Starry

Brendan is here this week, doing some more work upstairs - the last of the really messy work, I hope. He's hacked and scraped huge quantities of low-grade cement and crumbling mud from between the stones of the upper living-room walls, and is now pointing them. It's a horrible job in the current temperature, especially as the cement mixer (for the chaux, not for cement) is out in the garage. Yesterday was cloudy and cold; last night was clear and extremely cold; today we haven't yet achieved zero Celsius, and the sun is brightly reflected from the white lawn.

We went to dinner at the house of my singing comrade: a small, select and merry group, with much interesting conversation ranging from books to rugby to linguistics to films, the occasional foray into current affairs and a satisfying rant against advertising. There was a guess-the-grape quiz, which even I enjoyed because it entailed discussion of farming practices and descriptions of the valleys and villages from which the wine came. I was happy with Y's home-made elderflower cordial (note to self: must make some next year).

M informed us, after collecting B from Jonzac station, that according to his car's thermometer display it was getting warmer. When we set off home at sometime after midnight, the grass was diamonded, but as he started the car, he remarked that the temperature had gone up... then: "Oh, that's a minus sign!" It was actually -6 degrees.

Very cold, but so clear. The sky was stunning, so bright with stars that it was hard to pick out constellations. Sadly, much too cold to take out the telescope!

Sheets and partitions

Vocabulary is curious and fascinating: local usage, specialist words, and the "false friends" of words which came from the same ancestors but haven't been on speaking terms since that row between many-great-grandfather and his brother. I can read Voltaire, Dumas, and Mallarmé pretty well; the reading list at university included many mid-twentieth-century works and a dictionary of Argot. Two days spent in a French school on an exchange visit left me with some grasp of the difference between poetry and verse and an ineradicable ear-worm of the first four lines of La Cigale.

Colloquial speech is sometimes easy, and sometimes not so easy (I remember the English wine-dealer and old-house-owner who said his conversational French wasn't very good but he spoke excellent Building). For example, trying to establish what animal was hit by Y's car had me lost after she and C decided it wasn't cerf, sanglier, or lapin - I didn't recognise the names of any of the others.

I've been meaning to check some musical terms, particularly the term for "sheet music" aka "the dots". Note that English doesn't have a word for it: the fact that we commonly refer to it as "music" can be very confusing when trying to define "Music", a hard enough task anyway. It turns out that the French use one word rather than a phrase, and I now know what it is.

At Monday's rehearsal, the director commented that I was ranging my partitions.

Montchaude and no meteors

Téléthon continues. The Arc en Ciel did another fund-raising concert last night, in a small town called Montchaude, which is near Barbezieux and quite a way from here.

We provided the whole concert this time, which was quite a sing for a smallish a capella group - a capella aside from accordion accompaniment in Moscow Nights (Russian version) and tenor recorder playing the violin intro to Mozart's Laudate Dominum. And TWO standing ovations! The director said "no more" after the second encore, as we'd sung for over two hours with only a 10-minute break. Most people went off to the post-gig party at the Mairie, but my fellow travellers weren't interested. I didn't mind, being quite tired myself.

It was still almost completely clear, and, as on the way there, I sat in the back of C's car trying to watch for Geminids, but no meteors were visible. It was too cold to stay outside looking for them. The weather changed three days ago from cloudy and occasionally very wet, to clear. The first day was sunny and warm, but since then it's been very cold, much colder than usual for December here. There is even a suggestion of snow in the weather forecast! The plants must be in shock, especially those in flower. I went to bed with two hotwater bottles; they are still warm so I don't feel like getting up yet.

Téléthon concert at Saint-Léger

Y, C, and I arrived before 8pm, the time requested (I like to get to places in time to grab a nearby parking-space). The concert didn't actually start until after 9, which was a long time in a church where the heaters had only just been switched on. It warmed up nicely, though, and there was much chat amongst the choir while we waited. I'm not in favour of talking before singing, but it was all very friendly and took our minds off our cold toes.

The programme was Arc en Ciel, Le Rallye de Saint-Antoine, cake and hot drinks; repeat apart from the cake and hot drinks. Most of the female singers had to decline the drinks because the church has no loos. Not a problem for the blokes, of course, though a few of them helpfully suggested forming a circle for us out in the graveyard.

We sang well and bouncily: carols and songs in French, Russian, English, Hebrew, Spanish, Zulu, and three comic songs in French.

The Rallye... was a surprise.
It looked like this, except the St-Antoine rallye's coats are green. Somebody behind me joked "how rude" when they turned their backs on us and put on their hats. I don't know why they turn their backs because the trompes are loud enough to be heard whichever way they're facing. Very loud. Those of us in the front row (i.e. members of the choir) had to put our fingers in our ears. It's an exciting noise, and beautiful when they played softly; decidedly raucous when loud. The "trompe" is obviously difficult to play, and it's amazing how many notes they can get.

I hope someone has taken a photo of the rallye wandering around with the instruments, because they didn't carry the trompe - they wore it: most of them, round the neck. I wanted to comment to my neighbours but realised that French uses the same verb for "carry" and "wear", so it needed too much explanation. They have special cases for the trompes. Well, all musical instruments have special cases, but these were unexpectedly special. The case with a hole!

The pieces are short (they need a lot of breath) and most of them consist of short phrases in a call-and-respond pattern; a few pieces are more lyrical. Apparently the trompes de chasse bands started around here about 20 years ago (or re-started, I'm not sure). I'd like to get more information: next year I'll visit the St-Antoine riding school (about 5 miles from here) and ask.

As the announcer said at the end of their last set, the wild boars in the forest around St-Léger would have been very nervous that night.

Got home at half-past-morning.

Rain, wind, and television

There was a storm, followed by bright sunshine. Lovely. Unfortunately it all disappeared behind grey clouds again, and the rain was back. I feel ... um... why is it that the word which comes to mind is French? Anyway, I'm on the sofa with a blanket, watching a tv programme of some marvellous aerial films and interesting commentary on views of the world. The commentator said that at picking-time the fields are among the most colourful sights on Earth. Looked luridly eye-searing to me. At the same time he pointed out, over a clip of spraying machines, that the tulip industry is among the highest users of pesticide and that the Netherlands is responsible for a large proportion of pesticide input to the North Sea.

I never did like tulips.

Then the adverts come on, and one of my least-favourite food megalocompanies is advertising the chocolate to end all chocolate, which is apparently nothing more than the old chocolate in a new shape; moreover, it's advertised using a bored-looking model and half a ton of greasy cosmetics.

Maybe I should just turn it off and go and do something more interesting instead?

Dangerous out there in the forest

Driving through the woods every week on the way home from choir practice, we see plenty of deer, hares, occasionally rabbits, and various owls on and around the road. Last night a largish mammal ran across in front of the car: possibly a pole-cat, as it seemed too big for a pine-marten.

English driver: C'etait quoi?
Charentais passenger: Rhinocéros!

Portal

The door between the kitchen and the salle has been removed. Now there is just the empty archway, which looks much bigger than it did when it was filled with a door and a hardboard surround painted with bunches of grapes.

The arch had been partly faced with those odd wall-bricks, which stuck out into the salle. Previous-owner planned to continue covering the stone walls with wall-bricks and plaster, which I thought was a shame (this is what it looks like now). James-the-Plasterer trimmed the bricks level with the door-frame when he did the pointing, so the brick-edges need covering. There is a gap between the tiled floor of the kitchen and the bamboo floor of the salle; I'd thought of extending the bamboo, but perhaps extending the tiles would be better.

Now that the first floor has been walled off and insulated, the kitchen fire can warm the salle as well. At the moment it's not quite cold enough to light the fire, and the sun is shining through all three west-facing windows. From the sofa I can see so much golden light. Beautiful. *happy sigh*

Music of the rainbow

A Yamaha P85 came home with me from England. It's very beautiful, but does not wish to stay on the stand. Apparently I need to get some multigrip, though there is a possibility that the stand isn't suitable (it's not the one recommended in the manual).

Last night was choir practice. There are three of us lift-sharing from this area now, with another one joining us in January. Music workshops are looking even more promising with so many local singers as prospective punters.

Concert dates for December are 4th and 5th for Telethon gigs, then 12th, 18th, and 20th for Christmassy concerts.

The rehearsal wasn't as good as the one in half-term with fewer singers who were perhaps the more dedicated ones. There was a lot of chatter; the director even had to stop and point out that we had actually started a piece. I don't have most of the music yet and the gig programmes haven't been selected. Luckily, most of the music is easy enough to read - apart from the jazz-blues piece about going to the dentist, which had me squeaking when I saw the words of the third verse, and not in key either.

The director asked me if I would sing some solos. I'd have said no, so as not to upset anything, but it was actually the choir's soloist who'd suggested it. We are to sort it out between us. He also said that in some of the smaller concerts I should do a spot with piano accompaniment from the English alto. On the way home I informed her of this and she was most surprised. We've worked out that the director is confusing her with someone else who does play piano. She offered to come round and learn on the lovely new Yammy - as soon as I get it to stay on the stand, of course. It might be a while before we're up to Lieder ;)

Shush, it's still winter

The birds are making a lot of noise. They seem to think that the winter is over. Baby Redstart came to visit the kitchen; I wonder if he's thinking of using one of the terrace nests next year.

In the last two weeks there have been very cold nights, with frost on three nights which is most unusual here. Then at last there was rain and the temperature shot up. Now the clouds have passed; it's sunny and still warm. I'm sitting in a pool of sunlight in the salon, with the outside door open.

Oh, and the hazelnut has catkins on it!

A mezzanine no more

Camille of Casa Nova has put up some photos of renovating the mezzanine.

The photo at the end is how it looked when they first started work: an open platform at one end of the barn, accessed by a home-made stair-ladder. They extended the platform to make a room downstairs, put in a staircase and walls, insulated the roof, and made a small minstrel gallery looking out over the rehearsal room. Now it's no longer a mezzanine, but a room. It has a door to the first bedroom and an open entrance to a wide hall leading to the bathroom and two other bedrooms; behind the odd shape in one corner, with a door, is the little gallery.

Brendan added a shutter for the window, and now it's all snug but sunny, and waiting for furniture.

Songs of the Rainbow

The house has finally lost its summer heat and it's time to drag in the logs.

Yesterday I joined a choir: Chorale Arc en Ciel, a small group of about 25 voices which meets in a town on the other side of Jonzac, about 40 minutes' drive away. We're doing three gigs before the end of December. The material is mainly chanson-style plus some short classical and liturgical pieces, and includes several in Russian. They don't have the funds to pay an orchestra, so most of the concerts are a cappella, or with organ or piano accompaniment. The standard is quite high, and the conductor is very clear; he concentrates on intonation and timing, with less emphasis on style than I'm used to, but it's so good to hear the basics being sorted out. They do some serious warm-up exercises, which is always encouraging.

The warm-up is taken by a teacher. It reminded me of the old primary school system in France where supervisors dealt with everything except the actual lessons, leaving the teachers free of such things as dinner duty and grazed knees. Anyway, the conductor shares the warm-up, so there's none of the lack of contact and opportunity for observation which marred the school system, useful though it was in other ways.

Back to our sheep[0]. An Anglo alto who lives near Lorignac gave me a lift and introduced me. They're a very friendly bunch (the choir, that is, not the sheep), with a social food-drink-and-natter session at the end of the rehearsal. I'm glad to say they didn't chat during rehearsal, which is so annoying. Because there was a shortage of sopranos, and they do quite a few divisi pieces, I felt especially welcome. It's going to be fun.

[0] Literal translation of a French phrase meaning return to the subject.

Apples, shiny apples

Between the D137 and the D2, near St Genis de Saintonge, there's a big apple orchard which has a kind of Open Farm for a few weeks. Last year I missed it; this year I made it just in time, today being the last day. I needn't have worried, because they've started up a farm shop which will be open until June.

I bought Elstar, Belchard, Melrose, and another of which I don't know the name. The apples are sold by the kilo, at 70 centimes a kilo unless you buy more than 50 kilos. Cheap! I intended to get just a couple of kilos, but was seduced by pretty varieties I'd never heard of. The person doing the selling first asked what kind of apples I like, and then recommended some with descriptions of their scent and flavour. I wondered briefly if one was supposed to take a bite, chew, and spit it out.

Ginette and Denis came round to turn off the water to the garden in case the pipes freeze as they did last year. I gave them some of the apples, and Ginette insisted on knowing how much she owes me!

More work on the house

The Casa Novans started work on closing-in the mezzanine last week - http://picasaweb.google.com/camillebenoitchambon/AmenagementDeMezzanine#. House is full of dust, both stone and saw. It will be worth it to have the living area insulated from the barn; I'll miss the view from the mezzanine, but last winter was very chilly.

The new pantry in the corner of the kitchen is lovely. It's bigger than I expected, and has plenty of space for a freezer as well as shelves and a broom-cupboard. Tidy :) The light comes on when the door is opened, which is useful for when one arrives home in the dark: the kitchen lights only have one switch, on the far wall, which has been a problem occasionally.

This will be the last major alteration. I've run out of money! There is suitable tech writing and editing work around, but not from home - indeed, most of the advertised jobs are in London. If I do find another source of income, I want to install solar heating for water and radiators: it's so sunny here, it seems a shame not to make use of it.

WESconf

WES conference was good. So many people I haven't seen for years, and lots of lovely new people too. The talks I got to were excellent. Shame I missed a few because Surrey Uni is rather less wheelchair-friendly than usual at the moment, but huge thanks to the security staff who watched out for me and found routes through locked buildings (for the lifts) and opened barricades.

Reports of the talks will be in the Woman Engineer magazine and possibly on the website.

Julia King began her presentation on how to do well as a woman engineer (she's Vice-Chancellor of Aston, Chief Executive of the Institute of Physics, and many other shiny things) with explaining that her early role model was Lewis Carroll's Alice: enquiring, no-nonsense, and confident, and utterly dismissive of anything which prevented her achieving her potential (though in her case, the glass ceiling was a mirror). I'd never thought of Alice in this way, but it's very true. Perhaps we should support the books (not the Disneyfication!). Actually, Alice in Wonderland is one of the first books I remember, from when I was about 7. I think I tried to read Alice Through the Looking-glass a bit too young, though - some of the concepts were rather confusing and I didn't have the background to understand the White Knight, nor indeed the chess game. When I read it again at 12 it made much more sense.

When I was a child I listened to some of my mother's friends talking about their work on tidal-power generation. Eventually they gave up on trying to get the systems accepted in the UK and went to the middle east. Marvellous to see the trials around Orkney.

Wendy the futurologist introduced us to an excellent game. It's supposed to be a design and planning tool, but it's clearly a geek party game. And there's an online version! Sadly, it's Flash.

Engineers Against Poverty and Arup have produced another interesting tool called Aspire - a "planning, monitoring and evaluation model for assessing the sustainability and poverty reduction performance of infrastructure projects in developing countries".

Ah, and kettles. Amazing how many people still fill a kettle for one or two mugs of tea. Apparently using just the amount of water you need saves about £25 a year on electricity, based on 5 kettle-boilings a day. And of course it uses less water. So why do they fill up the kettle and wait ages?

Sun, sea, sand, and healing springs

Sunday in Saintes. I forgot that the Atrium would be closed, so C will have to experience that dainty teashop another time; instead we had pizzas in the café on the corner. Very pleasant place and Italian-style pizzas, none of that delivery-chain pap. It was hot and sunny, too hot for exploring the Roman ruins, so we looked at them briefly and listened to a rather good band doing a sound-check, and then drive slowly along the Charente.

On Monday morning we went to the beach at Meschers. It's very helpful that there are blue parking spaces next to the sand, but the sand itself is very fine and the Plage des Nonnes doesn't have the plastic mesh track. Chariot sank rapidly. There were a few people around, but now that school term has started everything is quiet and many of the seaside cafes have closed; it's a perfect time for a late holiday and still very warm (around 30C this week). The beaches here are very clean, and we saw a beach-sweeping machine in action. The only odd thing is that, at the end of each run, it's emptied into the sea. Surely the stuff washes back?

After rushing back in time for the bread and croissants delivery, we went to the Château de Beaulon in St Dizant du Gua. It was my first visit there, and not quite what I expected. The grounds are enormous and one wonders how they fit into the town; the fontaines bleues are very beautiful and very peaceful. A fontaine is a spring; the water bubbles up into pools from which flows the river which runs to Port Maubert. They really are startlingly blue, the effect of algae which is unexplained because the water comes from the mountains about 50 miles away and the algae doesn't appear there. There are several springs, some of them very deep (up to 18 metres). The water comes out of the rock at a constant temperature of 13C, which is much cooler than the spa waters of Jonzac. It quickly warms in the sunlight, so that the pools would be perfect for swimming: shaded by trees, clear, and quiet. Don't worry, I resisted the temptation to jump in. It is a wonderful place for thinking about life and people, and for imagining history; so easy to understand why Celts and Romans believed such sites had spirits.

Seeing the plants in the upper garden, I realised where previous-owners got their ideas for the garden here. One plant which grows quite profusely in the château gardens, but hasn't been planted here, is bamboo. I'd rather have bamboo than salt-cedar and some of the other plants in the Secret Garden; perhaps I'll investigate it for next year, as well as replacing the passionflower with an edible variety.

After wandering around the pools and woods, past a vast, tall old tree (Faraway Tree, possibly?) the path leads up around the side of the château to where the tasting of pineau and cognac is presided over by the lady of the mansion. C sampled several and decided that the 10-year-old white pineau was the best.

In the evening we had dinner at Le Cheval Blanc in St Ciers du Taillon. I had gorgeous salmon in lemon mayonnaise, and C had steak with the frites maison (you'd think this meant chips in the style of the house, but they appear to be chips in the style of A house). For dessert, of course, it had to be the celebrated crème brûlée. (NB: photos from last visit - this time the edible decoration was a pink flower.) The waiter demonstrated his celebrated flounce, too. There was no milk for coffee because they unexpectedly had 16 people in for dinner after only two at lunchtime, and having decided not to re-stock in the afternoon had run out. It was fortunate that we were first to order the crème brûlée.

Along the watch-tower

Today was a fairly leisurely day which nonetheless had many highlights. We wandered over the hills and went to see the fishing huts, where we met two very pleasant blokes who explained that there wasn't any fish for sale because the boat had broken down. A brief look at Port Maubert brought into view the curious edifice on the hill by St Romain. C encouraged me to try the unmade road to get closer to it, and up we went, Big Bloo happily negotiating the steep gritty and grassy swoops right to the top. The view is amazing, from the cliffs of Meschers to the north right down to Bordeaux; inland we could clearly see both the champagne cocktail and the chess-queen water towers; I knew my house was somewhere there between them, but it wasn't quite visible. Nearby was a hen harrier, circling in broad sweeps.

The structure is conical, with a protective layer of new white cement over old stones. It looks like a small brough, three or four storeys. There isn't any kind of sign or label to say what it is and why it's there. And we didn't have a working camera! No matter, the interwebs provided the information and photos.

Lunch at the new Creperie at La Daugaterie. Outstanding food. I had a small salad which included the best white asparagus I've ever tasted, delicately and perfectly seasoned (only a small one, to leave room for ice-cream); C had a big Bretonne galette containing Roquefort and walnuts. It wasn't a large or expensive meal, so we were rather surprised when, having already handed us the bill, the owner offered glasses of some strong liqueur. C accepted: she thought it was very tasty and probably made from honey, and we have no idea what it was.

This evening's meal was mussels and chips from 1000 Frais et Un Fred. They cook the food after the shop closes, and serve it from the back door, ladling it into pans and dishes brought by the punters. I don't eat shellfish, so they sent their son home to get a steak and cooked that for me. Delicious. While we waited, C was given a small cup of Pineau and I had lemonade. Only after we got home did we realise we weren't charged for the drinks! Seb and Fred's impromptu cabaret was free, too.

Hey ho, the wind but no rain

It's windy. Very windy. Nothing seems to have blown away, although there were bangs and clatters all night (as well as the frequent sound of the alarm on the swimming pool at the gite across the field). I was awake much of the night, worrying about the over-dry trees and disturbed by the faint rattling from the new shutters, which sounded like someone knocking on the living-room window. Consequently I'm tired and don't feel like doing much; I think washing my hair will be the main task of the day.

Yesterday I failed at building a piece of Ikea furniture! Usually they are so easy, but this one defeated me. It's now a Tate-Modern-style collection of metal tubes on the third-bedroom floor, and there is nowhere for the visitor to hang her clothes.

The sunshine is back and I'm going to spend a lazy few hours reading, while my hair dries.

Snug and blue

The house has its new shutters, of a lovely cobalt, and looks beautiful from the outside. Inside is coated in stone dust and chippings and will take a few days to get clean, after which I shall take the camera round.

Silly me, it was only on seeing the shutters from the inside that I realised that the colour plan for the living-room won't work. I so much wanted the pale turquoise of the friezes from the palace of Darius. but it won't go with cobalt.

The shutter upstairs enhances the character of the window: you can see its odd shape more clearly now, and it looks like the window of a medieval castle.

Snakes and ladders

There is a whip snake living next to the terrace. I dont usually see it, because whipsnakes are very shy and very fast (their speed is the reason for the name), but a few days ago it was napping on the warm tiles of the terrace. It has been named Monsieur Etienne Whippy, a combination of suggestions, some more obvious than others. Unfortunately I didn't have the camera handy, and as soon as it heard me it scurried off to hide.

Brendan is currently fitting the first of the new shutters to the mezzanine window. He had to make several trips up the ladder, as he had carefully cut the shutter to fit the window-space which is by no means rectangular, and then didn't know which side was which. Denis, who was taking a stroll around Le Rivalard wearing his new shades, came to help by holding the ladder, which was looking most unsafe on the stony path.

Denis asked if I was going to the Foire des Célibataires. Apparently it's an annual cattle^Wmarriage-market of all-day festivities. The website has a rather sweetly mistranslated English version, though sadly it needs updating.

Barbecue, buzzing, and bombes

The broken window was replaced, at a much lower cost than Casa Nova, by Brendan-from-Charente. He is back here now, making shutters. He also brought a load of vine-wood and fired up the barbecue, and we had an English-speaking evening with three local couples who are his old friends. As it went dark, the solar lights came on. Pretty. Then the terrace lights were switched on, and a hornet arrived. And another. And... at least eight. We discussed the recent fuss about Asian hornets invading southwest France and murdering honeybees, but it no-one wanted to get close enough to see what kind of hornet these were.

Most of the guests said don't bother them and they won't bother you. The hornets stayed up in the roof area - until all the guests had gone, around midnight. And then one landed on my skirt. I whimpered and tried to shake it off, but it clung tightly. Brendan flicked it off, and it went only a few inches... upwards. Now it was on my top, over the left breast. I don't remember when I started to scream. It was moving towards my face. In utter panic, I tried to pull my top off without taking it over my head. Thank goodness that was when Brendan managed to knock the hornet off me and onto the floor.

I felt so embarrassed about the shrieking. None of the neighbours has mentioned the noise, but Ginette and Denis turned up this morning for a slightly more formal visit than usual.

They found the hornet nest (they are European hornets, yellower and bigger than Asian hornets but not so aggressive). It's in Yggdrasil the giant ash tree! It is apparently possible to get rid of the hornets with a Bombe but I may have to phone les Pompiers and ask them to make a Sortie.[0]

Yggdrasil is tinder-dry, and I'm worried about it.

[0] "Sorties des Pompiers" is an amusing section in the local paper giving a list and little report of each time the firemen have been called out in the week.

La Rochelle

Marvellous place, La Rochelle: massive stone structures, fascinating market of stuff from all over the world, good food, ships and bridges, and street entertainment on every corner.

Next visit, I shall go on one of the Yelo solar-powered ferries, or "bus de mer"; they glide so smoothly, like swans. Might sample one or two of the nine museums, too. The marine museum is on a ship!

One of the busking groups was Les Boeufs Troquistes. At first I didn't get why they were wearing white overalls with black splotches, but when you see their introductory song (performed with actions), all becomes clear. Excellent musicians, and funny too.

Fruit again

This morning I had nectarines for breakfast. Straight from the tree. In fact, sitting under the tree.

Weh hey!

Alas, poor shrew, I knew him

I was sitting on the steps last Thursday when something ran behind me. It looked like a mouse, but a few seconds later one of the terrace-geckos ran the same route and I thought I must have seen the other one... and added fur... um... cracking up... Later one of the visitors saw a large shrew in the long grass. Aha!

That evening we had a barbecue and invited neighbours. The people next door have a young fox-terrier bitch with good manners but the inevitable love of hunting: she was quite excited at finding some small beastie in the grass. Next morning the shrew was on the stone tiles, shivering and clearly not able to move easily: it had a bite-mark on its back. It hobbled slowly off into the grass. Yesterday $current_visitor found it, dead.

Gardening by numbers

The grass is not so long now. Mme la Galloise, at the barbecue, was shocked to hear how much I'd paid to get the grass cut and volunteered to bring their lawnmower and do it herself. Payment? "A glass of wine, but as you don't drink, we'll bring the wine ourselves." It was the first time she'd used the lawnmower (M le Gallois is at present out of his skull on painkillers while waiting to go to the hospital to get sciatica fixed). She did the whole lot in less than an hour and a half - after knocking together a spreadsheet for my financial calculations (she's a mathmo and does this kind of thing for amusement).

It seems that I should acquire a Bosch Rotak 40, or something similar.

Fruits of the earth

The Secret Garden has a lot of shrubs, some of which I don't recognise and I haven't got round to finding out what all of them are. That's my excuse: it appears that one of them isn't a shrub at all - it's a baby damson tree! It had produced three damsons. Tasty.

The melon plant has one melon on it; the cornichon plant gave up after I left its one fruit to grow to cucumber-size (also tasty). The aubergine plant is rather more enthusiastic, with one fruit almost ready, another growing well, and more flowers. The strawberries have decided to go for a second fruiting. Gold tomatoes doing well, too. And the nectarine tree is somewhat overburdened. How do you tell that nectarines are ripe before they fall on the ground?

Food at the night market, food on the terrace

My family have been visiting. It was marvellous to have them here, and for them to see some of the local scenery and architecture, and experience a little of the social life. They took photos, some of which I'll be able to add to the gallery.

We went to the night market at Jonzac. The stalls are mostly food and crafts. And food. There was quite a lot of food. Did I mention the food? Apparently the oysters were excellent, and I can vouch for the Moroccan lamb and couscous, and the marinated pork with new-potato-in-skins chips. The citron loukum was delicious, too. Speakers are brought out into the square for music: sadly not live, but varied and interesting, though rather loud. We were a little late arriving because we'd gone to look round the town, so all of the area nearest to the food stalls was already packed out. We acquired a table and set it up at the top end, which was much more comfortable and not so loud. Not long afterwards they ran out of chairs, and a couple who arrived even later came to share our table but had to sit on a trailer. There's a very jolly atmosphere about the whole event.

Last night we had a barbecue and I invited some neighbours and Ben and Camille from Casa Nova. Ben and Camille couldn't stay long, but at least my family met them ("these are the people who've been building the rooms you're sleeping in"). The family from next-door came round, and we did a good bit of improving international relations. It was a marvellous party, going on very late.

This morning we were up early. The Family have left now, and I'm feeling really sad.

New bedrooms

Camille's photos of converting the grotty space upstairs into two bedrooms and a bathroom.

It's so beautiful up there, I'm considering moving to the first floor for the winter. The small bedroom particularly appeals, with its reading-space by the low window. It's also insulated, dry, and light.

My regret is that the bats' home has been wiped out. I'm not so sorry about the stone martens.

And then there was the driving to and from Bordeaux.

Toll-roads are a nuisance with a right-hand drive car (unless you happen to have a passenger, which I rarely do), so recently I bought a Liber-t "badge". It's a gizmo which is read by the toll-machine and then the appropriate amount comes straight out of your bank account. No fussing with money or card, just slow down until the barrier rises. There's a deposit for the gizmo and a charge of 2 euros for every month that it's used. I don't use toll roads frequently, so that's ok: it's worth it not to have to get out of the car, especially when driving back to England in winter.

I usually take the slow pretty route to Bordeaux; yesterday, of course, I had to test the new toy on the stretch of A10 between Mirambeau and Bordeaux. The instructions say that in case it doesn't work, take a ticket and hand both ticket and gizmo to the toll attendant at checkout. That's not likely to be helpful because the tollbooths are automated and don't usually have attendants. Anyway, it worked. (Note to self: close leftside window before approaching toll machine because the gleeful screech it emits by way of welcome is eardrum-ripping.)

The A10 was fast, so I arrived before the rush-hours had ended. 10km traffic jam. I know I wouldn't really have been there sooner if I'd set off later, but it felt like that. The driving around Bordeaux is oddly similar to driving in southern England: crowded and full of car-drivers who don't know which lane is what.

There was an unplanned tour of the Lac area (saw one road three times) until, finally, I found the shops.

On the way home at 10pm it was much quieter, but I had a strange experience. A member of the Middle Lane Owners' Club, driving a big RHD 4x4, slowed down while overtaking me and the pottering car in front. I thought he might have wanted to take the exit we were about to pass, so I slowed down to give him room. He pulled ahead, and then, just after the exit, piled on the brakes. I warily passed him on the inside (not much choice really). Then I overtook dodderer-in-front and pulled away from both of them. A little while later, the 4x4 roared up behind me: MLOClubber flashed his lights three or four times. I didn't like this, so decided to leave the motorway at the exit coming up, and take the slow route. He swerved across to follow me. Oh dear, I thought; though perhaps it was someone I knew? But I didn't recognise the car. At the roundabout I went right round and he stayed with me. I went round again, and he turned off the second time.

Phew.

Shopping should be done in closed stores with a troupe of minions

Last week I should have gone to Bordeaux to buy lights and mirrors and shelves and cupboards and window-blinds and a mattress, and instead I fell down the steps and mashed my left hand (it's still swollen and stiff but usable for most things). The website claims that Thursday evening is the quietest time, so yesterday I was very careful about steps, and had no excuse.

They call that quiet? It was packed full of families with small children, even after 8pm. The children were well-behaved, but there was such a lot of them, so navigating was difficult. Most of the stock appeared to be soft toys and miniature furniture, and cute as tiny rockingchairs may be, they weren't what I was looking for. I couldn't find staff in most of the areas; in the mattress section I met another customer with the same problem, so we teamed up to tour and test the mattresses and read the information. As the "closing soon" announcement came on, I still hadn't finished, but oh joy, there was a group of assistants! Three of them in a corner chatting to each other, tsk. All three happily took over finding the boxes and getting them through checkout and to the car.

The worst thing was the incessant loud repetitive muzak. I couldn't think, and all I wanted to do was get away from it. I bought the essential mattress and some of the other things on the list, but not everything. I'll have to find another source for the rest, because I'm not going back!

Storm, sun, warble, vroom

During the night a beautiful storm passed over twice, with attendant but brief downpours of the kind where one has to get up to check that the waterfall is only outside. This morning the air is clear, there's a small breeze, the flowers smell wonderful, and the birds are performing an oratorio. I was up soon after dawn in case the plumber arrived early (he hasn't turned up yet).

The bird chorus changed from frantic to placid as the light strengthened and it became warmer; a young redstart lost its way and cheeped plaintively for mama all the way along the wrong side of the house. People headed out into the vineyards and fields on their little tractors and, in one case, an ancient bicycle painted lime green and orange. The loud roar was neighbour's motorbike. There is a family of pearl-shelled snails making its way down the side-door towards the rose-bushes: if they don't move a bit faster they'll get cooked in the sunlight.

And for breakfast I had the most amazing plums from next-door's garden (a present, I didn't go scrumping!) which have apricots somewhere in their ancestry.

Baby birds

I saw a baby redstart leave the nest and flap fatly down to the terrace floor! It was out on the ledge so I stayed very still, watching from the bedroom window, as the mother bird flew up and down in demonstration and nudged it in encouragement. It turned round a few times and stretched, and then suddenly hopped off the edge and made a wobbly diagonal. It's amazing how such a fluffy ball can manage the flight with wings that have never been used. The parent looks so svelte next to it.

I can't hang out the washing because the mother bird is in such a panic that every time I move in the kitchen she comes right up to the door and shouts at me. If I go out there she'll probably have a heart attack.

Tiles and marshes and fishing huts

Today Didier Moreau was laying tiles on the floor upstairs, using the tiles intended by the owner-before-last for the whole of the ground floor. Owner-before-last had made a start with them in the kitchen and lobby. I bought the rest off the Potrons, but so many were broken that there wasn't enough to do much, not even to cover the rehearsal room; however, there is enough for the upstairs hallway and shower-room.

With another big van in the drive all day, I couldn't go out. For most of the day it was too hot for driving, so I was happy to stay in the cool kitchen until Didier finished. He left the fence open for me, and before I could get through it, one of the horrible dogs ran in and peed on the mound of plaster. I was right there, too! While the Casa Nova people are working here, their beautifully-mannered and well-trained dog keeps the others out, and of course she uses a discreet corner at the end of the garden. I'd happily have a dog like her.

I went out on the marsh to look for other routes to the estuary. The maps don't entirely correspond to the roads and I still haven't worked out the geography of that area: perhaps it changes when one is looking the other way. According to the trip meter it's just over 8 miles to Port Charron where the fishing huts are, but it doesn't seem anything like that far, even driving slowly to watch the wildlife. I wished I'd taken a camera to get more photos of the fishing huts and nets. There is one which has almost disintegrated and is no more than poles sticking up out of the water with a few half-rotted planks clinging to them, draped with old-cobweb tatters of netting. It has an eerie Flying-Dutchman beauty and a kind of dignity.

As for wildlife, I saw two coypu. It seems that they are as much of a pest as in East Anglia, so there are schemes to limit them, but it was quite exciting.

On the way home there was another reason to wish for a camera. Pale grey clouds had gathered in the west, forming something I've not seen before. Dozens of white tornado-shaped cloud fragments hung down from the grey, looking like jellyfish seen from below.

Debiangeek meets

The Trio heading by car to Spain for Debconf stayed the night here. It was lovely to see them, however briefly. Yesterday was not a good day for the roads around Paris, and they were shattered by the time they arrived. Hope for a better drive down through Spain.

They seemed to be impressed by House. (I really need a name for House: I've been using "Le Rivalard" but that is the name of the hamlet) and suggested, only half-seriously, that it would be a good venue for a mini-con or spodding or bug-squashing party.

I like this idea. We could fit 12 people in House, 16 in the big gite across the sunflower field, and make the garage/workshop into a dormitory. For working in, two medium-size rooms and the big rehearsal space, the terrace, and the garden. I don't think the wifi signal is good enough in the little house.

Morning sessions; afternoon trips to Roman ruins, beaches, and vineyards; evening sessions, and a talk and demo or two to the locals (in English or French).

Rain, falling, silver

I was planning to go to Ikea yesterday to buy a mattress, lights, shelves, and a mirror. Then I fell down the steps and crunched my hand so it's not usable for wheelchairing. Bother. It's improving today and I can type but not close it properly.

The weather started to get rough, too, with thunderstorms passing near. It's much cooler now and intermittently raining hard with blasts of sunshine in between, and very gusty. We can tell when the wind is getting strong because it's coming from the south-west and as it passes over the next hamlet an alarm shrieks. I thought it was a car alarm, but it's a swimming-pool alarm. Didn't know they had alarms.

The new bedroom walls have now been painted a delicate pale grey.

Broomstick lives!

Broomstick has risen anew, or partly new. It's no longer a Powertrike, but a Viper.

PDQ who built it had been unhelpful; five or six different repair shops (wheelchair and electric bike specialists and a garage) and electrical fixers had only got it going briefly. After the fuse blew last summer it hadn't started at all.

M'sister located Team Hybrid who make the Viper, which is similar to the Powertrike but with much better reviews, several of them by people who'd had Powertrikes. A new Viper is very expensive, so they agreed to use the existing wheelchair (with better wheels) and the frame and battery, and fit the controller, motor, brakes etc. as well as new wheels.

I took Broomstick to their pretty little workshop near Fareham. It's full of interesting bikes of different shapes, and wheelchair conversions of all kinds. Some of the things they build for children are very inventive, and so are the sports machines. The owner is in a wheelchair, so he knows what he's doing.

Broomstick was sent back looking all shiny and with snazzy mountain-bike wheels.The wider tyres are causing the only problem, because the wheelchair has fabric sides which they catch, but they are so much better. The Viper controller is smaller and neater, too. And it works!

I took it to Carole's birthday picnic in Thetford Forest (a wonderful huge and masses-of-food affair). Now I'm relearning how to balance it on the bumpy stony lanes :)

Calais to Rennes

On the way to the village near Rennes I took a different route.

Brionne, like nearby Bernay, has lots of Normandy timber-framed houses with the timber painted. The colours are fairly dull: ochre, maroon, mid-blue, burnt umber; however, the effect of the juxtaposition of clashing colours is startlingly garish.

Le-Pin-au-Haras is a many-horse town. Not many people, but lots of horses. And carriages. And some splendid buildings.

On to Argentan, which is twinned with Abingdon near Oxford. Many of the towns are twinned, but few of them with English towns. It's curious to drive through a place twinned with somewhere I know, and notice the similarities and differences; like being in a parallel dimension.

Along a Roman road, bordered by trees like so many French roads. The road rose and fell until, cresting a hill, the view became a Grassiot painting: misty horizon smudging the line between cloud and sea.

I spent a little time near Mont St Michel, wondering what it would look like without the buildings. There's no point in trying to cross to it - tiny almost vertical stony streets would be more than even Broomstick could manage.

Rennes rocade was of course a horrible traffic jam.

la Fête de la musique boombangabang

In France, the Solstice is the day of la Fête de la musique. Last year we went to Saintes; this year I tried Jonzac, it being both more local and smaller. They had some excellent bands, but after a few hours it became almost as overpowering as Saintes last year. I went to hear the small orchestra from the music school playing in the square half-way up the hill, but as it was between the rock stage at the top of the street and the samba band at the bottom of the street, the sound was somewhat less than optimal.

I wish the bands had been announced, because one in particular I'd like to hear again. There was another which was also interesting, with a lead singer who demonstrated by vocalises during the sound check that he could sing very well, and then performed in the style of Andrew Eldritch.

The town samba band, though it made a joyful noise, didn't have the choreography of the Brazilian band the other weekend, but they did have very good facepaint. A surprise entry was the Polynesian dance troupe, including a toddler who danced in almost every piece (whether she was supposed to or not, apparently) with an endearing dedication and considerable aptitude.

By the time I left to watch the sunset on the estuary, the whole town was rattling with randomly clashing music, both live and speaker-fed from the cafes, carelessly interspersed. It's lovely as a happy social event but the actual noise makes me feel a bit sick and shaky. Next year I want to get something going in St Dizant du Gua. It's even smaller than Jonzac and perhaps we could make do with one thing at a time!

Weeds and snails

My friendly French neighbour has been worried by the state of the patch of ground at the side of the house and adjacent to the road. I started tidying it up; she saw me working at it and became even more worried. Soon afterwards she turned up with a wheelbarrow and a hoe and cleared the area between the road and the side steps. I happened to mention that I'd like two of the rose bushes in big pots to be re-located there and was planning to ask the next visitors to move them. She went off and collected her husband and a trolley and they moved the pots.

This afternoon there were some odd noises outside, which I ignored because there has been work on the roof of the house next door entailing much banging. This, however, was the neighbour back again with a pickaxe, attacking the roots of the big weeds under the kitchen window. It's all "propre" now. She collected quite a few snails too - the little mother-of-pearl ones will delight the chickens, and the big brown ones will be cooked in garlic sauce for tomorrow's lunch. She showed me how to tell when the snails are ready to eat, although I'm not sure I shall need the knowledge.

They really are marvellous neighbours.

Prospects of money and Fascinating Aida

On Tuesday there was an HSBC presentation on HSBC Premier International, with added "cocktails". It was quite a long drive, but I thought it might be worth while. Fortunately, it was.

The location was the restaurant of a very beautiful and plush golf course north of Royan. It's an area not much to my taste: although there is a small protected forest which is lovely, most of it is rather full of villas with manicured lawns and far too much traffic.

The talk itself was more interesting than expected, introducing a new scheme in which one can move money between HSBC accounts in different countries, online, instantly, and with a guaranteed best exchange rate. For me the drawback is that the UK account would have to be HSBC not First Direct, and I can't leave my beloved FD. I shall have to open yet another account.

The networking was excellent. Almost all the Anglos there live around Royan and belong to the Royan branch of AFA. I'd not considered joining because of the distance, but having talked to them, I changed my mind. There are musical people! Some of them are very ethusiastic about getting Fascinating Aida here, and one of them puts on plays and shows and would like to help with the organising. Another suggested that I ask HSBC to sponsor a gig; the bank manager was amenable to the idea of having FA entertain at one of these functions. He needs material for a presentation to head office to get the sponsorship.

And the "cocktails" turned out to be champagne (they quickly found orange juice for me) and huge plates of food. I did my best, and so did several others, but there was a lot left over.

Songs my mother didn't teach me

On Saturday, at the artist's talk, I asked about choirs in the area. I do that almost everywhere, in hope. And that's how I found myself agreeing to sing with the town "chorale". It's not a choir but a kind of singalong. In unison, they said. Popular songs. I quailed. Songs such as Brassens and Brel, someone added. I cheered up.

On Monday I turned up at the appointed time of 3pm and the room was locked; in the theatre-hall the school were rehearsing their end-of-term play. I thought I had misunderstood which Monday, and wandered off, but some people arrived and dragged me back. By half-past three, most of the group had gathered and the director turned up with a keyboard. Eventually everything was set up, and we began with notices about the club meals and discussions of diaries and news of people who have moved away. At last, the songs. Nothing I recognised, though pleasant ditties. I had the dots for most pieces, which was helpful except when the general consensus diverged from what was written.

So now I have learned some new repertoire including a song about being Occitan. But where were the Brassens and Brel I was promised?

End of the birthday weekend

On the Sunday of the Fête au fil de l'Estuaire there is a farmers' and craft market as well as more music and boats. I admired the pottery, lusted after some truly gorgeous wrought iron furniture and balustrades, and chatted with the woman who makes marionette puppets.

There were boats wandering up and down all the time, of course, but one particularly entranced me. A 35-footer, being delicately turned round by a lone sailor. It glided so beautifully, I really wanted to be on it. Still, get it out on the Atlantic and it would be thrashing around and hard work.

Most of the food on offer was shellfish and snails. The hot garlic sauce of the moules marinieres smelled wonderful, but I don't eat shellfish. I bought fruit, including raspberries which don't taste as good in the south (Scottish raspberries are the best).

The chants marins started. I expected something like a chantey side, but it wasn't really. They sang mainly local songs, and all of or by sailors; but it was a mixed-voice group, led by an accordion-player which made the whole thing sound French. Not bad at all, although the horses from the ranch on the marsh who arrived during the second set didn't seem to appreciate the accordion.

After their spot I asked to join the group, and was immediately accepted without any suggestion of audition. They are re-starting rehearsals in September. Well, it's not the Italian madrigals and English or French part-songs which I've been missing so much, but sea chanties are fun, and the group sings harmonies. Besides, it was such a relief to speak to someone who understood the vocabulary. The lead male singer asked me if I sing high or low, and then whether my voice is strong or soft. Soft, I replied, more lyrique. Ah! he said, a lyric soprano. I could have hugged him.

Having been invited to take tea at 4 o'clock, I took care to eat very little for lunch, but was then scuppered (sorry, blatant wordplay!) by being invited to join the chants marins crowd. Even though I turned down the fish and oysters, there were chips and local cheeses; someone bought me an ice-cream, and while I was eating that someone else put a huge slice of apple tart in my other hand: "Il n'y a pas de refus!". Being in the company of oysters, we talked of many things - including the Dutch insouciance regarding the rise in sea-levels, and of some choirs in the area. The Dutch discussion was with the two of the group who aren't French and are in fact Dutch, and was partly prompted by seeing the level of the water in the dykes on the marsh. It's only just below the height of the roads.

I had to leave in the middle of a performance of African song, stories, and dance, to go to the Tea Party. Happy birthday was sung, and I blew out a large red candle, and we drank tea from the best china, which had been a wedding present to the hosts and subsequently in storage for 26 years. The time passed quickly in chat and discussion; I heard some very useful tips for dealing with the bureaucracy of changing residential status, and there was much talk of music. All five of those present sing or play instruments. We may get a part-song evening out of it!

Happy birthday to me

The day began with hanging out the washing under a clear sky, already hot in the sunshine at 9am. There was an intermittent sound like thunder, but what was it? Didn't sound like a distant agricultural vehicle, nor a plane. Finally I saw a small dark cloud passing to the south, growling like a kitten. Sudddenly the wind changed; the cloud passed overhead and exploded in big raindrops and was gone. So I had my Birthday Thunderstorm :)

I went to the Foyer Rural for a talk by local painter Caroline Grassiot. Very interesting, not just because of the paintings but the story of how she became a painter, and the political passion which drives much of her art. I can't afford her paintings, but there was one of a few poppy seedheads in low sea (the poppies of Monet after the water rises) which I loved, so I asked if there will be prints, to which the answer was perhaps in a year or two. There was Cake.

Next was a rapid dash to Port Maubert for the Fête au fil de l’Estuaire. The afternoon was very hot (33C) so I came home to rest in the cool house for a couple of hours before the evening programme. The Samba band from Brazil danced while playing. The waitress from L'Ecluse made me repeat "St-Dizant-du-Gua" several times because my accent is apparently pretty. I danced to the band from Burkina Fasso: the singer was good, the band were excellent, and I want to know the name of the instrument used for the quieter pieces - sounded like rather like a lute but was held with the strings facing the player. Fireworks went off on the river bank behind the band and they carried on playing.

Finally I drove home under, or possibly through, millions of stars; and for the first time here saw a rabbit.

Egyptology and personal tweets

I made it to the library this week. Going out is a little more complicated now, since I gave up in the battle against the big untrained poo-y dogs and put the fence up across the driveway, which means exits and entrances have to be planned for when I can walk. Although I'd had intentions of returning most of the books and only keeping the excellent interview biography of Christiane Desroches Noblecourt, the librarian had chosen a selection for me... so I still have a heap of books.

The Christiane Desroches Noblecourt book, though fascinating, is a slow read because I keep going to look up things. She's a French egyptologist, born in 1913 and there for many of the exciting discoveries, as well as being one of the first women to study and to achieve careers in the field. Her accounts are making me wonder why we were taught such silly fables at school, especially as the more accurate stories are also far more interesting. Shades of QI.

And now a totally unrelated thought: why do people use twitter to send a message to an individual or to carry on a conversation? It's like eating soup with a fork.

Watching from my window

Today is library day, and I have three books to return. I also need to go to a guichet to take out euros to pay the gardeners. However, things are rattling and the trees are dancing a fandango. While I was thinking I'd have to wear trousers today, the last fortnight's missing rain arrived, all parcelled up into one huge downpour; though curiously, the sky to the south-west is clear.

I hope the librarian understands and doesn't worry about me being missing.

Giant tree and giant haystacks

The gardeners have finished cutting the grass. um. Maybe a cheap ride-on mower would be a good investment.
Photo of the resulting haystack.
And a photo to show how much Yggdrasil has grown since last year.

It started raining so I didn't get photos of the cherry trees, but they've grown too. I must look for a tree surgeon before December. Last winter I left it too late: by January the trees were budding.

Arsenic and lime

G brought a bagful of peas today. She was later rather disturbed to discover that I don't have a freezer and shall be eating a main meal of peas for the next three days.

I had a momentary qualm about eating anything from her land since she told me how to get rid of the anthills by the cherry trees (hills? more like tower-blocks!): her instructions were to go to the ironmonger's in St Fort and buy arsenic and put some in water and pour it over the anthills. That's what she does. I'm still mindboggled.

They were very tasty, though (the peas, not the ants). Afterwards I made pancakes with an egg from her chickens, and had them with lime. Then I made lime cordial with the rest of the lime. The kitchen smells wonderful.

Birds 'n' roses

At last the grass has been cut and the bushes and trees are visible again.

The last few days have been clear-skied hot, but when I go out into the garden the birds who have colonised the terrace complain, so I feel very inhibited about gardening and I don't sit on the terrace at all. The chicks have almost outgrown the nest; the racket they make when parent-bird arrives with food can be heard all over the house, even with windows closed. They're jostling each other, and I worry that one will get pushed out. Still, they'll be flying soon, and then I get my garden back!

Yesterday evening, after the gardeners left, I trimmed the roses on the wall. One of the ramblers had been over-enthusiastic and one branch was sprawled on the path, so I cut it off and brought in the flowers. The kitchen table is covered in pale pink-and-cream roses and buds, sitting in a collection of jars and glasses.

Good book, that

Oh, and congratulations to the huggably ecstatic Neil Gaiman for finally winning Audies :)

Lazy day forecast

The washing was hung out just before it became necessary to use sunblock. The sky is perfectly clear and the sunshine reflected from the pale stone walls is so bright that I can't look out of the window without sunglasses.

You can tell exactly how often the parents are feeding the chicks on the terrace now because five chicks make a very loud noise when they see their snack arrive. I'd like to read out there, but the sofa will do just as well. It's certainly not a day for cleaning the kitchen floor, as originally planned.

A hitchhiker's guide to Vitrezay

On the way home from St Dizant, there was a hitch-hiker standing forlornly at the Port Maubert crossroads. I smiled apologetically as I turned left to Grande Motte, and then turned back. There was no other traffic at this time of day, and at least I could offer a lift to Mirambeau or somewhere else on the main road. It turned out that she was heading for a ferry across to the Médoc to meet her family, and she showed me on the map - Vitrezay near St Bonnet which is less than 10 miles away. Another new place! I've seen the car-ferry at Blaye but didn't realise there is a ferry for foot-passengers from Vitrezay.

In the 15 minutes' drive we had a good chat, which was excellent for the French practice, and she was so grateful; but really, I couldn't bear to think of anyone waiting and burning by the side of the empty road.

Vitrezay is like so many of the little creeks, with the assorted boats and a few cars, but it looks more polished and affluent than Port Maubert. It's the starting-point for the estuary cruises: future visitors take note.

The library

Last Tuesday the librarian phoned to say they would be unexpectedly closed that afternoon because the Bibliobus was coming round to replenish their stocks, but would be open on Saturday morning. It's a very tiny library, and all done by hand, but even so I was startled to get a phone call rather than turning up to find a notice on the door. She asked if there was anything I'd like them to get in - as usual I couldn't remember the word for SF but I suspect there wouldn't be any. I'm exploring some things I wouldn't otherwise, and the historical novels (providing they are well-researched and cite their sources, of course) have been keeping me happy. I read French rather more slowly than English!

This morning I turned up to find that she'd picked out a few books for me. Some of them... well, she's got the science part, but the French equivalent of Quantum Mechanics for Dummies didn't really appeal, though I did take a book about the wisdom of physicists, written in a jokey colloquial style which should be amusing and more useful for the vocabulary than my preferred historical and literary French. However, there were enough interesting books that I've had to leave some for next time. On the way out I noticed an illustrated Dictionnaire des communes de Charente-Maritime which is proving a fascinating source of information and new places to see.

I would really like to lie on the terrace to read, but yesterday we realised that we made the motherbird wary of visiting the nest in the corner and the chicks were clearly very hungry.

Excuse me, there's a baby gecko knocking at the window.

Meringues in the sunshine and fishing-huts in the sunset

We went to Jonzac and wandered from Les Carmelites to the château, while I pointed out the various possible music venues: Piano Bar, Café 31, Carmelites hall, Theatre Geoffroy Martel. On the way back towards the car we were seduced by the meringues in the window of the little cafe next to the Coq d'Or. When you try them, remember that, light and delicious as they are, they are also the size of a football: one between two of us would have been ample.

In the evening we stopped for a meal at Le Patio on the docks at Mortagne-sur-Gironde. J had an enormous pot of moules, I had steack poivre, and very good they were. There was some excitement at the next table when the bread being thrown to the begging ducks was caught by some huge fish.

After coffee, it was time to experience the marshes by sunset. We drove down the little coast road, past the ruined house with a full-grown tree inside it, and saw hundreds of herons, storks, kestrels, cows, and what I thought was an owl but J reckoned wasn't, as it had curly wingtips.

For the first time, I followed the road all the way and discovered it goes to the water's edge, where one of the small streams meets the estuary. The tide was right in and very high, washing over some bushes, but not as high as the base of the stilted fishing-huts. There was something very atmospheric about the huts in their setting of ruffled water, reminiscent of Daphne du Maurier. Some of the huts and their nets are in good repair, and others have been left to fall down; they range from completely new, through mature (with curtains) to only a skeleton. It looks like a hut-and-net version of The Seven Ages of Man speech from As You Like It.

The sun was sinking into the water, and there was just enough cloud to make patterns of blue and purple in the red. J spent some time collecting photos of huts, sunset, and a wind turbine in the distance (links will be provided when they have been uploaded).

Saintes again

One has to take visitors to Saintes.

This time I started with l'Abbaye des Dames, which I've not been into before. Its two churches are as lovely as all the churches round here, and the rest of the buildings form a huge courtyard, a suntrap of pale stone and trees. One building has been renovated and modernised into a small conference centre and restaurant, with 30 bedrooms.

We found the road along the Charente, and over the bridge to the Arch of Germanicus. A brief visit to the museum made of Roman building remnants gave J the opportunity to take some arty photos, and he kindly took some of the piece of aqueduct[0] for me.

Thence to the Atrium tea-shop, as mentioned last year. It's as pretty and decorative as ever, and the cakes as delicious. J took a civilised Earl Grey and I had an adventurous mimosa sirop; the owner brought us some conserve of local angelica to try - it was very good but we didn't buy any. I did, however, buy a teapot. Those who know my taste in crockery might be puzzled that I should buy a white porcelain teapot which has been painted (and pay extra for the decoration!), but it is a gorgeous impressionist effort.

The Amphitheatre was closed, but as you can see most of it from the road it didn't really matter.

[0] Geeks and aqueducts, well, you know.

Tooth-hurty

With a chipped pre-molar, the terror of dentists had to be overcome. I had a choice of making an appointment with the dentist in Norwich for next time back in England, or trying the local one. Ex-pat neighbours had said that the local dentist is so good, they have visitors who get their dental work done while on holiday here, so I was hopeful.

She was excellent. No injection: she said that French dentists don't give anaesthetic for everything, and (probably as a consequence!) learn to work delicately. She does use anaesthetic if necessary, but for preference electronic anaesthesia. Interesting. And she has a water-jet thingy for de-scaling, which is so much quicker and less painful than having it all done by sharp metal sticks.

Oh, and the appointment really was for 14:30.

Don't come too close now, I might bite ;)

Question for you, dear Reader

Is it worth an extra 400 euros to have thinner, more expensive insulation on the mezzanine ceiling, so that the beams will still be visible?

Break-ins, bends, and birds

We went to the superette to buy milk and stuff. There was no milk and not much stuff, a smashed alarm and door, and a rather upset Fred. Someone in a white BMW had been seen leaving in a hurry early this morning, presumably with most of the bottled booze from the shop. Tuesday is re-stock day, and Sebastien had spent most of the day at the gendarmerie instead of the wholesaler's.

So we went to Mirambeau and the Super U, bought salad and milk and brekkie pastries, and stopped at the little café for grand chocolat. Much excitement when we came out - a Convoi Exceptionelle was stuck across the road, decorated with pieces of tree. I don't know how they thought the great thing would have been able to get round that bend. We joined an admiring group of spectators for a while and then I realised it was close to my car. Time for a quick exit before they had another go.

As I came into the drive, there were TWO hoopoes standing in my parking place! I quickly turned off the engine, but they were not amused and one flew off. The other stood his ground and watched warily, but eventually he decided the car was harmless and started pecking for ants, and as he toddled around, up went the crest.

25th May

I have my towel and am wearing the lilac (not real lilac, because the lilac flower is over for the year, and this lilac is special).

Somehow I feel very alone. Not even the Anglos here would know what they are for.

Broomstick replacement

Broomstick's controller finally expired almost a year ago. As all my money has gone into house renovation (curse the fallen pound), I couldn't replace it. They are much dosh, those wheelchair trike conversions.

Sis#3 decided to start a fund for a replacement as a birthday present. So, with much gratitude to her and those who pledged donations, I announce the ordering of a Viper Broomstick, from a different and more reliable source.

A completely new machine would cost nearly £4,000 including wheelchair and mountainbike wheels, and sadly my friends and family aren't quite that rich. Team Hybrid kindly agreed to make use of any parts of old Broomstick which they can. This means I have to transport old Broomstick to Fareham next month, and collect new Broomstick a few days later, but it will save on the cost, and I'm going to visit $Friend in Eastleigh.

One annoying thing. They can use the battery rack. Now, I had a spare battery rack which I decided to throw away when I moved. You know how it is - you store junk for ages and finally have a clear-out and then next day you need that rare and expensive wossit for the first time in 10 years? Yup. I just checked Broomstick and its battery rack is rusted.

From Ernen with love

I didn't write up the drive back from Switzerland, but something just reminded me, so here are very brief notes:

Set off alongside the Rhône. It is something special to see the river near its beginnings at the glacier: so small and fast, but soon it draws in from other sources and becomes wider and eventually majestic.

Admired the windfarm between the mountains which catches the draught that howls down the valley.

Avoiding Swiss motorway, went on the south side of Lake Geneva. Had snack on a cliff over the lake near Évian (later detoured through Vichy in a collect-the-set sort of way).

Frontier, what frontier?

How can they tell it's the Rhône coming out on the west side? Giant poohsticks? Was tempted to continue following it to the Med, but considered things to be done at home and resisted. It may have been the wrong choice, but there should be other times.

Drove through Miéville and he wasn't in. [0]

Napped near Bourg-en-Bresse.

Had a meal in my favourite motorway services and took photos of George Humphrey there.

Saw a castle on the horizon and just had to go down that road. Oh wow. http://www.chateau-la-rochefoucauld.com; sorry to link to such a crappy site but it has some pictures.

[0] This of course was what reminded me - someone mentioned reading one of his books. He was born in Norwich, though.

Wildlife in da house

There have been Bees. They're a bit of a nuisance when they get upset about the way out being blocked by invisible hard stuff, but a little patience in opening windows and doors and flapping gently at them has usually sorted it. They didn't seem to be originating from inside the house.

This morning a very bouncy old gentleman turned up at the door, introduced himself as Damien's Uncle, and asked to borrow scissors. The bee's nest is in the house opposite; he'd been trying to get them out with no luck, and wanted to cut up some sacking to make smoke. He happily said he'd never done anything with bees before. I asked if he didn't have protective clothing, or at least a mask, and he said funny his wife had said the same thing, but no, he was going to make the attempt without safety.

Apart from the bees and the emerald beetles (found another one in the livingroom yesterday) and the bats, there may be other things upstairs. Last night there were scuffling sounds and a couple of crashes and some muffled snarls. Bats don't do that. I haven't been to look yet. Maybe I'll leave it for M. Moreau the plumber who is starting on the pipework for the shower-room tomorrow.

Gardening and livestock

The east side of the garden is purple: rosemary at one end, lilac at the other, and in between passionflower, wisteria, buddleia, and a fluffy purple thing of which I know not the name. Soon it will be swamped by the hollyhocks, though.

We didn't get a late frost so this year the nectarines might survive! This week's storms were electrical rather than gale, and the plants don't mind that, especially as no trees were harmed in the making of those strikes. A huge hailstorm around Cognac has demolished vineyards, but the vineyards here escaped.

I've planted tomatoes, aubergine, peppers, lettuce, basil, parsley, and spinach. The snails are delighted. Shame I don't eat snails. There is a very loud cricket out there, too, which harms only my ears. I threw something at it and it shut up for a while.

The upstairs tenants moved out while the building work was going on. When sister arrived for a visit, she discovered that they were back, and had made two neat loos, one on each side of the mezzanine (sister valiantly cleaned up and spread cardboard). One of them popped downstairs yesterday evening, shrieked "Humans! Humans in the cave!" and flapped back upstairs.

Ernen singing weekend, not-the-music-report

Having arrived too early in the morning to go straight to the Hotel Alpenblick, I parked by a snowdrift and ate leftovers for breakfast.

I had the same room as in 2007, with a small balcony (and a view similar to the webcam, from slightly uphill) and a window facing the mountain south of Ernen. In a way it was a shame not to spend more time there, but the Music comes first, and exploring the area second, (or possibly third: see section on Dinner). The hotel was closed for the Imboden family's holiday, but they let us stay and provided a buffet breakfast every morning. Plenty of towels but no room-cleaning: and for 3 days, who needs it? No evening meals or bar. This year there were no scurrying sounds in the walls, so they must have got rid of the mice.

The St Georg restaurant took a block booking for the three dinners, so each evening we gathered in their upstairs room. I'd only had coffee and a strawberry pastry there before, so was unprepared for the food. Amazing. Four courses: salad, soup, main, and pudding; each one announced by the waitress, in Swiss Deutsch and English. Apparently the St Georg is famous for its soups, and quite rightly. All the meals included an array of lesser-known vegetables, some of which I don't even know the names for in English, and beautifully presented (the carrot sticks were tied up in little bundles with strands of leek-leaf). Not once did we have off-white potatoes. The second dinner was served with a potato mash coloured by spinach to a beautiful green, and the third dinner had a dollop of purple mash. It tasted like a very good potato, but I couldn't work out what the colouring was, so I asked. They were Real[0] Peruvian Potatoes! The most royal thing I've ever eaten. Friday's pudding was their classic strawberry tart with proper wholemeal pastry and an edible decoration of evening primrose flowers.

It's such a pity they don't have the menus online.

On the last night, the Music Festival organiser gave us a brief talk on the history of the Festival, and his partner who was born and brought up in the town told us some of its history, including the tale of the big wooden carvings of St Georg killing the dragon which hang in the church and outside the restaurant. The carving had belonged to the church (dedicated to St George), and sometime in the sixteenth century (presumably during the Reformation) the church fathers had decided to get rid of it and sold it to the owner of the inn. It hung under the eaves for a long time, while the fortunes and reputation of the inn went from reputable to dire. Eventually, decorated churches came back into fashion; the carving was bought back and a replica made for the inn. On the subject of decorated churches, Ernen church is still the most gaudy I've seen, but even all that gold loses one's attention when the big west doors are opened onto the view sweeping down the valley.

The story of the Festival is mostly on its website. The story of Ernen probably isn't online. After being an important centre in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries it had dwindled to a de-populating mountain village. The music festival made even more contribution than the ski-ing industry to the rehabilitation of the Ernen's buildings and its development into a established tourist venue. It remains small, remote and "unspoilt", but it now has a bus service, bank, post office, and Coop-Migro mini-supermarket, as well as three restaurants.

Because we were singing mass at dreadfully-early-o'clock on Sunday, Monica and Corinna asked what time we would have to check out. It's so inconvenient to have to get ready for something as well as pack, and find somewhere to leave luggage. No problem, Heidi said - they didn't need the rooms until Thursday, so anytime before then! On Sunday morning they left out snacks and drinks (meals before singing are bad) and then we all went back after mass for a proper breakfast, and gradually took leave of each other and Ernen.

Towards the music and snow

It was a very long drive from Lorignac to Ernen, but worth it for seeing a part of France for the first time - Limousin and the Auvergne.

Navigating was curiously easy, as it was obvious which town to look out for next. I stayed off the toll-roads until the A40, which meant only having to get out of the car and walk round to the toll machines twice. Most of the route was major roads, some dual-carriageway, up and down over big hills and through forests.

Tea was taken in the prettiest motorway services in the world: l'aire des Monts de Guéret. It has exhibitions about the wolves, a shop of local products, and information about the local languages, which are both Occitan dialects. I thought of David Chadd's lectures on courtly music and our studentish attempts to read Occitan.

I stopped for a nap in the forest, and then discovered there wasn't a way back on to the dual carriageway, so there was an unscheduled wander around some villages.

The next stop was at a lorry-park on the A40, with the idea of sleeping until it was quiet for getting around Geneva. Being in the mountains, it was so cold! I slept about an hour and woke up shivering and drove on, over huge viaducts and through big tunnels, with the result that I went through the border at 4:30 and there was nobody on duty. Switzerland is in Schengen now and they're as relaxed about land frontiers as the French are. If anyone comes through by road, they've already been checked, no? The only problem with this was that there was no-one to ask about buying a vignette for the motorway, and suddenly one finds oneself on the slip-road with no vignette and no way back. Oh well.

Being so early, it was still dark for the drive around the north side of Lake Geneva, but at least the roads were nearly empty. Sunrise came before I reached the Alps, and I annoyed a few other motorists by driving slowly and looking at the mountain and waterfalls (but only on the dual roads where they could overtake!). Gradually the Valais becomes Wallis (same name, different language) as the road goes along the Rhone valley. It's a very wide valley, and I wondered where the river was, expecting something majestic. Then I noticed the large ditch between the road and the railway...

In Mörel there was a hold-up. Sheep on the road, being chivvied by a collie and a shepherd (a surprisingly gorgeous hunk wearing jeans and sweatshirt), and as daft as sheep are ever, even if they are mountain sheep who look like goats. This trip there was no herd of cows marching along like a funeral band, but there were a few impromptu cowbell concerti in the fields.

The last bit of road is quite terrifying, especially in a RHD car. At least I didn't have to reverse when a lorry came down the mountain; fortunately there was a passing-place just ahead.

Ernen at 8am, with bright sunshine gleaming on the snow.

To the hills!

I decided to drive to Ernen for the singing weekend (it's near Simplonin the south, but the route goes via the north side of Lake Geneva). It may have been a bad decision: the rain is not so bad, but the wind is gusting to scary. The Big Bloo Yes doesn't like crosswinds at all, and sudden gusts could lift it off the road.

Ernen's webcam showed fog and snow this morning, but I'm not sure it's updating. The weather forecast is too warm for snow. Anyway, I'm packing lots of clothes.

Meanwhile, if you have a car please register on Compare Auto Repair. It's the latest of the clan's small businesses, only just started up. It's a good idea, too. Alright, I'm biased :)

Studying the dots for Mountain music

Next week I'm going to sing in the Swiss Mountains with Monica Buckland.

Not having sung for a few months, the ol' diaphragm muscles are wobbly. This year the fields are mostly planted with rape rather than sunflowers, which means I am croaking. Not a good start to the delayed learning/practice.

The early sacred music is easy enough (and I could probably sing the Byrd from memory). The Monteverdi madrigal is one I don't know; wonderful but difficult and deserves more time than I'm giving it. I love the jolly old French chanson; the Fanny Mendelssohn is cute; the Brahms and Sullivan are slushily ok. The Matthew Harris song is startling at first, but fits - it's in a kind of folk-jazz style - and the solo is fine as long as I come in at the right place. The David Wikander piece is musically do-able but the Swedish vowels are confusing.

Then we come to the Per Nørgård: Frühling Lied from Wie ein Kind, text by a Swiss poet. It sounds... interesting. Pleasant, but decidedly random. I can't work out quite what's going on with the solo passages until the last page, when there's a clear solo sop line. I doubt I'll survive to the last page.

Croissants and brocantes

Breakfast on the terrace, lovely. I read the local (wide area) paper, bought rather late in the week, and discovered that there had been several interesting events, including a performance of baroque music and dance. Bother, missed it. And the African Market (which, from the photos, looked much more fun than the usual furrin market). There was an account of the Boutenac Touvent village walk to celebrate spring. 120 people going for a stroll together!

Future events: brocante in St Dizant du Gua Sunday 19th; brocante in Lorignac Sunday 26th.

April in Charente Maritime

I came home on Sunday, arriving in the wraparound sunset. The route was 137 nearly all the way - first the N137 and then the D137. At Rochefort there was a choice: Saintes or Saujon. I followed the coast road so as to pass the Pont Transbordeur du Martrou.

Just south of Lorignac there is a large ruined building on the west side of the road. It must be the first time I've driven past it at sunset. The setting sun was behind it, and made a stunning view through its broken walls. The vineyards and trees, too, black against the bright deep gold and pink.

Today the garden is warm and sleepy with bees and the scent of lilac. The grass is too long for a mower and the little herb plot is buried under happy weeds.

Gacilly

We went to visit Yves Rocher, but he wasn't in. Most of the rest of Gacilly was present, so we wandered around and looked at them and their wares and took some photos of scenes which interested me and which I thought would be less likely to be already on the 'net or postcarded.

Yves Rocher started producing and marketing cosmetics and toiletries made from organically-grown plants way back before it was fashionable, and made a plenty of money doing so. He's put a lot of the money into his home village, in rebuilding and renovating, and set up a scheme to support artisans and craftspeople there. It's rather like Portmeirion in Wales, but using the original old cottages instead of mad new build. There are the added attractions of walled gardens, and indeed plants all over the place, even being left in peace to grow where they wish in pavements and the edges of steps, like minor deities. It was surprising to see a stray strawberry plant in happy flower between wall and pavement.

The crafts are of course very good and the jewellery particularly lovely, but I only succumbed to the lure of some stuff to put round pot and tub plants so that you don't have to water them. Herbs and lemon balm in the house, safe while I'm away!

Gacilly also happens to have a particularly beautiful river, one of those rich silky stretches of water with rocks and a weir for added textural variety.

We walked/wheeled down to the park and basked in sunlight and apple-blossom scent. A park with fruit trees and herb gardens. Marvellous.

On the way back there was this mind-boggling building (link to Christophe Chauvin's photo).

The artisans of Gacilly
The Yves Rocher Foundation
What they sell

Let there be even more light

The proposed shower-room has no window or skylight and nowhere to put one. I ordered a solar pipe / sun pipe / light pipe from www.tubzzz.com. The delivery information said it weighed less than 5kg, so I was surprised and worried when the box arrived - it is enormous! Fortunately the contents aren't quite so large, and will fit in the car if I leave behind some clothes and other things.

I'm excited about getting it installed. Not quite up to my dream of a solar-powered house, but the first step!

Almost a bedroom

Work on converting the attic to a bedroom and shower-room has progressed. Photos by Camille Chambon of Casa Nova.

It's more like a dormitory than a bedroom, and later it will be split into two bedrooms, which will make three bedrooms upstairs.

Of the two photos taken from the roof, one shows a beautiful view of the southern part of the hamlet and across the fields towards the estuary (which is over the cliff and thus not visible), and the other shows the big tree and the garage which will be converted into a gite when I can afford it.

More light, both physical and metaphorical

The attic room has two new skylights and a lot of roof insulation. No walls yet. There will be photos soon.

If you're curious about, interested in, or annoyed by the lack of, explanation and detail behind stories of tech and science in the news, try the science behind it (still being developed).

Bernay and buildings

In England, and car-lagged. I was sorry to leave (it was 21deg C yesterday, and there is much that needs doing in the garden). I shan't be there for discussing where to fit the skylights and build the shower-room walls, but I trust Ben and Camille from Casa Nova to pick good places.

There's one part of the route north which has a whole series of roundabouts with right-turns to Bernay. This time I drove through Bernay instead of around it. What a surprise! Most towns in France were severely re-built around the eighteenth century and there's little of the medieval buildings left: it seems to be concentrated here, in street after street of timber-framed houses. There are many houses in the Dutch-barn/Flemish shape, too. I was so busy goggling at architecture, I got thoroughly lost; no great problem as it meant I could go round again via a different route through the town. I didn't have my camera with me, so we shall have to be content with piccies on the interweb. Ooh, there's even a bernayphoto.blogspot.com! Unfortunately short on visible architecture, but I like the Goat Riding a Bicycle.

Forget-me-nots and lords-and-ladies

$Friend has been here for a week, doing a huge amount of clearing and carpentry and varnishing of floors and putting up of roof insulation, with a little plumbing on the side. Excellent chap. He's thinking of going into business as a handyman, and I can recommend him.

Today I drove him to Bordeaux airport. The weather is lovely, all warmed up again. Just before he arrived it was warm, the day he leaves it's decidedly spring, and the week in between was cold and nasty. Argh!

In fact, spring arrived so suddenly that the wildflowers came out all at once. The vineyards which had been mostly brown in the morning were decorated with blue and yellow carpets of myosotis and various other blooms, only three hours later.

Dydd Dewi Sant

It's Dydd Dewi Sant and the daffodils are blooming in the garden. Suddenly I feel a long way away.

Barbier and chips

Last night I went to the theatre; well, a production in the Grande Salle of the Foyer Rural in St Dizant (i.e. the village hall), but very high standard.

The troupe, from a town a few kilometres away, tours the local towns and villages every year, and is obviously very popular. You have to book a seat in advance, and even though the Grande Salle seats about 500, it was sold out.

For warm-up they started with a mime (based on Chaplin), a solo dance (based on Madonna), and a very funny demo of making chips. Then we got to the main programme - Ma Femme Est Folle by Jean Barbier, a comedy in two acts. It was brilliantly done, and so clearly acted and enunciated that I got most of it (some of the slang words weren't in my vocabulary, but the meaning was clear from context, or occasionally gesture...). Most of it was broad farce, including the obligatory removal of trousers, which took place during a little scene in which the gay accountant teaches the secretary how to seduce a member of the same sex. Shades of Terry Scott's panto act, but without the skirts.

In the interval there were pancakes and eclairs and apple tart a 1 euro, and the food ran out.

It ended at 00:45. They do like to get their money's worth!

We have satellite dish and tv, now to introduce them to each other...

There was a Freecycle ad for a tv in usable order; how could I resist? The address was somewhere near Ikea and I need cheap stuff for the house (well, I need free stuff, but Ikea is the next up in price), so I arranged to collect the tv on Thursday because that's the Ikea late-night and sales day. Plan for the day: first, an appointment with Camille from Casa Nova to see what can be done upstairs with the little money I have left, then to Bordeaux.

All went well until Bordeaux. I got horribly lost following viamichelin's instructions and decided to go out to the ring road and start again. Bad move. It was into rush-hour, and if you get in the wrong lane... well, I ended up going all the way round, and then doing a few loops in north Bordeaux. I phoned the tv donor and he had no clue about the roads or street names (as he said, you can't see them when you're driving). With all the roadworks and diversions, the signage is missing or confusing: the city council probably thinks it doesn't matter out of tourist season.

Eventually I found the place, two hours late, in a one-way area. It had a No Entry sign and a notice saying the road was blocked, but there were cars in it so I drove up there anyway.

The tv is enormous. Donor was fortunately strong, and lugged it down from his flat. He spoke English, too, which was comforting because I was tired and fraught: car engine had been overheating in the traffic jams.

It was 20:30, and there was still time to get to Ikea before 22:00. Unfortunately, the Pont Aquitaine was due to be closed overnight, starting at 21:00. I'd thought it wouldn't matter because there'd be an alternative route of some kind. As I got close to Ikea and the bridge I realised that there were no diversion signs. None. Just the "bridge closed" signs. So I missed Ikea and went over the bridge before I could get trapped in Bordeaux.

Tv is still ensconced on the back seat of the car. I can't lift it.

The Great Storm of February 2009

On Monday, the storm arrived. It wasn't as bad as the Great Storm of January 2009, but close. I made sure all the shutters and doors and windows were secure, and went to bed early. Soon afterwards the power went, leaving me huddled in my four-poster, curtains tucked in, with the wind-up radio and the wind-up lantern. I didn't sleep much. All night the storm would start to move away, and then come screaming back. I could hear things crashing outside. France Inter was running reports every 15 minutes, and in between there was soothing music and friendly chatter. It helped me because... I was scared. It was alright while I was awake, but when I dozed off the noise brought dreams of shipwreck and houses falling into the sea, and I woke in panic.

When I went to make tea (thank goodness for gas cookers - Mama always said you should have a gas hob in case of power cuts) it was surprising to see how light it was outside. The clouds were intermittent and the moonlight showed trees thrashing frantically. Poor trees, the ground is so wet this winter and their roots are not firmly fixed, and they have had to fight another storm before recovering from the first. Someone on the radio said that this was another once-in-a-century storm, and it's the third in 10 years, so how's that for climate disruption.

Around dawn the noise dropped to strong wind, and I slept.

The next day, all was well in the hamlet apart from a wall on M. Magister's property, which started falling down onto La Concierge's house. She called the mayor out and he sent a digger to demolish it. She's quite annoyed because they will have to pay for the removal of the wall, which has been unsafe for years - the old man hadn't had any repairs done for decades. We're wondering what will happen to the house: whether the sons will try to sell it, or one will move in, or they will just let it crumble. It would be a shame because although it's not in a good state, it is old charentais style and could be very pretty.

The trees won.

Sketches and moonlight

It's not quite true that the locals close shutters and stay indoors for the winter. Saturday was Theatre: an evening of sketches in the Hall at the Foyer Rural, which is a kind of community centre and home of the town council's social and cultural committees and offices. The theatre group was excellent, with most of the adults at professional level, and two of the teens are heading that way. I understood almost all of it with the exception of one of the comic songs sung by the commère (that's not a typo, it was a she) during scene changes, which appeared to be in Charentais.

The evening started late, at 9pm, and was so entertaining that I was amazed to find that it was past midnight when it ended. It was a very cold night, with frost and the moon by which you could see the houses and road as if the streetlights were on. I spent a little time on the way home just looking at the hamlet and fields by moonlight. That's how I noticed a light in the window of the little house: it must have been on for over a week. Even with the bright moonlight I didn't fancy sliding over the icy lane and opening the frozen old door to look for the off switch (I've never turned on the light because I'd only go in there in the daytime), so took a look round the dangerous jumble of electrical wiring and boards in the barn, to see if I could find a way to cut the power to the little house. No luck. There must be a feed somewhere, but that spaghetti wiring and the collection of random, sometimes live, junction boards is no place for an electrically-challenged wimp. Next day, when the sun had thawed the land, I went over to the little house and turned off the lights, and picked up a bagful of logs and wood offcuts.