archway between the kitchen and living room, but it's perhaps not practical from the point of view of heating - although the big fireplace in the kitchen is more than adequate for the kitchen itself, and could possibly heat both. There's also the question of sound insulation, keeping cooking and preparation noise away from rehearsal space. An archway, with perhaps a curtain, would look gorgeous, though.

The floor won't join up easily, either. Owner-before-last bought enough tiles (which I bought off last owner) to do the whole of the ground floor, and only got as far as doing the kitchen; but now there is bamboo flooring in the middle it might look odd going from one to the other.

Fruits of the surrounding fields

Someone told me that grapes grown for wine aren't good to eat. They were wrong - at least for the grapes grown here. The harvest has begun, and Neighbour brought some for me to try. Black are for the wine, green for the cognac. The black aren't as sweet as usual because there wasn't enough rain at the right time, so they are tangy but delicious. The green are perhaps too sweet, but delicate.

There's something special about eating the things grown around where you live: much more pleasant than eating a handful of soil, too (spot the allusions). I looked at the maize (grown for oil), but I think it really isn't very edible. And while I was out on Saturday the sunflower fields were emptied, so I didn't get my paws on any seeds.

I've just had a lunch of local goats' cheese, bread baked 2 miles away, and grapes from the fields across the road. Oh happy.

Sun, sea, and heron

Yesterday was warm and sunny, and I went to the beach in the late afternoon, hoping to get into the sea. The plan was partly successful - I paddled. More was not possible because the sea is so shallow at St Georges de Didonne, you'd have to go a long way to get to knee-deep.

Plan, part the second, was competely successful: watching the sun set into the sea from the view-point at Mortagne. Marvellous. Afterwards I drove home along the estuary, on the marsh road. The light here has strange qualities (rather like the north Suffolk coast but without the grey): the lilac and deep pink of the sunset was in the air all around; rather than watching a sunset, it was like being inside it.

A heron launched itself from the side of the road, almost in front of the car, and flapped frantically to gain height and swerve away. Then it flew alongside in a threatening manner. I didn't bother speeding up after braking to avoid it, so we went down the road side by side for a while, until it noticed something more interesting in the reeds.

Warm steps and new housemate

The nights are getting chilly but the days are still hot. I just ate lunch sitting on the steps, and am regretting not putting on sunscreen. If I didn't have to work this afternoon/evening I'd go to the beach.

The metal thingies along the bottom of the doorframes keep beasties out quite well: even ants don't find a way over them. Flying beasties get in, of course, and once the Terrace Gecko investigated the open kitchen window but changed its mind when it saw me watching. Yesterday evening a baby gecko scurried over the doorstep and into the kitchen, and disappeared. I've just seen it - it seems to have made a home under the washing-machine, which is fine at the moment (geckos are excellent housemates because they eat insects), but this evening the washing-machine will be switched on...

Flooring delivery

The parquet has arrived. Driver-bloke huffed a bit when I gave him directions, and even more when he saw the path and steps. I wondered why, because they only deliver to outside the house and I'd thought there would be no problem with dumping it in the drive (how big is a pallet of parquet anyway?). He asked if I were alone. Then he phoned his boss and said in an annoyed-sounding voice that he'd be a bit late for his next delivery.

And then he carried all the boxes and the three 15-litre glues from the road into the house.

Paris weekend

Arrived at the hotel and was told that we'd been moved to the other hotel down the road, where there is a ground-floor room. Back down the road, and an encounter with a friendly woman who was deaf. Sis#3 was already at the hotel; person on the desk said he'd decided ground-floor room wasn't suitable because of the floor surface in the corridor and put us in a third-floor room. I suspect he was wrong, but ground-floor is often noisy so I didn't mind... except that the lift was too small for Chariot and I had to partially dismantle it. Nice room, though big-city-no-space size: we moved the beds as far apart as possible. We'd both had enough of travelling for the day, so we had a quick look at the street-market, sat outside a café and watched The World over our tasses, and went for a wander round the Galaries Lafayette. Perfume sampling, of course, and got pounced on by someone who demo'd putting on eye-cream with the inside of the wrist (interesting, must try it sometime). Found some gorgeous clothes in wonderful colours and horrible price-tags. Didn't buy any, of course.

Just as well we spent nothing in Lafayette, because the evening meal (in a flashier Café) was horrendously expensive. And perfectly marvellous. Marvellous décor, too, all brass lamps and red walls and candles. It was fun watching the waiters: there was a kind of roundabout of shelves and work-surfaces through which they ran at high speed. They scurried and bustled everywhere, making the place look even more like a scene from a 1930s film.

The next day we braved the buses. They're actually very good, and it's much more fun to look at the streets and squares as you pass than it is to fight the crowds of the dark noisy metro. Besides, most of the buses have ramps, which WORK :)

... And went to the Louvre. Sis#3 has been outside it a few times, but never inside. It was hard work, trying to follow the maps and find ways round the steps and stairs, but we managed to see the Mona Lisa and a lot of rather more interesting things including some huge friezes from the palace of Darius I, which, my dears, are in just the colours I want for the new room (though where to find a sofa in pale greeny-turquoise, I don't know).

Caught a bus all the way back to Gare Montparnasse. So, that's the route from Montparnasse to Gare du Nord sussed for when I go Eurostar :)

And so to bed^Whome.

Weekend in Paris - travelling there

I drove to Angoulême to catch the TGV. It's 90 minutes away, but easy to park there and less hassle than catching an ordinary train from Saintes or Jonzac and then changing - at least, I think it is. Getting up before sunrise is always difficult, and more so after only 3 hours' sleep; I set off a bit late, having gone back into the house three times to find things I'd forgotten - the third time for something which was already in the car. Fortunately the route was easy to follow and there was hardly any traffic, so I was doing well until 10 miles from Angoulême. Just at the end of the stretch of dual-carriageway (isn't it always?) I came up behind a lorry travelling slowly. Soon I realised it wasn't the lorry driver's fault - in front of him was a line of cars, or rather a parade. Seems there was a vintage car rally. There was nowhere safe to overtake (especially in a RHD car); after a couple of miles the lorry driver gave up and pulled into a layby. Usually I'd be delighted to amble after a beautiful Mk 3 Triumph Spitfire; I think both the Spitfire and the MG in front of it could have gone a lot faster if they hadn't been behind a small 1920/30s car (I didn't find out what it was). Eventually there was a piece of road with a clear view of nothing coming the other way.

I arrived a little later than hoped at the station, but still in time... except that I couldn't find a way to the platform, nor anyone to ask. There was quite a queue for the only person in the ticket office, and by the time I found the desk (nowhere near the ticket office) where I needed to request assistance in crossing the track, the train was already waiting at the other platform. There was only a small queue here, but when it was my turn someone shoved in front of me (I was so tempted to clout his ankles). The person at the desk said it was too late to find a member of staff to take me across and I'd have to catch a later train.

Disconsolately I trundled back to the ticket office and joined the queue again. Suddenly a stationstaffer appeared and said he'd come to take me across and they were holding the train! Oh joy! And what a nice thing to do (though when we arrived in Paris 4 minutes late I wondered if I should apologise to the other passengers, but was comforted by the memory of the frantic group of Anglos who'd realised that they were on the wrong train and if the train hadn't been held back they'd have been travelling north instead of south).

The elevator-thingy is so much fun, unlike the ramps that are used on UK stations. One feels quite regal.

Lovely ride, those TGV trains. Being Saturday, first class was only 6 euros extra, so of course I'd gone for it. When they changed my seat booking to the wheelchair space, I wondered if it had been necessary to pay the extra.

Gare de Montparnasse is a bit of a nightmare, but after a few circles I got out on the correct side. I'd checked bus routes, but it wasn't necessary because the hotel was quite close, the weather was sunny, and it was fun to trundle through the streets past all the busy cafés.

Lavender sunset

What a beautiful evening. The sunset was very red and the air was still and warm and full of the scent of grass and lavender.

I tried to take a photo of the sunlight reflecting redly off the terrace roof and painting the big tree gold, but took too long to find the camera. Now the sky matches the flower-scent.

Fire in the field

The old stairs were donated to Really Helpful Neighbours to attach to their grenier (grain-loft) because she was worried about him using the ancient ladder. He's a tough old bloke, but that ladder looked lethal.

She does worry about him doing daft things. Last week he caused a bit of excitement. I almost missed it, but while driving home noticed flashing lights and emergency vehicles at the end of the lane, and a group of people standing around discussing whatever it was had happened. It seems that while clearing straw in the field he'd set it alight with the tractor, and someone had gleefully called out the fire service. Two fire engines and the police arrived. Of course, it will be in the local paper because there is a complete report of the Sorties des pompiers (rescued cat from tree, unlocked car door, that kind of thing). Those rural fire engines are cute little things, as if from a French version of Trumpton. Hope he doesn't have to pay for it.

Room nearly finished

Most of the new room is complete apart from the flooring. It needs a door, and I'm being awkward and insisting on a glazed door because I want to be able to watch the sunlight on the barn walls (Hey, this is important. If I wanted to be surrounded only by modern walls I could have bought a new bungalow. In fact, I would have liked a window under the stairs; but that would have been very awkward.) The trip to the secondhand and recovered building and furniture place in Royan was sadly fruitless. They had some beautiful wooden glazed doors in stock, but all too big. I briefly wondered what Benoit and Camille would say if I demanded that the wall be re-built with a bigger doorway. Only briefly. Anyway, Camille found this
http://www.bricodepot.fr/saintes-saint-georges-des-coteaux/node/493 which looks good and isn't very expensive.

Today I've varnished half the stairs, topside only, and I'm shattered. Also, it might be cheaper if I didn't get so much varnish on the floor and in my hair. The varnish sold by the man in the hugely expensive trade supplies place (did he look at me and think "female AND English!"?) turned out to be darker and not as red as the sample we showed him. I bought some more varnish of the same brand in a hypermarket while I was in Royan, but chose a lighter colour. There was "blond oak" which looked rather yellow, so I got "light oak" which was a pleasant light nondescript wood colour - on the tin. On the stairs, it glows like a marigold. Ah well, it should fade.

There's a local decorator and pointing expert, an Anglo immigrant called James, who is setting up in business. He will fix up the old walls with pointing, attempt to cover the dreadful dark grey concrete that some previous owner applied to damaged stones, and apply sealant to stop the saltpetre leaking all over the place. He'll also paint the new walls, or at least he'll paint those parts I can't reach, because although 100 euros a day is a good price for the work, I'm running out of money. He starts on Monday so I'd like to get as much done as possible this weekend. There's a brocante tomorrow, and that will take up some time. hmm.

As for the flooring, the supplier of reasonably-priced bamboo parquet is in Paris and charges 205 euros plus tax for delivery. There are more local suppliers, but much more expensive. You can get it in UK much cheaper, so I've emailed a UK firm who will deliver in Europe and asked for a quotation for delivery but they haven't replied. grump. I may have to pay the c.200 quid for delivery.

New room! Ooh!

Ex-housemate and ex-housemate's husband were staying at my place for the first week I was back in UK, with two of their friends. In return for cheap holiday they offered to Do Stuff, and we thought it was going to work out well with the builders on Plan C[0].

However, it didn't work out. I was rather disappointed. Builders emailed on Friday (while I was offline in York) to say they could start yesterday, and were my friends available to help... oh well. I read the email when I got back south, and replied to say no but there's a key with Really Friendly Neighbour.

Today they sent photos of the beginning of the work. It's so exciting! :)

[0] Plan A was to start work at the beginning of August. Plan B, after discovering they couldn't get the necessary materials, was to start in September. Plan C was after they found a place which would sell them some of the materials in August.

Listen Again - we love it

I've discovered The Blackburn Files, one of the mislaid pearls brought back by BBC7. Rapid, deadpan wordplay; interesting and very varied musical comments (Philip Glass, Mozart, Zambian reggae, and John Cage figure). And the main character is played by Fine Time Fontayne. I'm really looking forward to Monday's episode.

"And a cravat like a tortured gecko". Reminds me, the terrace lizard ran over my bare foot last week. Not as exciting an incident as having an iguana run over one's foot, of course. These small lizards move too fast to be seen properly, so it wasn't until later when it sat in the window to watch me wash up that I saw its colours. It's green and gold. Of course :)

[ADDENDUM]
"Is he a post-modernist?" "He is now."
"... art school... You were asked to leave. Non-attendance." "I was always a bit of a minimalist."
"Pull yourself together, man! We're in an Oxfam shop!"
"He's gone to London. Shark-infested waters. And him in a rubber dinghy."

Gardening

I didn't get round to watering the herbs and tomatoes and courgettes yesterday evening. No matter, we had Storm. It was very wet and very loud - so loud that insects and spiders were trying to take refuge in the kitchen. One huge moth was so desperate, it knocked itself out bashing on the door.

Earlier, when it was still dry and sunny, I was sunk in a deep pit of xml, trying to unravel my nested lists. There was a very noisy vehicle outside. I almost went to see what kind of agricultural behemoth was going up and down the lane, but didn't dare risk breaking concentration. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and m'neighbour asked me to move my car from under the tree... because he'd brought his new toy round and was cutting my lawn^Wweeds with it. Cross between a small quadbike and a mower. Looked great fun. I do like my neighbours :)

Town en fête and a brief ponder on national culture

I took a late lunch-break last night, after 11pm, to see some of the party. It was warm, and very pleasant in the little picnic area down by the river, all prettily lit up. Food was just being cleared and the players were about to start, so I saw the show. Stromboli are three jongleurs, to use the medieval term, doing music, juggling, some tumbling, and a lot of visual comedy and eyebrow work. Very good, though I had to look away during the mouth-juggling because the thought of a pingpong ball stuck in the throat... *shudder*. Oh, and there was a chainsaw. A real one.

Stromboli finished well after midnight; the small children and over-80s and most of the Brits left, and then the dancing started. I had to return to work, leaving the party bouncing. Next year, I'll make sure I can attend these jollifications.

The Anglo-neighbours said how very French the Stromboli were. This made me wonder - I'm accustomed to similar things from fairs and Fringe street theatre, and have never thought about it, but I suppose I'd consider acts like this as European-including-UK. hm. No, hang on, we get it in panto! And how English is that? Well, ok, originally Italian, but definitely several-generation English and naturalised :)

And then I went back and built my very first Help project.

Another town party

Today was the first time I've been to the market in the next-little-town-north. There's not much in it: mostly a big fruit and vegetable stall. Suits me; though I glanced briefly in the direction of the clothing stall and averted my eyes before temptation struck.

Then back to St Dizant, through the ripening grapes and sunflowers. Some of those seedheads are enormous. Coming out of the little supermarket, having bought milk and cheese and a packet of breton biscuits (oops), I was greeted by the mayor. Odd, I thought, why is he wearing old jeans and a scruffy tshirt on a work day? Is it like BT managers showing that they've come in to the office on their day off? But no, he was part of the team building the stage for tonight's Spectacle.

I worked this morning so I ought to be able to sneak out for an hour this evening. It starts at 10 and doesn't finish until 1am.

Support your local superette

The owners of the general shop in the town are friendly, helpful, and - it being a very small town - struggling. The shop is spacious, beautifully-presented, clean and polished... and the merchandise is carefully spread across the shelves. We know what that means: not enough trade to keep a lot of stock.

To boost trade, they organise and host events in the parking area. This summer they're doing shellfish suppers on Fridays and Saturdays (shame I can't eat shellfish because they're from the estuary here and apparently very good, but there are a few other things available).

I'm working on Friday evenings so I planned to go down there today, to be sociable and support my local wossnames. Then, in the late afternoon, the sky fell on our heads. When it rains here it really does come down like a waterfall. I looked sadly out of the window and got bread-n-cheese with some of friendly-neighbour's surplus tomatoes, which she brought round yesterday. Just as I finished supper, the rain stopped, the clouds moved inland, and the sun came out. Too late to get dressed and go out now, even if I weren't full.

Bother.

A deep summer evening

I haven't been out this week, owing to work-horribleness. Today it was probably too hot to do much anyway; it was windy this afternoon, too.

However, I've just been watering the herbs and tomatoes and strawberries (ate both the ripe ones) in a most beautiful evening. The wind has dropped, there are a few clouds, and it's gently warm. The sky is layered deep pink and hundreds of blues. The noise level in the garden is amazing: there appears to be a crickets' concert tonight.

The mad panic for a deadline tomorrow is now a lessened panic for a deadline on Tuesday. And I have screenshots of the UI! Wow, so that's what it does...

I shall return to writing "To do this, click Button A" (that's the easy part, or at least it is when you can see the product - the hard part is explaining why you should bother^W^W^W^Wwhat it's for). But first, a Heroic scrambled egg. As m'neighbour said when she brought them over in a bag because they wouldn't fit in an eggbox, "This week the chickens think they're ostriches".

No stairs yet

The people from Casa Nova have been unable to find a source of materials for Renovation Part 1. Camille was very apologetic and explained that they've not been back in France that long and had forgotten that it closes for the summer apart from agriculture and the holiday trades.

Start of Works is thus postponed from next week to the beginning of September. Relatives, friends, and acquaintances who would like a holiday in exchange for an hour or two per day helping a carpenter and an electrician, please apply for time in September and October.

Oh well, gives me another month to earn money to pay for it.

Jonzac

We did a day in Jonzac. http://www.jonzac.fr/index.htm

The tour of the château is excellent if your French is up to it. There's not much left of the original building, which was trashed by the English who invested the town for a decade in the Hundred Years War. It was rebuilt, but then had a hard time in the Revolution, though it's still a good example of gothic architecture. I wondered how a town of this size could support the old buildings, as well as the new sport and leisure complex over the river: the tour guide explained that the old families of the commune do a kind of voluntary service. The young people want to get married in the Salle, so they have to do the repairs and decoration. Good plan.

One of the things mentioned is that through the archway over the road is the old route to the church, which was covered so the ladies of the castle could walk down without being seen. When the tour went upstairs I toddled off and explored the old path; it's amazingly atmospheric and would make a marvellous setting for ambulatory theatre.

The main street and space in front of the château were closed for music and fireworks that evening; there was an excellent band doing a sound-check but we didn't stay for the concerts.

As for the size of Jonzac - the population of French towns is tiny compared to English. Jonzac-central has 4000 inhabitants, which in England is the size of a large village.

While the Antilles (the big flashy leisure complex) was being built they discovered a Roman villa. There's quite a bit of known history for it, though excavations are ongoing. In fact, you can book in to a dig. More about that when I've been to see it.

Nosh and prospective gigs

Visitors meant quite a lot of eating out over the weekend.

We found the nearest veggie-friendly place - Le Doublon in Lorignac. It says on the menu to ask about the vegetarian options, which turned out to be anything you like for which they have the ingredients. Outside is a little unprepossessing, with the front of a slightly scruffy bar (m'sister had turned it down because of that look and because that evening it had a board up with "moules et frites" scribbled on it). Inside, though, is smart, and there is a little terrace area. Food was lovely. It turns out to be yet another restaurant owned by Brits! But as usual, the cooking style is French. It also has an exchange library of English books. Even more important for me - music nights. They pay bands.

Sunshine and flowers

The temperature is back to $Summer. mmmmm. On the other hand, there are mosquitos.

I was eyeing the grapes in the nearest vineyard: wine grapes don't taste very good, but I'm still tempted, just the one in a kind of bonding ritual. Fortunately the local vines are being sprayed, which puts me right off. I wonder where the vineyard for the organic wine is...

The verges were being cut this morning, so I rode through clouds of grass and, at one point, mint. Lovely :) On the road between here and La Grande Motte there is one little vineyard with two rose bushes planted in its border; no house anywhere near, but it looks more like a garden than an agrobusiness.

Broomstick has been attracting quite a lot of attention. I think there's a market here.

Ride-out

Clear blue sky and sunshine today, but not yet back to full summer heat: ideal for a ride out on Broomstick to take some bottles to the recycling banks at Morisset (next-but-one hamlet).

It was my first not-by-car trip in that direction. I'd noticed it was a slightly undulating route, but on Broomstick the hills are much more apparent. Turn right and up a small hill, long bendy swoop down, then over a second hill to Chez Moquet in a tiny valley, straight out over another hill and down to the little river. By the top of the second hill I had to help the motor by pushing, so decided not to go on towards the Champagne Water-tower. Fortunately, the way back is more downhill than uphill. Wheeeeeeeeee!

The landscape is green and gold: grass, trees, vines, sunflowers, maize, wheat straw and deep yellow vetch; speckled with a few poppies and cornflowers.

Eggsess

I was so tired this afternoon I fell asleep about 5pm, in spite of not having to be online for work half the night because it's weekend. A few minutes later I thought I heard something but couldn't wake enough to do anything about it, and went back to sleep.

When I did get up, there was a box of eggs on the kitchen table. My neighbour's chickens have been laying enthusiastically again. Lovely generous neighbour.

They are very eggy eggs. Big very bright yolks, and taste powerfully of egg (batterychicken eggs taste of fishmeal and chemicals). They also make batter rise, and so I've just had two deep golden yellow fluffy pancakes. With lemon squeezed on them.

:)

ISIHAC in Ipswich

Listening to Humph's introduction to ISIHAC this evening, originally broadcast in 2005, I wondered if there was something behind the intimation that one of Ipswich's main claims to fame was its historic airport. Humph talked of it being the home of the first airline flights from the UK to Paris, and various things about the parachuting, but he didn't mention that after years of protest from airport users and conservationists, Ipswich Borough Council had bulldozed the airport and handed out planning permission for a housing estate.

I used to love watching the British Skydiving team practise there, and it was where I had flying lessons. Only two lessons, but a wonderful memory - especially the one which was my best-ever birthday present, a surprise set up by friends. There was a superb thunderstorm as we were landing, and guiding the plane down through it was amazing. The instructor let me take it almost down to the grass. Then we sat in the old airport building (listed, it was) and watched the storm.

Broomstick into town

I missed the town party last night (15 euros for a sardine supper was too much), although the music was audible over here. The band sounded good.

This morning the summer brocante on the picnic area/motorcaravan park next to the little supermarket was rather quiet, as one non-local person remarked in puzzlement. I went down on Broomstick with only 7 euros so as to avoid temptation, and bought only vegetables from the smallholding's stall. Some people asked about Broomstick, especially one man using crutches; I should investigate ways of obtaining a Powertrike or similar in France.

Travelling by Broomstick means seeing much more of the hedgerows, which are full of flowers. I've noticed the middle of the road into Mirambeau town centre is a long strip of wildflower meadow, and most of the hedgerows around the village (except next to the vines) are beautiful with all the usual plants plus orchids and brightly-coloured vetches. The route into St Dizant du Gua goes past vines, wheat, and sunflowers, though only a few early ones are in flower; then barley (I love the colour of ripe barley) and maize. And I discovered a small lake in La Petite Motte.

It began to rain on the way back, so I stopped at English neighbours' and had coffee and chatted about cabbages and k^W^W^Wthings, including robberies from gardens. There haven't been many, but someone in Morisset had most of their ducks stolen, and the mayor came out to investigate. It seems there is a gang which goes round villages nicking plants and anything left out. They did this area in the spring, so we should be ok for a couple of years.

Big fluffy water-heaters

My French is fairly good though rusty, which means that I can follow most of what is said but have to search for vocabulary when I want to say something (or have to be creative with circumventions). Sometimes, though, I'm reminded of the Brit on the plane from Dinard, who had lived in France for years but whose French was still basic except for one area - "I speak excellent Building", he said.

Yesterday the plumber came to bring the bill for mending the loo, and to look at the Casa Nova plan for upstairs and in particular where the shower-room will be. He had some trouble finding the pipes up there, and came down to ask where the cumulus is. Cumulus? er...

Well, after opening a few doors he found it[0]. If I'd had the laptop on I could have found the word and shown him where it is easily, but my dictionary failed yet again. As I told him, the only cumulus I know is in the sky.

[0] water (immersion) heater

Renovations part I

The couple from Casa Nova came round and measured walls and stuff and talked much of stairs and floors and internal windows.

What they will do first:

Close off the space under the mezzanine to make a room which will include the big window, so the stairs will be inside the room: this will allow separating from the barn in winter to keep warm. The room will be an odd shape, following the present odd shape of the mezzanine and extending it 2 metres; it will be about 40sqm.

Stairs with 1/4 turn onto a platform at the base to allow for the height of the room.

All the wooden pillars will be inside the room.

The extended mezzanine will at first have a 1-metre high wall instead of railings, to allow for the addition of a full-height wall later (with a big window onto the barn). This later full-height wall will be a Very High Wall, almost under the highest part of the roof.

Existing walls to be painted with chaux to cover the horrible tacky cement which disfigures areas of the lovely stone.

Floor will probably be laminate because it's cheaper than tiles, but still 20 euros per sqm. (ouch)

Wooden bench-seat along kitchen wall to cover the strange heating apparatus. This will make a lovely warm place to curl up on in winter.

They will start at the beginning of August and this first job will take about a month. I've done some sums and may need to borrow to cover some of it because I shan't have been paid enough by September.

There is a list of things which require extra help, mostly on the walls, and some of which can be done before the main work begins. Volunteers will be very welcome.

After they'd gone I stood at the door from the kitchen and realised I would miss the view into the golden barn very much. I wonder if there can be a downstairs window as well.

End of the visit

On Sunday we looked for the famous Moulin du Sap restaurant, which is still on the tourist websites although it was for sale earlier in the year. Finally found it: closed, empty, not even a Sold sign on it. Such a beautiful building, slowly being drowned in creepers. From there it's not far to Port Maubert which has a small hotel-restaurant and a snack bar. We chose the snack bar crêperie, mostly because it has tables by the water. Cheap and very cheerful, and not bad for sausage-n-frites; they do a breton range of galettes too, all served with plastic cutlery and plates by the whole family including youngsters.

Monday was a fairly quiet day. We went out to local superette and bought tomato plants, and I was gently scolded by the shop-owner for buying pastries and ice-cream. He's such a flirt. The tomato plants were tucked into one of the big blue half-drums, which have been moved next to the terrace and therefore near the water-tap. One of them still has a box-hedge in it, nicely trimmed now, which needs planting somewhere.

Tuesday was the last day of the visit, so a special meal out was in order. After quite a lot of websearching we set off up the coast to the Moulin des Monards which we'd passed on Saturday. Somehow, finding it from the south proved difficult, and it was a waste because when we did get there it turned out to be closed on Tuesdays (not mentioned on any of the websites). We went back along the road to Touvent and into a hotel-restaurant on the main junction. It wasn't very appealing, and in the end we left and headed south to Lorignac. By this time the Lori had finished doing food; the Anglo restaurant in St Ciers du Taillon was open but full of some kind of event with bbq (I think it was the Anglo-Britannique monthly meet and we could have joined in but there was a huge queue for food). Back on the road to Mirambeau where we passed the Snack which didn't look suitable and went to the main hotel (too late for food) and the pizzeria (40 minute wait for it to be cooked). In the end, late and very hungry, we tried the Snack (L'Oasis), although it looked deserted. The owner said no problem, open for as long as we liked, and he had a better menu than the one on the board. A proper menu! I went for the 3-course for 11 euros, and the others selected from the carte. Excellent food. S finally sampled the local drink Pineau, and appeared to like it - W had one sip and when she looked at it for another it was all gone! The owner was friendly and cheerful and practised some English on us, and his two smallish sprogs laid the tables as more people arrived later. The tourist information says they are open until 11pm, but it was almost midnight when we left and the party was just warming up.

Delivery and electrickery, cherry-ripe

The bread delivery-van which comes to the hamlet on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday has a rather quiet horn, and today I didn't hear it. Bread delivery-person appeared in the kitchen with my baguette and said not to worry if I don't get down to the road, because [trans.] she "doesn't speak well but her legs work ok" (she's had throat cancer).

And then someone phoned from EDF to ask if I really really want the 3-phase changed to single-phase today because it will cost lots to change it and contrary to what callcentredroid said it costs no more on the standing charge, and he also assured me that it's not a problem for new work. So it's not being changed; however, sorry to disappoint certain friends, I'm not putting in any large machinery.

And for lunch I have the rest of a large bag of cherries from neighbour's tree.

Nice people - *happy sigh*

Though now I have to tell the electrician that she will have to work with 3-phase.

Fête de la Musique in Saintes

Saturday was very hot and not the best day for a long drive, but $Friends had selected from the options for Fête de la Musique the rock and punk bands playing in Saintes from early evening. We had a quick look at the amphitheatre in the bright sunlight and huddled in the shade of the café, and then went to find the street where the main performances would be. There was a disabled-parking space on the next road which looked ideal - unfortunately the car in the space behind was crumpled and waiting for a tow-truck which had just driven past without being able to stop, so I stayed to move my car when it returned. The tow-truck went past again, in the opposite direction. My sympathies to the driver: I have exactly the same problem in cities. Anyway, by the time the broken car had been removed, we'd discovered that this street would also be closed to traffic for the Fête. We decided to leave the car there, as we thought we'd be staying until the end, and went to look at the Arch of Germanicus. It really was too hot for touristing, but the little museum (a curious building made up of random bits of Roman houses, walls, and mausoleums rescued from construction works) was cool and shady.

Food proved to be problematic. Some places were closed by the time we were hungry (local people eat the main meal at midday, and it isn't full tourist season yet), and the one we chose had speakers being installed. We thought they were for the bands on the stage, but no - canned music. When they started up we could hear the canned music, the bands, a jazz band down the street, and a cheerfully crap marching-style band being towed around. Plus, when the wind changed, the singers from the other side of the river. All at once. I didn't survive long, and we went to look for somewhere else to eat. Serendipity struck, and there was a dinky tea-shop. A really real tea-shop with decorated teapots for sale - and decorated everything else you could think of. Very well done, and appealing for that reason, though art-crafty is not my taste. The place had been beautifully renovated. (There is a walled courtyard at the back of the tea-shop, which gave me an idea for the little house across the lane here. It needs a lot of work, and it would make a gorgeous courtyard if the battered roof were just removed instead of mended. I'm not sure my neighbours would approve, though.) The food was delicious, and we even had Cake; the proprietor didn't seem to mind us hanging around, though we'd arrived just before closing time and she had to wait quite a long time for us to finish eating and exploring the things for sale.

Fortified by good food, we returned to see what the bands were up to. Disappointing. We were very tired, too, and it seemed preferable to attempt to get the car out of the closed road and go home. The road was now full of bands and karaoke, all crammed together in full earshot, with tables and chairs outside all the cafés. I wasn't comfortable about trying to drive through, but $Friends politely asked people to move their chairs, and dragged the barrier aside, aided by a lad who jumped up to help. Everyone was perfectly good-natured about it, not even a glare.

Solstice

Today was summer solstice, so we took the coastal (estuary) route to St Georges de Didonne to watch the sun set over the Atlantic.

The morning had been cloudy but by late afternoon it was clear and hot, and still warm when we set out around 7pm. There were a few stops on the way to take photos of odd buildings and interesting views, and we got to Meschers only just in time to eat at one of the restaurants in the port (very yum). It's not far from there to St Georges but the road goes mainly west and the sun was low, huge, and very bright, making driving difficult.

It looked like there would be a better view from the north side of the town, where I haven't been before, and it was indeed better. We parked above a small rocky cove with miniature cliffs and rock-pools and a tiny sandy beach, and watched as the sun set in red-gold splendour. It was still a little light when we got home at almost 11.

La Poste

I love the way the postal service works in rural France. The postie drives round in a bright yellow van, letting us know that they're in the hamlet by sounding the horn so if one wants to send a letter or buy stamps one can go out to them. When I first arrived the postmistress knocked on the door to welcome me and explain how it works.

Today I had a packet which needed signing for, so the postie pulled up in the drive, sounded the horn, and came into the kitchen. I asked him how to send a registered letter[0]. He said he'd bring the form tomorrow and help me fill it in, and take the letter.

Posties in England used to be like this, but many of them are now so stressed and disenchanted they take it out on customers, and do all kinds of unfriendly things to speed up their work.

[0] A complaint to the electricity company who are trying to take 150 euros a month on direct debit, when I've used about 15 euros' worth of electricity. Unfortunately my experiences with EDF have not been nearly as happy as with La Poste.

Of Bordeaux lake and renovations

Bordeaux again yesterday, this time to the airport. I left in plenty of time and noted a few useful-looking restaurants within 15 miles. The drive was fine until the Rocade (by-pass) around Bordeaux, where suddenly the driving demonstrated a lack of signalling and lane-discipline, as well as a tendency to sound horns as loudly and aggressively as possible. Bordeaux is rather like a smaller Paris, after all.

I'd gone early to do some shopping in Ikea in the Bordeaux-Lac: a curious mix of holiday park and hypershops, and flyovers giving marvellous views of the water. I spent too much in Ikea and could have bought much more, but put back the bedside lamps and merely sighed wistfully at the beds and sofas and bookcases. Anyway, there are now enough mugs and duvets and blankets for planned visitors, and things to stand on when getting out of the shower and bath.

These visitors are sleeping in what is designated as the dining-room on the plans, having tried the stairs and refused to use them. Looks like the stairs should be fixed before the upstairs room/shower-room is done; and before a staircase can be installed, the mezzanine floor needs to be finished. Guess what Casa Nova left off the quotation...

Saturday 14th

Back to Bordeaux, which was a pleasant drive until we reached the queue into the city where the roadworks are. By the time we got in, there wasn't time to see any of the old city. Driving back without using the toll (RHD argh) I got lost again and ended up further west than planned, going through St Vincent de Paul; a serendipitous find. Beautiful town, and a fascinating bridge too.

There are so many lovely places to see and all I'm doing at the moment is noting them for later exploration, though I feel guilty planning more driving because of the fuel/global warming situation.

Friday 13th

Friday was my birthday and we celebrated with a meal out. We decided to sample one of the local restaurants. Le Lori has big advertising signs up on the approach to Lorignac, but it's not as fancy as that would suggest. However, they don't serve food until 8pm and we'd planned to go to a concert at 9 so we just had orange juice and asked if there was somewhere else. Le Doublon in the same village was suggested. It looks somewhat unprepossessing, and had a rough sign outside saying "Moules and frites", not at all the kind of place to go out for dinner, so we ended up back at the restaurant in St Ciers. Um. Friday night is fish'n'chip night. Fortunately they had the regular menu too - I had steak and sis#3 had salmon. The steak and salmon were fine, but the big chips weren't, and the pudding (chocolate mousse, the only dessert on the menu without alcohol) was very disappointing.

We missed the concert: I'd eaten too much and went home and fell asleep.

Housewarming, Saintes, beach, and rat-traps

On Monday we did some serious shopping and bought far too much food and drink for the little housewarming "apéro". Everyone I'd invited directly turned up, though the young French couple with baby came late and didn't stay long. The French-English divide was only slightly uncomfortable at first, and ended with the older French neighbour gleefully demonstrating all his English (or at least the clean phrases, with his wife keeping an eye on him).

People had a look round the place and confirmed their opinion that I am quite mad to be here alone. I explained that the original plan wasn't to have been here by myself, it just all fell down and I carried on anyway. Ah, yes: that's the mad part. EPTN#1 advises me to sell up immediately and take the loss. Well, I may have to, but not until there's been some music in that huge room.

Neighbour offered to help sister clear out the traps and check what the beasties are. They bagged and chucked the easy ones, leaving one disintegrated body for later as it needed a shovel. He was most insistent that they should put back the traps, but I refused. I can stand the thought of live beasties, but not traps. And they were rats. However, the bodies are old and there were empty traps, with no sign of current inhabitation. I still think there have been pole-cats up there (they would have scared rats away). Rats don't smell like that.

Tuesday

Took Broomstick to the garage in the village. They were a trifle bemused as it came out of the boot and was assembled. As soon as the mech touched it, it started up. We had a laugh about taking a sick machine to the doctor and he said the same happens to him when he has toothache and goes to the dentist. And then he tried it again and it died. Both the brothers had left the cars they were working on and started to check the cables and contacts, quickly finding the odd one that the UEA electrician had cut and soldered and deciding that was the problem patch. Bit of fiddling and scraping and a lot of WD40 later, Broomstick was working nicely. I put their phone number in my mobile, because they will come out when called. They may be called out to fix Broomstick on a farm track sometime. Of course they didn't know what to charge and left it up to me so I gave them 10 euros. It had only been a few minutes, but WD40 is very expensive here. Aha! That's what I meant to ask wendles to bring!

We wanted to sample coffee in a real French caff but discovered the little bar was closed (every Tuesday apparently), so went to the bar-restaurant at St Ciers du Taillon about 5 miles away. It's run by an English family, and unfortunately the coffee was English though the lunches at nearby tables looked French and good. Curious how in Poitou-Charente the English have taken over so many restaurants.

We spent the evening with people from the next hamlet, in their lovely, small, well-renovated house full of things they have acquired while working in South America and Indonesia.

Wednesday
We drove round rather a lot of Charente Maritime, taking in Saintes: St Eutrope and the crypt, the monastery where the tourist office is, the Arch of Germanicus, Roman amphitheatre, and the river (note to take a boat-ride on the river sometime). http://www.ot-saintes.fr/

From Saintes to my favourite beach at St Georges de Didonne. Although we left going to the beach until early evening, the sunlight was still too strong to be out in for long. I was most disappointed that the plastic path to the sea wasn't there - perhaps it's put down later in the summer when holiday season proper starts. And we had pancakes.

Fortified by pancakes and the accompanying sugar-rush, sis#3 went upstairs when we got home and cleared out the rest of the traps and ratness.

Thursday 12th

Tired after the long drive and busy time yesterday, we stayed in the village on Thursday morning and visited a neighbour who told us about her grandchildren who are all graduate professionals and living in big cities. Interesting, the change in two generations from vine-workers to Parisian architects and lawyers. Then we went out to look for small presents for sis#3 to take to work, a trip which included a visit to the ironmongery in St Fort (mmm ironmongery) which also sells assorted plastic tat at inflated prices, and garden stuff. I bought seeds for the herb garden. Super U at Mirambeau was more productive.

Quarter-mile of brocante

This was my second experience of a brocante: bigger and more impressive than the first.

It wasn't easy to find, being right down at the port in Mortagne. The stalls were stunning: attic-loads of stuff you wouldn't see in a carboot sale in England any more, not since Antiques Roadshow and its cheaper cousins. Some of it was not to my taste, but fascinating all the same. There was one porcelain... thing (it may have been for flowers) with large handles, embellished with porcelain blue roses and big green leaves. The stuff of nightmares.

One big stall was mostly linen, old but very good quality and monogrammed. I found sheets to use as throws for the manky armchairs, and teatowels. I carefully did not look at the black cloaks on the same stall, or the embroidered chemises, but was tempted by a mob cap; however it wasn't big enough to hold all my hair.

And then I saw a VHS tape of Asterix and Cleopatre, which was irresistible at 2 euros. Almost bought the player for 15 euros but was stopped by realising I'd need to buy a tv as well.

First visit to Bordeaux

I took the pretty (coastal) route to Bordeaux, partly to explore and partly because toll-roads are a right pain when alone in a RHD car. Got lost a few times and saw a sign for Blaye so made a small detour there. At Blaye there's a car-ferry across the river but I didn't think it would help, so after looking around the town I headed inland via Cars.

What an amazing little town Cars is. I love the slightly decrepit appearance of many small French towns - the unpainted naturalness, the absence of fences - but the smart ones have an appeal too. Cars is sparkly clean and very smart, but the first thing one notices is the church spire. Shiny. Like a polished snake, covered in tiles of red, gold, green, russet in a viper-pattern.

On the way into the north side of Bordeaux is an elegant and very new tram-terminal. The trams are gorgeous, and as they provide a park-and-ride facility I plan to take a day there and ride around.

I'd intended to locate the train station then go sight-seeing, but after 5 drives round and past the roadworks I was in need of rest and sustenance, and it seemed easier to park at the station and stay there. So I pretended to be a taxi (the sign said no entry except to taxis and buses, but there were other cars parked in there).

Collected sister with some difficulty (big place, Gare St Jean) and we decided on the quick way home, by motorway.

Along the Gironde estuary

On the way back from shopping I took a detour to explore the estuary-side.

There are sandy beaches at Meschers, a little south of St Georges, though in an area of low cliffs and not as easy to get to as those at St Georges (my favourite beach). Their advantage is the cliffs, which are honey-coloured and holed with seacaves. Beautiful. Disappointingly, I'd not taken a camera.

From there towards St Dizant is a chain of small fishing ports which have been made a little touristy (mostly with tiny marinas and a few restaurants and gites). At the moment the hordes have not descended, but it may get rather crowded in July and August. Apparently there are lots of events of various kinds in the summer. At Talmont there is a superb old carousel which looks like it's in working order, and will be on the list for visitors.

Citification

There is Municipal Works going on. It has been decided that the hamlet should be modernised, and to this end street lights are being put in. Just as the rest of the world is trying to find ways of using less electricity. I don't know why we need street lights: if anyone does go out at night they put their own outside light on, and there are no lurkers or antisociables here.

At least the light pollution will only be until 10pm, and stargazing will be undisturbed later (though twilight will be ruined). hm, does that mean they won't come on at all for a few weeks?

Of neighbours and washing machine and screwdrivers

I've met some proper local neighbours: an older couple who speak a little fast and in a mix of French and Charentais. They live in the house with a lemon-tree in a big tub by the front door (I have tub, must get lemon tree). They are also very friendly; and they keep chickens and rabbits and grow vegetables. We had a brief chat about the advantages of vegetables over flowers: she doesn't hold with things being pretty but useless.

The neighbour from across, who works for the plumber, tried to install the washing machine. Its hose is 2cm too short. Gah! He says he'll come back later and cut a hole in the sink unit to thread it through higher. I had to resort to dictionary for "cross-point screwdriver" and it isn't in there. Need my bigger dictionary. Madame came with him to say hello and if I want any household stuff to let her know because she works in a supermarket.

It's clear-sky sunshine, the birds are warbling loudly, and I shall be taking photos of the Round Table and chairs on the terrace later.

[UPDATE] Washing-machine plumbed in and ready to go. Mme the Fixer has given me a little knitted shoe with sweets in it, made for their daughter's baptism, because I missed it (well, it was before I arrived). Neighbour who keeps chickens came over to bring a present of eggs. I'm welling up!

I know where my towel is, and wear the Lilac in remembrance

Yesterday there was a small river running by the house. The rain falls heavily between periods of bright sunshine, and so I washed my hair and dressed up (the Towel[0] wrapped round hair, and the Lilac[1] at breast, because it was the 25th of May) and then stayed at home doing 'net searches for furniture and music events and markets and routes to the railway stations.

I applied for two jobs, both editing work, with help and support from sis#3 on the terrifying business of The Covering Letter (two different letters because the two jobs are very different).

Later the sun came back and an English part-time neighbour (EPTN) came over to issue an invitation for drinkies and to meet more neighbours, this evening. And (oh the joy of BBC7) I listened to "Baldi" - about an Italian-background Franciscan lecturer in philosophy who uses semiotics to solve murders. In Dublin. With David Threlfall (the dozy one in Nightingales).

Today, two strawberries and some cherries for breakfast, eaten as they were picked. There are cherries too high for me to reach; I thought, never mind, happy birds - but it's the ants that eat them!

Other half of the ENPTN took down the planks and fastenings over one of the windows in La Grande Salle (aka the barn), so that the afternoon sun can warm the house. Later in the year I shall probably be desperately trying to cool it, but for now it's lovely to have the golden light on the stone walls.

[0] for Douglas
[1] for pterry and the Alzheimers appeal

Electrickery

The electrician who said the supply was only 20 amp phoned EDF for me. From her email:
"You have 20 Amp per phase with a 3 phase subscription.
In residential house, we usually put monophase, which makes it way simpler to wire the house. No need to have the 3 phases equilibrated. EDF will do the change on a phone call within 2 to 3 weeks for 135.26 euro. Then you can adjust your power for your need. It will depend on your heating system mostly. If all electric, I will recommend 9 KW."

135 euros, oh ouch.

So today I spent just over 30 minutes on the phone to EDF - admittedly mostly on hold, with a repeating 8 bars of clanking piano and Disney choir, which wound me up quite a bit.

Talking about strange electricity supplies in furrin is hard work for someone who doesn't understand them in any language[0]. I thought I was doing ok, but the agent decided to get a colleague who speaks a litte English to help out. We giggled quite a lot but in the end I had to go back into French for it because she couldn't even remember the numbers, let alone the word for appliance, and I can't remember what "heures creuses" is in English! She wanted to know the floor area of the house, too... it's somewhere in these papers...

Anyway, I'm booking an appointment for the changeover.

Previous owner said earlier (also a phone call in French) that there was no need to swap to monophase but it is a bit cheaper for ordinary domestic purposes. He'd had 3-phase for the woodsaw (sawmill?).

[0] Huge thanks to people who explained things on LJ and in irc

Gone are the daisies, but not for long

It was warm last night - not hot, just snug and comfortable - but I'd had two coffees while talking to the cafe-owner, and being the first coffee in a week it actually stopped me sleeping. I finally passed out in the pre-dawn as the birds started up, and had less than 3 hours before the alarm went off.

Neighbour-across-the-road came over this morning with his petrol mower and removed 20cm of grass, daisies, and assorted meadow flowers. I prefer the meadow look, but it quickly becomes impassable jungle. While he was doing it the sky clouded and rain fell, so by next week it will be ankle-deep again. He wouldn't take any money, not even for the petrol, but he says I need a jardinier and he'll ask his father who looks after the gardens on the other side of the hamlet.

I can follow what's said pretty well (barring heavy rural accent) but my mind is still going blank when I talk, so he clearly thought I don't understand much: therefore the way to communicate is to shout louder. It's amusing to be on the other end of what one thinks of as Speaking English To The Natives.

And after half an hour of rain the sun came out :)

Later there was a shock (no pun intended) - email from the electrician to say she had phoned EDF and discovered that the supply is 3-phase and needs changing, which will cost 135 euros.

It's been a week now!

A photo of the 3-piece suite offered by the removal man showed a brown cottage-style in mediocre nick, for which he wants 280 euros. I declined. Websearching for furniture was rather depressing: everything seems so expensive, or in the case of secondhand stuff needs to be collected. Ikea turns out to be probably the cheapest option, although they want 89 euros + tax for delivery. I decided to wait and see if anything else turns up. Looking for microwave oven was a shock, too, on comparing with UK prices.

Eventually I went out to the Super U to buy dustpan, can-opener, and trowel. Turning right at the top of the road instead of left, I wandered past a place which sells strawberries and a bit further on two grand new houses in the style of Roman villas, before finding the road to Mirambeau. I got the trowel first, and forgot the other things because of the distraction of a microwave on sale, and a very cheap cafetiere, and a kettle which was kind of middling price, all of which I acquired. No worries now if the gaz runs out :).

On the way back I went to the cafe in St Dizant centre. It has wifi! Another thing to tell the estate agent. Madame cafe-owner gave me several phone numbers for musical groups and events. There's a big building called the Foyer Rural which houses local organisations (I think it is a kind of community and arts centre with offices).

This evening was warm after a hot day. I did some gardening and met some neighbours; asked if they knew anyone who would cut the grass and yes! Neighbour-across-the-road will do it.

And finally a warning: do not put worcester sauce on salad in mistake for balsamic vinegar.

Exploring and builders' estimates

Various phone-calls about the removal van resulted in revised plans: they will collect from Suffolk on Saturday and deliver here on Wednesday next week.

Went to the farm on the south side of St Dizant, which sells vegetables. I bought asparagus and lettuce because that was all they had left by this time of day. Looks like they sell to the shops. Thence to the little supermarket (called "1000 Frais et 1 Fred", Fred being Madame's name); very friendly couple who like to practise English. They gave me directions to the nearest cash machine, in St Fort sur Gironde CA so there will be a charge for using my card; the nearest HSBC is in Royan, 26 miles away, and it's cheaper to pay the charge.

Returned via Port Maubert, which is very pretty: pancakes and boats and the well-known restaurant L'Ecluse, and only 5 miles away.

More signs for poneys and poney clubs; donkeys are popular as well. Sometime last week I passed a western-riding-style ranchette, but I can't remember where.

I know when I'm getting near home because I can see one of the two water towers (Le Rivalard is between two towers). The one on the estuary-side is shaped a bit like a cocktail glass but longer.

Back just as Camille and Benoit Chambon of Casa Nova arrived to assess the work. Much shaking of head and sharp intake of breath. The crumbly wall is not a problem, though - it's salt-petre and caused by damp.

They spent ages measuring and discussing, and took away a floor plan to make drawings. I asked for estimates for separate jobs so I can see which can be done, explaining that "the pound..." ah yes, all the English are having trouble now. The first thing will be roof insulation, though, otherwise it's going to be chilly in the winter.

The electricity supply is only 20 amps and should be at least 30. Camille says I can't put on the oven at the same time as anything else.

Most of the renovation work was in fact done by the owner before the one who sold it to me. Last owner had planned to do things but didn't get round to much except some lighting before his heart attack. Ah, and most of the electrical supplies in the garage aren't usable because they're no longer legal.

They found rodent-traps upstairs at the back, with little bodies in them. Not mice, and not rats either. They think they may be loirs. Squirrel-like things. Protected. :(

As they left they said if I need things moving or bed building, to phone them :)

Furnishing

I have coffee table! :) Got charged 5 euros for delivery so it cost 10 euros, but that's still not bad. Now I need to find a cash machine rather urgently...

I heard the boulanger at 11am. The van stops at my gate, but I couldn't find any money at all! He doesn't deliver every day as the estate agent said, only Monday and Thursday. No money and the bread smelled wonderful :-/

New fridge and washing machine have been ordered. All the second-hand ones seem to be D, which would hurt, and besides I couldn't do the transport thing myself so that would be added to the cost. This was on a free-delivery-before-end-May deal. I took the 5-year guarantee for the fridge but not the washing machine. May regret it, but 106 euros is a lot, and it's usually easier to find washing machine repairers. I hope.

Oh bother, there's nowhere to plumb it in.

Sliding through mud

Out for a evening wander and I managed to do a bit of unplanned rallying - I'm sure it was a road on the map, but on the edge of a hamlet the tarmac ended and it became a track. I carried on hoping it was but a brief grassy interlude, but after skidding sideways through a wood Lillie was not amused to find herself in a field, and sulked a bit on the way back.

Somewhere round here there is a lot of lavender and it smells wonderful :)

[UPDATE] There is a bat in the house!

Sunday bargains at the brocante

The phone worked!

Eventually I checked email and found a reply to my forum post about needing a houseload of stuff - there was a brocante in Boisredon, only 15 miles away. Today.

Swift exit, and with only one tiny unplanned detour I found Boisredon. There was no problem finding the brocante: it filled the village. A brocante, it seems, is what carbootsales used to be before professional traders took over. This was three streets of trestle tables and a mad range of stuff (including old agricultural implements), plus a marquee-cafe... with live music!

Now, for 54 euros, I have 4 dining chairs, some glasses, plates, bowls, and cups and saucers (they weren't necessary but it is a set). I paid another 5 euros for a coffee table and then wondered how to get it in the car - no problem, said the vendor, he'll deliver it. I said isn't it a bit far? but he seemed sure so we'll see.

Going home it began to rain hard, so I abandoned the idea of looking for a cafe. However, I noticed a sign for a restaurant called La Locomotive ;)

It's sunny again and I've been taking photos of the kitchen. A lizard just ran up to the kitchen door.

Saturday

ADSL is working, though Vista says it can't get onto the wifi though it can see it. Deal with that later.

Apart from catching up on email and such, I spent the day moving things around. Also went upstairs for the first time. The stairs are... interesting. On the to-do list is Get Proper Staircase.

The bedroom upstairs is sweet. It's big, but having a sloping roof and window at floor level makes it feel like something out of a Victorian children's book.

The mezzanine will need more work than I realised to make it into a sitting room - for a start, the railing around it is makeshift.

Downstairs it's easy to see where the dining-room was planned, and the heap of materials includes wall thingies and floor tiles. Just need someone to do it.

Using the phone failed, and I don't know why but I'm too sleepy to do any more searching of French websites.

Friday - settling in

Rain! A waterfall of rain. You can hear the grass growing. It rains really heavily then stops and the sun comes out; and then rains a little while later. Timing the dashes to empty the car is important.

Really need to put up insect screens. There are bees and there are BEES.

Curious. Everyone I've asked has said there are no local buses, so why is there a bus parked against the back wall of the barn?

Into the town to see what is there. The mairie is very grand for a small town, though they apologised for not having wheelchair access yet. The secretary photocopied a map for me, so I can see where the roads are just around here.

Whenever I've asked about shops people have said there is nothing much in St Dizant, and the supermarket is in Mirambeau (7-8 miles away), where there is a weekly market too. The disregarded shop in St Dizant is actually a small supermarket and post office. It has 'net, too! I considered trying the restaurant to see if they do just coffee, but it started to rain again.

Went home and ate rather a lot of local strawberries, which taste like alpines but are big.

Using the phone failed, and I don't know why but I'm too sleepy to do any more searching of French websites.

First full day in the house

Good thing I got up early, because the Man From The EDF arrived about 10:30 instead of 14:00. I didn't hear him knock, but he opened the door and called. He changed the box for a new one and asked if I wanted to stay on heures creuses: for simplicity I said yes, though I have no clue if it will actually be cheaper with my usage patterns.

A little while later, la factrice (postie) knocked too. I wonder why people don't use the bell? It's a proper bell, rather like Owl's; perhaps I should have a notice about knocking and ringing? [A A Milne reference]. She was very friendly and said I should ask her if I need to know anything. I should have asked where to find her.

It was warm but not hot, perfect for a short ride out on Broomstick to explore the hamlet. To the right, direction St Ciers du Taillon, there are wheatfields. I wonder if there's a working mill here. The road which looks on the map to be the most direct route to St Dizant turns into a grass lane just beyond two houses under construction, and it swoops down into the valley. Discretion won, and I left it for a day when I'm not alone.

I didn't really speak to anyone. There was an old man out for a walk, and we exchanged bonjours, but I couldn't really follow his accent. I called bonjour to a woman hanging out washing in her garden, and waved to two people in fields, and that was it.

On arrival back at the drive, Broomstick died briefly with the old electrical fault which was supposed to be fixed (I paid £50 for that job!). This makes me nervous about using it, because if I went to the village via footpaths I could get stranded, and via the road it's almost 3 miles; besides, there isn't much traffic and I could wait a long time for help.

The ADSL isn't on yet, but I have a book to read.

The Big Day

Woke up early to wash in cold water and went into Mirambeau where I found a cafe-bar opposite the notaire's office. Everyone said bonjour, and some even shook hands (with me, too). Unlike in some cafes, the other customers nearby didn't talk to me, but they smiled in a friendly way; they seemed a bit clique-y (some people went straight to the rear of the bar and didn't shake hands).

To the notaire. There is so much paperwork with buying a house in France that the notaire plants a tree for each transaction. This probably deters people from moving often, though the cost of buying also has something to do with it (the estate agent's fee was 10,000 euros and the notaire's fee plus taxes came to 10,918 euros). The notaire has to make sure everything is understood, too, so the process took nearly two hours: much of it because we had to sign or initial every single page, although the last 20-30 minutes was just the Potrons, winding up their mortgage. I waited for them so I could follow them to the house - I'd have got lost otherwise. It was all very jolly though, and the notaire tried a bit of English and fell about laughing.

The Potrons drove to Le Rivalard via a brief stop at the pharmacy in St Ciers du Taillon, and I followed, noting the filling station and restaurant. Mme came to chat to me while M got his prescription: she was most upset about the furniture, because they had made lots of trips to the social-charity place to donate most of theirs, including beds, chairs, the washing machine (old but sturdy), and her beloved Henri Deux bureau. She kept saying: if only the estate agent had told them... ah well, too late now.

From St Ciers du Taillon, which is on the D730, the route suddenly plunges into twisting country lanes. Though not far, it's confusing - 3 miles seems a long way - but we rounded a bend and there was Le Rivalard. M Potron opened the shutters (Charentais blue, of course) and stepped back, saying "à vous l'honneur" and I opened the door with my own key.

I was too out-of-it and tired to take in everything they told me: explaining the wiring, the oven, the propane and where to buy it, the electrical system (having to change the box because it was super and I shan't need that), how to set the water heating for "heures creuses". I promptly forgot where to buy propane, and as for the wiring and which sockets are live and what the junction boxes unpstairs are for... eep. They gave me some documents about the house - plans and such, and a photo of what it looked like when they bought it. There was no garden then, just the big old tree.

So we went on a tour of the garden, especially the roses. The two cherry trees seem fine but the poor nectarine was frost-bitten after the flowers set in that freeze Europe had after a hot start to the spring; it looks like it may manage two fruits with luck. There are hazelnuts, too.

They have left the old vacuum cleaner, which will be handy though I really need a mop because all the floors which aren't bare lumpy concrete are tiled.

When they'd gone I went looking for the bank in Royan. Royan is a big port and seaside resort. Driving round it is not nice. Had to be done, though, because my access code hadn't turned up in .uk and I couldn't phone to get my card activated without it. They re-sent it, but until it arrives I don't know what's going on in my account and it's not simple because of all the fees and bank charges.

I also needed to find France Telecom. It had moved. By the time I did locate the new shop, it was quite late, but it was still open and very busy and they were taking names to call people when it was their turn. I'd planned to get a phone line and then Free which seems to be the best deal, but Thierry-the-sales said I could have their plan which includes free calls to Europe, was the same price as Free, and could be connected straight away. I was already desperate for a net-fix so I agreed, and bought a phone as well. He had several goes at explaining that if I have a landline it's 16 euros a month on top, but internet phone comes in which the internet price. It means if there's a power cut or the ADSL falls over I have no phone, so I bought a payg mobile too.

I returned via the beach at St Georges de Didonne, about which I have raved before, to anyone who would listen. For a warm sunny evening, it was strangely empty; mostly runners. I reminds me of Canford Cliffs just south of Poole. I got a little lost taking the coast road back, but it was very pretty.

Unpacked the most urgent things, and by now extremely tired.

Orange payg mobile. hmm, seems there's no Orange signal here. oops.

And so to bed.

The journey to my new home

Monday late evening: packed everything possible into the car, having to discard a few things (including, it seems, some of the food!) and drove down to Folkestone via road closures south of the Bridge. Eurotunnel terminal was silent and empty, with an automated check-in. I'd chosen the time for cheapness - £39 instead of £115 at peak daytime - and it obviously isn't popular.

I was early, so went for a coffee while waiting to be called to the train. Very friendly staff, seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to. A few other people turned out before it was time to drive to customs/passport control. There was a short delay while a white transit van ahead of me was taken aside for dismantling or something. That and my car were the only vehicles in the queue. The customs person asked me where I was going and if I was moving to France, but in a chatty way. He also said good evening to George Humphrey who was on the front passenger seat, as did the next person who was apparently there only to ask if we had any gas in the car.

Passport controller said bonsoir and nothing more. I waved my passport and he shook his head so I drove through without showing any documents. Not even a gas bill. When one compares this to the pain of travelling by plane now...

There was a 5-minute delay for the train, but even by then there weren't many other vehicles so they only opened the doors at the rear. This meant, as first on, I had to drive the full length of the train. It took ages at 5mph or so; felt like I'd driven as far as France. The train was very bouncy, which may have been because it wasn't fully loaded, or maybe the tracks aren't as smooth as when I used to use the shuttle (not since the price went up a lot).

I'd planned to drive down by the shortest route (Lillie is a longterm hire and has now gone up to the allowed mileage, so it's 5p a mile). In the end, I couldn't find the roads and stuck to the autoroute. Péage was tedious, having to get out of the car because of being on the wrong side, but at least I didn't get lost. Or not much. ahem.

Not having slept much Sunday night, and then not at all Monday night, I got tired quickly. Stopped several times for a brief nap, but still arrived at Mirambeau well in time to meet Polly the estate agent and go to get the insurance documents (one of the fiddly but sensible French paperwork things is that the house insurance has to be in place before you take possession).

We went to check the house, which appears much bigger now it's empty. The previous owners turned up too, and helped take some bags and stuff into the house. M Potron was amused by Broomstick. Polly took GH in to look after the house. The Potrons were shocked that I had so little stuff, and said they would leave the mattress that was in the bedroom so I don't have to sleep on the floor.

We had a look round the garage-workshop, which will make a lovely gite. It took some time explaining the water system (have to turn off the outside taps in winter in case of frost) and where the fosse is, and they told me to be careful of the well because it's 15 metres deep. Covered, though.

Back to Mirambeau, following Polly and still bewildered by the little lanes. Couldn't find the Super U fuel station/supermarket, and drove to Jonzac instead, then came back and found the signs to Super U quite clear from that direction.

Jonzac is gorgeous. It's also the nearest railway station; anyone flying to Bordeaux or taking the TGV to Bordeaux or Angouleme would then catch a train to Jonzac and call me for a lift. (If I'm not there, get a taxi. There may be buses in this direction, but nothing comes right to Le Rivalard.)

Spent the night parked next to a wood; slept fairly well, but with some very strange dreams!

Moving

I'm moving to France today.

Anyone know a good way to get ADSL? They all look so expensive. Unfortunately the line seems to be non dégroupée.

No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency, the DVD

Extracts from email re: No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency :-

"I am currently unaware of any plans to release 'No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency'. However, if you would like to make a suggestion for its release, I would suggest you put it in writing to the below address who are responsible for the commercial release of all BBC DVD's. Please
write to:

Programming & Acquisitions Dept
2 entertain
33 Foley Street
London
W1W 7TL

Please note that there must be adequate public interest before a release can be arranged."

The campaign for Nightingales[0] succeeded, and I suspect this one will be easier.

Clips from the programme.

[0] Lovely review and description of Nightingales.

Brief review of concert on Monday 28 January

Paolo Pandolfo, solo viola da gamba (bass viol).

His bowing technique is awe-inspiring, and at times so fast that the bow looks as though it is bending. He made the viol produce sounds I didn't know a viol could make: in a Tobias Hume piece called A Soldier's Resolution it started out as bagpipes and went through trumpets and drums.

Programme -
Five pieces by Tobias Hume (c. 1600)
Le Sieur de St Colombe: Prelude and Chaconne (late 1600s)
Marin Marais: Les Voix Humaines, Le Badinage (c. 1700). A reminder that Pandolfo played with Jordi Savall (of Tous Les Matins Du Monde fame).
Then two of Pandolfo's own compositions. Stunning and exciting. The improvisation became so intense that it seemed the viol would break under the strain, but just before it could shatter into shards to be flung out across the hall, the music relaxed, only to wind up again.
Finally, J.S. Bach: Sonata for 'cello, transcribed by Pandolfo, which he introduced with an explanation of why he felt it was appropriate to play the 'cello sonatas on bass viol.

More information -
http://www.paolopandolfo.com/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paolo_Pandolfo

Loadsa Judith Weir

At various times this evening I heard some of the Beeb's celebration of Judith Weir's music (including her talking about her background). Never heard King Harald’s Saga before, and was most impressed with Elin Manahan Thomas who sang it. The Saga is described as an opera in 3 acts for solo soprano (and that's solo as in totally alone and unaccompanied), performing 11 parts. Good thing it's only 10 minutes long. Elin was fantastic, producing different tones for each character.

All the Ends of the Earth, a motet written in 1999, is influenced by the music of the 12th-century Notre Dame school. Lovely. It was written for the BBC Singers who performed it in this concert; I'd prefer some other group, because I never feel comfortable with the Singers' sound on early music or early-music-style. Of course, I'd like to sing it myself...


http://www.barbican.org.uk/music/event-detail.asp?ID=6296

Earth Hour

Earth Hour - http://www.earthhour.org/ (switch off lights and tvs for an hour).


I'm in favour of micro-most-things[0]. The argument that doing/not doing something because it won't solve the whole problem at once, or because it will only ameliorate a problem, has always seemed an indicator of laziness, covert greed, or stupidity.

Even if it doesn't actually achieve a great reduction in immediate energy consumption, Earth Hour seems a way of making people think. Living with students who have recently left home and halls was rather a shock: so many seemed unable to connect energy consumption with cost, let alone more remote concepts. Of course turning off lights and appliances for one hour a year won't make a big difference to CO2; but anything which makes people think, provided it does no harm, deserves support.

However, there are people claiming that Earth Hour is a Bad Idea because it will break the national grid. So far, I haven't seen any detailed reason adduced, just that "surges" are bad and that the national grid is designed for continuous production and drain. Surely it has storage capacity? How else would it deal with the kettle-on syndrome? What happened to Sydney's grid last year (apparently there was a 10% reduction)?

[0] except micro-management



[EDIT] In the opinion of a friend who works in the industry, it is indeed Bad. "Almost instantaneous load changes to power generation and distribution services are not a good idea." I'm not convinced that this demonstration would be widespread enough to do any damage, but his arguments on the difficulty of planning for a sudden lessening in demand look sound. More important from the point of view of using this as a demonstration in support of the environment is his comment that "It is also costly from an environmental point of view where return to a peak demand would probably initiate quick-start gas-turbine generation".



From another source: BERR has information on national grid management. The background in this PDF of the government response to Clause 18 (proposal for Dynamic Demand technology) implies that if there is a good estimate of the numbers in advance the risk is low, but it could result in cascading power failures and hardware damage.