Sometimes, just occasionally, it’s quite difficult to focus on exactly what we love about living here. Such times as when, having worked my way through five official websites to try to order an EHIC-type card, I couldn’t remember my password, so hit the “send me a new password” button, only to have it arrive by post 3 weeks later, after we’d been on holiday. They say that you can order your EHIC card online, but guess what; you can’t, Or wanting a bank cheque for a large purchase, I’m told I have to write to my bank; they will then order said cheque from Paris and it will arrive by post, they claim within 24 hours – yeah, right!  Or that, when Gemma wanted to buy a French sim card for her phone and presented her Australian driving licence as proof of identity, it was unacceptable, even though it has a photo. Or the simple fact that customer service is a totally alien concept over here, as is doing anything on time.

However, the weather’s great, the people (with the exception of officialdom) are the warmest, most generous you could hope to meet, the food and drink are excellent and life is generally good.

Last week, having waited over 2 years since having our photovoltaic panels fitted, they were finally hooked up to the grid. The man from EDF was due at 1pm, as was the man who fitted the panels; but typically, the fitter, who had the necessary paperwork, didn’t turn up and the man from EDF had to leave for other appointments. We were furious. I phoned his wife, who’d made the arrangements, apparently without consulting her husband, but when he couldn’t keep our appointment, she didn’t think to let us know. I was so angry I actually managed to argue with her, in French, by phone. There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone. Result? She got them both back, together, later in the afternoon and we are now producing electricity.

As another hectic week dawned, I decided not to attempt any painting; the patchwork club’s exhibition was only a few days away and although I’d finished my granddaughter’s quilt, the waistcoat I’d started for Nick was nowhere near completed.

It was an idea taken from a photo I’d seen years ago; made in 16 separate pieces, each one constructed individually, then overlaid across each other to form the whole, with gaps where they didn’t meet. Once it was together, I started to quilt it, outlining the design on some of the fabrics and free-motion quilting on others.

We were setting up the exhibition from 5pm on Friday; I’d been sewing all day, (most of the week, actually) but by 4.50 hadn’t hand stitched the inside of the armhole bindings in place, so I pinned them carefully and hoped nobody would notice.

Saturday was the “Mayade”, something we hadn’t come across before, but which follows the election of a mayor. The mayor of Caupenne has eleven advisors; people gather at the house of one of them at 8am, and breakfast is provided, including plenty of alcohol. From there they go, in turn, to the houses of every one of the advisors and the mayor himself, to eat, drink and get very merry. Lunch was at the mayor’s house, so we went to that as we couldn’t go to the paella in the evening. There were about 100 people, many of them already looking the worse for wear, who sat down to eat salad followed by oxoa, a veal and pepper casserole, in the shade of the trees in Patrick’s beautiful garden. They didn’t look like moving on anytime soon when we left at 5pm, the day was already well behind schedule and the woman who was providing the pudding, coffee and armagnac at the next stop was beginning to panic about the condition some people were in.

We went home, changed, loaded the car up and set off to Campagne, where the band was playing at an event for the annual national music festival, held on the weekend nearest to midsummer. We had a great evening, we were well fed and watered and given a great welcome by everybody who came along.

On Sunday I took a friend to the patchwork exhibition, then helped to take down all the quilts; the removal was much quicker to do than the installation, which had taken us 3 hours.

For some incomprehensible reason, neither Nick nor I was bursting with energy today!

Comme une autre semaine mouvementée a commencé, j’ai décidé de ne pas tenter de la peinture; l’exposition du club de patchwork n’était qu’à quelques jours et, même si je l’avais fini  le dessus-de-lit de ma petite-fille, le gilet je l’avais commencé pour Nick a été loin d’être terminé.

C’était une idée à partir d’une photo que j’avais vu il ya quelques années; fabriqué en 16 morceaux séparés, chacun construit individuellement, puis une superposé sur l’autre pour former l’ensemble, avec des lacunes où ils ne se réjoignent pas. Une fois qu’il était ensemble, j’ai commencé l’à matelasser, décrivant la conception de certains des tissus et quilting en mouvement libre sur les autres.

Nous mettions en place l’exposition à partir de 17 heures le vendredi; j‘avais cousu toute la journée, (la plupart de la semaine en fait), mais par 16h50 je n’avais pas cousu à la main à l’intérieur des bordures emmanchures en place, donc je les ai épinglé, dans l’espoir que personne ne le remarquerait.

Samedi était le “Mayade« que nous n’avions pas rencontré auparavant, mais qui suit l’élection d’un maire. Le maire de Caupenne a onze conseillers; les gens se rassemblent dans la maison de l’un d’eux à 8h du matin, et le petit déjeuner est fournis, y compris beaucoup d’alcool. Ils  partent de là, à son tour, dans les maisons de chacun des conseillers et le maire lui-même, de manger et boire. Le déjeuner était à la maison du maire, donc nous y sommes allés, car nous ne pouvions pas aller à la paella le soir. Il y avait environ 100 personnes, dont beaucoup d’entre eux avaient déjà beaucoup bu. Nous avons mangé de la salade suivie par oxoa, à l’ombre des arbres dans le magnifique jardin de Patrick. Ils etaient toujours là lorsque nous sommes partis à 17 heures, la journée était déjà bien en retard et la femme qui fournissait les gateaux, le café et l’armagnac à la maison suivant commençait à paniquer au sujet de l’état dans certains personnes ont été .

Nous sommes allés chez nous, changé des vetements, chargé la voiture et sommes partis à Campagne, où le groupe allait jouer lors d’un événement pour le festival de musique nationale annuelle, tenue le week-end le plus proche de la Saint-Jean. Nous avons passé une très bonne soirée, nous étions bien nourris, abreuvés et on nous a  accueilli très chaleureusement.

Le dimanche, j’ai amené une amei à l’exposition de patchwork, puis j’ai aidé le démonter; l’enlèvement était beaucoup plus rapide à faire que de l’installation, qui nous a fallu 3 heures.

Pour une raison incompréhensible, ni Nick ni moi a été débordant d’énergie aujourd’hui!

So much to do, so much to do,

The days are just too short, too few

For all the work we must get through.

The beams to wax, the painting to do,

Floors to tile, the grouting too,

So many tasks for just we two.

There are plums to pick, raspberries too,

Just one apricot, but the tree is new,

And loads of cherries, not just one or two.

We went away for a week or two,

Everything in the garden grew and grew,

Helped by sun and rain and morning dew.

We get big hailstorms this time of year,

Strip fruit from the trees, leave vineyards bare

Of grapes for the wine for the following year.

They forecast a thunderstorm or two,

Torrential rain, strong winds would blow,

But worse, there’d be damaging hailstones too.

Thought I’d better pick cherries from the tree,

Didn’t want them blitzed in a hailstone scree,

Took my ladders out, and a bucket or three.

The sky soon turned to grey from blue,

Thunder and lightning, humidity grew,

The rain came down, I was soon soaked through.

Most of the fruit was picked at last,

Up and down the ladders, working fast,

Twenty kilos, more than in years past.

That’s an awful lot of cherries to stone,

But I had some help, so mustn’t moan,

Made pies and jam; next – cherry scones?

Next week we will start anew,

Painting, tiling, gardening too,

Install the shower, fit the loo.

There are weeds to pull and seeds to sow,

Chillies to plant and grass to mow,

Make a waistcoat for the patchwork show.

A report to write for the club cyclo,

Songs to learn for a gig or two,

So much to do, so much to do.

Je ne peux pas traduire ce petit poeme en français, mais il s’agit de tout qu’il nous faut faire; du carrelage, de la peinture, du jardinage, etc., etc.

La prochaine fois, j’ecrirai en français aussi, comme d’habitude.

The last fortnight has been something of a whirlwind; a visit to England is always a race against time, trying to see as many people as possible, but it didn’t end there.

We stopped for an evening in Boulogne on the way up, a lovely old town, buzzing with energy and live bands playing in the streets; then the ferry and on to London to see my brother and his family. Arriving in Harrogate, we settled for a few days and enjoyed a curry evening, catching up with a couple of dozen friends, but unfortunately went down with a tummy bug, which lost us two days visiting. We were able to complete the sale of our Harrogate flat, then off to the Lake District for the main purpose of the trip – my goddaughter’s wedding.

The wedding was lovely, held at the Inn on the Lake, Ullswater, but the weather was awful; bitterly cold, with frequent squally showers. Each time the rain stopped we had to dash outside for photos, trying our best not to look frozen. It was no colder than the rest of the holiday, but I could hardly wear my thermals under my posh frock, tempting though it was!

A night in the lake District, a day in Keswick and it was time to head back to Yorkshire, to see some friends who’d agreed to put us up for the night. then over to Hull to take the ferry to Zeebrugge. We spent the following day in Brugges, being proper tourists, before setting off to Chartres, where we’d booked an hotel for the night, then finally home last Thursday, with an hour to spare before I had to go to rehearsal, getting home again just after 1am.

There was no time to lie in or catch up on Friday, as I wanted to go to a patchwork exhibition in Biarritz; but it was well worth it. There were amateur as well as professional quilts being shown, and in all sorts of styles, from traditional bedspreads to amazingly intricate works of art, as well as some wonderful, whacky pieces.

On Saturday Nick was cycling up the col de Tourmalet, joining the pilgrimage that follows the lorry taking the “Geant du Tourmalet” statue up to its summer residence, after which I met him at our friends Alison and Ian’s house in the foothills of the Pyrenees, for Alison’s birthday party. We were asked to wear a hat to the party and there were some wonderful pieces of headgear around, some of them borrowed at the last minute, as Ian had forgotten to mention it to everybody. People brought musical instruments and even a sound system, so impromptu bands formed throughout the evening, playing all sorts of stuff, from traditional folk to heavy metal. It was a great night and because Ian and Alison run a B&B, we and about 18 others were able to stay over, and in comfort.

We’ve decided to spend some of the proceeds of the flat on a campervan and Nick had seen one in Argeles Gazoste, just an hour from Ian’s, so we went to have a look at it on Sunday. It seemed pretty good; we’re just waiting to hear about a couple of details, but hopefully we’ll be able to take Izzy to the seaside in it for a few days when she visits in the summer.

This week is back to reality; the garden’s totally overgrown again, with 8foot tall bamboo canes growing where I’d not just cut, but shaved the grass before we left! We need to get on with jobs on the house now, then there’s the upcoming patchwork exhibition for which I need to finish stuff, three gigs with the band this month, lessons to plan, etc., etc…..

Je suis désolée, mais je suis simplement trop fatiguée de traduire ce blog en français ce soir.