I’ve just discovered three blogs, written at various points over the last few weeks, which for some reason I haven’t published. So, in no particular order, I’m publishing them now.

Early December

Tuesday morning dawned, another beautiful day of clear, blue skies and sunshine; Wednesday’s students were in England and Friday’s had an art exhibition to prepare; so what was to stop us having a few days off and heading to Spain in the camper?

We packed clothes, camera and books, filled the fridge with home made ready meals from the freezer, found a camper van site on the edge of San Sebastian and we were off; though I’m not sure we’ll ever get used to being able to drive to Spain in two or three hours.

Very soon a warning light appeared on the dashboard under the dashcam that we just purchased after looking at the Review by car bibles; it’s happened before and is accompanied by a drop in power. Nick thought the fuel injectors were dirty and that he’d sorted it by adding cleaner to the diesel, but this time it was worse than before and we only got as far as Mont de Marsan before having to turn back, very disappointed.

Undeterred however, the next day we set off in the car. It seemed strange to be scraping frost from the windscreen in order to go to the seaside, but the sun soon rose and burnt the frost off the fields and hills. It was a lovely day, there were fewer tourists than in summer, though a few hardy souls even braved swimming in the sea.

I struggle to find shoes to fit in France, as the French have little feet, so thought I’d see what Spain had to offer. I felt sorry for the poor girl whose job it was to serve me, as I tried to explain, with my miniscule knowledge of Spanish, that I was looking for brown boots, in leather, not suede, because the garden gets thick in mud in winter, so they need to be easy to clean. Not having the vocab for leather, suede, mud or many other words meant this exchange was more a game of charades than a conversation! But she was lovely, tolerated my efforts with good grace (laughter’s an international language,isn’t it?) and found me just what I was looking for, in my size.

We watched the sunset as we walked back along the seafront to the carpark, along with what seemed to be most of San Sebastian’s population, promenading as the Spanish love to do in the evenings. I don’t suppose we’ll have another chance to get away this year, but hopefully Nick will be able to diagnose the problem and repair the camper by the spring.

Mid December

Our lime tree did us proud this year, producing about 50 fruit. I made lime marmalade and lime drizzle cake, and Nick made a batch of Indian lime pickle. It had to be left a little while to mature, but we opened it today and it’s amazing! Loads of flavour, but none of the petrol-y taste of Sharwood’s. 

I don’t think there’ll be much marmalade next year, Nick wants to use all the limes for pickle.

It’s really cold here in the room where I write the blog; north facing and unheated, it’s great in the heat of summer, but when it’s frosty outside, I can see my breath as I sit by the computer. So not much for you to read tonight; I hope you like the photos.

We’re getting on well with the shutters; just two big pairs to paint now. It takes a while to get the effect I want, but I’m pleased with the result and think the effort is worthwhile.

Nick, meantime, has started to build what he calls “woodhenge”; it’s going to be a curved pergola when the weather warms up enough to work outside again, over which we hope to grow lots of climbing plants.

But that’s enough shivering; time to get back to the fire!

Nick’s been busy making shutters for our new house, so it was my job to choose the paint colour. Although the house is new, we don’t want a dead flat colour on the shutters, but something a little more interesting and older looking. So for the base coat I chose a warm buttery shade that tones with the walls, with a soft blue as a top coat.

I’ve been experimenting on a scrap of wood; primer, two coats of the base coat, then a thin coat of the blue, that looks as though I couldn’t be bothered to do it properly. I tried rubbing a bit of wax on the edges after the second base coat, then rubbed back the blue with a scourer once it was dry.

It will take some time, but I think the effect is worth it.

When we moved here, I joined the local patchwork club. The ladies were lovely, welcomed me and  showed me their way of working. I tried to go along with it, but I never really fitted into a group who hand stitch repeated blocks, then hand quilt them to make quilts and wall hangings. They couldn’t understand when I took my sewing machine along and started producing waistcoats and other items of clothing, not a traditional block in sight.

So when I heard of a textile arts group, I phoned the woman who runs it; could I join? She told me she couldn’t take anyone else, which turned out to be a euphemism for membership being by invitation only, but if I wanted to go to a workshop they were running, I’d be very welcome. The workshop was great, treating organza with a soldering iron and a hot air gun, painting hot melt glue and using it to print fabrics; it was like being a kid again, but with no one saying “be careful”. By the end of the day, I was invited to join the group; I couldn’t have been more pleased. Our meetings are great fun, playing with fabrics, wools, paints and glue; a complete escape from the humdrum routine of housework and DIY.

We were invited to take a stall at a patchwork exhibition in Mirande, about an hour’s drive from home, so Nick and I took the camper van for the weekend as we’d never been there and it would be new roads for Nick to cycle. We took along the “art” clothes I’d made previously, a waistcoat I’d made since joining the group and a mannequin I’d borrowed. Our stand filled 3 tables; we were the only textile artists at the show and attracted numerous compliments on our work as well as invitations to another two shows. Two people even asked if my waistcoat was for sale; no way, but I was very flattered.

Mirande is quite pretty, with an unexpectedly big cathedral in the centre of the town, whose buttresses form arches over the surrounding roads. When I went into town to buy bread on the Sunday morning, my senses were assaulted by the smell of chicken roasting in a rotisserie outside the little supermarket. Our planned lunch of leftovers suddenly seemed most unappealing; I bought tinned potatoes, green beans and ratatouille and reserved a chicken to collect just before they closed. Once bought, I wrapped it in the insulated windscreen shield to keep warm; Nick was surprised to say the least, to get a “proper” Sunday lunch at the end of his ride.

All in all, a good weekend.

A few weeks before the cycle club AGM, Maurice announced that he’d be standing down from the post of secretary; no one could say he hadn’t done his bit for the club, he’s held the post since 1978! The search was on for someone to replace him and several people approached Nick, who was very flattered and happy for his name to be put forward.

The AGM is hardly the most exciting event in the calendar, but as it’s held in a smart hotel in Nogaro and is followed by a slap up lunch, heavily subsidised by the club, most members turn up.

Reports from the president, the treasurer, the secretary, the guy in charge of health and safety, the mayor of Nogaro and a representative of the group who ran the European Cycling week in Auch in the summer were all read, then we were woken up for Maurice’s presentation.

Maurice collects knives, the folding variety that no self respecting Frenchman leaves home without; he has about 700 of them, but hadn’t got an English one, so while we were in Harrogate recently, Nick spent a day in Sheffield choosing two, one whose handle is of stag horn, the other of buffalo horn inset with turquoise. Maurice was delighted with them.

One of Nick’s tasks as secretary is to plan the routes for each Sunday’s club run, something he’s more than happy to do; he’s collected the inevitable stack of paperwork (this is France, where officialdom reigns supreme) and is gradually learning what else will be expected of him. Meetings are never easy here, as everybody talks over each other, but it’s got to help improve his French.

Between building the house, throwing a mega party, planning and landscaping the garden, growing most of our own fruit and veg and other various activities in which we’re involved, I suppose it’s not surprising that we’ve been feeling more than a little tired recently. So when Alex asked if we’d like to visit, to see the house she and Graham have bought, it seemed a good opportunity to have a break.

It was great to see Alex’s new home, to meet up with all Nick’s family and mine, as well as friends from our past life and to catch up with everybody’s news; but as relaxing breaks go, it was a non starter as we squeezed in visits to uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters, friends from all over. A day in York with our granddaughter, spent largely in the Fudge Kitchen; a day walking in the Dales with friends, when the sun showed up the glorious autumn colours; a curry evening with as many friends as could join us; our younger granddaughter’s birthday party; our books remained unread and “chilling time” a dream, though we did enjoy it.

We took the ferry to Zeebrugge on the return journey, watching the film “Miss Peregrine’s home for peculiar children” in the onboard cinema, I thought it was brilliant, though I think Nick was less impressed; then had a day sightseeing in Bruges, beautiful at this time of year.

And now it’s back to reality; there’s still loads of work to do and we’re no less tired than we were before we left. Perhaps we need a holiday!

Après un été très occupé, on était tellement fatigué qu’on a décidé aller à Harrogate récemment, voir la nouvelle maison de notre fille, rejoindre avec de la famille et des amis qu’on n’a pas vu depuis des années et aussi on espérait de se reposer.

On a passé un très agréable séjour; un jour à York avec notre petite fille; un jour faisant la rando dans les Yorkshire dales; on a fait la fête d’anniversaire de notre plus jeune petite fille; mais entre les visites ici et là-bas, avec la famille et les amis, nos livres sont restés fermé et le repos est resté un rêve.

En rentrant nous sommes allés à Bruges où on était des touristes pour la journée, c’était très beau. Mais maintenant on est même plus fatigué qu’avant et on a toujours besoin des vacances!

The days are getting shorter,

The nights are drawing in,

The evenings are feeling cold.

“Can we light a fire?” says I,

“Not till I’ve swept the chimney” says he.

I’m cold.

Sitting in the evenings, 

I put on extra sweaters,

I wrap up in a quilt,

I go to bed early with a hot water bottle.

“Can we light a fire?” says I,

“Not till I’ve swept the chimney” says he.

I cough.

“Bronchitis” says the doc,

“Go home and stay warm”.

We visit friends,

“You look awful” they say,

“Go home and stay warm”.

“Can we light a fire?” says I,

“Not till I’ve swept the chimney” says he.

Today he swept the chimney,

I polished the stove,

We brought in wood.

Tonight we’ll have a fire and be toasty warm,

And I’ll be a happy bunny.

It seems so long ago that Nick suggested we design our new house upside down; it was so long ago. His reasoning was good; the interesting architecture is upstairs, the views are better from upstairs and the bedrooms will stay cooler in the summer.

What we didn’t take into account was the difficulty of getting such small, lightweight items as kitchen units, a large fridge or a range cooker onto the first floor. Nor the 152kg of woodburner that we bought a couple of weeks ago and which lived for a while on the terrace, until Kieran could come over to help move it.

The digger being out on loan, using that wasn’t an option; nor could they use the electric winch because of the overhang of the balcony; so ingenuity and brute strength came into play. They removed any parts they could, put up two ladders, side by side and wrapped the stove carefully in blankets before strapping it to a pallet. They attached a hand cranked winch as far as possible up the ladders, it only has about a metre of wire, then one winched while the other pushed. They used chocks and wooden beams to stop the stove sliding back down while the winch was reattached to the ladders higher up. That worked well till they reached the top of the ladders, but how to get it the last bit of the way? After a bit of head scratching, they removed the back planks from the balcony so they could tie ropes to the beams below, took the wire over a briquette and a beam to give it the required height and finally it arrived. Getting it from there to the fireplace was a doddle after the previous two hours’ nerve wracking hard labour.

Now all it needs is plumbing in; but Nick wants to rebuild the entire chimney, from bottom to top, first. I think it could be a very cold winter!

Quand on a pensé de faire notre maison dessus dessous, on n’a pas consideré comment on allait mettre des choses lourdes, comme frigo, cuisine ou gazinière, en haut.

Ni le poele qu’on a acheté et qui pese 152kg. Kieran et Nick ont réussi le mettre en haut avec des echelles, un treuil et beaucoup d’ingéniosité. Maintenant il ne faut que l’installer, mais Nick veut reconstruire toute la cheminée, du haut au fond, avant. Je crois qu’il pourrait etre un hiver froid chez nous!

In spite of repeated assertions that he’s hardly been out on his bike this year, Nick has clocked up a fair few kilometres.

It started back in April, when he got back on the bike properly after his accident, with a week’s trip to Majorca with Ian and Andrew; 600km. Another few weeks off after having the pins removed from his ankle, and it was time for the big trip up the Col de Tourmalet, with hundreds of other cyclists, accompanying the Geant du Tourmalet statue up the col to its summer home. A long weekend soon afterwards with Andrew and Ian saw them take in five cols and 8300m of climbing over 330km in the Pyrenees.

Then there was the morning I woke to find a note; “gone for a ride – heading south – at least 6 hours”. He’d left at 7.30am and phoned at 11.30 to say he was in Bagneres de Bigorre, in the foothills of the Pyrenees, was “going strong for the top” to quote Hillary and Irvine, so it would be rude not to go on to do the Tourmalet. Fortunately his trip had a happier ending than the ill fated Everest ascent and he got home at 7.30pm, having done 240km in the day as well as the Tourmalet (a savage climb of 29km, for those who don’t know it).

While I was at the patchwork show in Ste Marie aux Mines, Nick was exploring new territory; he’s long wanted to cycle in the Vosges, so this was a perfect opportunity, not to mention probably the only reason he agreed to drive 1100km each way so I could go to a patchwork show. The first day he’d planned a 130km route to take in 4 cols, including le petit ballon and le grand ballon; but on arriving at the summit of le petit ballon, he found that the road marked on the map for his descent didn’t exist, it simply petered out on the top, into trails and footpaths. So back the way he’d come up and find a new route back to Colmar; he ended up doing 170km that day. Day 2 was a gentler, more touristy ride, calling in to pretty villages with German sounding names and stopping to look at the French and German WW1 military cemeteries on either side of the border that runs along the ridge top; a mere 120km.

Since then he’s met Wayne, a New Zealand cyclist who has moved here, but with limited French. I don’t know how the Nogaro pharmacist had heard that he was looking for someone to ride with, but she mentioned it to our friend Jacques, who phoned Nick with Wayne’s number and a request to contact him. They’re well matched, both equally keen on the mountains and have had several trips to ride various cols before the winter weather sets in.

In all, he’s covered 6265km and ridden 39 cold so far this year; not bad, considering he couldn’t start till March.