Jill, look away now!

I really don't think the French 'get': "I'm taking photos of spiders". I think all the words add up, and make a sentence that says 'Maria is taking photos of spiders'. but I think it loses a lot in translation!

M. Torelli seemed bemused when he came to fetch me to ask a question, and I was upside down in a lavender bush with my camera.

However, for those of you who do 'get' it, here's a pic of a chap [chapess?] whose web I inadvertently destroyed whilst I was trying to rejuvenate the very dilapidated clump of lavender.

M. Torelli has arrived

I asked him if he'd had a good holiday...

Turns out he hasn't been, yet.

So why did we have to wait four weeks for him to come and do the day and a half left to finish the job?

I really don't understand the mentality behind that.

Quite happy now that David hasn't sent him a cheque!

Well, if we have to wait needlessly, I don't see why he shouldn't have to...

OK, on our part it's the poor service we are receiving from Royal Mail's mail redirection service that caused a delay in us receiving his invoice, but on his part, I'm just mystified.

He's going to speak to the supplier about the pedestal for the basin; on having a better look, the fissure is actually about 8" long. I'm going to be really unhappy if his solution is just to smear some porcelain repair over it.

Hmmm.

M. Torelli DID email us

But as it was nearly 8pm UK time (so 9pm here), I'd already shut my computer down by then.

He's (allegedly) coming this afternoon and tomorrow.

As I will have a cheque for him, it's in his interest for him to show!

Good news

Obviously I have to check it out, but I've just had Claire and Marianne here, and was showing them the bedroom and bathroom [which they think are lovely], and saying that we needed to wait for the plastering to be done before the room will be finished...

They reckon that with the placo, you only need to sand down the plaster covering the joints/screw holes and apply a coat of undercoat and then you can paint or paper it straight away.

Marianne said she's helped Loïc and Guinelle do just that in their homes.

I do hope that's so in our case! [I'm currently having a horror that we have "special" plasterboard that needs plastering before it can be painted...]

I'm not sure who to ask, but I'll find someone.

The general feeling is that plasterboard no longer needs to be plastered, and that Jean-Marie was probably just looking to line his pockets further...

So it looks as though most of the finishing is in my capability.

Yay!

And I think I would regain some of my enthusiasm for decorating if it was to finish off our home for us, rather than to make a place attractive for sale or rent.

I'm sure David has mentioned some lime-based paint that goes straight onto plasterboard...

*Goes off, muttering to self, to look things up on t'internet*

Thank goodness that's done, part 2!

The first lot of vendangeurs have finished their harvest: we've just had a succession of cars go through the village, all tooting on their horns. I suspect they will be back later; normally one go is not enough!

I don't think it's Claire's lot; they promised to come and toot by the house when they were done, so I have that to look forward to.

At least the last few days have been much better for them: we've had the sort of warm (not boiling hot) sunny days that make working outside a pleasure.

[Which has probably added to my grumpiness at being inside, scrubbing!]

Thank goodness that's done!

I've finally finished cleaning the gunk off the tiles in the bathroom - it looks really nice.

It didn't honestly look bad before (just kind of dingy, somehow), but now that everything is shiny, it looks gorgeous!

OK, so it's taken me the best part of four days, but I'm never going to have to do that again; a spring clean is going to be a breeze in comparison.

Still thinking strongly about importing an English tiler (Grant's guy sounds brilliant, and will travel) for the future, and seeing if Henri will travel from the Dordogne; Karen says he's happy to do plumbing for people and earn a bit of extra money in his holidays, so who knows?

Needless to say, M. Torelli's promise to email and let me know whether he is coming tomorrow or Thursday hasn't materialised; and don't think it's because he works till 6pm like my dad used to - he's normally finished by 4pm or 4.30 at the latest.

Ho, hum.

David spoke to M. Torelli

He bought the taps (without consulting us) because with our water pressure he believes the thermostatic valve will be better.

Oh, well, he's managed to charge us an extra €600 or €700 (on which he will make a small profit), but has talked himself out of installing the pump (on which he would probably make a similar profit, but then have his time on top) that he was telling us about!

He's also probably set me off looking for another plumber for the next time we want some work done [which might be the filtration system he recommended or the pump]; I really struggle to work with someone who makes a decision for me without consulting me because it's "best".

If I'm going to have to accept a compromise, at least let me know in advance, don't just force it on me and expect me to be happy.

We have coped with a non-thermostatic shower for the last six and a half years, and would have liked the chance to try the one we wanted. NOT being allowed to try what we want, means I will be thinking that I'd like to try a different plumber next time!

He told David that he has some repair kit for mending the cracked column; I am REALLY unhappy about that idea - if it has enough of a fault that it cracks during firing, it is not a strong item. Had we been charged seconds price for a flawed item, I might feel differently, but coming from near The Potteries, I resent being charged full price for something a reputable factory would have probably smashed.

I can remember why I hate dealing with French workmen: it seems to sap my energy without ever achieving anything. Next time I don't think I'm going to let David talk me out of finding workmen in England and bringing them over to France!

Oh, and he's not coming tomorrow; Wednesday or Thursday, probably...

Plumber re-starting tomorrow?

We don't know, he might mail us at 6pm tomorrow to tell us he's not coming [he's done that before], or he might show up.

But, either way, when he does show, I'm not looking forward to it: we noticed (slowly, admittedly), that he's installed the exact type of shower tap we said we didn't want instead of one that matches the bath tap, and now I've discovered a crack in one of the wash basin columns.

It's on the side, and fairly narrow, but it's dark coloured and 4 or 5" long, so hardly invisible. I can believed that he didn't notice it whilst installing the basins, but having seen it, it's not OK that we pay an enormous amount of money for something that's already broken.

As I say, I'm not looking forward to dealing with him.

Hopefully he'll be OK, change the taps and column without complaint and all we'll have to contend with is yet another delay...

But sadly my experience of work in France leads me to expect that he'll be unreasonable, try to push us into accepting what we don't want/broken items and storm off in a huff!

Please keep your fingers crossed for me that it's the former scenario I am reporting on when he's next been, not the latter.

Feels nippier this morning

9°C this morning when I opened the shutters; the neighbours all tell us summer is over after the 15th of August, and we're never quite sure, but it certainly feels autumnal today (and the leaves started turning over two weeks ago).

Scrubbing tiles

I've just spent another 7+ hours scrubbing the tiles in the bathroom; they are starting to look much better, and I have done the bits that would be more difficult if I'd left them till after the parois are fitted.

Am cursing M. Waeber, and his infatuation for spreading gunk about: I have found smears all over the place and trickles large enough in various areas to identify three different coloured products!

The purple parts of the shower "tray" I'm not sure I will ever manage to remove, which is a shame as it gives the grout a different finish, and goes completely odd-looking when wet.

The green bits on the bath I'm treating with a non-scratch scratchy and Cif, and hoping that doesn't ruin the coating.

The clear bits on the window I'm leaving until I'm reunited with one of my excellent blue 95p scrapers [or I find a similar thing in France].

Which of the above is smeared all over the tiles, I don't know, but it is highly resistant to removal, and is seriously making me lean towards bringing an English tiler out if we ever get around to doing the planned work upstairs!

Feeling guilty over being sneaky

I told my beloved husband a "lie by omission" if there is such a thing: I said I was probably going to have a bath, and if he called I might be in it, knowing that I might be round at the gîte, more like!

And now I'm feeling guilty about not mentioning it; there's no sinister intent, but I love him finding out things from reading my blog!

And I want him to be proud of me for going out on my own without him there as backup translator; that's a massive step forward for me, and I didn't want to become a wreck thinking about it and talking about it. Sometimes keeping a secret can make you stronger...

Not always, obviously, and it depends what you are hiding, but I'm hoping I am forgiven for trying to be more confident around French people when I don't have him as my safety net.

Speaking of which, I'm currently trying to psych myself up to going to the market!

Lovely meal

I had a wonderful time around at the gîte this evening; Claire had cooked a couple of goats' cheese and vegetable tarts, and we started with some tomatoes from Fabrice's garden - green tiger, orange and red ones - which really brought home to me what I'm hoping to achieve with the potager.

They were very good about me not eating meat/bread/sweet things, and not drinking alcohol or fruit juice. The nearest I could explain is that I'm trying to avoid getting diabetes [which is true; with an uncle and cousin who are insulin dependant, it's a real risk], my French doesn't go far enough to say that the diet I'm [mostly] following is aiming to smooth out the peaks in blood sugar so that the strain on the adrenal glands is lessened. I don't think I'd manage to convince too many English people about that; my acupuncturists both think it's a great idea, and I'm certainly feeling an enormous benefit.

I don't know how open to alternative/complementary medicine they are in France [in Germany I would have no hesitation (should my German be up to it, which it's not!) saying that I'm following a doctor's recommendations via a book recommended by my acupuncturist, and that I'm taking various vitamin and mineral supplements as well and Chinese and Ayurvedic herbs], so I tend to just say 'the doctor recommended it', which is true but not the whole story.

It also gives a bit of legitimacy to what I feel can come across as just plain awkwardness, and makes me feel less of a freak for not eating/drinking things that in all conscience I know don't suit me.

And it's not a weight-loss diet (sadly)!

They understood that I can't eat meat, and the rest I'm avoiding for health reasons, and were perfectly nice about it. I don't think they can envisage not drinking coffee, and were astonished that you can get an English person who doesn't drink tea!

We chatted about this and that, and Eric was telling me about his job in IT for the marines; he's a civilian now, so they don't have to move house every three years, which is a huge relief for them all [particularly Marianne, I suspect!]. He also told me that the English invented humour; I don't think he was joshing me, but it seems so unlikely - he said that a Frenchman escaping the guillotine brought back humour from England.

Having watched the TV programme that was playing in the background, I can believe that their TV is a certain way behind some other nations, perhaps? Lucien was loving the act that spent about three minutes pretending to be drunk and spitting water at each other; but I suspect it truly is aimed at small boys!

Eric, Loïc, Fabrice, Claire and Marianne all seem to have a much more developed sense of humour, and there was plenty of joking; it's nice that I can make a joke and someone gets it, for a change!

Claire and Marianne were so sweet; they walked me home - I would have been perfectly happy walking by myself, but I think the influx of strangers for the vendange probably made them more cautious than they would ordinarily have been. It's weird: I was fine, but after I got in I checked the house all over! I think some of their spooked-ness transferred.

I couldn't have explained if I tried that I'm used to walking home in Brixton (without too many bad incidents, and thankfully each time something might have happened I had an attack of really bad attitude and escaped unscathed), and small-village France doesn't hold too many terrors for me.

We saw an owl, so I regard that (without any supporting evidence) as a good omen!

Goodnight, and I hope you sleep as well as I think I'm going to.

Not-great-things-about-the-French vs great-things-about-the-French

Not great things:

• French workmen are disgustingly messy; I'm trying to polish up the tiles in the bathroom to get everything all nice and shiny, and I don't know what the deposit over half of them is. It's behaving like silicone sealant: an invisible enemy that prevents shininess! I've tried a heavier duty scratchy [vs the non-scratch scratchy that I'm currently using], and that is scratching the tiles; I've never had that happen before. It's not grout, because the odd bits of grout I'm coming across are coming off quite easily, and it's splashed all over the window, too, so I know I'm not making it up. I wish they could leave behind a clean job; what should have taken me half a day will probably take me into next week, and I've had to go and buy additional supplies of Cif and M. Propre!
• French project managers apparently leave their brains in the safe before going to site meetings; OK another beef about T+B - when a client is describing an area as a "potager", if you don't know what this means [despite all other French people seeming to understand the term], please ask instead of instructing/allowing the builders to compact rocks and subsoil around the gas tank. How much easier my life would be if I wasn't trying to dig weeds out of solid clay interspersed with rocks; the soil round here isn't great, but that's the hard to reach stuff that is making up my potager. All the other things have had me mad at Jean-Marie's lack of attention to detail or lack of professionalism, but this just has me thinking the guy must be a moron. And that's not normally how I view people, even people I've come to dislike because their actions are impacting negatively upon me!

Great things:

• Our neighbours are really friendly; even those from out of town - I'm going round to the gîte this evening for a meal with Marianne and Eric and the vendangeurs. It's so kind of them to invite me, and they didn't seem phased by me being vegetarian. I was the bravest I've been at accepting solo invites, and said "yes!" straight away. It helps, of course, that I know Eric speaks English, so if I get really stuck I can always ask for help, and also I'm back on the wagon so I won't be getting one-glass-of-champagne-fuddled-brain!
• Despite the bureaucracy-gone-mad it can be surprisingly easy to get things done; we've had Schwartz come and just move electrical points without any bother, the postie has a key to the letterboxes so can deposit a parcel without me having to trek to Essoyes to fetch it because I missed her visit, and David can just pop along to see Bernard if we need some mayoral advice [I want a trench digging so that I can pernicious weed-proof my potager using damp-proof membrane; I had an idea that would work, but having seen it recommended on a gardening website, I'm much more confident in 'going for it'] and find out if we can take down the trees by the road so we can strengthen the hedge. Also our favourite ex-baker has a key and will let people into the house in our absence!

Putting it that way, it looks as though all things are equal, but they're not; the friendliness of the people far outweighs the idiocy I've come across during the building project, and I can always bribe a tiler to come out from England the next time we want things done!

I'm off to attack another few tiles with the very mild cleaning product and lots of elbow grease, and then bathe so I'm presentable for dinner!

Now a BIG lorry went past

But that was Marnais, so I suspect he's picking up the grapes that the people in the coach picked earlier...

[That would be the same Marne that wants the Aube to lose its champagne appellation, yet buys Aubois grapes to improve the Marnais champagne; go figure?! I think they're just sore that in blind tastings it's often an Aubois champagne that gets the Medaille d'Or!]

Flash-of-clarity moment

I was looking out of the door, at the rain, and musing why the evening primroses should all still be happily flowering...

When it occurred to me that they are crepuscular [come out with the failing light], and flower during the night, so that they are still blooming away means that today's light level hasn't achieved anything lighter than "dusk".

I'm not a botanist, but looking at the sky between the rain showers I'm prepared to believe that it could be evening; only shear bloody-mindedness is preventing me from switching on the light.

[Although thinking about my eyesight, I'm going to rectify that example of pig-headedness straight away!]

And if this seems an odd post [I still haven't figured out how to get Blogger to show the time posted as the time it is here], the four quarters for midday have just rung, and I'm waiting for the lunchtime Angelus; probably not going to get too much lighter than that?!

A coach just went past!

Now that probably doesn't sound weird, until I tell you that the road past our house doesn't go anywhere; about 500 yards up the hill it hits a "crossroads", where the other three options are all unmade farm tracks [one of which peters out after a couple of hundred yards], so it's not really used very much apart from farm vehicles & by the people whose logs are stored up there.

Given the dress of the passengers, I'm guessing that they are migrant workers come for the vendange, and as Michel and Claire's pickers have all finished behind me I think they must work for Denis?

Not sure, but am going to be watching out for the coach again!

Birds...

Swallows are tearing around the meadow; low to the ground, in a formation it seems. A last chance to eat as much as possible before they migrate again?

I don't know. I would have thought it would be too late for another brood, and someone told us a couple of weeks ago they had already left for the summer. At least they are not trying to come into the house at the moment.

There must be a couple of dozen of them, and they are almost moving like bats; I'm glad I could see their white chests, otherwise I'd be having to peer harder...

Sad news about the turtle doves; they've been driving me potty with their flirting on the fence/wall - we already had a nest full of babies poo-ing on our lovely new floor in the grenier, so I really didn't want any more of that sort of thing, thank you.

Each time I hear them cry, I've been muttering about "crapping babies" and "sodding Bill Oddie" as I'm sure he's assured us on TV that parent birds take away their babies' droppings so that predators can't find the nest.

Well they don't! And I'm not happy about it; neither is David, who has been chief pooper-scooper this season as he's been Xylophèning the floor upstairs.

That all changed a couple of days ago when I located the *ahem* smell upstairs; I'd been catching an unpleasant whiff, but as it reminds me of the bin when David has cooked meat/eaten a saucisson I didn't really think too much about it. Then I was by a window and wondered whether we've had another rodent die in the cavity behind the insulation.

Thankfully a spare cast-iron ceiling [no, not really spare, David, I will find a home for it, promise!], was in the way of my foot...

Landing on a several-day old corpse!

Yuk!

I felt so sorry for the bird, its beautiful plumage [no it's not a Norwegian Blue, why do you ask?] serving no point any longer. I think it might be a fledgling that we'd seen on the window ledge that didn't realise the exit was between boards high up on the side wall, and had dashed itself against the window in an attempt to escape.

But seeing the lone turtle dove on the fence, it might have been the female.

I really wasn't up to checking too closely as I was disposing of the remains, and the *ahem* "passengers" that had accumulated. I'm fully expecting the bin to be full of flies, but if I leave it long enough perhaps they will be dead, too.

[I'm not that disgusting, but mainly produce compost and recycling, and wash everything that I put in the bin to avoid smells; it takes me several weeks to produce a carrier bag's worth of rubbish.]

It reminded me of last year's redstart nest that never made it; dead hatchlings littered about the floor upstairs...

At least all the redstarts, goldfinches and linnets I've seen this season look in blooming health; they certainly appreciate my efforts in the garden - I've only dead-headed things that didn't attract seed-feeders in the first place, after the insects had finished with them, and I'm sure our garden is one of the most wildlife-friendly in the area.

And the other nest of turtle doves seemed fine when David came face-to-face with a sitting hen as he was Xylophèning joists above our new bedroom; he didn't know who was more surprised!

Visitors

I thought I recognised a lady going into the church yard with her husband and son, and when she came out she and her husband came towards the house.

So I went to say hello, and it was Marianne and Eric from Brest!

Loïc went back to the house, but I wouldn't have recognised him, and I didn't remember Eric till I was speaking with them; thank goodness Marianne looks the same. I can't believe it's four years since I've seen her, and it must be over six since I saw Eric & Loïc.

They are helping Claire with the vendange, and are thoroughly grateful the weather has changed back to summer. Marianne said they got soaked through this morning, but thankfully managed to dry our this afternoon; I'm so glad that I'm not doing that.

Eric said they drove down yesterday from Brittany, and it was ten degrees cooler there, so I bet they are glad the storm has lowered the temperature. I said I'd made the mistake of opening all the windows for too long (being English and wanting the sun/warmth), and had allowed the heat into the house. They said the old stone houses take a long time to warm up, but when they are warm they stay that way. Doubly so when you have super-duper insulation!

Guinelle didn't come this time because she has a new baby, Luka, who is two months old today. I think I'm in line to see some baby pictures next time Marianne visits the cemetery...

Mind you, if he's half as cute as his mum it won't be hard saying "what a lovely baby"!

Eww!

One of those big orange slugs must have crawled into the house to commit suicide this morning; I got back from my walk and opened up all the windows again, and found it in the bowl of an old (decorative) ladle on the windowsill, at the end of a disgusting trail of drying slime.

Even the slime was orange.

Yuk!

Foraging/scrumping

The weather finally blew itself out, and this afternoon turned into a perfect one for walking - lots of cloud cover to supplement the sunblock, and a decent (though not cold) breeze - so I went out for a bimble.

I've been having a bit of a mental block about my normal route; it has felt just too long, and that's hampering me, so today I decided to force the issue.

Turns out I coped fine: took me 1 hour and 45 minutes (when I'm fit I can do it in 1 hr 15 min!), but that did include plenty of "snack" stops, so it's probably not as bad as it sounds!

And having done it once, I now "know" I can do it again. [Seem to get this issue every year, so it might make sense to just start each season with that walk!]

Scrumping:

• M. Lorin's apple [he has said in the past to help ourselves, but I haven't asked him recently if that's still OK] - very nice, and much better than anything I'm finding in the shops;
• rapeseed leaves - the ones that have sown themselves, rather than the newly sown crop. Experience tells me they're going to be ploughed in anyway, but they still belong to someone;
• grapes - I came past a vineyard that hadn't been harvested yet, so took a small part of a bunch to "check they were OK" - very nice actually, and much sweeter than last year!
  

Foraging:

• hazelnuts;
• sloes;
• blackberries;
• damsons [OK, so they were mine, and don't count];
• pig damsons [from Isabelle's tree; they don't collect them, and her tree seems to fruit later than ours];
• plums [not sure if they are ours or Philippe's, they were right by the boundary but on the road side of the hedges]
  

I'm sure I managed to get my 'five a day' on my walk, so I'm having pasta for dinner!

POOR vendangeurs!

It is throwing it down, as it has been for most of the morning (apart from the times when it was only raining steadily).

I've just seen a van-load of people going down the road by the house; I don't know if they've packed it in because it's just too horrible, or whether they have finished their vines at the back of us and are heading on to another hillside somewhere.

It really is spectacular: we had thunderstorms during the night [heavy enough to wake me through the ear plugs], and the odd rolls of thunder even now.

[If the lightning and thunder were closer together I'd be unplugging the phone line & computer, but they are far enough apart to have me wondering if that particular bolt of lightning doesn't have any thunder associated with it.]

We've "lost" the far end of the valley, but I can just about make out the wood over the Mairie; my standard for 'completely closed in weather' (cloud, rain, or fog) is when we can't see the Mairie at all!

There's a trail of beige-coloured water heading down the gutter as a little bit of our drive washes away; it's not very bad, but it takes ages to clean up again.

David was sure the heat (especially coming on so completely and suddenly after weeks of rain) would lead to thunderstorms, and he was right!

Today is the first day that temperatures have dropped since morning: it was 22°C, and is now down to 18°C. It's taking longer in the house: the temperature in the kitchen is 23°C, but as I have had to close all the windows to prevent rain coming in and ruining our wooden windowsills, only the door is open to permit air flow.

I've had to shut the other doors as I don't want rain marking the stone floors. Tiles won't stain, but until we find some sort of treatment for the bare stone I'm always super careful to try and prevent marks.

I'm now very glad I've done as much dead-heading/cutting down as I did, because rain on top of the warmth of late summer might well lead to another growth flush in all my plants.

And we're back to where we started: a tractor has just gone down the road with a trailer of grape crates on the back; I suspect that poor person has been loading them up after the vendangeurs left earlier.

That bolt of lightning was followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder, so I'm off!

Interesting times...

We've had an email from T+B stating that owing to the worsening financial situation they have had to halve the company; Joëlle and M. Petitpas are no longer working there...

But they're going to continue to provide the same level of service!

I've had several of the firms working for us ask us how they can be so busy [so busy that they forget major things/don't spot glaring errors/tell people to do the exact opposite of what's required/turn up (hours or days) late because they have too many meetings scheduled, etc, etc], yet always be short of money. How those firms know they are short of money, I don't know, but we knew they were struggling back in January 2010.

We don't know how they manage to have lots of clients/work and no money; it's not as if they come in lowest of the quotes for that sort of work! We chose them initially because of their apparent system; it was only when we were on hand to see what was happening 'on the ground' during Phase 1b that we realised that was all a sham, and by that point it was too late to back out of using them again; I just had to watch everything like a hawk to make sure all the many and varied errors got corrected.

I'm not sure whether we were intended to receive that mail, or whether it was a case of 'mail everyone in the address book'.

I don't think they're sly enough to include us as a dig that we still didn't pay the last few hundred Euro we owed.

We we're still waiting for them to correct the plans before we paid anything further, and the loo is only just connected over a year later! Plus, I'm deducting money for all the project managing I've had to do, so I think we've pretty much written off our plans and any money we did owe.

The fact that they really pissed me off by excluding me from all communication during the latter half of our work [deliberately? I don't know; could just be another symptom of poor job management] but I received that one makes me think it was the sending out equivalent of "reply to all".

To be honest, if they are treating all their clients as badly as they handled our job during the second part, they deserve to go out of business! We know the commune had to cancel the 14th July celebration meal because works have over-run, so it doesn't sound as though they have managed to gain any control over the scheduling of works...

At least we can take consolation that since Jean-Marie declared our job finished at the end of last year, all the work we have had to manage completely by ourselves has gone much more smoothly, and relations with the various trades have been much more harmonious.

We haven't even had any raised voices, let alone any feet stamped!

I've given in

I've joined the neighbours in not opening the shutters at the front of the house; being English [we see so little of the sun], I've been opening all the doors and windows to allow light in, whilst trying to encourage a through draught to stop the heat building up...

But yesterday it got too much.

The temperature peaked (inside) at 29.2°C, and that was just too much for me at 76% humidity.

Didn't mean I didn't continue to try and weed my photo albums down so I can update my photobook, but it did mean I wasn't comfortable whilst doing so.

I like the heat (and don't normally mind humidity too much), but it's preferable when you can get out of it!

So today the shutters are staying shut, and I've only opened windows at the back, and those will be closed once the temperature gets to 25°C...

Which in my estimation will be in about half an hour!

Right, I'm off to do some more weeding before the sun comes onto the potager, and pity any poor vendangeurs should I see any.

Preparing for the vendange

I've just seen Michel in his tractor pulling a load of grape crates...

The lady in the boulangerie says that they will be starting next week; that's going to be hard work as the heat finally seems to have arrived.

It was 30°c in the shade yesterday (and dropped down to 20°c overnight), and I was heartily glad to call it a day when the sun came onto the potager; two hours of back-breaking work was enough for me to cope with, so the thought of full (long) days of bending down really makes me feel sorry for the vendangeurs.

Speaking of back-breaking labour, the chap next door is stripping the render off the front of his house. Purely in the interests of research [I'm not nosy, me; why do you ask?], I said hello to him on the way to the boulangerie [isn't buying fresh bread a great excuse to pop past someone's house?], and obviously got chatting about the work...

He's taking the crépi off with a hammer drill, and has got to the point where it's all hard work: standing on a ladder, and reaching up above his head, before moving the ladder a couple of feet and lugging the drill up for another shot. He's getting on really well.

I was itching to know whether he was going to re-render it, or point up the joints, and thankfully he's going for the beautiful option!

One website states that 'render is essential for the well-being of the house', but I think we can guess what they're selling, don't you? M. "Voisin" says he's taking it back to the traditional finish, which we both agree is much more attractive.

AND it doesn't discolour over time as obviously as does render.

Fingers crossed that when we have saved up enough money we can do the front of our house the same.

He was rushing to try to finish before heading off to Troyes for a meeting so I didn't delay him too long, but long enough to find out that the roofers came from Troyes and slept in the house during the three weeks that they were working...

[As opposed to arriving daily at 9.30-10.00am and leaving at 4-4.30-ish.]

Next time I see him and he's less busy/pressed for time, I'm going to ask for the name of the company that will work like that! I saw them at nearly 8pm one day, and heard them several more times. They've done a beautiful job, using reclaimed tiles, and unlike our roof have used a mortar that's very close to the tile colour to "cement" on the ridge tiles; at least our joints are starting to weather down a bit now (after about 15 years, we think).

Plus, he's got two lovely weather vanes, so they must have the right sort of eye for detail!

Oh well, shouldn't delay any longer as I want to cut another swathe through the weeds on the potager; I'm not able to leave the bindweed untouched, so I'm pulling as much root out as possible with the intention of spot treating when re-growth starts, and I would like to get that done before the autumn, so obviously need to finish clearing as soon as possible, so that the warmth will encourage the plants to grow.

It just occurred to me that it seems odd to encourage something to grow quickly, only so that you can kill it, but almost immediately that thought was followed by 'that's what livestock farming is about' (mostly), so I'm in good company!

And my end result will be food, so it's not too bad an analogy?

Perfect summer day

I did the sort of light gardening that's so much fun: deadheading and tidying round clumps of flowers that have become unsightly, and I finally decided to hoik out the euphorbia!

I love the orangey-green coloured flowers, but it's turning into too much of a thug, so it's card is marked. I realise that I care more about the Japanese anemone, echinacea, rudbeckia and thyme plants that it is invading, so it's time to get ruthless.

So, armed with gloves (as apparently the sap is an irritant; can't answer for that, but it looked blue when it touched the leaves!), I started to yank out great chunks of it. I've cleared round all the plants that needed saving, but realised that I'd had enough sun [I went out about midday, as I needed some sun on my bones], so the plan for tomorrow is to get out there earlier and wreak more havoc!

I was planning on putting some of the seedlings as ground cover on the bank, but I'm now going off that idea; at least the lambs' ears is very easy to pull out when it gets where you don't want it.

I've also (belatedly) followed Sarah Raven's advice & chopped the artichoke down to ground level and given it a good soaking; fingers crossed that she's right when she says we'll get a fresh new batch of leaves, and maybe even a second crop.

My little transplanted plants mostly seem to be doing OK [a few of the tinier ones were OK this morning, but seem to have vanished by this evening], and I've given them all a good drink before I closed up the shutters for the day.

My only sadness is that my beloved husband is on his way back to England for three weeks; that's going to be hard, as I shall miss him terribly. That's just too long to be apart and happy about it.

Seeing-lots-of-people sort of a day

We'd got no plans to see anyone in particular today, apart from David taking a cheque around to M. Waeber.

But he came beetling back in record time [have I mentioned that M. Waeber likes to chat?], so I guessed neither of them was in.

Wrong!

They invited us around for a quick apéritif, and David came round to see if I would go...

Obviously! At the moment I'm "off" the wagon, so I could even have some champagne. We had a great natter, and it was not a quick drink either, but it seemed the most relaxed and sociable that I'd seen him, and I'd only seen her once before, but she seems a great character.

Needless to say, we put the world to rights, chewed the fat, etc., etc.

If I'm not careful, I suspect I'm going to get roped into doing some vendanging with her...

I think if you'd caught me twenty years ago I would have loved it, and even ten years ago I could have persevered with the best of them, but I'm not sure my back is up to all that bending over; everyone has assured me it's back-breaking work, so I might come over all "busy" if needs be!

We were back home, having just mopped up our apéros with some leftovers, when Mme Claude came round with her daughter and two of her grandchildren; she came bearing the "wolf's mouths"* that Claude had forgotten to bring with him yesterday, plus a whole heap more little seedlings. I know what the pink flower is, without knowing it's name, but the other things will be a nice surprise!

*The French name for snapdragons.

They were off on a walk, so we didn't talk too long, and to be honest I thought it best to get the plants into the soil as soon as possible. I've just spent over two hours doing that; not that there were that many plants, but digging holes in the gravel/stone-infested areas that I'm trying to plant up is a lot more time-consuming than digging something in in the rare areas where there is decent soil.

As I was looking my very best [hair awry, soil under the nails, the obligatory smear on my face, generally dusty; I'm sure you get the picture?], a lady and her son (very tentatively) came up to chat. I think she's seen the work going on, and probably me head-down in the garden a few times, and I'm sure she was vaguely familiar [but on that front I am terrified I'm turning into my mother; memory of a goldfish anyone?], but this was the first time she'd approached us.

It turns out she came here, to the house, in the war for some illicit dancing; M. Thielle and his wife and aunt (I think) lived here, and used to very covertly break the rules and enjoy themselves. As this was a great centre for maquisards, I think there's a strong tradition of breaking the rules and putting two fingers up at the occupying Germans.

The lady was only a little girl, but she remembers the house well. I think everyone does who visited it in those days; "le Baron" certainly seems to have left a lasting impression.

She thought we were very brave for taking it on, and that it was marvellous that we were doing so much work on the place; I offered to show her round, as she has memories [and I suspect a few more stories that she could tell], but she said no.

I think she will come another time; hopefully in a month or six weeks when I've had a chance to tidy up so it makes a good impression.

I tried to ask her who she was, and where she lived, but all I've gathered is that her mother's side of the family are almost all buried here [with a few in the next village along], and that she lives near Troyes; I do hope she comes back, I think a lot of people find it good that we're bringing the life back to the place, and I want it to be somewhere that has loads of visitors.

The son seemed very quiet, but let's hope I get chance to get to know them better.

All the people around here seem so friendly and welcoming; it takes me back to my childhood in the country near Market Drayton.

Now all I need do is push on with the plan for some fruit trees and the dream is complete!

Hope the evening is as lovely for you as it is for us, and that you feel as happy and content as I do.

Lovely evening out

We were a bit late arriving for apéros yesterday; we rather got caught up in watching the wedding coming out of the church, and then because of all the cars departing in all their excitement it seemed prudent to wait just a few minutes, then we met M. Demongeot...

Etc!

Still Mme Claude waved aside my apologies; I don't think here it matters too much if you are a little late arriving.

[It's certainly never seemed to bother people working on the house; even a few days doesn't appear to matter in some cases!]

We had a look round her gardens [I think the blokes would have been quite happy going straight into cork-popping mode, but there was no way I'd pass up a chance like that!]; in that typically French way, they have plots separated from the house by the neighbours' land, so she has two vegetable patches, and a wrap-around garden, with the lawn backing onto a field on one side and a vineyard on another.

Lovely views across to our side of the valley [and David said you can see our house from there, but Mme and I were too busy looking at the flax/irises/geraniums/raspberry canes et al.], and I suspect they get more of a breeze on very hot days.

By the time we got indoors, I was already laden down with seed heads for various annuals, a (huge) courgette and some tomatoes.

By the time we left, Mme had added a Mexican Hat Plant, a bucket of windfall pears and a kilo of her own honey.

[As an aside, Wikipedia notes it's a native of Madagascar, and that all parts of the plant are poisonous, but doesn't mention why it's known as a Mexican Hat Plant; I guess I'll never know.]

All totally appreciated, but it did make me feel like the sort of sponging relative who only shows up when there is a will to be read! I know that it's the generosity of people who grow their own produce [I've been the person pressing rooted cuttings from my garden and streptocarpus plants on anyone who is foolish enough to express admiration too often to believe otherwise], but I still felt awkward, as though we'd gone there fishing for gifts.

Not true, but it will take a bit of getting used to I suspect...

We had a lovely chat, and ate some wonderful food: cherry tomatoes [split from all the rain, but none the worse for that], courgette & carrot chunks from the garden, home-made gougères, and little rounds of toast topped with home-made rabbit pâté [with the rabbits from the farm]. And some champagne, obviously!

I think it was the warmest evening we've had in this (wetter) part of the summer, and walking slowly home hand in hand in the falling light was a memory I shall treasure.

It felt like a perfect summer's evening, and I can't wait to welcome them here when I've got the place a bit [LOT!] tidier...

This morning Claude showed up and took us to visit one of his orchards [again French inheritance laws in action, we think], where we collected more pears to replace those we took home with us, so that she could make the pear tart for her grandchildren's Sunday lunch.

We think Claude was in his element, showing us around the fields on the other side of the village, and seeing other villages that we ordinarily only visit by car; I think it's only the second time I've been in an off-roader/4x4 that actually goes off road. At first I was quite nervous, with him driving over ploughed fields, but he clearly knows what he's doing, and by the end I was just thoroughly enjoying myself.

Still don't see that the average person needs a 4x4, but can appreciate how useful they are round here if you regularly go on the farm tracks [that one pulled M. Petitpas' car back to the road when he stopped on a track to have his breakfast one morning], and certainly if you need to drive across fields when the ground has had as much rain as we have in recent weeks.

Speaking of which, it seems to have stopped again, so I might head out and enjoy the day until it starts again!

Obviously, I haven't given irredeemable offence

Mme Claude just called by to see if David was here; I said he was coming this evening [Yippee!!]...

So she invited us (again) for apéritifs on Friday or Saturday. I said whichever is best for her, so we're due round at 6-ish on Saturday.

I'm glad she hasn't given up on me, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that within a month the house will be in a much better state, and I will feel like inviting people round.

I KNOW that most people don't care what state the place is in, but I care, and find it very difficult to relax when guests are in my home and it's a tip. That so rarely happens [place being a tip, and letting people in if it's not tidy], and I should probably be much more laid back, but to me having a beautifully presented home for my friends is a large part of how I demonstrate hospitality.

That, and nice food and/or drink [*delete as applicable]!

It really can't make up its mind

That's assuming, of course, that weather can have a mind!

We seem to have gone from 'summer starting' to 'monsoon season' to 'feels like autumn', and now back to 'seems mostly summery'.

The downside of the torrential rain we've been having is that even when it is nice, the ground is so sodden that it makes working almost impossible. It's very unpleasant, and I know it's not good for the soil structure.

An upside: the little plants I've transplanted at the worst time of year to the worst situation I can put them in [in the gravel at the front of the house], all seem to be thriving!

And the other little plants I transplanted when I was here before and was having to water copiously have all (apart from one gap) survived brilliantly; for that I'm deeply grateful.

12°c at 10am, but the keys in the front doors were warm, and it's 24°c in the sun.

Visit from another of our neighbours

Mme Claude just came to invite us for apéros - I hope I wasn't rude in postponing until David is back; I'm fairly sure [but then again I'm often sure I've understood/been understood and it turns out not to be the case!] that she understands that it would be easier for everyone concerned if I came with my translator!

I'm OK in short bursts, but at the end of a day when I'm tired, the French gets worse [my understanding of the language, not the people!], and more words hide themselves away in the crevices of my brain, and communicating becomes much more difficult. With David there, I can receive a little help if I need it, or I can sit back and let the conversation flow a while as I catch up; we me on my own, that ain't happening!

They'd noticed our absence, and I said it was because we'd become demoralised by the delays, and that I'd painted the flat in London and we'd rented it out and moved to Maidstone. She agreed we'd been busy.

A final word on how lovely our rose is; it's fantastic, clearly being planted at the wrong time last year hasn't done it too much harm.

Once again, I'm left hoping I haven't done the wrong thing, and appeared as stand-offish...

Gardening, and a visit from Lydie

I finally decided to make a start on clearing the potager at the back of the house, mainly because there's nothing else I can really do whilst waiting for the one day's worth of work [sorry, I still feel like emphasising that, for some reason!] before I can begin cleaning up the house and moving everything to it's final resting place.

AND, the potager will look even more of a jungle if I don't make an attempt at controlling it this year!

It had reverted to hot and sunny this morning, so I did a couple of half hour stints digging out couch grass, nettles, thistles, docks and all the other lovelies that had made themselves at home, but I'm trying to leave the bindweed in situ so that we can spray that. Don't think I'll succeed, but I'm giving it a go...

I was driven off by the heat and sun about 2.30, and was just thinking about going and having another bash when there was a knock at the door; I'd locked up the front of the house and was just heading to the back, so very lucky [for me] timing.

It was Lydie, who had come to water the flowers on her parents' grave.

We had a lovely natter, but I was asking how she was coping with her father's death, and she told me that he didn't suffer, he was in an induced coma following a lung infection after his operation, when his kidneys started to fail...

He was on dialysis, but then his liver started to fail too, so the family took the sad decision to stop the dialysis and as his heart got slower he just slipped away. She said it was the 'right' kind of end for him: there was no hint that he wouldn't get better, the doctor reassured him that the coma was just to help him cope with the breathing tube until the infection had cleared, and that everything was progressing nicely.

I'm sad he's gone. I miss seeing him on summer's evenings, particularly; the pair of us would often meet in the road outside the house after he had watered the flowers on Denise's grave and as I was watering the pots in the garden. I have fond memories of chatting in the warm evenings as the light slipped away; I'm glad he got to slip away, too.

I'm comforted that one of my final recollections is of making him laugh about my hill-climbing "prowess"! The Tour de France was passing through a couple of the neighbouring villages, and we were discussing the mountain stages, and I recounted my struggles to get up the hill behind the house without stopping or getting off to push, and how I daren't set out when Isabelle's boys could see me because I was so embarrassed by the "speed" I achieved.

He had a real laugh about that; he was very supportive, and said it's a steep climb [which it is, but not like the mountains], and we decided it was my own personal "Alp".

That memory's helping me now, but I don't suppose laughing will make the legs work better when I finally get my bike out of the grenier!

Il pleut

Apparently, when David left yesterday he took the summer with him!

He has nice weather in London [what does he need that for; he's in an office?], whereas I have rain.

Oh well, might as well take this opportunity to upload some photos to Flickr®.

Enjoying another glorious day, but sad...

The day started much warmer: 14°c at 8am, 22° at midday, and 28° by 2pm. Oddly, it still only reached 34° in the sun out front.

We saw M. Waeber yesterday; he came to drop off the bill [with his nice new computer, that seems to take a lot less time than the old handwritten ones!], and he mentioned that Sunday night into Monday had dropped to 8°, so we really haven't had a lot of heat this summer.

The lizard who lives by the kitchen door was busy sunning him/herself this afternoon, and quite frankly I don't blame him/her!

The sad part of my day was waving David off just before 4pm, as he's going back to the UK; once again we will have missed the Route du Champagne en Fête.

Next year, we won't be having to plan around workmen and we will be aiming to do some of the more interesting tourist things on offer.

One thing I need to watch out for as I'm staying here: David saw a (baby?) red squirrel in our cour anglaise by the bathroom window, so I want to keep an eye out for him/her.

A minor (major?) niggle has just landed in my inbox: the check in report for our flat notes that there is some food on the oven racks, and crumbs to the grill tray - I'm seriously NOT happy about that. The whole flat was very clean, but not clean to a letting standard [I hadn't buffed the taps/bath/basin, and the oven just needed a final going over as we'd used it a couple of times after I cleaned it a week or so before moving out, but the kitchen units I'd left, knowing that we had to pay for cleaning]. We've been charged £250 for a "professional" cleaning, and if they haven't even wiped in the oven will they have cleaned the windows/carpets bathroom, and kitchen cabinets?

I doubt it. Not looking forward to a battle, but seriously if the very minor level of mess I left behind hasn't been dealt with, I want a refund!

Of course, the check in report might have been done before the cleaning, but in that case why are there photos of furniture and the date was two days after the cleaners had done their bit?

Seriously pissed off that Maidstone and now Ormonde Court have been "professionally" cleaned, but left not clean!

As soon as I find out who the cleaners were, I will be naming names!

August now, so progress over (for the time being)

M. Torelli and Jimmy have worked their last day for a while, as the whole of the country goes into "screensaver" mode for the month of August. We were pretty astonished that they even intended to come, but weren't going to say 'non'.

They've managed to connect up the bath, as promised, which I really appreciate; soaking away the kinks after a long day's gardening works so much better than taking a shower, especially when I can barely stand up straight!

The loo is also fitted and working, but the shower screens will have to wait, so M. Torelli has tried the taps to check they work, but then cut off the water [sensible man]. Sadly, another thing installed to the exact specification of the project manager is the totally-unsuitable-for-us water filtration system...

The immersion heater is full of limescale, apparently, and the pipes to it choked enough that it's making an alarming noise when it fills. M. Torelli is going to run through better options when he returns [hopefully the last two days of August]. More expense, and given that I've been here about eight months out of the last 24, and David has been here less than two months that seems a pretty bad example of matching what is needed by your clients!

As an aside, an interesting snippet we've picked up regarding progress on the Salle Polyvalente (the equivalent of a Village Hall): there was a note from the Mairie in our letter box when we arrived saying that the meal to celebrate Bastille Day had been cancelled as work on the Salle had progressed more slowly that expected.

Half of me is sad [not that we would have made this year's festivities] that the commune is being let down by Jean-Marie and his team, but the other (much meaner) half is glad that even a government body is being given the same delayed treatment that we experienced from T+B!

Another thing to be glad about that we didn't recommend them.

From M. Waeber we've learned that none of the companies that have done work here are working for the Mairie, and he also reckons that none of those companies will work for Jean-Marie again. I don't know if that's the case [I certainly know of at least one that turned him down flat for a major job] or hyperbole, but it wouldn't surprise me; even the 'devoted followers' (as I think of them) among the artisans seemed pretty disgruntled at his behaviour by the time they'd left our house.

We're just heartily glad he's gone, and that progress has been made.

Just wish perhaps a bit more of it had been achieved before the country shuts down for a month!

Finally feels like summer!

Today started like a proper summer's day, albeit being 10°c at 8am.

At 12.30pm, it's now just above 18°c in the shade, and I'm wearing a dress [rather than track pants, socks, cardigan, etc], and we have all the doors and windows open. In the courtyard at the front of the house (and so in full sun) it's 34°c; perfect weather for being a lizard!