La Roue Tourne

A new commercial centre has opened on this side of Jonzac; Intermarché and Bricomarché have moved into large shiny buildings there. I don't usually shop in Intermarché, but the new and bigger shop looked interesting and I needed some things from Bricomarché so I went to try it out. It's not bad, and has one advantage over Leclerc: the bags in the fruit-n-veg section are reachable.

As I left, I glanced into the brasserie at the entrance, and saw an amazing sight. A Victoria, parked among the tables! Of course, I had to go in.

The place is clearly owned by a fan of old vehicles. It's called La Roue Tourne (the turning wheel), and even the windows have been decorated with a horse and carriage motif. The coffee was very good, quite cheap, and served in attractive crockery; the warmed and slightly frothy milk came in a jug. It was empty, being in the lull between lunch and well, anything else; the bartender/chef/probably owner was outside chatting to friends but kept careful watch in case I needed something. He was very friendly, and amused by my reaction to the Victoria.

On the first Friday of the month they host a meet of vintage vehicle enthusiasts, who proudly display their cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and presumably carriages. I'm looking forward to taking visitors to see it.

We may not have a bus service, but...

The postie brought a parcel into the house (the delivery required a signature) and I forgot to give her the letter that needs posting. Such a bother: I shall have to peg the letter onto the mailbox for her to collect. ;) I do love the local postal service.

As for bus services: there is only the school bus which picks up from St Dizant and Ste Ramée, is also used by the public and runs in the holidays too, but of course it's only once a day (Jonzac and back).

However, there is now a communal taxi, collecting from and delivering to one's home and running to Jonzac on Tuesdays and St Genis on Thursdays and Saturdays, with two or three hours in the town. It's a shame that the Jonzac service doesn't go early enough to connect with the railbus to Angoulême.

Birding on the marsh

The Association Culturelle Dizannaise organises local events, including two summer walks on the marshes guided by Fabien and assistants from the Ligue pour la Protection des Oiseaux (the French equivalent of the RSPB). This year the first walk was earlier than usual, so that we could hear the late spring sounds and see the storks nesting. There are plenty of chicks this year - one nest had four!

About 20 of us set off from La Grange de Marais, the nature site near St Dizant. We watched various harriers, bluethroats, egrets, falcon, many bright small finches... and other birds whose names I don't know in English. Fabien is amazing at picking out birds in the distance; there were telescopes and plenty of binoculars for us to look at what he'd sighted.

It was a very social walk. I'm not familiar with birdwatching, it not being a generally wheelchair-friendly activity, but I used to go out with a twitcher so I have a little experience. This was the first time I've ever been birding with people who chatter. I was on Broomstick, and at one point I decided to go on ahead as we neared a small copse. The birdsong coming from the trees and shrubs was fantastic, but as soon as the merry throng of humans arrived the birds shut up and there was sadly no opportunity to ask Fabien what birds were making which sounds.

After the walk, M le Maire and his wife provided a lunch under the trees at the camping/picnic site next to 1000 Frais et 1 Fred (he explained carefully that he was paying for it personally, not out of public funds). It was a simple but plentiful spread, and he must have spent a lot on the drinks because the apéro was pineau from the Château de Beaulon, and that stuff is not cheap. I can report that the orange juice was good. Towards the end of the meal Madame drove off, to return a little while later with flasks of coffee freshly brewed in her kitchen. So sweet :)

Journey back to Charente Maritime

It was far too early to be up, but at least it was warm and dry when I crept quietly out of $Friend's house and set off up the hill, wheeling all the way and allowing time for rest-stops. I travel light when not going by car, but even the few clothes and laptop, and a few books, weighed enough to tip Chariot over backwards if I wasn't sitting in it. I had to be at the station early in case the train didn't come in on the nearest platform, as the lift to the new bridge over the lines still isn't open; wheelchairs have to be checked in 30 minutes before the train arrives, anyway.

I'd allowed too much time and could have caught the previous train, but it's not easy to change a wheelchair booking. Anyway, the hour passed happily in greeting old BT colleagues who were dashing to commute, chatting to station staff (in French!), and drinking coffee for breakfast.

At Liverpool Street the station-staffperson who got me off the train showed me where to catch the bus for St Pancras. However, the bus-stop wasn't there: roadworks had closed the street. Heading back towards the station and taxis, I saw the right number bus turning down a nearby street, and chased after it. Right number, wrong direction. The driver suggested I ask at the information place a few yards away; there, the information person came out to give me directions to the next bus-stop (the booth was, as usual, not accessible). I was bewildered and worried about getting around the roadworks, and his English wasn't perfectly understandable. He looked at me, locked the door, and said he would take me there. And he did!

The bus was quick and trouble-free, and I arrived at St Pancras in time for my ticket to be changed to an earlier train. Eurostar people are very good about changing tickets, even though it's a bit complicated with there being so few wheelchair spaces. The journey was comfortable, as it always is, though I wished the meal hadn't been breakfast. None of it was on the diet, it was all tasty and I was hungry.

In Paris it was very warm and sunny. The buses provide good views when they aren't too full, and this time they both had plenty of room. Having so much time to spare, I decided to wheel for a while, doing a bit of window-shopping and wandering through a park before picking up the 92. At Montparnasse there was still time for another drink in a café and a happy half-hour in a bookshop.

There were no problems at the Gare de Montparnasse, for which I was grateful because I was tired; I spent most of the three hours' journey half-asleep. From Angoulême to Jonzac there is a railbus, a beautifully plush coach (with motorised lifting-platform) which always has very few passengers. Leaving was slightly delayed by the intricacies of fastening-down the wheelchair, as this driver hadn't done it before. The straps for the wheelchair were fairly straightforward, but he confused the various parts of the seatbelt and had to unfasten it all and start again, apologising for having to put his arms round me to get it done. I offered to do it myself, but he wouldn't hear of it.

Finally, the taxi to home and the welcome sight of my house and garden. But what had happened to the garden? The grass was three feet high and all the summer flowers were out!

Ipswich railway station staff are great

A few days before leaving Suffolk I trundled up the hill to the railway station and tried to buy tickets for the new route to St Pancras via Stratford International, which would cut out going across London. The person in the ticket office was concerned that it might be difficult to get from Stratford to Stratford International, with the building works there. She very helpfully phoned Stratford to check: they said the area was not wheelchair-friendly. Ah well, maybe next time. For this trip I'd have to do the Liverpool Street to Kings Cross thing.

She started on calculation of which train would ensure arriving at the Eurostar terminal early enough for checking-in a wheelchair. By this time I was tired of shouting, because those desks are very high; she wasn't tall enough to lean over to speak to me, either. I asked why the lowered desk wasn't staffed. At first she was reluctant to tell me, but then she admitted that because of the location of the lowered desk near the sets of automatic doors, it was very draughty and often cold. I'd noticed that from the passenger-side. Poor and thoughtless station design.

She kindly moved over to the lowered desk for talking to me, though she still had to use the other terminal to book the ticket.

While waiting for the ticket, I chatted to a woman who had no problem talking to someone at the neighbouring high desk because her powered wheelchair had a seat hoist. Very nifty, and so useful. She was booking tickets for her first train journey since being in a wheelchair, to get to the Hardest Hit rally; she asked me about the accessibility of London buses (usually good, except when they are crowded).

I left the station with a ticket for the 6:44 train, and a warm glow from dealings with people who are helpful, efficient, and friendly.

Very glorious food

Carole and I sampled the fairly-new British Larder near Woodbridge.

Verdict - yummmmmy! Not cheap, but excellent.

I was impressed by the statements on the menu about sourcing locally, and "from the hedgerows". It appears that, although they don't have time to forage themselves, they accept bags of stuff picked from the wild (or one's own garden) in exchange for a drink. Marvellous.

Three cheers for anything which encourages people to eat perfectly good food which doesn't happen to be wrapped in plastic, feature in tv adverts, nor bear the seal of approval of money-grubbing supermarkets.

And in case you, like some of my ex student-housemates[0], are too nervous to sample wild fruits and vegetables, have a useful website.