You may remember that Nick’s bike got slightly bent last November; though not his best bike, it was the one he rode most frequently. I expected finding a replacement would be one of the first jobs he did on his return from hospital, but who knows how a man’s mind works!?
He finally decided on a new model and ordered it a couple of weeks ago, expecting it to arrive mid-June; he was like a little boy on Christmas morning when the postman brought it this morning; did he have time to get it set up for this weekend’s trip to the mountains? Work immediately stopped on the kitchen, the noise of drilling was replaced by the sound of cardboard being torn and bubble wrap being removed. The bike under repair was taken off the stand and the new frame put in its place in order to attach wheels, handlebars, pedals and saddle, to the accompaniment of sighs and grunts of approval. In the end, a lack of bottle cages decided him that he’d have to ride an old bike in the hills, but that a short trip is in order this afternoon, just to try it out.
He’s a very happy bunny today.

Peut-être vous vous souvenez que le vélo de Nick était un peu blessé novembre dernier.  Ce n’était pas son meilleur vélo, mais celui qu’il roulait le plus, donc j’attendais qu’il aurait le remplacer tout de suite à sa rentrée de l’hôpital, mais non; qui peut comprendre le cerveau d’un homme !?
En fin il a choisi un nouveau, attendu mi-juin, mais quand il est arrivé ce matin il était comme un petit garçon à Noël; pouvait il le préparer à l’heure pour l’amener en montagnes ce week-end ?
Tout travaux à la cuisine s’est arrêté; le son de la perceuse est remplacé par le son d’un carton étant déchiré. Il a mis ce nouveau sur le porte-vélo afin d’attacher les roues, la selle, les pédales et le guidon. Mais, en fin, c’est la manque d’un porte-bidons qui l’a décidé qu’il va en montagnes sur un ancien vélo, après une courte rando cette après-midi, juste pour l’essayer.
Il est vraiment content!

If there’s anyone out there who looks forward to my blogs and has missed them recently (well, I can dream!), I’m sorry. It’s not that I’ve had nothing to say, just that I haven’t had time!
While the weather was good, and mostly not too hot, we got on with the garden; I was digging, weeding, planting and sowing, while Nick cleared brambles and nettles from around the heaps of building materials, then used the digger to remove earth, and to fill in the hole he’d made with rubble, to make the foundations for our “ruin” wall.
We recycle the treated water from the septic tank to water the garden; up to now it’s been pumped across to a storage tank using a length of hosepipe, but it’s neither pretty nor practical, so he’s laid a length of pipe underground now.
The last few days have been cool, wet and windy, giving us a break from the 2 hour daily job of watering the aubergines, courgettes, tomatoes, butternut squash, broccoli, parsley, coriander, lettuce, beetroot and onions, not to mention all the flowers I’ve planted recently. Not watering means we sometimes finish work before 9pm – bliss!!!
Speaking of onions, we’d decided to plant 400 this year as last year’s 200 were eaten too quickly. I went to the market, it was the assistant who served me, not the talkative boss; he thought there were 50 in a bundle, so I bought eight bundles, but each one was 100, so I ended up with 800 onions! I found space for 700 and swapped the rest with Hervé, for some parsley and broccoli.
This week has been good weather for working indoors; Nick’s getting on with the kitchen, which is starting to look good, while I’ve filled the joints and started painting the entrance hall.
I’m sorry about the lack of photos; the computer isn’t working properly at the moment, so I can’t put them on here. I’ll add some pictures when Kieran’s fixed it.

When we moved here, Kieran decided he’d come with us for a year, to help with the building work. At the end of that year, having barely scratched the surface of the work that needed doing, he agreed to stay for a second year, during which he met Alice, now his wife.

Alice’s parents are architects, who run a family firm and Kieran was soon looking after their computers. He’s really found his niche there and is now an integral member of the team,  loves playing with the 3D printer, has installed a new software system that builds  incredibly detailed models of buildings and which is a requirement for architects designing public buildings. He is also working on introducing an ethos of good customer service across the company, a totally alien concept to the French.

Anyone who knows him will be aware that Kieran is not someone who enjoys being in the limelight, so when he was asked to do a series of presentations on the new software system to other architects, it was his worst nightmare. The presentation was about 20 minutes long and there was to be time for questions afterwards; of course, it was all in French, to be repeated three times in a day. He says it went fine; which, given Kieran-speak, probably means it was brilliant. I’m so proud of him!

At the end of the last cycle club dinner, one of the guys stood up and asked for quiet, a big ask at these boisterous events. He said he was going to read an article from l’équipe, the sports newspaper, written by an undercover journalist who’d infiltrated the club over the last few months and had written an article about the characters he’d met in the Nogaro cycle club.
Obviously a spoof, we all sat back to enjoy it and we weren’t disappointed.
He went on to describe several members who ride regularly; the good looking one who doesn’t like to put in too much effort and has a million excuses for why he’s not at peak fitness; the ex-president for whom money is what matters, who likes to offer advice on a strictly “do as I say, not as I do” basis. Then there’s the late comer to cycling, only taking up the sport after retiring; a perfect gentleman, always immaculately turned out and capable of coping with any paperwork the French system can throw at him, he seems, according to the journalist, to be cycling a little too well and should we be suspicious? He thought that the guy who often rides tandem with his wife deserved a medal for so doing. And as for the one of the few women to ride regularly, who would do anything to help anyone and likes to check that they’ve all taken their medications, had enough to eat, made the bed, locked the house, had a wee……… Or the one who always arrives too late for the formal greetings, so important in France, and passes most of every ride in discussion with the ex-president about the agricultural crisis, the price of maize, the weather, pesticides, etc, etc, but rides strongly; again, should we be suspicious? He blames it on the agricultural pesticides he inhales at work.
Then he got to Nick, aka Bradley Wiggins; this incredible rider who had already performed the amazing feat of escaping the fog of England to arrive in Nogaro, bringing a breath of fresh air to the Nogaro peloton, always attentive to the needs of others and frequently hanging back to help weaker riders. So devoted is he to the club that one day, perceiving a car heading towards them at great speed, he intercepted it, reducing the vehicle to a total wreck and himself suffering several scratches for his wife to fuss over.
We didn’t understand all of it, but enough to appreciate the gist of it; there was hardly a dry eye by the end, everyone was laughing so hard.

The best way to learn a language is to go to the country where it’s spoken. So, having worked very hard recently, feeling in need of a break and having noted that the weather forecast for northern Spain was good this week, we packed up the camper and headed off. First stop Jaca, just 20km over the border; a lovely town with a castle, a cathedral, lots of restaurants and a camper van site.

The only down side to being so close to France, from the point of view of someone who wanted to try out her Spanish, was that most people spoke French, English or both. But I kept trying. Looking around the town I noticed an old fashioned haberdashery shop, the perfect place to buy the bits I need for a textile arts project; full of enthusiasm, I went into the shop, only realising too late that I had neither my dictionary nor the necessary words. I hadn’t a clue how to say “ribbon”, could make a wild guess at “gold” and “silver”, but as for “sparkling” – no hope! Luck was on my side though, as there was a French woman serving. so I bought everything I needed without a problem.

We stayed in Jaca for a couple of days, wandered around the town and castle, ate very well at local restaurants (where the waiters were very patient with my halting attempts at their language) and soon felt very relaxed.

The next place on Nick’s itinerary was Ainsa, an ancient village about 80km away; but we missed the turning, so took a much longer route, which led us past a stunning reservoir, olive and almond groves and fields and road edges full of wild flowers. Ainsa is a little medieval village perched on a hilltop, complete with the ruins of a castle, next to which was the campervan site. The views over the mountains were lovely, especially as the sun set, turning everything golden.

We went for a short bike ride the evening we arrived, to see a monument recommended by the tourist information lady; if I needed any convincing that I don’t like mountain biking, this was it; the views were great, but I was far too busy worrying about falling off on the rutted track to appreciate them!

The following morning we set off on a proper bike ride, ie on nice, smooth, tarmacked roads. We followed a little road up into the hills; there were tiny villages dotted all around and we found ourselves in Guaso, from where you can take the road an extra 1km further up a very steep hill, to see the tower built on the summit; Nick, of course, did; I chickened out halfway, preferring to watch the good looking tree surgeon prune the olive trees on the other side of the road.

Eventually we got back to the camper and set off home, a journey that should have taken about 4-5 hours, but by the time we’d had numerous stops to take photos and called in to see some friends in the foothills of the Pyrenees, it was nearer seven, but we were on holiday after all.

Last Sunday the band was booked to play at a sheep festival; there was sheep shearing, spinning and a variety of other traditional crafts. It all depended, of course, on the weather; if it rained, it would be cancelled. We were lucky; it was quite cool, but dry as we played through the aperitifs, had lunch of hot dogs made with lamb sausages, followed by a croustade, a local dessert made with layers of filo-type pastry, apple and armagnac.

The audience came and went as they wandered between the attractions while the sheep were being sheared and apparently people were listening to us as we attempted to keep warm. I was able to jump about a bit, but poor Vera, our accordian player, just froze and had to give up playing towards the end when her fingers went numb! The organisers, however, were delighted; they’re hoping to do the same thing again next year and will we be available? We’ve never turned down a free feed yet.

Notre groupe a joué à la fête de mouton à Estang dimanche dernier. Ils ont tondu 160 brebis pendant la journée, il y avait une dame qui a filé de la laine aussi que plusieurs autres métiers traditionnelles.

Il faisait sec mais assez froid, mais nous avons joué pendant les apéros et après avoir mangé des hotdogs de saucisse d’agneau et croustade. Les organisateurs étaient contents et nous ont demandé si on peut le faire encore l’année prochaine.

We’ve worked hard on the garden this week, while the weather was warm anyway; but today it turned cold, wet and windy, so we stayed indoors.

I’ve nearly finished weeding the veg plot, unearthing three rows of onions planted last autumn in the process and Nick has done battle with the brambles that had submerged the pile of builders’ materials until, at last, we can see what we’ve got. We’ve taken one trailerful of brambles and weeds to the tip and the trailer is full again. It may not look pretty to most eyes, but these things are relative and to us it looks great! There’s still a large, lumpy patch under which is a heap of stones and rubble; probably next week’s task.

Most of the plants we put into the banking seem to have survived, the wild flower seeds are sprouting, the patches that I sowed with grass seed are growing and the general tidiness meant that when the wind dropped and the sun appeared this evening, it only took a couple of hours to mow the lot. That’s progress!

Nick had signed up to do a bike ride in the Baronies, in the foothills of the Pyrenees, this weekend, so we used it as a good excuse for a trip in the camper, the first of the year. Thursday was spent cleaning the camper, inside and out, and loading it with provisions and bikes, then on Friday we were off.

Our first stop was in Lourdes, to ride the voie verte, a cycle track built on the old railway line, which weaves its way through woodland and meadows from Lourdes to Pierrefitte Nestalas, 20km into the hills. A stop for hot chocolate in the village and back on the bikes to go back to Lourdes, then we headed for Bagnerres de Bigorre for the night.

On Saturday morning, after a leisurely breakfast, it was time to go to the start of the ride, 10km away in Bersac Dessus, on the plain that borders the Baronnies. The weather was perfect, just warm enough, with occassional sunny spells, as over 1000 riders gathered, including quite a few from the Nogaro club. There was a bandas band playing as they set off, a few km on the flat before they attacked the climbs and descents of the Baronnies. Nick did the longest of the four routes, at 89km, with about 2500m of climbing and said he went better than he’d expected.

I went for a walk through some of the local villages; rarely have I seen such a concentration of huge old houses, tucked behind massive gates, usually set in beautiful gardens.  Between the villages were fields of wild flowers, and the ditches on either side of the roads were more like streams, with the mountain melt water rushing along them.

Back at the salle des fetes in the late afternoon, the cyclists began to arrive. The tombola was drawn and huge quantities of sandwiches, cakes, dried fruit, orange juice, water and coffee appeared, very much appreciated by everyone who’d done the ride.

We made our way back to the camper and hot soup, then home, already planning our next trip away.

When we lived in Harrogate, a garden was a luxury beyond our means, a tiny back yard with a little raised bed and loads of pots was all we could manage. Here, however, we have more than a hundred times the amount of land, so it’s been a steep learning curve.

Once mowed, the park looks quite respectable; the front garden, beautifully planted by the previous owners, is a bit overgrown and in need of some TLC; but the field behind the house is horrendous, not deserving the name garden; at the far end is the soil mountain, in the middle is a huge pile of assorted building materials and junk, largely grown over with nettles and brambles, and the rest of it is so lumpy that mowing has to be done slowly to avoid being thrown off the mower. Even the bits we use as veg plots are mostly knee high with weeds at the moment.

Over the winter we’ve been thinking about how to tackle this patch of land. The easiest, and some would say, most sensible, option, would be to level it and throw some grass seed down; but when did we ever choose either the simplest or most sensible path? Gradually a plan is emerging, with areas for fruit and veg, a garden where I hope to grow a profusion of colour and perfume, a Japanese garden for Nick’s bonsai trees, a pergola with climbers growing over it and a curved bank to screen the house across the road. Oh, yes, and I had this idea that I’d like a piece of old-looking, broken down wall with a gate in it, so that’s got to be incorporated somewhere too; it will be quite useful, actually, as it’ll use up some of the lumps of concrete for the foundations and bricks, rocks and old roof tiles in the wall itself.

Over the past couple of weeks we’ve started work; Nick’s reshaped the soil mountain, henceforth to be called the banking and we’ve barrowed masses of home made compost to spread over it. We’ve bought planters to put on the access points to the septic tank, which I’ve treated with wood preserver, ready to plant up after the Fources flower show this weekend, Nick’s started to rehouse stuff from the heap in the middle and has marked out where the wall will go. I’m trying to spend some time every day weeding the veg plots, though you wouldn’t notice yet.

Work on the house has come to a standstill, but that can be done when it rains and, as will happen soon enough, when it’s too hot to work outside after 10 am. If we’re having a party this summer, it needs at least to look tidy.

Quand on habitait en Angleterre, on n’avais pas le moyen d’avoir un jardin, donc notre grand jardin ici représente un rêve accompli, mais aussi, beaucoup à apprendre.

Le jardin derrière la maison est honteux, avec son tas de terre et un tas énorme de matériels de bricolage, presque enterré par des ronces et des orties.

Pendant l’hiver, on a beaucoup réfléchi et lentement un plan émerge, avec des lieux pour des fruits et des légumes, de la place pour un jardin anglais, un jardin japonais pour les arbres bonsaïs de Nick et un pergola pour quelques plantes grimpantes. On pourrait dire qu’il serait beaucoup plus facile de le nettoyer, niveler et semer de l’herbe, mais nous ne suivons jamais le chemin le plus facile.

Donc, on travaille au jardin lorsqu’il ne fait pas trop chaud et les travaux à la maison doivent attendre un peu.

Spring has arrived. We’ve had a week of gorgeous weather, so it’s time to start gardening again, as the warm days and wet nights mean everything, but especially the weeds, is growing like mad.
Nick decided that it’s time to tackle the soil mountain in the back garden, the stuff dug out to install the new septic tank several years ago; he wants to make it into a banking, with plants growing on it. So out came the digger and Nick spent several happy days moving the heavy clay that passes for soil around here into a crescent shape; it needs doing before the heat and dryness of summer turn its consistency to that of concrete.
Now it’s at the stage where he needs to rake over the surface by hand. I’ve sown grass seed on some of the newly flattened bits and thrown compost on top of it, in the hope that the worms will do the work of incorporating that into the soil.
We’ve finally managed to get the “burning pile” to light, with plenty of white spirit, so that’s seeded too and Nick’s moving a couple of heaps of building sand and has promised to sort out the huge pile of roof tiles, wooden beams, bricks and general rubbish in the middle of the garden.
The carrot is the prospect of going to the Fources flower show next weekend; we always come home with loads of plants and nowhere to put them. This year, if we can finish preparing the banking, will be different.

The burning pile - seeded

This little bit of seeding is bigger than the whole garden in Harrogate!

Doesn't look much, but this is a huge pile of soil!

On a commencé faire un peu de jardinage derrière la maison. Premier tâche; former le tas de sol, enlevé pour la fosse septique, en forme de croissant. On doit le finir avant la fête de fleurs à Fources le week-end prochain à fin d’acheter des plantes.