It’s now a week since Nick had the pins removed from his ankle. We were at the clinic by 7am, he went to theatre at 8 and I was able to pick him up at lunchtime as the operation was done under epidural.

I don’t want to tempt fate, but so far, so good; it’s a lot less inflamed than before and seems to be healing at last. The stitches will be removed in ten days and I hope that will be the end of this horrible episode.

Il est une semaine depuis le chirurgien à enlevé les broches de la cheville de Nick. On est arrivé à la clinique à 7 heures, il a opéré à 8 heures et je suis allée le chercher à midi car il a eu un péridurale.

Jusqu’au présent il semble avoir marché bien; la cheville est moins enflammé. L’infirmière enlèvera les points dans 10 jours et j’espère que ça sera la fin de cet épisode horrible.

My annual dose of bronchitis began last Monday, when I woke, feeling as though I’d swallowed a tennis ball. By Wednesday I was coughing; it obviously wasn’t going to go away, so a visit to the doctor provided me with antibiotics. I felt a bit better this morning and besides, I needed some shopping for when Nick gets home this afternoon from his week cycling in Majorca.

I was fine at the market, but standing in the queue for the checkout at the supermarket, I began to feel a bit faint. Suddenly there were people shouting and I was helped to an office, sat down and given some water. I soon felt better, thanked them and stood up to leave. But that’s not how it works here. Within minutes four paramedics/ firemen arrived; they asked questions, took my pulse, blood pressure and oxygen saturation. All normal; could I go home now? NO, certainly not! They made a few phone calls, loaded me into their big red fire engine-cum-ambulance and took me to the doctor’s. The on call doctor examined me and finally gave me the all clear. Back into the fire engine/ambulance, to take me back to where I’d parked the car, at the supermarket; no way were they going to let me walk the 200m!

I thanked them, collected my shopping and went home; it was a bit overkill and unnecessary for me, but good to know how efficiently the system works.

Our open plan, temporary staircase has been through several incarnations; it started straight, but we needed to build a wall across the top of it, so it was chopped and changed and it has moved more often than the ones in Hogwarts. However, it was definitely not child friendly and would need some work before our toddler granddaughter’s visit this summer. When I saw a photo of what I can only describe as a fantasy staircase, which looked like a stack of giant books, I really expected to have to work hard to get Nick’s agreement, but no; his “we could do that” reaction was immediate.

And so began two months of evenings spent with plasterboard and paints. Our original choice of favourite books began to look a bit boring, with fairly plain spines featuring just the title and author, so I started to choose others, still favourites, but whose covers were more challenging. Some took up to five evenings to complete, such as my grandma’s copy of The Wind in the Willows, whose paper cover is torn and dirty from much handling, exposing the fabric beneath.

Eventually, though, they were ready and we spent a morning fixing them in place; I have to say I’m very pleased with the result.

Notre escalier ouvert et temporaire ne serai pas approprié à la visite de notre petite fille de 18 mois cet été. Quand j’ai vu une photo d’un escalier fantastique, qui ressemblait un tas de livres géants, je pensais qu’il me faudrait travailler à convaincre Nick qu’on pourrait faire quelque chose semblable, mais non, il était d’accord tout de suite.

On a passé presque toutes les soirées pendant deux mois avec des morceaux de placoplâtre et des peintures. Au début on a choisi nos livres préférés, mais bientôt il m’a pareil qu’ils étaient un peu ennuyeux, avec leurs dos couleur uni et seulement le titre et l’auteur, donc j’ai choisi quelques autres, plus intéressants. Je suis assez fière de ” The Wind in the Willows”, qui appartenait à ma grand-mère, dont le couverture en papier est déchiré, exposant le tissu dessous.

En fin on a terminé, on a passé un matin en les attacher à l’escalier et je crois que c’est beau.

Twas the fête de St Mont,
And all through the region,
In buses and cars,
Folks arrived by the legion.

There was music and theatre,
And of course, wine to taste,
To be bought by the bottle,
Or cheaper, the case.

While we lunched on foie gras,
A group sang some songs,
Not any old singers,
But St Mont vignerons.

Ok, I can’t get my head round any more verse today, so that’ll have to do.

On Saturday we went to St Mont, one of several villages where the St Mont wine is produced, all of which celebrate this festival over the whole weekend.

There was a play in the grounds of the château, before the ceremonial piercing of the first barrel of last year’s wine, then lunch in the village hall. We wandered around the market that filled the centre of the village, selling all sorts of artisanal produce, from Gascon berets to fresh farm cheeses, from home made brioche to wooden chopping boards and pottery.

Then it was down to the serious business of wine tasting and buying; on arrival, you can buy a wine glass that sits neatly in a holder on a cord round your neck; Nick buys a new one each year as he always loses the cord. The wine tasted, bought and stashed in the car, we decided to head home, passing the policeman breathalysing drivers at the edge of the village. Good idea, I bet he caught plenty.

On Sunday we went to see Didier demonstrating the art of barrel making where he works in Plaisance. It was fascinating to see the different stages of the process, and how they use water and fire, but the photos probably show it better than I can explain it.

It’s been a very busy few weeks; it was time to buy and preserve ducks for the next year and a friend knows of a good organic supplier, so Nick went off with Maria and Daniel to collect them. He arrived home with, not only ducks, but also organic roasted peanuts and a huge bag of lentils. The next couple of days were spent in the arriere cuisine, cooking, freezing and bottling various bits of duck.

Spring, it’s rumoured, is on its way and it’s time to start thinking about the garden again. It hardly seems any time at all since we were bottling and freezing last year’s produce, but we need to plant tomatoes, peppers, chillies, all sorts of things, to give them a good start; so Nick built a little greenhouse for them out of old windows and we spent an afternoon planting.

When Kieran was over last week, he and Nick got started on the kitchen for the new house; we bought it over two years ago and couldn’t remember what it was like, but were relieved to find that we still like it. I’d completely forgotten the handles – they’re lovely! Nick’s spent a day changing the bits on the cooker to take butane instead of town gas.

In the midst of all this activity came St. Patrick’s day; we were booked to play near Tarbes last Saturday, so arrived to start setting up at 5pm. We ate with the organisers, then started to play; there were only about twenty people in at the start, but then they began to pour in, till the room was full to bursting. Most people joined in the dancing; there was a really great atmosphere and everyone seemend to enjoy it. We were meant to finish at midnight, but ended up playing till half past, so by the time we’d dismantled everything and got home it was after 3am. Tonight we’re playing at a bar/restaurant in Nogaro, so it shouldn’t be as late. I was quite relieved when tomorrow’s gig didn’t materialise, due to lack of communication; it’s been quite a heavy week anyway.

Today was “big haircut” day; the tilleul tree near the house had got way too big, so Hervé and his son, a tree surgeon, came to trim it. Hervé and Nick have spent hours tidying up the trimmings, but there’s still a way to go; but it will be a lot better once it grows a few leaves.

Well, that’s it for now folks, better get ready for tomight’s gig.

Pendant les semaines dernieres , on a était très occupé. on a fait des confits de canards, Nick a construit une petite serre pour les graines qu’on a planté, fait des anciennes fenetres et on a fait tailler le grand tilleul a coté de la maison. Il et Kieran ont commencé construire la cuisine dans la nouvelle maison; on l’a acheté il y a deux ans, donc j’etais contente que je l’aime toujours!

Notre groupe a joué pres de Tarbes samedi dernier, pour la fete de St. Patrick; c’etait une soirée superbe, ou presque tout le monde a dancé et on est rentré apres 3 heures du matin. On joue à Nogaro ce soir, donc je crois qu’on rentrera plus tot (j’espere).

We saw the surgeon yesterday; he’s delighted with the progress Nick’s making as far as his shoulder’s concerned and was almost jumping for joy when he told us how good it is to work with someone so fit, sporty and motivated. He was in no hurry to get rid of us as we discussed topics from the environment to  the current refugee crisis; he can’t have had many appointments booked!

But the ankle; ah, yes, the ankle; still not healing. He sent Nick for another X-ray and gave me an article he’d co-written about the benefits of hydrotherapy post shoulder op, to read while we were waiting for the X-ray; fortunately it was in English.

The bone still doesn’t appear to be healing as quickly as it should, so he’s going to remove the pins. We were hoping he’d do it very soon, but he thinks it will be better left till Nick comes back from his planned cycling trip to Majorca at the end of this month; but at least the end is, hopefully, in sight and Nick can soon get back to normal.

Today was the annual hunt meal in Caupenne; Nick went along, but it’s too much meat for me so I gave it a miss. It started at midday and must have been good as he didn’t get home till 7 this evening, very happy with himself.

He claims not to know what languages were being spoken as he was in a group of Spanish, Italian, Arab and Portuguese, with an occasional Frenchman thrown in for good measure, but it was worth it to see Outdoor Empire recommended bows in action and in the end, says he understood well enough once he’d had a couple of glasses of wine!

After the aperos, they sat down to garbure, a mountain soup that’s a meal in itself; this was followed by paté and ham made from wild boar; then a civet, a slow cooked wild boar casserole. The next course was barbecued wild boar, the hunters have obviously caught plenty of those this year; then salad, cheese and croustade, a local type of apple pie, all washed down with vast quantities of a local red wine.. They finished off with coffee and armagnac, no wonder he looks sort of mellow!

I haven’t written many blogs recently because there hasn’t been much to report. In fact, by the time Nick’s been to see the physio three mornings a week and we’ve been swimming, there doesn’t seem to be much week left in which to do anything!

The surgeon said swimming regularly would reduce the recovery time for Nick’s shoulder, but finding an indoor, heated pool isn’t easy as the majority of pools in France are open air and therefore closed in the winter. We found one at a thermal spa centre, about half an hour’s drive away; but it’s closed in winter. There’s another in our nearest big town, about 45 minutes from here, but we were told that it’s not very nice and the water’s pretty cold. There’s another in Dax, but apparently it’s small and usually crowded. Eventually we heard of one in Hagetmau, a mere hour and a quarter’s drive from here; it’s a lovely pool, olympic size and the water is a good temperature. If we time it right, the French are mostly leaving for lunch as we arrive, leaving hardly anyone in the water. A bonus is that a friend lives nearby, so we can invite ourselves for lunch.

A couple of weeks ago there was an elderly man doing butterfly stroke up and down the pool; he arrived at the end where I was and said he hoped he wasn’t annoying me by doing such an antisocial stroke. I have to admit that, as chat up lines go, it was original, especially as there were only five people in the pool at the time, so no lack of space. I’m not sure how flattering it is to be chatted up by an 85 year old, but hey-ho, beggars can’t be choosers! This gentleman turned out to be the national swimming champion of France in his age group (81-85) and he’ll be competing in Paris later this month to hang on to his title. Later on, in May, he’s going to the European championships in London, but when I asked how he expected to do there he said that he wouldn’t win that one because there’s a German who’s stronger than him. “We know each other, he and I”, he declared, so I asked which of them spoke the other’s language; “Neither of us; we just glare at each other” was the reply! It was an inspiration to see someone of his age so driven and so full of life.

Nick says his shoulder is gradually feeling a bit freer, but it’s now 4 months since his accident and his ankle still isn’t healing and is still having to be dressed every two days. Last time we saw the surgeon, he said if it was no better by the next appointment, he would have to remove the pins he put in. We go back next week, so I hope that’s what he decides to do; Nick’s thoroughly fed up with it now.

Entre 3 matins par semaine chez le kiné et un jour aller nager, il n’y a pas beaucoup de temps de faire grande chose. Le chirurgien a suggéré la natation pour aider l’épaule de Nick, mais il est  moins facile de trouver une piscine à l’intérieur, chauffée, ici qu’en Angleterre, ou chaque ville a sa piscine municipale, chauffée. En fin, j’en ai trouvé une à Hagetmau, une belle piscine d’une taille olympique, et on y va toutes les semaines.

J’ai rencontré un vieux monsieur il y a deux semaines, qui est champion nageur de France pour son age (85 ans). Il va à Paris ce mois-ci pour les championnats nationales; après ça, il ira à Londres pour les championnats Européen. Je lui ai demandé si il attend gagner à Londres; “Non, il y a un allemand qui est plus fort que moi; on se connais, lui et moi”. J’ai demandé qui parle la langue de l’autre; “ni l’un, ni l’autre” il m’a répondu, “on se lance des regards noirs entre nous”. Je l’ai trouvé magnifique d’avoir telle esprit à son age.

La natation semble faire bien pour l’épaule de Nick, mais la cheville n’est pas encore cicatrisé, 4 mois après l’accident. Nous espérons que le chirurgien enlèvera les broches quand on le vois la semaine prochaine.

When Nick told him “Your mum’s upstairs, doing acid”, Kieran was a little surprised; but that’s what life here has driven me to! OK, not that sort of acid. The grout for the tiles is cement based, so it leaves a whitish bloom on the tiles, which has to be cleaned off with acid. It’s a tedious, time consuming task because each tile must be cleaned individually, without getting acid on the surrounding grout, then they have to be rinsed several times with clean water. Boring, but the result is worth it.

We bought a new-to-us door for what will be the main entrance to the new house quite a while ago; a lovely, old, solid oak, double door with opening windows behind a metal grill.  Kieran offering to come over to help for a couple of days  seemed a good chance to get it fitted. It was planned to be done in one weekend, but they didn’t exactly get straight to work on the door, preferring to move all the kitchen units into the living space first, then potter with other jobs, before they finally got started at 4pm.

They cut a new hole the right size for the door, propping up the wall above till they got the wooden lintel into position. I had finally got Nick to agree to having a well for the doormat; so they cut away part of the cement floor, leaving Nick to concrete the external edge before the following weekend, when Kieran would be back. Finally, they closed the hole with an old garage door.

The next weekend, they fitted the frame and the doors. we were delighted, it looked perfect, almost as if it had always been there. But the following day it started to rain, lashing rain, straight onto the door. The windows, it seems, don’t seal well and the rain poured in and down the doors. Where the panelling on the outside doesn’t reach the edges is another weak point and the water poured in there too, leaving the bottom of the frame soaked and the doormat well like a miniature swimming pool within a few hours. We moved the camper as close as we could to the door, but it offered little protection; all we could do was sit it out, mopping up at regular intervals, and wait till the rain stopped. This morning was dry, so Nick was able to cut the old garage door to fit the hole; we’ll have to seal the windows shut when they’re dry, which should stop the majority of the water coming in, but I think we’ll have to get planning permission and build a porch to protect the door in the longer term as the door faces west, the direction of the prevailing wind.

Nick et Kieran ont passé deux weekends en remplacer notre porte d’entrée, derrière la maison. C’était super, jusqu’à il a plu; les fenêtres de la porte ne sont pas étanches et la pluie a coulé dedans. Nick a coupé une ancienne porte de garage et l’a mis en place dehors de la nouvelle porte jusqu’à les fenêtres seront sec et on pourra boucher autour des fenêtres.

Moi, je nettoie le carrelage à l’étage avec de l’acide pour enlever les traces de ciment qui restent après avoir fait les joints.

Last year, when Nellie and I sang to open the music festival at Lannux, someone asked if we’d be interested in doing another event; we said we’d love to, but the weeks passed with no word and we soon forgot all about it. Then he got in touch; would we be able to do an hour for the opening of a new art exhibition in February?

We started rehearsing and learning new songs; Nellie decided that as we were billed as doing mostly Irish stuff, we really ought to sing Danny Boy. Hmmmm….. not my favourite, this rather hackneyed, often very badly sung, but yes, best known of Irish songs. I’d have to do something a bit special with the harmony. So I set to work, but never having had a music lesson, and being barely able to read music, (I have a child’s keyboard with sticky labels on the keys to tell me which note is which) the writing is always a long process. I had an idea, though, a rather complicated idea, and 2 months later it was written and we learnt it.

The art gallery is in the corridors of a local secondary school and changes 3 or 4 times a year; there’s a musical evening each time a new artist exhibits their work and it has to be individuals or very small groups playing as the concerts are held in the corridors, amongst the art works, so there’s not a lot of space.

We chose a list of songs, timed them and researched their origins for the copyright/royalties people. Nick took some photos and Nellie wrote a piece about us for the posters. It was all winding up and we were getting extremely nervous, though we knew that most of the audience would be made up of friends.

The big night arrived; they’d put out 64 chairs and had a few spares, but they were soon taken as people poured in. Most of the band came along to support us and soon they had to raid classrooms for enough chairs to seat everyone. Even when we’d got started, nerves got the better of my voice on a few occasions, but overall it went very well, including our first public rendition of Danny Boy. There’s even talk of us being asked to do something else in Nogaro in the spring.

A couple of people recorded us on their phones, so not brilliant quality, but if you’d like to listen, the links are below to Danny Boy and All Around My Hat. Please excuse the bum chord in Danny Boy!