We found a little note in the letter box last week; the commune is starting renovation work at various sites in the village and needs the help of any willing volunteers on a series of Saturday mornings, beginning last Saturday. 

It was a foul day, cold and wet; we wrapped up well in wellies and cagoules and headed to the Mairie for an 8 o’clock start. This being the Gers, that means breakfast; ventreche, fried eggs, cheese and bagueutte, prepared on a plancher by Patrick, the mayor, and washed down with coffee and red wine. Being mayor here is very different from in England; no fancy clothes and big chains to wear, the mayor is expected to muck in with everything that goes on in the village, including turning up on a wet Saturday morning, in wellies and combats, to man the chain saw.

Not many people turned up, but the French don’t tend to go out in bad weather; we split into two groups, our group cleaning up the porch of a little chapel before joining the rest of them at one of the lavoirs. A lavoir is a wash house, where the women used to go to wash clothes, a sort of miniscule swimming pool with a roof and sometimes walls; this one was in quite a bad way as several of the roof timbers had rotted, leaving the roof in serious danger of total collapse. 

We slipped and slid on the soaking wet mud and grass as we made human chains to pass down the roof tiles, most of which were reusable, so someone brushed off the worst of the moss before we stacked them around the lavoir. The broken ones were taken by a farmer to use as hard core as we removed most of the big beams, I think they’ll probably be turned into firewood. One of the men cleared enough of the mud around the lavoir basin to unearth the tap and allow it to drain.

We left before midday, having done as much as we could, and went back to the Mairie for aperos. On the fourth Saturday we get lunch too, as a thanks for helping.

At our party last year, people gave us money by way of a present, to be split between a donation to Craft Aid International and a holiday. Having been working hard on the house for the last five years, we’re both exhausted, so decided to take a break; Marrakech was to be our destination for a week, somewhere I’ve long wanted to visit.

We stayed in a riad, where the staff were lovely, coping with my diet, teaching me words in the local dialect, to add to the handful I’d learned from the phrasebook, and lending us money to pay off an unwanted, unofficial “guide”.

We visited the Majorelle Gardens, an oasis of calm in the middle of the city; el Badi palace, a vast ruin, known in its heyday as “the incomparable”, we could well see why;  the Saadian tombs with their amazing carved cedar wood; and the Jemaa el Fna, the central square. We got utterly lost in the souks, an absolute warren of tiny, narrow streets, where we were picked up by a very canny unofficial guide on our first day, who led us deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, until I, quite scared as we walked through alleys where there were dead rats lying around, few people and still fewer Europeans, managed to convince him that I was unwell and had to get back to the hotel. It’s the first time I’ve ever known Nick to get lost, but even he was totally disorientated.

We held mint to our noses as we visited the tanneries, which smell worse than anything I’ve encountered before; we provided a good deal of amusement when we asked what the green stuff was that was added to the coffee, ground for the woman before us in the queue and we got soaked to the skin when the heavens opened one afternoon, turning the alleys in the souks into a mudbath.

The high point of the week was a minibus trip to Ouarzazate, on the edge of the Sahara desert. We twisted our way over the Atlas mountains, stopping at the UNESCO protected, ancient, fortified village of Ksar Ait Ben-Haddou, which is frequently used as a film set, used for such films as Lawrence of Arabia and Gladiator. Our guide belonged to one of a handful of families still living in the old village, most people having moved to the new village across the river, with its electricity supply and other mod cons; we were given access to his house, built of earth and straw.

Then to Ouarzazate, home to two film studios and a beautiful old Kasbah, and finally back on the bus for the four hour journey back to Marrakech, a long day, but well worth it.

I suppose it’s par for the course to get some sort of tummy upset there, no matter how careful you are, and Nick was struck down one day. By the evening I was hungry; could I find my way to the restaurant we’d been to a couple of days before? Yes, and I even found my way back to the hotel! But I wasn’t sure about walking through the little alleyways that surrounded the riad on my own and had scenes from the film “the Sheltering Sky” running through my head; stupid, I know, but Nick said he thought the same!

For me, the major attraction was to be the souks, I’ve always wanted to try my hand at haggling prices; however, I had no idea just how aggressive the selling is, and found it quite intimidating to be harassed and almost dragged into  a shop for just glancing at a piece of fabric, a bag or a scarf. Nicked coped better than me and won the week’s haggling​ prize, paying a mere 110 dirrhams for a knife whose price started at 2500.

All in all, it was a good holiday, but hardly the relaxing trip we both needed, as we got home even more tired than before. Once the family has left after Easter, maybe we can go away in the camper for a restful break.

When we got home tonight from a hard day trailing around DIY shops, second hand furniture shops and the biggest charity shop ever, tired and hungry, it was to find the cat behaving strangely. He was prowling around the fridge, trying to squeeze his not inconsiderable bulk into the little space beside it. Aha, thinks Nick, maybe there’s a mouse! And quite rightly too; a little mouse suddenly appeared on the opposite side of the fridge to the cat, and disappeared again just as quickly, underneath the fridge.

Nick moved the fridge out of its alcove, the cat could get all the way round now, but couldn’t find the mouse. Nick got a length of wood, which he swept under the fridge; no sign of mouse, just an embarrassing amount of dust and fluff. He shone a torch under the fridge, which frightened the cat away, but didn’t show up a mouse. He propped the fridge up on bits of wood, shone the torch in the back and lo and behold, a mouse, wedged under the compressor! 

He dislodged the mouse, which shot across the kitchen, to hide under the bags we’d just unloaded from the car, the cat shambling along behind at a leisurely pace. As we removed the bags, mousey ran under the dresser; Nick swept with the stick, loads more dust and fluff, but by this time, the mouse had climbed the wall behind; a sweep of the wall saw it tumble behind the bin. The cat, however, had long lost all interest in the mouse and had wandered off, leaving Nick to deal with the disposal of the mouse. 

The cat may be a dead loss, but we did find a piece of furniture for the landing in the gite.

We had a cold couple of weeks recently, with temperatures well below freezing at night and frequently not rising much during the day; but when the sun did show his face, temperatures soared, and some afternoons were gorgeous, warm enough, in fact, to work outside in a T-shirt. Nick took full advantage of this to finish the pergola, though I still need to treat the cross pieces of wood as soon as the weather has another good spell.

We called into a local garden centre and treated ourselves to some climbing plants to put against the posts and a few other things to go in the spaces in between; for now, it still looks bare, but once the plants get established it should begin to improve.

Today’s weather, by contrast, has been absolutely foul; howling winds and sheets of rain lashing even against the balcony doors, 3 metres in from the balcony edge. A day too revolting even for Nick to contemplate cycling.

He has, however, turned on the heating in the new house recently, which makes it so much more pleasant to work in there; no longer do I need to wear four sweaters and extra socks when painting – bliss! So today seemed an ideal opportunity to start clearing and cleaning, ready for the big move; yes, it seems as though it may actually happen one day!

We swept walls and floors, hoovered, cleaned out kitchen cupboards and drawers and removed masses of cobwebs and dead flies; then Nick was able to start bringing in some of the boxes that we packed in Harrogate five and a half years ago, which haven’t been opened since. What a voyage of discovery! Glasses and pottery, muffin tins and flan dishes, vases, jugs and teapots; it was like Christmas day, rediscovering things we’d entirely forgotten. But just like Christmas, whereas unwrapping some items was an absolute delight, others left us wondering why on earth we’d ever bought them, let alone gone to the trouble of wrapping them to bring with us.

I can’t believe how many ornaments and other bits of useless junk we’ve got; a once treasured brass kettle, a jug we bought in Pitlochry over 30 years ago, which neither of us now likes, “ugly mug” pottery drinking glasses and matching jug and a glass “lucky duck” that Kieran brought home from Whitby on his year 6 school trip, when he arrived home from the trip with presents for the whole family and more money than he’d taken. It turned out he’d charged his classmates to make their beds! Very enterprising! I really don’t want the place filled with clutter, so some things will be heading to Emaus later this week.

Amongst the loveliest of surprises was a little note scribbled on a sheet of kitchen roll and tucked into one of the boxes; “I love you and miss you already. Love Alex and Izzy”. So much has happened since those days of wrapping and packing, starting on the biggest adventure of our lives, less prepared than we believed for the challenges that lay ahead of us, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Nous avons eu quelques semaines froids récemment, avec des températures bien au-dessous de zéro la nuit et ne se levant pas beaucoup fréquemment pendant la journée; mais quand le soleil a montré son visage, les températures ont grimpé, et certains après-midi étaient magnifiques, assez chaud, en fait, à travailler à l’extérieur en T-shirt. Nick en a profité pleinement pour terminer la pergola, même si je dois encore  traiter les traversées de bois dès que le temps a une autre bonne période.

Nous sommes allés à un pepinière local à acheter des plantes grimpantes pour mettre contre les poteaux et quelques autres choses pour aller dans les espaces entre; pour l’instant, il semble encore nue, mais une fois les plantes s’établiront, il commencera à améliorer.

Aujourd’hui, par contraste, il a fait horrible; du vent hurlants et des feuilles de pluie battante contre les portes du balcon même 3 mètres à partir du bord du balcon. Un jour trop révoltant  même pour Nick à contempler faire du cyclisme.

Il a, cependant, allumé le chauffage dans la nouvelle maison récemment, ce qui le rend tellement plus agréable de travailler là-bas; pas plus que je dois porter quatre pulls et deux paires de chaussettes pour faire la peinture – le bonheur! Alors il semblait aujourd’hui une occasion parfaite pour commencer le nettoyage, prêt pour le grand déménagement; oui, il semble que ça va  arriver un jour!

Nous avons balayés murs et carrelage, passé l’aspirateur partout, nettoyé les placards de la cuisine et les tiroirs et retiré des masses de toiles d’araignées et mouches mortes; Puis Nick était pret à commencer à apporter des boîtes que nous avons emballé à Harrogate il y a cinq ans et demi, qui n’ont pas été ouvert depuis. Quel voyage de découverte! Les verres et la poterie, des moules à muffins et des plats à quiche, des vases, des cruches et des théières; il était comme le jour de Noël, on a redécouvert des choses que nous avions complètement oublié. Mais tout comme Noël, déballant alors que certains articles était un vrai délice, d’autres nous ont laissé se demander pourquoi  nous ayons jamais les avons achetés, et encore moins pris la peine de les envelopper d’apporter avec nous.

Je ne peux pas croire combien de décorations et d’autres morceaux de ferraille inutile que nous avons; un ex-précieux chaudron de cuivre, une cruche que nous avons acheté à Pitlochry il y a plus de 30 ans, que nous n’aimons plus, des verres de poterie à boire “tasse laid” et pichet correspondant et un verre “canard chanceux” que Kieran nous a offert apres un voyage à Whitby  avec l’école, quand il est rentré avec des cadeaux pour toute la famille et plus d’argent qu’il avais pris. J’etait tres embaraesé a decourir qu’il avais chargé ses camarades de classe pour faire leurs lits pendant les vacances! Très entreprenant! Mais moi, je ne veux vraiment pas l’endroit rempli de toutes sortes de n’importe quoi, donc certaines choses se rendra à Emaus plus tard cette semaine.

Parmi la plus belle des surprises était une petite note griffonnée sur une feuille de rouleau de cuisine et niché dans l’une des cases; “Je vous aime et vous me manquez déjà. Bisous, Alex et Izzy”. Tant est arrivé depuis ces jours lointaines, des jours de conditionnement et d’emballage, à partir  pour la plus grande aventure de notre vie, moins bien préparés que nous croyions pour relever les défis qui nous attendaient, mais je ne changerait rien pour tout le monde.

Most French meetings that I’ve attended being somewhat anarchic, chaotic, noisy affairs, the detail of what goes on can be difficult, if not impossible, for a foreigner to grasp fully. The problem (well for us, it’s a problem) is that everyone talks over everyone else, not bothering to listen to whatever anyone else is saying, so decisive outcomes are rare; in fact I’m not sure if decision making is even the goal!

With this in mind, when elected to the post of cycle club secretary, Nick’s major concern was that he might be required to take minutes at meetings and write reports. He had his first “proper” meeting last night and yes, he was expected to take notes, but said that at least three others were busily scribbling throughout as well, whether for their own benefit or because they shared Nick’s doubts, we’ll never know.

 Never at ease having to express himself by means of the written word, especially in French, and being a painfully slow typist to boot, he’s spent most of the day hunched over the laptop, occasionally asking how to spell a word or how to phrase something. How to refer to non-attendees was a problem, but I emailed a friend who knows such things and who also suggested the useful phrase “sauf erreur ou omission de ma part” (unless I’ve mistaken or forgotten anything), for the end of the report; could be very useful! Hopefully he’ll finish tonight and email the report to the president for confirmation that he’s got the gist of it, before he publishes it.

Fortunately these meetings don’t seem to happen too frequently, otherwise this secretary lark could be a full time job!

La plupart des réunions de français auxquelles j’ai participé sont quelque peu anarchiques, chaotiques, bruyantes, le détail de ce qui se passe peut être difficile, sinon impossible, pour un étranger de saisir pleinement. Le problème (certainement pour nous, c’est un problème), c’est que tout le monde parle tout le temps, sans écouter ce que quelqu’un d’autre dit, donc des résultats décisifs sont rares; En fait, je ne suis pas sûr si la prise de décision est même le but!

Dans cet esprit, lorsqu’il a été élu au poste de secrétaire de club de cycle, la principale préoccupation de Nick était qu’il pourrait être tenu de prendre des notes aux réunions et d’écrire des comptes rendus. Il a assisté à sa première réunion «correcte» hier soir et oui, il était censé prendre des notes, mais il a dit qu’au moins trois autres gribouillent aussi, soit pour leur propre avantage, soit parce qu’ils ont partagé les doutes de Nick, nous ne saurons jamais.

Jamais à l’aise d’avoir à s’exprimer à l’aide de l’écrit, surtout en français, et en étant une dactylo douloureusement lente à démarrer, il a passé la plupart d’aujourd’hui devant l’ordi, en demandant, de temps en temps, comment un mot s’écrit, et on a du demander une copine certains choses; je crois que la phrase “sauf erreur ou omission de ma part”, qu’elle a suggéré, pourrait être utile! Mais je crois qu’il le finira ce soir. Heureusement ces réunions n’ arrivent pas trop souvent!

Our textile arts group met again last week; the list of requirements this time included paints, glue, crochet cotton, beads, lutradur (a non-woven synthetic which can be used in an amazing number of ways) sewing machines and hot air strippers. I also took along an electric radiator as the room has minimal heating and it was bitterly cold.

We were to make painted, embroidered, lutradur containers; for vases, nightlight holders, or just for fun; I fancied making a lamp, so Nick had prepared me a wooden base with light fitting attached.

Some of us followed the instructions, copying the suggested pattern and stitching first, while others did their own thing, painting before sewing their own design, using crochet cotton, or other thick thread in the bobbin. I chose a multi coloured design and watched in delight as the paints blended themselves, one running into the next, across the lutradur, the end result being better than I’d dared hope. Others used thicker paints, giving a totally different result, each one unique and beautiful in its own, individual way.

By lunchtime, we’d all finished painting and embroidering, so we hung our bits of lutradur near the radiators to dry while we ate; then the fun part began.

We wrapped up in as many layers as possible, to work outside as lutradur gives off fumes when you heat it; we hung hot air strippers out of the window and started to burn the lutradur. Nothing happens for a little while, then it starts to curl and wrinkle, the edges crumple up and disappear and a network of lacey holes appears. It’s difficult not to get carried away and be left with nothing! 

Once that was done, we beaded and glued up what we’d made, most of the ladies completed their work in the day, but I, of course, had done my own thing and still had bits to finish off at home. It’s done now, though, and I’m pleased with the result!

Notre groupe d’arts textiles s’est rejoigné la semaine dernière ; cette fois on a du amener des machines à coudre, des peintures, du coton à crocheter, des perles, du lutradur et des décapeurs thermiques.

Nous avons peint et cousu le lutradur, avant de le bruler avec les décapeurs, puis on a attaché des perles et à collé pour finir

Chaqu’une était différent des autres, mais tout le monde était content avec leurs travaux de cette journée très agréable.

Meet our beautiful little grandson, born on January 4th, demonstrating a good pair of lungs and weighing in at a very healthy 3.9kg (a little over 8 &a half pounds).

Mother Alice and baby are both very well and Kieran is totally besotted. I dare say he’ll come down to earth one day, but not too soon, I hope.

Je vous présente notre beau nouveau petit fils, qui est arrivé le 4 janvier et qui pesait 3.9kg.

Sa maman et lui vont très bien et Kieran est complètement fou de lui; un jour il redescendra à la terre, mais pour le moment il me plaît beaucoup le voir si heureux.

Early January

It’s the time of year, here in France, when every supermarket has its “foire au porc”, or pork fair; I suppose the little piggies must have gone to market and the result is fridges bursting with various cuts of pork.

Prices are good, it’s the ideal time to make sausages, so I was despatched to buy suitable ingredients. I got home with a whole pork shoulder, weighing 8kg, apples, boudin (black pudding), chorizo, smoked belly pork and of course, skins, which every supermarket sells.

It’s taken the whole afternoon, but we now have probably enough sausage in the freezer to last us the year; pork, apple, onion and sage; pork, boudin, apple, garlic and parsley; pork and smoked belly; and pork, chorizo and tomato. We’ve kept out one of each; Nick’s really looking forward to dinner tonight

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.