After the Bordeaux-Sete bike ride, it seemed a good idea to get all the members of our club who were involved, together. The date was set; lunch last Sunday, after the morning’s club ride; fifteen people in total, including a retired caterer, which made me not a little nervous.

We were lucky that Gemma was still here; the three of us planned a menu, made lists and shopped, we borrowed tables from the village hall and bought paper plates, dishes, tablecloth and serviettes in the colours of the Tour de France. On Saturday we made patés and cheesecake, cooked a whole salmon and started the chicken in a tandoori marinade; we hard boiled eggs and prepared pastry, found plates and dishes for the aperos and made sure we had enough glasses. On Sunday we got up early to buy bread, make quiches and salads, cook the chicken, make a raita, dress the salmon and make a trifle – Gemma’s speciality, for which I’d bought ingredients on our trip to England in May. Nick took the computer upstairs and put up a slide show of photos taken on the ride. We felt that this wasn’t just a lunch, but an opportunity to dispel widely believed myths concerning the perceived total lack of British culinary expertise. No pressure then!

The weather was perfect for eating out, so we set the tables on the balcony and were just ready in time for people to arrive; we were not, however, prepared for the gifts they brought – a beautiful hibiscus and a jar of fruits preserved in armagnac.

As people arrived, we served aperos in the kitchen, then moved up to the balcony; thinking how much easier this will all be once we’re in the new house. At the moment everything has to be taken through both houses and up the stairs, but that will improve, soon, we hope. I thought the meat patés and the quiche lorraine would disappear first, but everyone seemed to have arrived willing to try something different; so the lentil paté with its spiced fruit salad accompaniment went pretty quickly, as did the spinach, goat’s cheese and sun dried tomato quiche. They loved the cheesecake and there wasn’t much trifle left over, as the wine and conversation flowed until people started to leave in the early evening.

Gemma was finding it tiring speaking French for long stretches, so she’d disappeared mid-afternoon; but when we took the dessert dishes downstairs, it was to discover that she’d cleared up everything from the previous courses and the kitchen was immaculate – what a star! We finished off the rest of the cleaning up and all collapsed into bed early, exhausted after a very busy, but enjoyable two days.

 Après avoir fait le rando de Bordeaux à Sète au vélo, il semblait une bonne idée d’inviter tous les membres de notre club qui ont participé. La date était décidé; déjeuner dimanche dernier, après le rando de la matinée du club; une quinzaine de personnes au total, dont un traiteur à la retraite, ce qui m’a fait un peu nerveuse.

Nous avions la chance que Gemma était encore là; nous trois avons prévu un menu, fait des listes et fait les courses, nous avons emprunté des tables de la salle des fêtes et acheté  de la vaisselle jetable, une nappe et des serviettes de table aux couleurs du Tour de France. Le samedi, nous avons fait des patés et un gateau de fromage,on a fait cuire un saumon entier  et avons mis le poulet tandoori dans la marinade; nous avons préparé des œufs durs et de la pâtisserie, trouvé des assiettes pour les aperos et verifié que nous avions assez de verres. Le dimanche nous nous sommes levés tôt pour acheter du pain, faire des quiches et des salades, faire cuire le poulet, faire une raita, decorer le saumon et de faire un trifle – la spécialité de Gemma, pour lequel j’avais acheté des ingrédients pendant notre voyage en Angleterre en mai. Nous nous sommes sentis que cela était non seulement un déjeuner, mais une occasion de dissiper les mythes largement cru, concernant l’incapacité perçue des savoir-faire culinaire britannique. Donc pas de pression!

Le temps était parfait pour manger dehors, donc nous avons mis les tables sur le balcon et étaient juste prêt à temps pour que les gens arrivent; nous n’étions cependant pas prêts pour cadeaux qu’ils ont apportés – une belle hibiscus et un pot de fruits conservés dans armagnac.

Lorsque les gens sont arrivés, nous avons servi des aperos dans la cuisine, puis on s’est déplacé vers le balcon; on a pensé qu’il  sera beaucoup plus facile une fois que nous habitons dans la nouvelle maison. Pour le moment on doit prendre tout d’une maison à l’autre et monter les escalier. Je pensais que les pâtés à viande et la quiche lorraine  disparaîtraient la première, mais tout le monde semblait d’être arrivé prêt à essayer quelque chose de différent; de sorte que le pâté de lentilles avec sa salade de fruits épicée etait très bien reçue, tout comme la quiche aux épinards, fromage de chevre et tomayes séchés. Ils aimaient le gâteau au fromage et il ne restait pas beaucoup du trifle, lorsque le vin et la conversation coulaient jusqu’à les gens ont commencé à partir en début de soirée.

Gemma a été fatiguée pendant de longues périodes de parler français, alors qu’elle a disparu pendant l’après-midi; mais lorsque nous avons pris les assiettes à dessert en bas, on a découvert qu’elle avait nettoyé tout, depuis les cours précédents et la cuisine était impeccable – quelle bonne surprise! Nous avons terminé le reste de la dépollution et tous les trois sont allés au lit tôt, épuisés après deux jours très occupés, mais très agréables.

It was forecast to be a lovely on Friday, so we decided to take Gemma to San Sebastian, just over the border into Spain, for the day.

We started early and, in spite of getting a bit lost (someone forget to take the map), arrived in San Sebastian in time for a wander around the shops before lunch. The old town is breathtakingly beautiful: narrow streets that pass beneath stone arches, leading to the sea or to open squares full of pavement cafés, where you’re entertained by buskers. The shops are little boutiques, selling all manner of crafts, unusual clothing and artworks and are interspersed with bars and restaurants selling pinxos and tapas and the whole place has such a laid back atmosphere – wonderful.

After lunch we had a couple of hours on the beach and in the sea; it was too hot not to go for a dip, but the waves were growing bigger and the wind stronger. Apparently it’s a local climatic phenomenon; in the afternoon the clouds come scudding in from the sea at high speed, pushed along by strong winds, stirring the sea in the harbour into waves and by 4pm, the beach was closed because of the clouds of sand being whipped up. So back into town for ice creams and coffees, then a leisurely amble back through a now very windswept town, before heading home.

It was such a good day, it made me wonder why we only ever do this sort of thing when we have visitors.

Il a été prévu de faire une belle journée, vendredi, nous avons donc décidé d’amener Gemma à San Sebastian, juste après la frontière en Espagne.

Nous sommes partis tôt et, en dépit de devenir un peu perdu (quelqu’un oublié de prendre la carte), sommes arrivés à San Sebastian avec du temps pour se balader dans la ville avant de déjeuner. La vieille ville est magnifique: des rues étroites qui passent sous des arches en pierre, menant à la mer ou aux places pleines de terrasses de cafés, où on écoute des amuseurs de rue. Les petites boutiques sont très interessants, vendant toutes sortes de choses artisanat, de vêtements et d’œuvres d’art  et sont entrecoupées de bars et restaurants vendant pinxos et des tapas et toute la place a une telle atmosphère décontractée – merveilleux.

Après le déjeuner, nous avons eu quelque temps sur la plage et dans la mer; il faisait trop chaud pour ne pas se baigner, mais les vagues étaient de plus en plus grand et le vent plus fort. Il parait que c’est un phénomène climatique local; dans l’après-midi les nuages ​​arrivent de la mer à grande vitesse, poussés par les vents forts, en remuant la mer dans la baie en vagues et à 16 heures, la plage a été fermée à cause des nuages ​​de sable fouetté par le vent. Donc, on a retourné en ville pour des glaces et du café, puis marché tranquillement à travers la ville désormais très balayée par le vent, avant de rentrer.

Il a été un bon jour, il m’a fait me demander pourquoi nous ne faisons jamais ce genre de chose sauf lorsque nous avons des visiteurs.

We’ve got it: we collected our camping car from a village in the Pyrenees last week, all we need do now is choose a location and head off for a few days away. The previous owners are buying an apartment in Spain, so it was sold fully equipped; all we need to pack is a washbag and food.

Our daughter, Gemma, who’s staying with us at the moment, fancies a trip to Pamplona to see the running of the bulls this week; I can’t say it would be my destination of choice, but it’s a possibility. In fact, we can go anywhere in mainland Europe without having to think about ferries or accommodation – what freedom!

Nick was doing a big ride in the Pyrenees at the weekend, so rather than set off at 5am on Sunday, as he’s done before, he drove down the previous evening and parked up for the night. Much more civilised. Gemma and I would have gone with him, but had booked to go to a Gospel music concert on the Saturday night, a great evening.

As the heatwave sizzles its way into a second week, the garden is suffering, with the grass turning brown and plants looking sad and limp. Normally, we pump the treated water from the septic tank into a storage tank. from where we use it to water the garden. Normally it’s sufficient. But this weather isn’t normal; we’re having to water the fruit and veg twice a day and even then it starts to wilt by evening. We emptied the storage tank again today, so had to start on the rainwater stores in the old septic tank, pumping it into the watering-water tank, all the time watering by hand as our longest hosepipe was in use for the transfer. I felt like Jean de Florette!

As the temperature in the shade on the balcony hit 39ºC this afternoon we were just so glad to have a pool; not a “real” pool, but a stand-on-top-of-the-ground one, which is only 3.5metres across, but it’s the only way to keep cool. We can manage about half an hour outdoors, then it’s time to cool off in the water.

Is spite of our best efforts, keeping windows and shutters closed against the heat, we’re struggling to keep the house cool and it’s around 30ºC upstairs in the bedrooms, making sleep almost impossible, even with fans running all night. I’m beginning to understand the laid-back mentality of people who live in habitually hot countries; I just feel too drained to do anything right now, and am really looking forward to some cooler weather, forecast for next week. Fingers crossed!

Comme la canicule grésille son chemin dans une deuxième semaine, le jardin souffre, l’herbe se seche et des plantes ont l’air triste et mou. Normalement, on pompe l’eau traitée à partir de la fosse septique dans un réservoir de stockage. d’où nous l’utilisons pour arroser le jardin. Normalement, il est suffisant. Mais ce temps n’est pas normal; nous devons arroser les fruits et légumes deux fois par jour et  ils commencent à se flétrir par le soir. On avait vidé le réservoir de stockage encore aujourd’hui, donc on a du employer d’eau de pluie dans l’ancienne fosse septique, le pomper dans le réservoir d’eau d’arrosage, tout le temps d’arroser à la main comme notre plus long tuyau d’arrosage était utilisé pour le transfert. Je me sentais comme Jean de Florette!

Comme la température à l’ombre sur le balcon a touché 39°C cet après-midi nous étions tres heureux d’avoir une piscine; pas une vrai piscine, mais une qui est sur le sol, qui est seulement 3.5metres de diametre, mais il est le seul moyen de rester au frais. Nous pouvons faire environ une demi-heure à l’extérieur, alors il nous faut nous rafraîchir dans l’eau.

Est dépit de nos meilleurs efforts, en gardant les fenêtres et les volets fermés contre la chaleur, nous ne pouvons pas garder la maison fraîche et il fait d’environ 30ºC à l’étage, dans les chambres, ce qui rend le sommeil presque impossible, même avec des ventilateurs en marche toute la nuit. Je commence à comprendre le  mentalité décontracté  des gens qui vivent habituellement dans les pays chauds; je me sens trop drainé de faire quelque chose en ce moment, et je suis vraiment impatient de quelque temps plus frais, les prévisions pour la semaine prochaine. Croisons les doigts!

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.

When the cycle club decided to ride the Bordeaux Sete 2015, Nick jumped at the chance, along with eight others. They would do it over 4 days, covering about 130km a day, over varied terrain, so he started training for it.

We left Nogaro at 4.30am on Wednesday in the black of night, arriving in Bordeaux in time for them to set off at 8o’clock. There was a slight panic when Nick, having put the car keys in “a safe place”, couldn’t remember exactly where that was, but they turned up after a few minutes’ frantic searching; he wasn’t allowed keys for the rest of the trip though! An hour’s riding from Bordeaux and the temperature was steadily climbing, reaching 33ºC by the afternoon, so everyone was delighted to arrive at the first hotel, to drink beer and head out for a good meal in a restaurant that had been recommended in the beautiful old village of Pujols.

We all sat down and started to tuck into the bowls of olives on the table, but when we tried to order, we were told that the €16.50 menu wasn’t available on the eve of a bank holiday and the cheapest one was nearly twice the price. I think they’d taken one look at our less-than-chic attire and decided we weren’t their sort of clientele. So we left, tummies rumbling and Nick managed to find the way to a place he and I had chanced upon a few months ago, where we had an excellent meal.

The weather on Thursday was perfect, not too hot, and the 142km passed without incident, but shortly after arriving at the hotel, the clouds started to move in. The following day was cold, wet and windy – the temperature had dropped from 33 to 9ºC in just two days! To add to the sombre mood, one of the riders heard that her father had died, so she and her husband had to abandon the ride. Everyone was soaked to the skin during the frequent squally showers, sometimes of large hailstones, which even washed the route markings off the road. They were all tired and relieved to arrive at the hotel that evening, having had 3 punctures to deal with in the course of the day.

The final day was the shortest, at 120km; it was dry and warm with a strong following wind helping them along. There was the option of riding up Mont St. Clair in Sete, but most of the riders were too tired, so only Nick did it – indefatigable to the end!

I’d only signed up for the trip as a passenger and to do a bit of navigating; it sounded like a pleasant few days off painting, but somehow I ended up living my worst nightmare; driving the main support vehicle, a van big enough to carry nine bikes and eleven people’s luggage. I like to think I’m fairly independent and able to stand my ground; however, in the company of two very feisty Frenchwomen, one my navigator and the other driving her own car, my plans to leave the riders at the start of each day and do some sightseeing, before meeting up at the hotel in the evening, soon fizzled out. Instead, I did as I was told and, against my better judgement, followed the cyclists’ route “in case we were needed”. That’s to say, I attempted to follow their route, though I think the satnav I was given last belonged to Noah and it soon became apparent that my navigator wasn’t exactly gifted in map reading. I dread to think how many extra miles we did, along tiny roads and through medieval villages where we had to move the wing mirrors in to get between the house walls. It didn’t help that on the final day, hopelessly lost, as was the norm, we asked an old man the way to Aiguesvives, only to be asked if we were aware that there were two villages of the same name within spitting distance; naturally, we were heading for the wrong one. At least we could have a laugh about it.

I did manage to take a few photos along the route, but I’d love to go back there to explore the area properly.

We’d heard so much about the flower show at the Chateau de Gaujacq that it would have been rude not to go and see it for ourselves. When people told us it was really expensive to visit, we thought of the entry prices to the Harrogate Flower Show, and braced ourselves; what a lovely surprise when it was only €6, and that gave you entry to the botanic gardens on the site as well. Betty was delighted to have a day out, too; she loves the way she smells coming home from flower shows.

It was billed as a specialist show, so probably better suited to “real” gardeners than to us, we thought and certainly there were plenty of plants we’d never seen before, as well as stands selling only cactii, or water lilies. or irises in a myriad of colours. There were wooden insect hotels, nesting boxes for hedgehogs and bat boxes, as well as living, woven willow baskets. The stands filled every bit of space around the chateau; each time you thought you’d seen all there was, there’d be more around the next corner and the perfumes drifting round were amazing.

We managed to be very restrained in our purchases this time, and not only because Betty has a small boot; a Morocan mint, a bottle brush plant (which I’ve wanted for ages) and a Sichuan pepper plant. You grind the dried berry casings, not the seed, and apparently it makes your tongue tingle and your lips numb. Should be interesting! Next year we might be in a position to buy more, if the garden is anywhere near ready to go.

The botanic gardens were beautiful, an oasis of calm and quiet , away from the hubbub of the show, but I think it would be worth going back a couple of weeks earlier next year as there was a long wisteria tunnel, with a different variety of the plant growing up each post, some purple, others white. It was almost finished, but must have been breathtaking at its peak.

The only disappointment was the catering, which, after Fources, was a let down; Nick was still hungry when he’d finished eating, but the in-the-know couple sitting near us, who’d had the sense to bring a picnic, had two pieces of cake left over. His hunger must have been obvious as they insisted that they really didn’t want to take it home – he didn’t have to be told twice.