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!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
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?
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?
Sunday, June 14, 2009
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!
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.
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.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
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.
I hope the librarian understands and doesn't worry about me being missing.
Friday, June 05, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)