Sunflower in rain

Autumn begins on the Gironde estuary

2011-10-25T12:01:00.004+02:00

Last week I set off for rehearsal a little early because the sunset was beautiful and I wanted to drive through the rose and mauve air (it really does that on the estuary!). This week there was rain. it hasn't rained for ages, and the frogs have been waiting a long time to get out: there were hundreds of them, ecstatically leaping all over the little roads. Fortunately there wasn't much other traffic, so I could drive very slowly and swerve.

Last night we had thunderstorms, or one thunderstorm passing here three times. After the rain, the air is clear, the grass and small herbiage are green again, and wildflowers have blossomed. The sky is almost clear to the east; in the west lush multi-grey clouds are heaped like silk cushions against which the red, orange, and gold autumn trees glow so brightly they sound like a symphonic tone poem.

Low as a kite

2011-07-20T18:49:00.002+02:00

The Association Culturelle Dizannaise planned the second Sortie Nature (nature trail) of the year for yesterday; this time it was an evening outing. The weather had become strangely unpleasant, but it went ahead anyway. Unfortunately my winter clothes were put into storage in preparation for holiday-rental, so it took me much of the afternoon to excavate a fleece, warm socks, and waterproofs.

It was very windy out on the marshes, so windy that the dark clouds hurtling overhead had no time to lose any of their water-load, except for a brief drizzle. One person had brought an umbrella which promptly turned inside-out on opening. Swallows gave amusing displays of flying sideways and backwards; the funniest moment was when one of them, flapping madly, managed to turn, and suddenly found itself whizzing away on the wind with its little wings still whirring as it disappeared in the direction of St Fort with frantic squeaks.

Most of the smaller birds were in hiding or only visible if their nests were in clear patches, but the storks seemed unworried and there were herons and egrets and curlews and falcons aplenty, plus a busard cendré and a bird with pink markings whose name I missed. At one point I was a little ahead of the group and noticed a huge dark bird of prey: it came towards me, so close I could no longer focus on it with the binoculars, and just over my head it veered off along the estuary embankment. A black kite!

As usual there was a meal after the sortie, with much merriment and conversation (topics at our end of the table: education, nutrition, nuclear power, power outages, alternative energy, international finance, and of course politics). I was the only anglo present this time so there was no English, and I was pleased at how much I could take part in the discussion even when it all got rather noisy.

Between the second and third course the wind dropped and so did the rain. It pounded down for a few minutes. Before dessert I realised it was time to leave because Broomstick had no lights (I couldn't remember which box they were packed in); just as well, as the diet had already suffered. A little way down the road the rain started again, the road flooded, and Broomstick experienced surfing. My waterproofs gave up.

I was very wet and rather cold, but replete with good food and good company; and I'd been only a couple of metres from a black kite!

La Roue Tourne

2011-05-28T13:48:00.008+02:00

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...

2011-05-26T12:21:00.003+02:00

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

2011-05-23T12:31:00.001+02:00

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

2011-05-15T13:04:00.009+02:00

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

2011-05-09T22:18:00.001+02:00

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

2011-05-02T18:08:00.000+02:00

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.

Journey to England

2011-04-23T10:12:00.009+02:00

This time I travelled to England by public transport, for ecological reasons and because petrol is so expensive.

i don't like rising before the sun, but the autocar leaves Jonzac at 7:30 and the taxi-driver wanted to allow plenty of time to get there. He didn't actually need that much so I had a long wait for the 'car, but by then it was light and warm, and I had a book (China Mieville's excellent short stories).

The 'car arrived at Angouleme station in time to see the connecting train to Lille, the train I would have booked if I hadn't had a wheelchair. The station staff went into panic, thinking I wanted to get on it and not having time to get me across the tracks. Such relief when I told them I was getting the next train, three hours later. One day there will be a lift at Angouleme, and I shall be able to get to the platform by myself and save three hours' journey time. The lift is promised by completion of the line upgrade, sometime before 2016; of course, before that the TGV will be going as far as Saintes and I shan't need to travel to Angouleme.

One of the new TGV trains came through. Plush! Double-decker, but for me its best feature is the entrances: level with the platforms, and a small automatic bridge at each door, covering the gap. No need for Assistance at all! One has to wonder why trains haven't always been designed to fit the platforms; or platforms designed to fit the trains. It's not only crips and ski-ing accidentees who have trouble with those high steps: I've watched quite a few people struggling with luggage.

Though not on one of the new trains, the ride to Paris passed quickly, between admiring the view and reading more Mieville. Paris was rather warm. I'd planned a long gap before catching the Eurostar, just in case, and decided to use some of it to look at the Seine and Notre Dame, just around the corner from where I change buses. It was lovely, but April in Paris... is full of tourists.

I still had over an hour before needing to be at the Gare du Nord, but I thought the cafes around there might be less crowded than near Notre Dame. The second bus goes through a poorer part of the city and is consequently more heavily used, but people are always very good about squashing up, finding a space, and helping me get on board. Good thing I went early. Three stops later, the bus driver announced that we all had to get off because the police had closed the road on account of a demonstration.

No choice but to set off up the road and keep looking for a taxi. Taxis passed, but they were all full. Eventually I asked a shopkeeper how much further to the Gare - at least half an hour. I was tired, and hot. There were people waiting for a bus: I stopped to find out if they had news, and they suggested I get the bus with them to the Gare de l'Est and find a taxi there. The plan worked even better, because a woman who got off the bus at the same time told me that the Gare du Nord was not far and insisted on pushing the wheelchair up the (slight) hill, while her 7-year-old son asked questions about England.

The so-dangerous demonstration was, it seemed, a few people with a placard. Ah well.

As usual, the Eurostar was well-sorted for a wheelchair-user, and this trip I'd been lucky enough to get the space in Business Premier, which comes with a very pleasant lounge. There I accepted a drink and fired up the laptop, but didn't have chance to use the wifi because the all the time was taken up in conversation with an interesting and amusing Texan and Argentinian couple.

At St Pancras I tried unsuccessfully to buy a ticket for the new route via Stratford International, then was too tired to attempt to get to Liverpool Street by bus, so taxi it was. A friendly taxi-driver and helpful staff at Liverpool Street and Ipswich eased the last stage of the journey, though it's disappointing that the long-promised lift at Ipswich hasn't yet been built (opening at the end of May, apparently).

Finally I coasted down the hill to Sophie's and the first cup of tea of the day.

Roman roads and Romaneau

2011-04-18T12:32:00.002+02:00

There's very little written about the history of this area, and even less on the web. Sebastian at the shop/restaurant told me that the family who own the Château de Romaneau at the south end of St Dizant did some research.

St Dizant, now a few kilometres inland, was a port in Roman times (the marshes were drained in the middle ages, just as the Fens and Broads of England were). Back then, when Saintes was the capital, there was a major road from Saintes to St Dizant which went past the place where the château now stands. There was probably a Roman villa on the site. The road continued to be in use for a long time, and was later part of the Pilgrim Route (to Santiago de Compostella). Now that stretch of the road has disappeared. It's possible that one of the tunnels around here leads to the Château, but no-one has investigated that.

The Château de Romaneau isn't open to the public. Until fairly recently the Romaneau family lived in the big house, but now it's closed up and the last resident lives in a smaller house in the grounds.

Arc en Ciel in Saint-Trojan-Les-Bains

2011-04-18T12:11:00.003+02:00

It was a long drive to St Trojan, on a warm sunny day and through some lovely countryside. Neither my friend nor I were so impressed by the town nor the route once on the Ile d'Oleron: it felt touristy in a soul-less way, with something essential lacking. Curiously, we'd just been discussing the validity of first impressions: perhaps we both need another visit to re-assess it.

The concert itself went very well indeed. The audience obviously preferred the bouncy second half to the more serious (both more subtle and better sung) first half. I've often remarked that concerts in France get a bigger audience than in England, even though it seems that the knowledge of and response to classical music is about the same in both countries. People turn out to performances, musical or theatrical, willing to be entertained. Back in England, choirs are often relieved that the audience outnumber those on stage.

Overall, they enjoyed it enough to give us a standing ovation and demand encores, and ask us to come back. It's always good to have pleased punters. :)

Brocante the first

2011-04-17T12:17:00.004+02:00

The summer season of events has begun. There are brocantes everywhere, and festivals and open days.

Today is St Dizant du Gua's big brocante. I went down there on Broomstick, with only a small amount of cash, as a precaution. The precaution was wise. So many stalls full of such interesting things! Books, clothes, furniture, crockery, pans, antiques, ornaments, tools, bikes (and motorbikes): the contents of cupboards and garages and barns and attics. Plus plants, fruit, vegetables, and cakes. I bought a mirror (four people joined in working out how to transport it on Broomstick), a copper jug as a present for Ginette, and some vegetables; I just looked at everything else. Broomstick was, as usual, admired and I had to explain how it works and where I got it and how much it cost. Maybe there's an import market.

I shall miss the annual flower festival in St Genis and the Sailing Festival at Port Maubert, because I'm singing on the Ile d'Oleron late this afternoon.

Mountains, forests, sun, and sea

2011-04-12T12:10:00.000+02:00

Before moving to Charente Maritime, I noticed on the map that the Pyrenees are not very far away. Close enough for a day trip! Somehow it hadn't happened, though. Last week I decided it was about time to cross this one off the list of things to do. One day isn't sufficient for admiring mountains, so it would be two days, with sleeping bag in the car. I set off on Thursday morning.

It took nearly an hour to get around Bordeaux, even though it was no longer peak-time rush. After Bordeaux the motorway becomes dual-carriageway, covered in lorries from all over Europe. I wonder why they don't use trains or ships for such long distances? There was even a lorry from Finland!

The first view of the Landes and Gascony was a disappointment. It's flat and dusty, and the roads are fringed with clumps of sad spindly pines, huddled too close together. The northern part of this region was badly hit by Xynthia; perhaps when there were more trees the countryside looked happier. It would certainly have retained water better.

Eventually I could see mountains in the distance, and my spirits lifted. The road signs had Basque names and instructions added to the French. I'd never realised how many Xs there are in Basque words: it looks rather like Mayan.

Not being in a mood for hyper-tourism I decided to bypass Bayonne and Biarritz, took a convenient exit, and headed inland. Just after a disused French customs building there was a sign pointing up a small tree-lined road to the Col d'Ibardon (437m) which looked perfect. It soon became rather narrow and too bendy for comfort with the motor-caravans swooping down and not on the other side of the road, but it was only 4 kilometres of worry. I stopped halfway up in a layby because watching the road meant I couldn't admire the scenery. At the Col there was a marvellous view over St Jean de Luz, Biarritz, and the Atlantic; and a crowd of parked cars. Also a hotel, a lot of tourist-trap shops and craft places, several caffs and a couple of expensive restaurants, and a filling-station with cheap petrol. Clearly on the Spanish side of the border.

After a while of looking at mountains, talking to ponies, and avoiding touristy things, I went back down the mountain and onto the motorway. The intention was to follow it a little way and then find a route through wild mountains, but the motorway itself goes through beautiful scenery so I stayed on it, through the forests and slopes. The roadsigns were now in Spanish and Basque, except for the sign to Madrid, which was in Spanish and Moorish. I was impressed.

Then there was Bilbao. I'm not really a city person (in spite of having lived in cities until I was 8), but people had told me that Bilbao was worth seeing. The trouble is that, driving alone in a strange city, all one's attention is on traffic, suicidal pedestrians, and trying to make sense of directional and instructional signs. I did notice some lovely buildings, but couldn't work out what they were. There was nowhere to stop; all parking spaces were full. There were crossings and traffic lights every few metres. The engine began to overheat. Red lights came on: one of them shouted STOP. Still no parking space, and in desperation I pulled into a bus-stop, behind a bus. If anyone complained I'd plead breakdown, mine as well as Roo's. The bus moved away, and I saw that it had been stopped on a disabled space! In trepidation, I turned the engine back on and slithered the few metres forward. I left Roo trying to cool down in the hot afternoon, and went off to explore the area.

First, there was a pedestrian street full of little bars (all with steps) and camellia trees. That's right, trees. And in bloom. At the end of the street was a square with a park which even had a bandstand. I bought a bottle of water and some oranges from a small shop run by a father and son, and realised I'd forgotten to bring the Spanish dictionary with me. It's a few years since I spoke Spanish, though Basque would have been better. The older man was very friendly, and he switched from Basque to Spanish after the first sentence. I followed most of what he said, but could only manage a couple of phrases back. Several people on the street and in the square spoke to me, to offer help or just to say hello. It was very peaceful, sitting in the sunshine eating oranges or wandering the little streets. I didn't find out where I was, though.

At last I reckoned Roo would be cool enough to have water added, and found my way back past the shop; the older man dashed out, and appeared to be asking what I was doing that evening. I said goodbye hurriedly. Roo was indeed cooler, and I collected courage to open the bonnet (I'd never wanted to open Roo's bonnet again after Incident of the Trapped Fingers). Someone waiting for a bus came over to help, but he clearly knew nothing about cars and I was glad that his bus turned up before he could mess with anything. I put in some water and got the bonnet closed without any disaster, turned the key, and it was fine. Now to find the way out of Bilbao. East is that way...

Back on the motorway in the sunset, I stopped at a reasonable-looking services and parked in a corner, not too close to the lorries. Sadly for the diet, the cafe didn't have salads but it did have steak and chips; worse than that, a custard flan turned up, included in the price. It was warm in the sleeping-bag and I slept well, waking at dawn.

I took the next exit off the motorway and headed for the coast, finding a lovely little port. I'd missed the signs naming it, so had to ask a local: that's how I discovered that in Basque 'Z' is pronounced like a jota or a Welsh or Gaelic 'ch'. Zumaia is still partly a fishing port, small boats only, but has clearly had a huge influx of tourist money which has been used to build a marina and renovate the seawalls and the town. It's in beautiful condition. On one side of the sea wall is a calm harbour; on the other side the blue-green waves crash over dark rocks. I got a few photos before the camera's batteries died.

From there I took the pretty winding coast road through Getara and Zarautz all the way to the outskirts of San Sebastian. Another big city in the hot sunshine didn't appeal, so it was back on the motorway to Urrugne, from where I went inland again. By this time another fuel-stop was required, but the price on the French side was shocking, even higher than around here. Odd, when it's so close to Spain. I turned back and found myself at another sign for the Col d'Ibardon, which is over the border and has a filling station. This time, instead of going up into the tourist area I tried the restaurant at the cross-roads. It was excellent! And cheap: and the other customers were locals, always a good sign. I recommend the Benta Gorria.

Time to start for home, with a small detour to see the Arcachon area south of Bordeaux. What a lovely two days.

Events in St Dizant du Gua

2011-04-02T18:59:00.004+02:00

Another event in "patois saintongeais" today. I'd decided not to go because it was a programme of readings and, although I had followed the broad farce of Les Buzotiâs de Jhonzat's theatre pieces sufficiently well, straight readings would be mainly incomprehensible. Then the organisers (two of the Association Culturelle Dizannaise) emailed a reminder, and it seemed rude not to turn up.

It was warm and sunny, so I rode into town early, did some shopping, stopped for a grand crême at the café-bar, and wandered around to see what's changed (or hasn't) over the winter. There's a bungalow for sale behind the Foyer Rural, very smart. No-one has taken the building opposite the gates of the Château de Beaulon: at 75,000 euros with planning permission for seven flats, I wonder why not.

Ten minutes before the start, the organisers were beginning to look upset. Only nine people had turned up. Eight minutes later a small crowd surged in and they had to put out more chairs.

I didn't understand much of the performance, but it was a pleasant sound and I could pick out some words. The value of turning up was in chatting to people, making contacts, and gleaning information about what's going on. Hopes of using the Foyer Rural for a concert or two this year have been lessened, but it's cheering rather than disappointing that its weekends are fully booked into next year.

Hot!

2011-04-01T19:24:00.002+02:00

After two cool grey days, the clouds have left (apparently to bother England). I took cushion, sunhat, phone, and book outside... and was soon driven back indoors by the burning sensation in exposed skin!

Denis noticed that the lilac is in full bloom, so he cut some. The jonquils in the other vase are lasting well: their pale yellow and the lilac's purple are set off beautifully by the stone wall.

The lilac will be over by 25 May. I shall wear the lilac, of course, but not from my tree.

Ooh, there are lilac sparklies for 2011! And some lucky person will get a Lilac-Don't-Panic Towel.

Spring greens

2011-03-29T13:33:00.004+02:00

The weather has been marvellous. There has been some rain, just enough to encourage the plants, and much sunshine. Driving to Saint-Fort-sur-Gironde this morning to buy vegetables at the market, I was distracted by the greens of the view: trees in pale spring-leaves, grass growing madly, and the deep rich green of young wheat. It's the only time of the year that the landscape is so rich in green-ness, because soon the grass will fade in the sunshine and the fields will turn delicate shades of yellow as the cereals mature, followed by the bright yellow of the sunflowers. The trees will carry the banner of verdure, of course, and so will the vines, but nothing will match the sprouting wheat.

A friend said he doesn't see all the different greens. He likes the countryside, but to him it's just one shade of green and a lot of brown. I wonder if that's one reason why some people don't appreciate rural views so much: they can't see the colours?

Spring and song

2011-03-22T14:12:00.003+01:00

Or perhaps Flowers and I Fagiolini.

The Striggio Mass in 40 parts is doing splendidly in the charts. It's so exciting. I am very much looking forward to collecting my CD next month. Robert's videos are a wonderful bonus: I particularly like the new one in which he gives us hints on listening (I'm not sure that was the intention). With his usual enthusiasm, he appears to lose himself in the music towards the end, and I could imagine the people on the desk saying oi Robert, that's enough and then cutting off the recording ;).

I was so privileged to be in that central spot during part of I Fagiolini's rehearsal: it's a memory to treasure.

And the flowers? As well as all the joyous blooming in the garden, there is a vase full of highly-perfumed and strongly-coloured hyacinths in the kitchen, a present from Ginette.

Equinoctial

2011-03-21T02:10:00.001+01:00

I've been to the Naw-Ruz celebration in La Rochelle. Lovely people, much fun, and much Persian food. The first two courses were on-diet, but after that... ahem. The spread included the best Persian bakhlava I've ever tasted, and some excellent cheese with pain ancien, the wonderful French bread made with dough fermented for ages. I just couldn't resist. First bread since November!

The drive home took a lot of concentration under the spectacular moon. Fortunately there's hardly any traffic in the middle of a Sunday night, and if I felt like stopping at the side of the road to admire it I was inconveniencing no-one.

Happy Naw-Ruz/New Year/Ostara/Equinox, everybody :)

Furniture, fowl, and friendly neighbours

2011-03-18T14:18:00.001+01:00

Fasting does strange things to my time-sense (such as it is). I've only just realised how long it is since I posted, and now I can't remember what's been happening.

A friend sold me a big sofa, a single bed, and 8 dining chairs. The old sofa and armchair have been moved upstairs to make a sitting-room. Friend also donated an aged 2-seater sofa which can be split into two chairs, and which is now on the terrace for comfy seatage. It's a shame that since the furniture was delivered it's been cool, windy, and generally unsuitable for sitting outside.

Payment for the furniture almost emptied my bank account. There has been income into my UK account, so I shall be able to transfer money across, but the pound is once more very unwell. Please encourage MPs and pundits to make pound-supportive statements (for a change). Just until the transfer is done, ok?

I went to the opening of the new shopping area at Jonzac, just to look: not having any money, I couldn't buy any tat, which is a Good Thing.

Ginette seems to like the new sofa: she's been stopping off for a rest and a gossip a couple of times a day when she passes on the way to feed the rabbits and hens. The hens don't think much of the weather; the other evening when the wind was howling she found them huddled against a tree, looking very pathetic. Of course, they haven't been laying. Shop eggs just don't compare; however, she just brought over six little eggs from the bantams, which appear to be hardier. When you eat them, think of me, she said :)

Denis has hurt his shoulder and can't cut more wood. There is enough for five or six days, so it's fortunate that warmer weather is returning next week. I hope he recovers soon, because he gets very bored if he can't be busy.

Sun and stars

2011-03-08T00:34:00.002+01:00

Clear skies.

Riding Broomstick into town wearing a short-sleeved tshirt.
Curled up on the front steps in the sunlight, reading.

Driving home from rehearsal, cresting the hill into Le Rivalard was as if plunging into the crowded stars.
I stopped and turned off the lights, and remembered Van Der Posts's description of the Kalahari desert sky where the hunting stars make a hissing sound. These stars are not hunting: they are majestically, aloofly still.

Fortunately it's not raining in my heart

2011-02-21T15:23:00.003+01:00

It is bucketing down: indoors (or at least, in the atelier), as well as out. There is now a very large damp area. I doubt that M. Babin will be arriving this afternoon as promised, because no way could he check the roof in this rain.

There was a break of a few hours in the rainfall this morning. I was busy tidying the kitchen and preparing the downstairs rooms for $Friend-cleaner who will be here on Wednesday[0] when I noticed Denis in the garden, wielding secateurs. I'd pruned the rosebushes a few days ago, but not to his standard of ferocity. While chatting, I mentioned the dead car battery, and he put down the secateurs and brought round his battery-charger. It wasn't plugged in for very long before the waterfall re-commenced, and as it was by then l'Heure, the engine got rather wet before he could return to unfasten the charger and put down the bonnet. I considered going out there and doing it myself, but every time I look at the bonnet I re-live that few minutes of having my fingers trapped... ugh. Middle finger is still sore and a slightly odd shape.

The rain has stopped again, and Denis is chopping wood in the little house. I worry about him doing so much - he is over 80 - but Ginette assures me he needs things to do since he sold his vinefield, and she's glad of some peace to get on with her own work.

[0] I know it's an old joke about cleaning the house before the cleaner comes, but really I'm not cleaning: it has to be tidy, that's all!

[UPDATE] M. Babin did turn up. He thinks it's not the roof, but the guttering. Hope so, because that will be much easier to fix.
Still raining.

Into every life...

2011-02-20T18:16:00.004+01:00

Roo the car is completely lacking electrical power, so I couldn't go to the theatre in Saint Dizant last night to see Les Saltimbanques.

Some rain fell last night, confirming that the atelier roof is definitely leaking.

I cheered myself up by re-potting Darcy in a roomier home.

Les Buzotias d'Jhonzat

2011-02-14T13:45:00.004+01:00

Yesterday I went to the theatre.

There are several local pro-am dramatic groups in the area, and during the winter they tour the small towns. Every little town has a building used for social and leisure purposes, and each one boasts a stage with curtains and a lighting rig of sorts. The one in Saint-Dizant-du-Gua is called the Foyer Rural, and its hall is quite a size. With a population of only about one-and-a-half thousand, it seems a big place to fill, but somehow people do turn out from not just the town but the surrounding hamlets.

This performance was not expected to draw much of an audience, but even so they had to go and fetch a few more chairs. And why did the Association Culturelle think it wouldn't be popular? Because it was a revue of sketches, recitations, and songs by Les Buzotias d'Jhonzat, a troupe which performs in the Charentais dialect (known as Saintongeais in other parts of the region). Surprisingly, there were plenty of young people there, which is encouraging for the future of the dialect; the troupe itself has several child actors.

I went along out of linguistic interest and a desire to Support Your Local Culture, hoping not to fall asleep, and was surprised and pleased at how much I followed. Websearches for historical information and linguistic analyses of Charentais haven't turned up much: there are vocabularies, and a few recordings on Youtube, but a dearth of information about how and why. It's interesting to see that Cajun and Quebeçois have roots in Saintongeais, though.

Curious points:

* The 'jh' is an aspirate, which is like a softer version of the Spanish 'j' (jota).
* Where the second sound of a word in Latin was 'l', it has changed to 'i', as it has in Italian (bianc').
* The final syllable which in modern French contains '-ai' or -'oi' has retained the early pronunciation '-ouai'.

I must admit that most of what I understood was helped by the acting. They had some very good bits of business and a few pieces of clever tech.

Lemon tree

2011-02-10T18:38:00.005+01:00

M'friends mentioned that there are small lemon trees for sale at a reduced price in the garden-shop in Pons and that they were thinking of getting one. I know I shouldn't be spending money at the moment, with windows still to pay for, but I've wanted a potted lemon tree ever since seeing Ginette's which appears to be permanently covered in fruit. So of course I said metooplease.

It's arriving tomorrow. It's quite small but already fruiting. It will have to live in the salle for the moment, until the cold nights are over.

M'friend referred to it as 'he' so perhaps it/he should have a name. I'm not sure a tiny lemon tree presents as male, though.

[Update]
It has been named Darcy (or Darcey), with thanks to Oxford Reader. You can think of it as an elegantly handsome Austen character or an elegantly beautiful Principal Ballerina.

Ten lemons on such a tiny plant!

On seeing the first lizards of Spring

2011-02-09T16:41:00.004+01:00

Gardening today. Oh, joy! Baby lizards scampering over the walls, and bumblebees lumbering around the early flowers. It's so good to see the daffodil and lily-of-the-valley leaves growing tall, and the rosebushes covered in new growth.

Shame about the bluebottles getting into the house, but I feel kindly even toward them in the warm sunshine.

A Wurzel moment

2011-02-05T11:18:00.002+01:00

There's a tractor in the garden.

Neighbour Denis looked at all that old wood from the Atelier-space (beams and planks and such) and offered to put it through his big saw next time he was cutting up their firewood. He thought there was enough to last through the spring without having to buy any more logs. Excellent! The wood had been moved into the little-house-across-the-lane; he collected a load of it, the saw did its noisy work, and then he brought round a load of woodburner-sized pieces of pine and aged oak. To get the wood to the storage area on the terrace he had to drive the tractor and trailer over the mint lawn. It smells wonderful out there.

... I drove my tractor through your mint-lawn last night
Oo-ar-oo-ar ...

The Atelier is usable

2011-02-05T10:39:00.003+01:00

When I returned from England I sent off the acceptance of M. Babin's quotation for insulating the roof of the Atelier (which is the back half of the house, and used to be a haybarn and stable). Three days later I was startled to get a call from the friend who had recommended him, saying he'd be over the following morning to clear out the wood and chipboard and old beams and ancient electrical rubbish, so that the scaffolding could be put up in the afternoon ready to start work the next day.

I'd thought it would be a couple of months later. Panic checking of savings accounts! And oh woe, the pound had nosedived again. There was no choice but to empty the savings and transfer it all, at a depressing exchange rate.

For two weeks there has been scaffolding inside the house (yes, the ceiling is that high) and I've had to get up before sunrise to let them in. They have finished now, and there is a big gloriously empty space with an echo which is a bit over the top. When the sun shines I can open the shutters, and then it becomes golden-warm. The view to the west is lovely.

Now all it needs is the music.

Sound the horn to warn the boar

2011-01-25T16:10:00.000+01:00

On the way home from rehearsal last night we had to stop for animals crossing the road. This time it wasn't the usual hare or deer: it was a family of three wild boar. They are such cute podgies! I wouldn't want to greet them without benefit of car, though, especially a sow with young ones.

Critical thinking skills not being developed in college

2011-01-24T18:45:00.001+01:00

A study showed that more than a third of US students completed their four years without learning how to "sift fact from opinion". As the author suggests, it's not so much the fault of the teaching in colleges as the lack of foundation in primary education.

Don't assume this is only an USian failing - it's clearly perceptible in UK universities, too.

...it’s the world that we live in and it’s unlikely to change

Noooooo! If this is true, the future looks ever bleaker: each succeeding generation of students becoming more gullible and less able to think properly.

Run! The ice is melting!

2011-01-14T12:05:00.002+01:00

Another cheering snippet.

Once upon a Times (back in the days when it was a British newspaper) there was a little back-page article, by someone whose name I have forgotten, on the subject of Joggers all over the pavements. The writer bemoaned the waste of so much energy, and suggested large exercise wheels, perhaps with video of pretty countryside. They could be used to power the towns and cities.

This is perhaps even better.

Annoyed one day, happy the next

2011-01-12T17:36:00.001+01:00

I've been in England for a few weeks, visiting family and friends, and there hasn't been much material suitable for blogging. When I have thought of recording or propagating anything it's been because I'm angry: over the disappointing and apparently stupid shenanigans of British politicians, the shameless greed of bigbusinesspeople and bankers, or, even worse, life-threatening injustice and persecution.

English driving depresses me too.

So, I am glad to have something happier to report. Roo had been squealing at any electrical load; $Friend#1 said the belt would be a quick and easy job at a garage, $Friend#2 told me to go to the garage she uses - Forest Gate Garage on the road to Friday Street. I went down there to make an appointment and arrived just as they closed for lunch. Bloke saw me and came over to the gate, asking what was the trouble. I explained, and he said he'd do it straight away. It took longer than expected, and he had to crawl under the car and lie in the mud (did I mention that it was raining hard and there are minor floods here?). Now, I know that it's too fiddly to put a small job through the system and there's usually no box for it, but I like to give them a little something in the nature of a tip. The poor man was wet and muddy too. He refused with a big grin: "You're a visitor here, from France, and anyway I did it in the lunch break." Wasn't that sweet?

Cage Against The Machine

2010-12-17T15:15:00.000+01:00

Have you bought yours yet?

Cage Against The Machine - the video
I love the bit where the guitarist re-tunes.

Excellent article on 4'33"

www.catm.co.uk

Honouring Saint Cecilia

2010-12-14T14:14:00.002+01:00

Last Saturday there was a huge concert in Avy, near Pons. One of my friends was playing in it, so of course I went along.

I got a bit lost and arrived later than I would wish to find that not only was the carpark full, but cars were parked all over the nearby roads! Lucky for me that I take my own seat, because the hall was packed and people were crammed in at the back. I was surprised there was no entry fee: even one euro from each of the hundreds of audience would have been quite a wodge.

When the players came onstage (or into space-at-front-of-stage) the size of the audience was partly explained: it was a combined effort from my friend's small Harmonie and two bigger Harmonies, from the music college in Jonzac and from Montendre. A very Big Band!

The three directors took turns conducting a brilliant programme of new works, jazz pieces, swing, and arrangements of film scores; I was most impressed when the cornet section opened Pirates of the Caribbean with the pirates' chorus, so well performed that it vividly recalled that slow march across the seabed. The last piece was announced as "Volare", which sounded like it would be a disappointing finish until they started playing an amazing jazzed version which got everyone clapping and moving (as much as possible in the crowd!).

Early in the concert the announcer introduced the youngest member (10 years old) and the oldest (89, a rather young-for-his-age euphonium player), and pointed out that making music is wonderful for getting all generations together. Yay!

Newspaper article before the event, with information

Every reload gives a different forecast

2010-11-09T16:46:00.004+01:00

What a lot of weather we've been having.

First, two weeks at the beginning of October turned up early for December, and brought with them some nights of frost. Next there were two weeks of warmish weather, followed by a week of warm dampness presumably ordered by the mosquitos, who were ecstatic.

Yesterday an electrical storm promised for July was finally delivered; last night the missing equinoctial gales arrived and the house almost achieved take-off[0].

At present rain is emptying the clouds so fast they can't refill. Sunlight strained through the waterfall makes a strange citrus yellowness.

[0] Fortunately not quite, because fluffy pink slippers don't have heels to click.

UPDATE: Suddenly the wind has dropped. Very suddenly. Did the Earth stop turning?

The Pilgrims' Way

2010-11-05T13:32:00.003+01:00

On Saturday I went by Broomstick into the town; it was a lovely day, if a little windy for travelling by Broomstick. L'Association Culturelle Dizannaise was holding another event, on the topic of walking the Pilgrims' Way (the routes to Santiago de Compostella). I wasn't sure if it would be interesting for me (walking -> pain!), but one has to support one's local wossnames.

It was more than interesting, it was stunning. An exhibition of maps, photos, clothing, and reproductions of old pictures and documents covered the back of the Foyer Rural, and there were photo-slides to accompany the talks, making it vivid as we watched and listened to the walk unfold.

The main speaker was a charismatic type who had retired (early, I think) and decided to walk the Via Turonensis (the western route which runs through Tours). He liked it so much he did it again, with a few detours round alternative routes; on this second pilgrimage he took the Via Podiensis (the route from Puy which is a continuation of the routes from Switzerland). Then he wrote a book about it. You could tell how much he'd become absorbed by the culture of the Way as soon as he introduced himself: first name only, "because on the Way we don't use family names and formality". He addressed everyone in the "tu" form, as well.

He didn't appear to be religious, or at least not Christian (for example, he mentioned that he hadn't taken part in the pilgrims' communion), but the spirituality of the experience had taken him over. He talked of the companionship of those who walk the route, especially in the hostels of an evening, and also of the sense of aloneness in the rhythm of marching 25 kilometres a day in all kinds of weather. He described the feeling of being in buildings touched by other pilgrims over hundreds of years, where even the ruins hold echoes of their lives, and showed some of the little shrines to those who had died on the route. He also showed us the accoutrements: the hat and staff, the shoes, and of course the cockleshells, but also the document by which he had been sent on the pilgrimage. He repeated this, that a pilgrim doesn't choose to go, but is "sent". He spoke of the traditions of the pilgrimage, culminating in burning the clothes worn on the way to Compostella so that the pilgrim returns home lightened of the burden, and clean.

The other two speakers, who are locals, had each walked some of the Way but not yet fulfilled the conditions of a Pilgrimage. They spoke of their own experiences and their hope to complete it, and shared some of the events of last August, as 2010 was a special year for the pilgrimage. All three speakers are members of the official pilgrim of from Saintes which runs that website.

The Via Turonensis (Tours) is one of the world heritage walks; the main route runs through Saintes and Pons to Mirambeau. There is also an old route which goes through St Dizant to the ferry at Blaye and then across to Bordeaux via the Médoc. Charente Maritime's section of the Way has a particular style of marking the path with bornes. I foresee a summer project!

The chairman asked if I'd consider doing the route on Broomstick (the accepted modes of transport are foot, horse, or bicycle, so it's not necessary to walk, though I wonder how bikes and horses cope with some of the muddy mountain tracks in the photos).

The afternoon finished with drinks and Santiago cakes. One small regret: we didn't sing a pilgrimage song. Perhaps I should have taken along the songs from the Cantigas de Santa Maria, saved from one of the music workshops that Belinda Sykes tutored ahem years ago.

Descriptions of the gear of a mediaeval and a modern pilgrim

Foodie-day

2010-10-23T19:59:00.001+02:00

Today the Association Culturelle Dizannaise (St-Dizant-du-Gua's event organisation) ran an afternoon featuring some local food-producers. I was expecting a few displays, some tasting, and a lot of buying, so it was confusing to find the hall of the Foyer Rural set with rows of chairs.

There were three stalls: a baker, a wine-maker, and the owner of a prepared-food delivery company. Not a lot, you might think, for a whole afternoon. Ah, but that was why there were rows of chairs. Each one gave a talk about their work, and answered questions. I was afraid it would turn out to be rather boring, but indeed it wasn't.

The baker, who delivers around here, was the first surprise. He makes a wider range of bread than goes on the van, and gave us snippets of information about what goes into the bread and how the different loaves are made. None of this knock-back and prove for 30 minutes casual attitude to the Staff of Life: most of the breads are fermented for at least 12 hours, and one type for 3-4 weeks! I can now tell you that chestnut and fig bread is delicious, and the baker even knows which fields the wheat for the Grand Resèrve comes from. And I bought a loaf of bread made from spelt (l'épeautre) which is reckoned to be the oldest type of grain grown for flour.

The vineyard bloke is a fifth-generation viticulturist and agriculturist (he grows wheat too) who produces grape juice as well as the local standards of cognac, vin de charentes, and pineau de charentes. He brought along various ages of rotted grape juice, and some delicious young sparkling unrotted grape juice. Apparently the pineau is good and also cheap; all I can say is that some of the alcoholic liquids are beautiful colours.

The ready-meals person didn't look so promising. In a white chef's coat, he stood behind a trestle table decorated only with a few menus and rather nervously told us about the food-preparation place and that they deliver to schools and care homes and to people who are temporarily or permanently off cooking duties. Things cheered up when he mentioned catering for parties and weddings, and he was much livelier when answering questions. Then he said "Shall I fetch the trays now?" and in came masses of party food which was utterly delicious, plus a bag for each one of us, containing one of today's meals. I'm just eating mine. It's nothing like the school dinners I remember - there are five courses and all very tasty. At €8.50 it's nearly twice as expensive as Meals on Wheels, but well worth it. I think it could be useful for catering for Music Weeks. My only complaint is that the bread roll is nowhere near as good as our baker's :)

The Unannotated Fuller Memorandum

2010-09-22T14:23:00.002+02:00

When I lived in Llanelli, its bountifully-stocked public library had a lot of Oxford Edition nineteenth-century novels. I read all of them. I loved the editions for their clarity, but even more for their explanatory notes. Satirical works in particular need a lot of notation if they are to survive beyond their immediate period: how can you appreciate them properly if you don't know what it is that they're mocking?

It strikes me that Charlie Stross' novels will need copious editorial help to be understood, say, thirty years from now. Currently I'm enjoying The Fuller Memorandum. Even apart from the mildly specialist ITgeek and mathmo content, it's scattered thickly with allusions to current environments and less current literature, and post-Industrial Revolution history. I happily pick up on "Person from Porlock" and various references to H. G. Wells' opera; I've seen extracts of Blavatsky and read Wheatley novels[0], and know enough 20th-century political history to follow the passages which deal with that; I get the joke about the weaver's son running off with a spinster called Jenny, and the faux-Pepysisms. It all adds to the richness and liveliness of the work. These references will probably still be known and understood in 2050 (well, apart from Wheatley), but what about the mention of C&A (already defunct in England) or the Cult of Jobs[1]?

And now I'm wondering if the novels would benefit from notes right now. What tasty titbits might have I missed?

[0] Yes, yes, poor taste: but I was only 12 or 13 at the time!
[1] In a hilarious couple of pages about buying a new phone, including a delicate swipe at the mobile phone industry and its main customer base.

Tweet squawk warble

2010-09-17T08:54:00.002+02:00

The garden is particularly full of birds this morning. I was a bit miffed that they got at the ripe strawberries and didn't leave any for my breakfast, but it's encouraging to see so many looking fat and healthy after the hard winter here and the problems that the migrants suffered in Africa.

There's a robin sitting on the gate, watching me through the window.

Randonnées

2010-09-17T08:37:00.004+02:00

There's a popular activity around here, known as Randonnée (rando for short). It's a group walk, hike, and/or ride-out (cyclists usually have detours on joint randos, otherwise they'd fall off their bikes trying to ride slowly all the way). Often they are "randonnées découvertes", which means there will interesting places to view or explore with guides who know about them.

Many of the towns and villages organise randonnées; St Dizant is about to join in. The first Saint Dizant du Gua rando découverte has been arranged for Tuesday 19 October, starting at 2pm and taking the afternoon over a route of 8-10 kilometres.

I wonder what they're going to explore, and what the take-up will be on a mid-week afternoon (though viticulturists may be free that week). If Broomstick's wheel has been repaired by then, I fancy tagging along.

Roadsights

2010-09-07T15:02:00.004+02:00

Last week the garagiste in Mirambeau took me to see a car for sale in Niort. We returned via the motorway; near Mirambeau he stopped in the entrance to an unlabelled little road, unlocked the barred gate which blocked it, and drove through, passing a small marble memorial shrine to those who died in a dreadful accident here on 10 November 1993. I looked it up: in fog, there was a crash involving 52 vehicles (including 6 lorries) which killed 15 people and injured 53 others. It's out of the way but is still decorated with flowers.

This morning's was a happier sight. A beautiful male marsh harrier rose from the verge at Les Carrières just as my car passed. They are massive close up!

Family visit

2010-09-02T16:59:00.001+02:00

Some of the family have been here for their first time.

They arrived last week just in time to go to the night market at Jonzac, outside the lovely Art Deco market building with the beautifully clean and refurbished church glowing in the evening sunlight. They scoffed oysters and went back for another lot, then we had various dishes from various stalls, as you do, and watched the Polynesian dancers every time they came to our end of the tables. I love this kind of atmosphere, where people are so friendly and complete strangers strike up conversations: two women from Paris who come to Jonzac for the cure every year assured me that it does all kinds of wonderful things; a couple from Flemish Belgium chatted for quite a while; random passing locals spoke to us, as well as a few near-neighbours from St Dizant with some recent gossip.

In between the dancing, the accordionists wandered around. The old man was much impressed by R's "24-heures Moto" t-shirt (they'd been to Le Mans on the way down here), and sang a few bars of something about a motard, followed by a quick blast of Smoke on The Water. Interesting, on an accordion. What a shame we weren't quick enough to record it. And then he tried some English pieces, so of course I warbled along with the few words I could remember of a Beatles' song. He clearly realised what type of voice I have and started up the Gounod Ave Maria, which was most odd to sing in such surroundings! The moon rose huge and golden, and we drove home by its light.

On Thursday we surveyed the estuary from Mortagne, then went to Meschers where $Visitors climbed down thousands of steps into the cave-dwellings and I went to the Plage des Nonnes, a pretty little beach. Later, at Talmont, the low tide revealed the small stony cove by the church of St. Radegonde where boats used to arrive, and we wandered around the dinky old village eating Amazing Ice-cream (huge scoops of ginger and lemon for me, utterly delicious, though next time I plan to get a ginger and dark chocolate combination). $Visitors would be leaving before Tuesday's candlelit tour of Talmont, so I've missed it again this year.

On Friday they went out on Le Saintongeais for a day-trip to the Médoc. It cheerfully blew up a small gale: watching the boat return across the currents into Vitrezay I was reminded of the ferry to Shapinsay crossing The String. They hadn't been impressed by a rather downmarket tourist-type château visit, but they made friends with the coach-load of French tourists.

That evening we sampled the new restaurant at the back of 1000 Frais et 1 Fred, the superette in St Dizant. The style is quaint, with random old furniture under a couple of large gazebos; the food is excellent at 18 or 20 euros for a 3-course meal with a drink.

On Saturday we ate meringue and more ice-cream at the teashop in Jonzac and looked around a brocante at Ozillac. I found some lovely old furniture being sold at lovely high prices by a friendly bloke who told me he's been single for two years and that, as a loss-leader, he'd knock 200 euros off the price of the antique chest-of-drawers I coveted, and then he'd search for other pieces to my specifications. I'd have been more tempted if he hadn't thrown in the personal information!

We went home via Le Doublon which was being set up for the monthly karaoke, leaving just as the singing started. Before leaving, however, we witnessed a wedding convoy going up the N730, the bridal couple lounging in a trailer decorated with giant sunflowers towed by a tractor making an astoundingly untractorly noise. The noise came from a horn salvaged from the little steam engine that used to run on the line which went through St Ciers du Taillon and St Dizant du Gua on the way to Royan. Damien-across-the-road had been working on it the previous weekend but I'd had no idea what it was or why; it certainly made a lovely racket.

On Sunday we turned up at La Daugaterie too late for lunch, so after $Visitors had been out for an afternoon ride on the Black Kwaka, we went back there for dinner. Again we were a little late, but M. Lollo welcomed us in. We overfed royally. By the time we'd halted over the inevitable ice-cream the place had emptied and it was long after closing-time, but he was clearly unconcerned: so much so that he brought over small glasses and a bottle of cognac, which $Visitors pronounced to be very good.

$Visitors have gone now. It was much fun, and I miss them!

Take the E Train

2010-08-25T10:12:00.003+02:00

As for returning by train, it was a perfectly lovely experience.

IMA couldn't book a train from UK so I did it myself, and rather more efficiently than they had on the London-bound journey, bless 'em, as they'd never booked wheelchair-space before and had simply ordered a leisure select ticket (expensive, and my seat had to be changed anyway).

The only trouble with booking wheelchair-space is that there aren't many per train (2 or 3) and they can refuse to let you travel on your chosen train if there are already the stipulated number of wheelchairs aboard. On the other hand, it's leisure select or premier only and it's at a lovely cheap price. I picked an unfrequented train to London just after rush-time; the staff at Ipswich were very pleasant and helpful and everything went smoothly.

The taxi between stations (wheelchair into underground does not go) was booked by IMA, and very silly it was too: a whole huge Mercedes minibus to myself. Pity about the noise from some local radio station playing through the flashy speakers.

It's the first time I've left from St Pancras International; I halted just inside, looking for signage. A lurking member of staff pounced. "Good morning! How are you today?" "Hello! Confused!" "Don't worry, you don't need to be confused, Hakim is looking after you." And so he did, taking my ticket and doing all the machine-necessities and guiding me through to baggage-scanning and passport control. With childhood experiences of travel lurking in my subconscious, I have to suppress an urge to tip, and I was reminded of my mother's shock and annoyance on her return to England to find that there were no porters on railway stations. Mama, they're back!

When I booked the Eurostar to Lille I'd gone for a cheap one, not just to save money but because they're usually less crowded. In fact, though the Paris train was packed out, this train to Bruxelles via Lille was not. I had an entire premier carriage to myself, with attendants who told me I could make as much noise as I liked, and then asked if I gave singing lessons ("Yes, but not in London, sorry."). They offered newspapers and drinks and magazines: I took The Economist and an orange juice (real squeezed orange juice) which was accompanied by a glass of water with lemon and ice. Lunch was delicious, the sort of thing that airline meals aspire to and miss.

You might think all this was horribly extravagant. It can certainly be expensive at peak times, even on the reduced take-your-own-chair fare. On this under-used businesspeople's train in August, it cost £33. Ahhh.

And then a taxi all the way to Wailly-Beaucamp, arranged by IMA. The driver also had some radio station blasting, and guess what: the first song was the same as the last song playing in the London taxi! It symbolised the whole joined-up journey.

M. Wallon, highly recommended

2010-08-25T09:55:00.005+02:00

It didn't go according to plan, but all is well now.

Eventually M. Wallon drove up to Boulogne to demand the Right Parts in person; he was unsuccessful and returned with the news that the parts could be another fortnight in arriving. He was due to take his annual holiday the following week, so it would mean at least another four weeks before the car was ready!

M. Wallon is a star. He went round the local breakers' yards and found almost all the necessary bits (though not a hubcap), and built it all. He also attempted to charge the battery three times, but it was dead; a new battery was obtained. He checked all the other wheels carefully and tightened up the other rear wheel which was also a bit loose (eek! doesn't bear thinking about), and pumped up the tyres which he said were very low. So much for getting the wheels and tyres checked in a tyre-place before I left England, eh?

He finished the repairs on the Friday evening before closing the garage until September. IMA called me to say they would book a flight to Paris for Monday, which I declined because it's a long way to Stanstead at this end and a long way from Paris at the other, and we agreed Tuesday by train. M. Wallon, fortunately for me, was holidaying at home. He came out to open up the garage specially. What a lovely man.

If you are ever in the southern Pas-de-Calais/Somme area and need some garage-y work done, it's SARL GUY WALLON, Agent Station Renault Elan, in Wailly-Beaucamp on the RN1. Say hello from me.

Not quite there and back again

2010-08-01T16:16:00.003+02:00

The parts arrived for the repair of the car, but they were the Wrong Parts.

Meanwhile, there was somewhat of a disaster in the family, and I was desperate to return to them. The breakdown company (Autonational Rescue), or rather the agents of their French counterpart (IMA) were wonderful, in particular Indra who was dealing with my case: she arranged for me to get back to England by taxis and trains, leaving the car with M. Wallon.

Family disasters have improved now, and, provided that the Right Parts have arrived chez M. Wallon, I should be able to collect the car next week and continue the interrupted journey to Charente Maritime.

Now, this accident report from for the insurance company... I don't suppose anyone knows the name of the tyre place in Norwich where I had the wheels and tyres checked before ALUG Narchpubmeet? No? And I didn't get the names of the gendarmes: not that they seemed at all worried about reports, so even if the insurance company try to contact them there may not be much information. I don't think they even asked for my name - they just sorted everything out and were hugely helpful and supportive and then disappeared like Lone Rangers.

Monday morning blues

2010-07-26T15:09:00.003+02:00

Wishing to get my hairbrush and some books, I asked about a taxi to the garage: 30 euros, and I have only 15 euros in cash. It seems there are no shops nearby and no cash machines. I think I can manage by combing my hair with the many-toothed hairclip, and reading the paperbacks in the bar.

So instead of travelling around in unattainable luxury, on the advice of M. Wallon I went to search for the wheel. It would save over 100 euros if I could find it. The tyre was almost new, too. I headed back up the RN1, looking over garden walls and knocking on the doors of houses alongside the road; talked to many people and even more dogs. Nobody had seen it. Nobody had heard anything around 3am on Sunday morning. Not even the dogs. Uncanny. People were very friendly, though, so it was a pleasant if unproductive few hours.

When I returned, the Ozzies were waiting outside the hotel with their bags. They are bored already and have decided not to wait for their car to be repaired. They tell me of a good restaurant by the golf course 500 metres down the road, but I'm too tired from wheeling up and down the hill between Nampont-St-Martin and Nempont-St-Firmin. They also tell me they had located wifi on the other side of the hotel dining-room, so I waved them goodbye and dashed off to fetch laptop and found that the dining-room is locked even though it's lunchtime: today I must be the only person who wanted to eat. I can easily do without a meal, but not finding the wifi was a real disappointment. Back to crappy daytime tv... but no! There is signal behind the dining-room under the trees!

So now we are up-to-date, and as it's started to rain on my keyboard I shall give up on this intermittent signal and go in search of some light literature.

Sleepy Sunday

2010-07-26T15:07:00.000+02:00

Having found the correct phone number for Autonational Rescue in France, I spoke to someone who was very helpful. Then I had to find out where my car had been taken. The breakdown-truck person turned out to be M. Wallon, whose garage is 7 kms back north on the RN1. It being Sunday, there's nothing much he can do yet.

I slept part of the day, chatted to people in the hotel and watched tv for the rest. Also at the hotel are three Australians whose car had broken down on the way to Calais. They're heading for Edinburgh where one of them is starting work next week; his partner has a job interview too.

The hotel is cheap-ish and comfortable and the staff are friendly, though the food is not up to usual French standards. The cheese in the salad was sliced plastic! What kind of clientele do they get?! There's no internet, and after many more phone calls it seems that I shall be here until Thursday. I should have picked up some of the books as well as the laptop.

Shall I ever get home?

2010-07-26T14:51:00.000+02:00

Just before reaching the Eurotunnel terminal there came a strange rattling noise from the back of the car. My first thought was "exhaust!" and the second was an even more worrying "wheel!". I got out and checked - they were all present and appeared to be correct. The car had an MOT and full service on 1 July, so I must be imagining problems. Surely it was more likely that the jampot and slow cooker had moved around in my less-than-perfect packing and were rattling against each other. As I drove away the noise had stopped, so I decided to re-pack when I stopped on the other side.

On the RN1 between Boulogne and Abbeville the sound re-commenced. It rapidly worsened as I braked carefully. The steering felt odd. No, the steering felt very bad indeed. The car swerved all over the road, there was a horrible scrunch, a show of sparks worthy of an Ooooh!, and a screeching noise like an angle-grinder in a temper. I watched in horror as the rear left wheel overtook the car and bounded down the hill, bouncing into a wall and disappearing, and fought the steering and brakes to come to a halt as close as possible to the side of the road (and on the road, rather than in the woods).

The first thing to do was call the police. I hadn't quite parked tidily. They asked all sorts of difficult questions, such as what kind of car: of course they didn't recognise "Vauxhall", and I couldn't remember what it is in not-UK. They also wished to know where the car was. I hauled Chariot out and wandered down the road with mobile phone against ear, looking for a roadsign. In the stress I couldn't even remember the word for roadsign to explain what I was doing. They clearly thought I was drunk or daft.

A passing car stopped and the two occupants offered help. The policeman told me to pass the mobile over to them. It didn't help at first because they didn't know exactly where we were, either, but one of them stayed with me and my mobile while the other drove down the road to check. They were wonderful, remaining with me until the police found us (about an hour later). I was glad of their hazard lights when Bloo's battery died while I was up the road, having left on the headlights as well as hazards. To pass the time they searched for the wheel, while I phoned my breakdown insurance company.

Phone calls to various numbers in different countries were entirely without success (in the dark I couldn't find the piece of paper with the correct number and none of the numbers on the booklet connected to anyone able to help), but the gendarmes had ordered a breakdown truck. While waiting, they looked for the wheel. Eventually the breakdown truck arrived. All three gendarmes and the truck driver looked for the wheel.

The car was dragged, shrieking and digging in its heels, onto the truck. I remembered that neither of the bags I'd grabbed out of the back contained my toothbrush so a gendarme climbed up and found it in another bag. The gendarmes had a discussion over what to do with me. At almost 5am and in mild shock, I'd have said yes to a cell, but one of them knew a hotel just down the road: he phoned up and arranged it all. It really was only just down the road, and they escorted me there on foot, got me and Chariot up the steps, picked up the key which had been left on the desk, and then carried Chariot upstairs. I refused to stay in Chariot while they did this, which seemed to offend their macho-ness a little but I'm sure they were secretly relieved. They came in to check that the room was ok, and moved furniture around to make it more accessible. They were marvellous. Such a shame I didn't find out who they were or even which gendarmerie, because they should be thanked properly. I'll have to ask the breakdown chap.

More by luck than anything else, my two bags contained toothpaste and clothes and debit card in addition to the mandatory random and unnecessary items (and the laptop, but that wasn't luck - of course I'd picked up the laptop bag). I'd remembered to hang on to the breakdown service booklet and to pick up the car information. However, I hadn't collected a hairbrush. That's going to hurt.

Eileen Poulter

2010-07-23T19:28:00.002+02:00

This morning I bade farewell to the Suffolk coast with a wander around Aldeburgh and up to Thorpeness. Seeing the House in the Clouds reminded me of the only time I've been inside it, which was for Eileen Poulter's 70th birthday celebration.

Eileen had a beautiful clear lyrical soprano voice, and her musicianship was astounding. She sang mainly early music, with the Deller Consort, the Purcell Consort of Voices, and with other singers like Janet Baker, Robert Tear and Ian Partridge. I was fortunate to have lessons with her for several years. She was very patient with me, although clearly unable to understand how I could fail to read the dots on sight, or be unaware of exactly how the music progressed through key changes without having to do the musical equivalent of counting on my fingers. Looking back at some of the things I achieved with her help I wonder if it was really me!

By the time of her 70th birthday she was already ill (she died not very long afterwards), and though she put together a marvellous programme and sang in a couple of ensemble pieces herself, she sang alto rather than soprano. It's one of the boasts of my life to say that I sang with her.

Dorkbot, Tim Hunkin, and Southwold

2010-07-20T11:17:00.000+02:00

Have you heard of Dorkbot? I managed to be in the right part of England to attend Dorkbot Anglia's first meeting. It was brilliant.

Inspired by the Great Hunkin's talk, I persuaded m'friend to go to Southwold Pier, which is a recently-constructed edifice following the time-honoured traditions of seaside holiday towns.

In the Under the Pier Show we had various adventures including travelling to the bottom of the sea via the Bathyscape, thumping bankers, and attempting to control fuel rods in the nuclear reactor. I cut a strand of hair and fed it to the Gene Forecaster, which calculated my expiry date as 2052; the 3D printout, when opened and eaten, left the message "YOU ARE HEADING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION", which was most reassuring.

The right direction was towards the Water Clock (which I consider equal to the Orloje of Prague). After the half-hourly mechanically marvellous display, we went to eat in the excellent restaurant with its view of the waves. The only disappointment was that the Micro Bandstand wasn't in use.

Dorkbot Anglia Two will be on Thursday 16 September at Snape Maltings, Suffolk, IP17 1SP.

I probably shan't be in England for it. Please go in my stead.

A sorry tail

2010-06-25T10:53:00.001+02:00

The half-grown lizard who lives behind the shutters of the window next to my computer-table is looking very unhappy. And tail-less. I hope it recovers quickly.

Fête de la Musique

2010-06-23T12:03:00.003+02:00

The Fête de la Musique is actually on 21 June, but as it fell on a Monday this year, many places had their celebrations on Sunday. The Arc en Ciel choir sang in a park in Jarnac-Champagne, next to a lovely little lake which helped the sound.

I missed Monday's rehearsal to go to the Fête de la Musique celebration in St Dizant's picnic area next to the little supermarket 1000 Frais et 1 Fred. Music was provided by Les Filadiers, the chantey group from St-Fort-sur-Gironde. The weather was still not good, but at least it didn't rain into the paella.

On the subject of paella, I'm allergic to shellfish so I'd phoned and asked if there was an alternative, to which the answer was no (they were catering for a huge crowd!) but Fred said the shellfish was being added at the end and she'd take out a plateful before the mussels and langoustines and giant prawns went in. Very kind of her, and I was pleased that she remembered in all the flurry.

I warbled along to all the chants marins, in vocalise because I didn't know the words, and eventually E-from-the-Welsh-valleys joined in. We finished the evening with M-f-t-W-v leading Cyfri'r Geifr, and E and I realising we couldn't remember the words of Calon Lân after the first two lines. A very jolly evening.

La Daugaterie again

2010-06-06T19:54:00.004+02:00

It was so hot on Saturday. In the morning I went to watch boats in the sailing festival at Port Maubert, but didn't last long there. On the way home over the marshes I passed the crêperie at Daugaterie and decided to stop for a cool drink. In the end I stayed for lunch, because their new 10-euro menu includes the drink, a galette (Breton, not Charentaise), and three scoops of ice-cream. How could I resist?

Last year was their first, and it appears to have been successful enough to allow Monsieur to leave his office job, so this year the restaurant is open every evening and most lunchtimes. He has spent the winter completing renovations and making alterations: notably the addition of a ramp and a new toilet, though he hasn't finished the path to the toilet yet. He assured me that it will soon have a properly Chariot-friendly entrance.

To ensure that guests are heard on arrival, there is also a new doorman. Monsieur recognised me and greeted me in English, and I replied in French. It seems more natural to me now.

The menu is much the same as last year, and excellent value. Look at the size of the galette!

There's a garden with trees, and a play area for children, too. I sat outside on the terrace under the gentle shade, though all the other diners had the sense to go inside. I looked in, but forgot to take a photo of the lovely stone-walled dining-room.

We had some brief unscheduled entertainment when a queen hornet popped in for a visit. Monsieur chased it round the garden with a large container of insecticidal spray, to which it appeared impervious.

Then I drove slowly home in the sleepy afternoon heat, watching for herons and other wildlife on the marsh.

Sun and frolics

2010-06-04T18:18:00.002+02:00

Summer activities have begun. Tomorrow there's a regatta at Port Maubert, on Sunday a regional festival at Clion; the Musical Thursdays (classical concerts in churches) started this week. Everything in Jonzac is open and busy with events and tours and talks and bands in the streets. There are brocantes and street fairs all over the place: even our little hamlet is holding a street party.

Soon it will be la Fête de la Musique and I shall miss all the local musicking because my choir, Arc en Ciel, has gigs in Jarnac-Champagne. Super!

You can now pass the salt cedar

2010-05-31T16:33:00.003+02:00

The Dreaded Tamarisk (aka salt-cedar, a vigorous weed of a tree) has been trimmed down so that it is no longer a danger to traffic in the lane.

M'neighbour Denis cut the branches with an enormous evil-looking machete, and he did much of it by climbing into the tree and hacking from the inside. I couldn't watch and am very relieved that it is over. He's a tough old bird, but I'm nervous about watching people climbing around with sharp implements even if they aren't in their late 80s. Anyway, he did a lovely job.

Tunnels

2010-05-20T11:39:00.002+02:00

I wonder if Timeteam would come to France?

The limestone of this area has many natural caves, some of which were inhabited millennia ago. In medieval times they were extended for storage, or refuge during times of war, but a few were used as tunnels connecting the big houses and châteaux.

Ginette has been to look at the "souterrain" (cavern or tunnel) which runs under the south-east of Le Rivalard. There is an opening into it from the Magisters' house (now uninhabited); it's very deep and in poor condition, but one can see into it when the sun is setting. I would love to see it but she says it's full of, and surrounded by, rubbish and there's no path for Chariot. She was told about the souterrain many years ago by her sister-in-law, but there was no way of getting to it while the house was lived in. Now that it's empty and some of the old agricultural junk has been removed, the opening is visible: she is very excited that the story is true. It appears to be a genuine tunnel, with straight walls heading directly under her house.

She thinks that the tunnel connected the Château Bardine (now a ruin) and the Château de Beaulon or perhaps the mansion at Les Justices, and possibly went as far as Château du Tirac. However, both Beaulon and Bardine are well to the north of Le Rivalard, so perhaps there is a whole network of tunnels like those under St-Fort-sur-Gironde, 6 miles away, and Floirac.

There doesn't seem to be much written history of this area, apart from the records of the Château de Beaulon, and the people who know are dying out. Hm, a project...

Lizards and replantings

2010-05-17T16:20:00.003+02:00

The geckos are out! I'm not sure how many because they appear one at a time, running from left to right across the windowsill. Perhaps it is finally summer.

I've been cutting roses from the big bush in the pot by the door, to reduce it: it's so top-heavy that it might fall over - twice as big as it was last year. It really should be in the ground rather than a pot, but I don't know if it's possible to replant it.

Another thing which needs replanting is the cotoneaster between the Alexandra roses and the eastern wall. It's in an awkward place, not even against the wall but stuck out in the route from the summer kitchen to the garage. I don't like cotoneasters much anyway - I wonder if someone would like to give it a home?

Two days and nights in Prague

2010-05-12T21:12:00.004+02:00

Prague was alternately very pretty and rather depressing. The touristy areas are lovely; around them are banks and offices which are much the same as banks and offices anywhere, but between those are scruffy narrow streets inhabited by depressed-looking people smoking cheap cigarettes. Typical city, I suppose.

Easter celebrations were over and the market was being taken down when I arrived, so all I saw was the ribbon-decorated tree. It wasn't full tourist season but there were quite a few, and school groups everywhere.

The hotel was comfortable and the staff very friendly and helpful. Broomstick picked up a drawing-pin and lost all the air from one tyre; I asked at reception if there was a bike-repair place nearby and was told not to worry: the hotel technician would fix it. He did a perfect job, and it's still going.

I saw a direction sign for a museum and followed it, but couldn't find the museum, though I did see plenty of trams and made a surreptitious detour through the archway of interesting old building which looked like an art centre: I was shooed out of it before I could find out what it was (to my shame I hadn't learned more than two words of Czech before getting into the country!). So I went window-shopping and didn't buy anything, mainly because the most interesting things in the shops were crystal and garnets and amber. I love all of those, but the crystal might not have survived the journey and I really don't need any jewellery. Really. Anyway, this trip was already expensive enough, but if/when I go back to Prague I'll get some crystal for my daughter.

There are many small concerts all over the city, and I was slightly tempted, but having spent a week making music I didn't feel a need to sit and listen to other people doing it (of course, if I'd found a session, that would have been different). The jazz band playing next to the vintage cars (for tourist-trips) was too good to pass, though.

As well as vintage cars, there are horse-carriages in which to ride around the city. All those cobbles must be dreadful for the horses: they slip even though they wear special clogs over their shoes. I've never seen horses in high heels before.

Old Prague is beautifully looked after and very full of camera-clicking: I didn't bother taking my camera out, thinking there will be better photos on the web, so the snaps are from the less-good mobile phone. As well as the hordes of young students on school-trips, mainly from Germany, there were some Brits who had planned around the school holidays, and quite a few others, enough to fill the night market. A troupe of football supporters passed by, waving scarves and shouting rather aggressively, followed by an almost equal number of police who were looking relaxed and chatting happily.

My favourite construction was the old Charles Bridge (well of course, it's a bridge!)

I had lunch in the Orloje (clock) cafe which is right next to the clock so it has a good view of what happens on the hour. Not quite as impressive as Rouen, I think, but amusing all the same. And of course there was Cake.

Buildings of Görlitz, sorrow of Poland, south towards Prague

2010-04-23T17:24:00.004+02:00

I was sad to leave the music and HMV, but excited at the thought of my first visit to Prague.

Monica advised me to detour to Görlitz on the way to Prague. It didn't get bombed, and Monica told me that the people there liked their Jews and protected them, so not even the synagogue was damaged (Monica has plans for that synagogue). However, the inhabitants have been just as assiduous as Dresdeners in renovating their elegant buildings, and the city is a wonderful sight.

Görlitz is on the Polish border, so I drove over the river into Zgorzelec, which though it is only on the other side of a narrow stretch of water is a different, less affluent and rather depressed town. The main roads at frontiers have signs about national speedlimits; this one has a sign in three languages. In English of a sort it instructed me to keep DAYLIGHTS on at all times. I'm not sure what daylights are, and decided headlights on dipped beam are the most likely. Cue my usual rant about translations in the wrong direction. In this area there are probably fewer English-speakers to ask, but perhaps it's an American term.

I stopped for lunch at a cafe which was sadly empty and had the news running on the radio. Though I only know one word of Polish, the topic was clearly the return of the bodies of the government leaders who had died in the plane crash. The staff and few customers were sombre but didn't seem terribly upset. Perhaps they are far from the hysterical cities and less concerned about the inevitable political changes.

Getting food was interesting, unprepared as I was for a visit to Poland. I had no idea of the exchange rate. The menu showed photos of the main dishes, which helped a little, but I still didn't know what the protein ingredient was as they all seemed to be frittered. In the end I flapped my arms and made a noise like a chicken, which successfully ordered a lightly-spiced chicken breast in breadcrumbs with sauteed potatoes and salad. Nicely cooked and very tasty. The tea was excellent, served with lemon. When it came to paying, there was a momentary panic: the waitress refused the card! And I only had a 5-grozny piece once acquired in change and kept in the car for no particular reason. When she accepted euros, I realised why no card: the bill came to less than 7 euros.

The road south follows a small river with fields on each side. Along the bank at intervals there are poles stuck in the ground: those on this side are painted in red and white stripes and on the opposite bank they are red, black, and yellow. The river is narrow enough for a strong long-jumper to leap, and would be easy to swim. To someone who has always lived near the sea, land frontiers seem very artificial and curiously silly.

The road wandered through another small patch of Germany before entering the Czech Republic, each time passing the deserted remains of frontier guard-houses, creating a strangely mixed feeling of ominous echoes and hope. In contrast, the landscape was utterly lovely: forested and mountainous and serene.

Dresden, music, friends

2010-04-16T16:59:00.001+02:00

I drove right through Dresden to get to the Brücke-Most Zentrum where the singing workshops were being held and the singers were staying. Fortunately the traffic was slow and there are plenty of traffic lights, so I could look around. Cobbled roads are not pleasant with narrow tyres. Poor Bloo bounced around like a cat on tacks.

The houses are fascinating: each one is a slightly different shape, and the colours of the walls are many and varied. Some are villas; some look like minor castles. Many of them have added pieces on the corners, as if bay fronts had migrated to the sides. Of course, most of Dresden was destroyed in retaliation for the bombing of Coventry; now they are twin towns. One can't help thinking that, in the end, Dresden has been more fortunate in not being able to rebuild until more recently. Coventry suffered from the post-war backlash against history, whereas Dresden is being restored. There are modern blocks of flats too, but it's wonderful to see once-lost buildings such as the Frauenkirche rise anew.

The Brücke-Most Zentrum is often used for music projects, and boasts not only a grand piano in the Art Deco sitting-room, but a harpsichord. They'd recently had a project on the experiences of Jews in the Dresden and Czech border area, producing a set of photographs with attached stories which were both saddening and uplifting.

As usual, the music ranged the centuries and included pieces related to where we were, in this case by Czech composers. Martinu lived for some time in Basel where he was very homesick, and his memories of Czech folksongs resulted in the composition of a set of "madrigals" which are lovely. Unfortunately Monica had only been able to get the sheet music with a German translation which, as she said, demonstrated why one should always sing a text in the original language. We also had two songs by Dvorak in Czech, which was a first for me and actually easier to sing than German.

Each morning was entirely taken up with singing, and a couple of hours in the afternoon or evening as well, but there was free time to spend with HMV who came to stay for three days. She toured the city while I was rehearsing, and then we wandered around (talking all the time) and ate cake in a different place every day. We also sampled chocolate at a chocolatier's, where there was a remarkable display including a plaster hat with chocolate decorations of ribbons and roses! Several times we went out with some of the other singers, English people who live in Basel; on one of the trips we found a lovely cafe with a terrace by the river and an attractive range of cakes. Sadly we didn't taste the cake, because after about half an hour of trying to get service from three staff who didn't seem to be doing much, we left and went instead to the cafe-bakery across the road. The view there wasn't so good but the service was excellent and so was the cake.

It being just after Easter, many smaller trees were hung with painted eggs; so was the fountain outside the church in Bad Schandau where we performed a small concert on Saturday. Bad Schandau has experienced serious flooding over the centuries, but as with the Gironde it's happening more frequently now. The worst was in 2002: there are photographs of the flooded town decorating church and restaurants and offices all over the town.

Sometime I shall upload a few photos.

East to Dresden

2010-04-09T15:05:00.000+02:00

The route east from Hofheim goes via Frankfurt's maze of autobahns, so for a while I saw only roadsigns and cars.

On through Germany, and past a terrain of steeply rounded hills, many of them with a castle on top, glaring across the valley at its neighbours. Lunch was in a roadside restaurant where I'd intended to have just a snack but was pounced on by a lovely friendly counter-staffperson who turned waiter and happily explained what was in in each dish. Besides, the food smelled wonderful and was surprisingly cheap.

I didn't find a wheelchair-accessible hotel on the road near Dresden, and stayed in the car. It was cold. Early in the morning I drove on and soon saw a restaurant next to a wheelchair-friendly motel: if only I'd known! Breakfast there was 4.80 euros for two half-somethings of bread with a choice of toppings, a boiled egg, orange juice and coffee - a bargain.

Morning in the Haus der Andacht

2010-04-09T09:10:00.001+02:00

The road to the Haus der Andacht goes through a large though pleasant suburban housing estate, so it's quite a contrast when one arrives there to see the gardens and the calm building with a view of the mountains. The exterior isn't as pretty or ornate as some other Houses of Worship, but inside is so light: it glows with peace. The dome of a House of Worship has such an amazing effect on the feel and sound of the interior.

After spending a while inside, I went to the other building - reception, library/bookshop, and offices. People had arrived from various parts of the world (mainly Europe, of course) including a Czech couple who visit every two months. We were all offered tea and very good biscuits, and I acquired a few books.

Road-ghosts

2010-04-05T09:30:00.000+02:00

The road-ghosts appear after Montluçon. Those around Montluçon stand upright with a jagged flash running down through the head; further east and north the images have a hanging head: such simple designs, but clearly portraying dead bodies with a powerful effect of dejection, mourning and despair. In daylight they are disturbing; at night they are frightening. I wonder if their impact is the one intended. Boy racers probably don't even give them a glance. Those of delicate sensibilities, seeing the images loom suddenly in the headlights, are more likely to be shocked into coming off the road.

Through France to Germany

2010-04-04T23:16:00.000+02:00

This spring the Monica Buckland singing week(end) is in Dresden. It's my first visit to Dresden, or indeed to that side of Germany. Though I tried hard to book train tickets, the system defeated me. I can do French trains, but I couldn't understand how to book wheelchair space on the German-run night train from Paris. It involves a call-centre. 'nuff said, sadly.

Anyway, if I had to drive I was going to make it more than just Dresden, so the plan was to tour a pretty part of the mountains in eastern France and visit the Baha'i Haus der Andacht in Langenhain-Hofheim near Frankfurt.

It was fortunate I'd decided to book a room in Chalon sur Saône rather than Besançon, because the rain and spray made the last part of the journey very slow and very tiring. Also, I'd not taken into account how early it goes dark this far east. The hotel Première Classe was fairly cheap, adequately kitted (though no showergel and drinks only from a vending machine), clean, warm, with a very cheap breakfast but no wifi. This was a good thing because I went to sleep instead of messing about online.

Today I wandered off the motorway via Baume les Dames along the Doubs river, among the mountains, in bright sunshine. The river is very high, and was making a lovely noise over the weirs. On the route north-east of Besançon, as you enter Alsace, there is a big sign marking the frontier between the North Sea and the Mediterranean, which caused a "what?! oh, yes" moment.

I planned to go further north on the western side of the Rhine and cross at Strasbourg, because the scenery is prettier and it meant spending longer where I can read the signs and talk to people. However, ViaMichelin and Google wanted me to go up the east side, and when GarminBot started pestering for it too, I gave in and headed for Freiburg. This meant I passed by the dam and HEP plant near Marckolsheim, which is decorated with nekkid ladies pretending to be Rhinemaidens. Apart from the dam the scenery was indeed rather boring, and the Autobahn much more crowded than French Autoroutes. This crowdedness was probably the reason for an extremely tedious and delaying set of blockages in roadworks: it was so like UK that I had to check whether to be on the left or right. The driving is generally quite neat though very fast and far too close together. I thought that with the 100mph vrooming, fuel must be cheaper than France, hence was shocked to be charged 1.53 euros per litre for petrol.

Eventually I arrived in the Taunus after dark and got very lost. Most of the time GarminBot was lost too. Now I'm tucked up in the Ramada which was the only hotel I could find without steps: it's not a bad price for the room, but I shan't be eating here! The wifi is also rather expensive, but I succumbed.

Raining like it was England

2010-03-31T15:14:00.002+02:00

Yesterday it was very windy.
Today it rains.
Where is Summer?

Yesterday was another very high tide, along with the wind. There has been work on strengthening and raising dykes since Xynthia, and as far as I know there were no big disasters.

Christian the butcher, in his shop at the gate, was discussing the unusually miserable weather. I mentioned driving to Dresden next week to sing with the marvellous Monica Buckland: he said I'm going in the wrong direction for the sun, and I should re-plan the trip. Then he asked how the weather is in England, where I shall be going next. Apparently it's snowing again there.

Well, the weather in Dresden may be cool but the welcome of the other singers will be warm, and the music will be magnificent.

Singing in Saint-Maurice-de-Tavernole

2010-03-28T18:30:00.005+02:00

Saturday's Arc en Ciel concert (pre-gig report here) was in an interesting venue: the church of Saint-Maurice-de-Tavernole, a very small town east of Jonzac. The church was demolished in the big storm of 1999 and rebuilt in the same style, so it looks like a very spruce medieval building, much as it might have appeared when first constructed except for the beautifully-coloured frescos which are decidedly modern post-impressionist. Unfortunately I didn't have a camera and can't find any photos online. It's a simple rectangular shape in the same kind of stone as my house, but with white rendering, beautiful deep arched windows with stained glass, and a dinky square bell-tower. The interior is how I imagine the Atelier would look (minus frescos unless perhaps we run a painting workshop), if I can afford to have it done.

The town has about 100 inhabitants; there were about 80 people in the audience. So different from the turn-out for a small-town English concert! They were enthusiastic, too, but we only sang one encore.

Mauricette, a soprano who comes from Oléron area hit by Xynthia, managed to organise a collection for the oyster...um, what is the word in English... anyway, the oysters weren't affected but the ostréiculteurs lost their boats and equipment in the storm and high tide. After the concert the mayor of the little seaside town to which the money is being donated gave an almost tearful speech, and people signed concert flyers with encouraging messages to go to the ostréiculteurs. I've done fund-raising gigs many times, but this was curiously immediate.

The wine and cake partying was still going when the three of us from St Genis/Lorignac/St Dizant left.

At last!

2010-03-22T10:16:00.000+01:00

Woken just after 7 by the birds doing a full-chorus Hymn to the Sun. At 8:30 was hanging out the washing in warm sunshine. Sky is fierce blue. All windows are open (I warily listen for the approach of loud buzzing). Nectarine blossom is bursting, wildflowers bright everywhere and the grass is a foot higher than it was yesterday.

Here comes summer.

Checking the Estuary

2010-03-21T13:44:00.002+01:00

The little ports are looking a bit muddy and bedraggled and some houses had recent repairs to the roofs, but there didn't seem to be too much damage. Around here the houses are mostly out of reach of the highest tides. However, at the Port du Charon where my favourite carrelets (fishing huts on stilts) are... well, they are no longer. Only the ancient one that reminds me of the Flying Dutchman is still much the same; most of the others are reduced to poles sticking out of the mud. The newly-painted one with the curtains is completely gone; the one where we watched the the fisherman pull his lunch out of the sea and slap it on a barbecue is still there in part, looking very sad.

Even the area where I usually park is no longer usable because its sheltering stone wall is scattered around. Two disconsolate fisherman were wandering around it, examining the wrecks and reporting on a mobile. By the end of the call they seemed to gather some energy and purpose and stomped off in a determined fashion, giving me hope that the huts will rise anew very soon.

Buzzing, blooming, warbling

2010-03-16T15:30:00.003+01:00

At last Spring is etcetera, tra-la. In the bright sunlight the land looks strangely drab without its usual March display of leaf and blossom, but no doubt it will rush to catch up.

It's warm outside, bees are getting into the house, and it's almost time to look for mosquito-nets. Birds are warbling their nesting-songs; the redstarts are back on the terrace shouting "Get Orf Moy Lahnd!" every time I go into the kitchen.

A snake has sloughed by the steps outside my bedroom.

Godin flames

2010-03-12T12:04:00.001+01:00

Photos of the new woodburner

Ipswich to Newcastle, the wet route

2010-03-12T11:09:00.002+01:00

I'm a fan of the Curiosity Collective, and am happily followiing their adventures in walking from Ipswich to the Maker Faire via the Netherlands. Google does love its ferry routes.

Stars and sea

2010-03-09T14:42:00.003+01:00

Last night was cold again, though unlike the south-east there was no snow. The sky was completely clear. On the way home from rehearsal I stopped the car in the vineyards and turned off the lights, to look at the mass of stars without getting frozen.

On Sunday Ginette went to Port Maubert (5 miles away) to see how the flood is receding. This stretch of coast didn't get into the tv reports because no-one died, but the water came right up into the houses. It wasn't so serious here, as there are no houses right on the sea's edge. The marsh was completely under water, and the roads to the ports were impassable: roads and ports are still being drained.

Is that a daffodil I see?

2010-03-02T15:12:00.002+01:00

I'm sitting on the front steps and can't see the laptop screen for the bright light. It's warm! It's Spring! The forecast is back-to-winter at the weekend, so I'm not leaving this patch of sunlight until it leaves me.

Rant

2010-03-02T12:55:00.002+01:00

There's a lot of discussion on the news reports about the flooding in the Vendee where people drowned.

It seems incomprehensible that sea-marsh should be used for building in an area with so much land (and so many empty houses just inland, both in towns and hamlets). Apparently the mayor was put under pressure by developers - no surprise there - but also by his electorate. People wanted a pretty little villa by the sea. It's not as if they had no choice about where to live.

There will probably be stronger rules and legislation in future so that mayors and planning committees will be supported in refusals. Meanwhile, so many people have died and so many more are still in difficulty, and of course there has been all the risk to those who work in the emergency services. Imagine being out in that storm in a helicopter, trying to rescue people from roofs.

The cost to the country is huge, and next there will be the insurance claims and consequent rise in everyone's premium, so we'll all share a little of the damage. I wonder if there will be any attempt to take back their profits from the developers?

Educating people in better risk assessment wouldn't be a bad plan, either.

Wind, floods, and Ryanair

2010-02-28T14:31:00.004+01:00

That was quite a storm[0]. We're alright in Le Rivalard, though power was off for about five hours. Some of the ports are flooded, as it co-incided with a very high tide, and at least one main road is blocked.

While checking the news I noticed that Ryanair are dumping their flights to Angoulême, after only two years. My first reaction was disbelief and regret. The staff at the tiny airport were so keen and helpful, it was a pleasure to go there and so different from the dreadful experience provided by big airports. Without the London route, will they survive?

On the other hand, Ryanair manages to provide a poor experience even from a good airport (they are certainly the worst for wheelchair users). Perhaps a better cheapo airline will take over.

[0] Its name was Xynthia. Rather too pretty a name, methinks.

Flash, bang, drench

2010-02-26T11:54:00.003+01:00

The first of the spring storms arrived yesterday evening, with winds gusting to 120 km per hour and crashing thunder. It came from the south-west, hitting the side of the house with the most windows, screaming through all the chinks in the shutters and slamming rain onto the walls and roof. At one point the big shutters on the main door were wrenched open. I managed to get them closed, though one of the fastenings is broken. It was very wet out there, but also quite warm - not, however, warm enough to dance in.

There was only one very brief power outage. I kept a torch with me and lit some candles, remembering last year's massive storm and the night without electricity. It wasn't that bad, but I was nervous.

From hearth to stove

2010-02-25T12:30:00.000+01:00

The fire has eaten rather a lot of wood this winter, for little result except warm roof tiles around the chimney. It was a pity to lose the open fire, but the second-hand Godin woodburner looks much better than expected now it's been cleaned up, and it fits the space very well. Though not a very powerful model, it produces enough heat to warm the kitchen. Now that there isn't a big draught through the salle as air rushes up the chimney, it's warmer in there too. It should also be adequate for simmering stews.

I'm not losing the grate: the plan is to put it up in the rehearsal room, with a hood. Unfortunately the lovely backplate (which is said to have come from a local chateau) is mostly covered by the woodburner. Ah well, it's a small sacrifice to be warm.

Back in Charente Maritime

2010-02-19T12:07:00.000+01:00

Kent was quite snowy and there were traces of snow on the verges in northern France: the temperature was below zero, so I stayed on the motorway more than usual. With the morning, further south, it became much warmer. I drove through a lot of rain and some sunshine. Finally in Charente Maritime: bright sun and the car thermodisplay reading 13! Garden full of noisy birds, roses and trees in bud.

It's been very cold here, though, and the stone walls had chilled right down. I left the doors open to warm the house a little, until sunset when the clear sky began to let the heat out of the world.

The new pantry shelves look good, and it's amazing how all the heaped clutter is now arranged tidily with plenty of space left for jamjars. The stone walls upstairs are also lovely now that the old cement has gone, and the light-coloured rendering looks so serene.

Downside: stone-dust and sawdust everywhere, which will take days to clean up. I've made a start on clearing a path to the sink and cooker; next will be the job of emptying some ash so I can light the fire. Brendan brought some logs in, which was helpful, but he left all the ash from his fires and the pan is completely full! And then to clean the mould from the fridge: I forgot to put a note on it to say the door needed to be left open. Oops.

Must get the walls warmed before the weekend, because the forecast is cold again.

I love windmills

2010-02-12T20:00:00.002+01:00

For the second time this month I drove south on the A12 through Lowestoft. I was previously unimpressed by Lowestoft. I thought it had a rather nasty feel and a very unfortunate appearance. Last week it surprised me; this week I checked carefully... and yes, it was still pretty.

Some of the improvement may be because it looks more open: at some points you can see the sea, and Lowestoft's beaches have always been among the best in the area. Quite a lot was owing to two sights in particular. As you come into the town there is a cleanly gleaming white lighthouse looking like a huge cake decoration. Soon after that, as the road sweeps past the first sight of the waves, there is an even bigger mobile sculpture, moving gracefully and majestically above the barely-noticeable squat stolidity of the port buildings. Beautiful.

Trains

2010-02-12T15:13:00.003+01:00

The report on Wot Went Wrong with the Eurostar reminds me of the railway journey I took with my ozzie sister in 1999.

For a treat, we booked first-class on the Tilt Train, a super high-speed stylish machine which does the east-coast run from Brisbane to Cairns. The train, especially the first-class carriage, was very plush and done out like an aeroplane - between the films there was a map display showing where we'd got to, though the picture from the cams mounted on the engine was more interesting.

Being February, it was quite warm. A couple of hours up the coast, the power suddenly went off. Everything died: engine, aircon, lights, door controls, the lot. A guard came through, forcing open the door into the carriage, and asked if someone would lend them a mobile phone because the radio was off too, and the driver needed to contact traffic control to stop the train behind us before there was a very nasty accident. Then the train staff went through with crowbars and opened the external doors so we could get some air.

Apparently this had happened several times before, and was caused by the train overheating. Nothing could be done except wait until it cooled and would start again. It was close to 40C, so cooling took a few hours. We shared any food and drink we could find, made fans out of magazines, and hoped the loos would be back in operation soon. The adventurous or desperate climbed down and investigated the spindly bushes.

At least we weren't in a tunnel.

Snow! More snow!

2010-02-10T13:19:00.000+01:00

It's very pretty out there, with sunshine on the snow.

I usually listen to Radio 3 in the car. On long journeys or difficult days the traffic-news-interruption is on, even though they can be quite irritating, especially when they aren't turned off at the end of the report and instead of that delicate and intricate Renaissance piece you have a few moments of aural insult before crossly locating the right buttons.

Today it was the opposite problem. Suffolk Radio's turn-it-off was clearly on a timer: every time the traffic news came on, the long list of roads blocked by jack-knifed lorries and overturned cars got only part-way through before returning me to Radio 3.

Sheffield

2010-02-02T14:51:00.000+01:00

Sheffield is a curious place: a mix of grand Victoriana and crumbling warehouses, with the usual depressed-town plethora of unused buildings and empty shops between yuppy multi-apartment blocks decorated with huge adverts for the unwanted flats. Lots of student-y things to do and live gigs, but horrible loud muzak in all the shops and cafes. The trams are lovely, though.

Between the buildings you catch glimpses of snowy hills. Where I used to visit some years ago, I was surprised to discover that if you didn't turn right from the front door, but went left up the hill, instead of being amid little houses and scruffy shops and traffic you found yourself on the moors.

In the summer I plan to visit the Town Hall, of which there are free tours (don't know how wheelchair-friendly).

And then, if I come here in December... the Carols in their natural habitat! Provided one can even get into the pubs now that people know about them.

Cheshire churches and horses

2010-01-23T23:33:00.001+01:00

My friend Lesley, who had a background in social history research, got me hooked on following the clues of census and register. I discovered that some of my great-grands came from Cheshire. As I'm currently visiting friends there it was interesting to take a look at the hills and trees and old cottages which they may have known, and more particularly to explore Over St. Chad, the church where my great-great-grandmother and her siblings were baptised and where her mother's family are, presumably, buried. The church itself was locked and all I could do was look at the outside and peer in through some windows, which was a shame because it has some interesting stained glass and lovely arches.

It was cold, so after a little while we went to find somewhere to eat. On the way to Tarporley there was a sign for Cotebrook Shire Horse Centre, complete with cafe. Perfect. Excellent food and lots of animals - we saw horses of course, various birds including huge geese, pigs, and small friendly black sheep which I wanted to take home. It was too cold to go searching for the red squirrels, and the otters weren't out. Next time.

Starry

2009-12-17T11:31:00.004+01:00

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

2009-12-16T16:05:00.005+01:00

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

2009-12-13T09:57:00.001+01:00

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

2009-12-05T11:17:00.003+01:00

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

2009-11-29T18:10:00.002+01:00

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

2009-11-24T11:20:00.003+01:00

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

2009-11-21T16:20:00.004+01:00

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

2009-11-17T12:01:00.003+01:00

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

2009-10-26T13:42:00.004+01:00

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

2009-10-21T18:25:00.001+02:00

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

2009-10-20T11:43:00.002+02:00

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

2009-10-16T18:01:00.003+02:00

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

2009-10-12T09:42:00.004+02:00

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

2009-09-18T14:49:00.002+02:00

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

2009-09-07T23:08:00.002+02:00

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

2009-09-05T21:13:00.003+02:00

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

2009-09-04T11:18:00.003+02:00

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

2009-08-31T22:47:00.002+02:00

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.