Dicing With Death

The white plate contains the mushrooms - now we contain them!

The Chef looking slightly unsure of her job

Jean shaving - presumably in case we had to look tidy at the A and E Department

A friend called in this morning a dropped off a bag of wild mushrooms.

"I had some for supper last night - delicious" he reported, and we both looked at him closely for any signs of food poisoning.

"The best thing is to cook that one a bit longer and cook it with other sorts and then it won't give you any problems".

"What sort of problems?" I enquired nervously, but he had moved onto other subjects, like the fact that the regular mushroom spots weren't particularly fruitful this year, nor had they been last year.

Assuming that if he hunted mushrooms and survived the harvest each year, we should be OK, so following instructions (and checking on the status of Jean's insurance policy), I proceeded to cook them in salted butter along with barbequed pork chops and some fresh tomatoes dipped in olive oil and dusted with Herb de Provence.

I have to confess that the results were delicious, and here we are an hour later, still alive to tell the tale. However, I did take a photo of each of us plus the aforementioned mushrooms, just in case anyone needed to do a post-mortem, and wanted to know what they looked like - the mushrooms, not us!

The Castries Aquaduct

The view from above Castries towards Pic St Loup


The aqueduct winds through the countryside for some considerable distance

My tour guide and translator

The Castries Aqueduct on the edge of town

In nearby Castries, we have often driven under the arches that span the road going through town which carried the old aqueduct, but we have never thought too much about where it goes to and where it comes from. With a chilly north wind blowing earlier today, we decided to make the most of a lull this afternoon and enjoy a walk in the sunshine, and something on our list of things to explore has been an exposed area of what we thought was part of the aqueduct that ended in the arches in Castries.

The first thing we did was to go and read the information board situated under one of the arches on the edge of town and discovered that the aqueduct once carried water from far away St Mathieu de Treviers. According to the board, some fellow who owned the land where the original spring of water came from, sold the rights to the water in exchange for a pair of gloves!

There were once over 100 arches, some of which were 20 metres high which carried the water to the huge Chateau in Castries which is currently undergoing refurbishment In other areas - like the one we found, the water flowed through the stone furrow at ground level, an amazing piece of engineering considering that it was built in the 1700's. For the entire length of it's journey, the water only had a slope of 3 metres overall, and the fact that it ran through such pretty countryside was a real bonus for us.

It's an Ill Wind

The vineyard after it's haircut



The leaf fall - to sweep or not to sweep, that is the question!

The temperature at night is falling and in order to conserve the heat in the house, Jean nips round each evening and closes the exterior wooden shutters. This works like a charm except that the following morning, we are still curled up fast asleep in the pitch dark, unaware that it is already 8.30am and most of the civilised world is up and doing. We were rewarded this morning when we finally did open the shutters, to find that the sky was a clear blue, and although we were paying for it with a brisk north wind, the wretched rain which has hung around for weeks seemed to have pushed off elsewhere.

“A great day to prune the grapevines” I announced, and Jean leapt straight onto the internet to ensure that we wouldn’t kill them off from lack of knowledge.

“Leave two shoots cut at the second bud and cut away everything else” said the site which tells you how to prune every tree known to man, so we pulled on our jackets and boots and headed out into the vineyard, each clutching a pair of secateurs. Once we had gained our confidence on the first vine, the other three didn’t take us much time at all, and the job was done. From this you will understand that our vineyard isn’t exactly extensive, but as we drive through the local vineyards and see the thousands upon thousands of vines which have to be pruned by hand, we are rather glad that we don’t have a similar problem.

The north wind is doing another job for us and is bringing the leaves down off the micocoulier tree at a great rate. I have looked up the alternative name for this tree but can only come up with “Lotus Tree”. Suffice it to say, it has thousands of yellow leaves that are swirling in great drifts around the courtyard, and a proposed trip to the supermarket was quickly cancelled when we went out and realised how cold the wind was. I can hear my Florida friends laughing as they lie next to the pool!

November Updates - four months in France

The last outing for the bulls and the horses - right outside our house!

Saturday afternoon I went to visit a friend who has recently bought a massive old house in one of the nearby hill villages. Having climbed up through the four floors of draughty hallways, stone staircases, freezing attics and crumbling plaster, I didn’t know whether to congratulate her or commiserate with her. I just hope that she can find that illusive creature known as a “French Builder” who will take on the project without bankrupting her completely. I have to confess that I returned home to our snug single storey easily heated house with great relief and appreciation.
While up in that neck of the woods, we took the opportunity of enjoying a musical evening where wine was included in the entrance fee, and children and dogs entertained themselves by ducking and diving in among the dancers and under the tables, while adults talked and laughed, drank and danced and generally had a good time. It was simple, it was cheap but it was excellent value and the music was really good, and driving back home through vineyards bathed in the light of a full moon, rounded out a thoroughly pleasant day. I have to confess that the day had been further improved by my clever husband who won a huge smoked ham in a lottery. It is the size of a four month old baby and will feed us up to, and including Christmas.

Our trip to the Equisud Horse Show:

From the sublime

Passing by the "Flemish Mare"

To the slightly ridiculous

In the past month, we have gone from basking in summer sun and eating al fresco three times a day, and now we seem to spend far more time inside, appreciating our electric fan heater and the fact that we can close the shutters at night and conserve valuable warmth. I daresay we are in for far colder temperatures in the next few months, but having spent five years in Florida, we are totally unused to the new system of extra layers, sheepskin slippers and another blanket on the bed.

The colder weather seems to bring on a flurry of alternative amusements and every little town that we drive through appears to have a circus passing through. Circuses hold no interest for me whatsoever, and I have never enjoyed watching animals being made to perform. I don’t care how many people dangle off high wires or risk life and limb in the Big Top; the last place I would run away to would be the circus.

What we did enjoy earlier this week was a visit to the Equisud Horse Show in Montpellier, and I fell utterly and totally in love with a palomino stallion who has to be the equine equivalent of Brad Pitt. Only in France would the main arena be surrounded by restaurants so that diners can enjoy a good meal and a fine wine while being entertained with a variety of dressage displays. From massive draught horses to miniature horses, there was something for everyone, and instead of the rather “hoity toity” feel of a British Horse Show, there were “Guardians” from the Camargue showing off their skills, children and adult equestrians from all walks of life, and an enthusiastic audience who in most part appeared to be made up of family members.

The beach at Grand Motte certainly doesn't look like this in summer!

Perfect weather at Port Camargue:

It’s been raining on and off for what seems like weeks, and apart from a quick trip down to the coast to Port Camargue where we struck the most fabulously perfect day, the weather has been decidedly contrary.

The 11th Hour of the 11th Day

The village was definitely going to be rained on this morning but it seemed to make no difference to the crowd who gathered outside the Marie just before 11am. Officials wearing red,white and blue sashes mingled with housewives, children and old soldiers. A little girl came up to me and admired my poppy and then pressed a blue sticker onto my chest which said in French, words to the effect that "Memory is transmissible but hope is given". An elderly relative told her that I was from the United Kingdom which was why I was wearing a poppy, and I felt several curious but kindly eyes on me.

If it had been England, we would have set off for the war memorial just down the road by about 10.45 in order to be in place for the two minute silence at 11am, but this is France, and by the time everyone had kissed everyone else, it was nearly 11.10am, but suddenly with a flurry of flowers and umbrellas, the crowd formed themselves into an orderly line, and we set off down the narrow village street.

The worst of the rain eased off and we stood bare headed at the War Memorial while the Mayor read out the names of soldiers from the village who had lost their lives in various wars, starting first with those lost during the 1914-18 conflict. For what must have been a tiny village in those days, the loss of over ten young men must have been catastrophic, but only one local man had lost his life during the 1939-45 war. It was a poignant moment when the Mayor read out the name of his own close relative who had lost his life in Vietnam, and as the flags dipped, the sound of the Last Post echoed around the Place in front of the ancient church.

A young boy stepped forward and spoke about how the children were still very aware of the sacrifices made, and it was the children who carried the wreath of flowers ahead of the procession. We stood shoulder to shoulder as "La Marseillaise" rang out and the Mayor thanked the British, Commonwealth and American forces who had come to their rescue, and then in true French fashion, everyone was invited back to the Marie for a pre lunch drink.

On my computer, I had watched the Service of Remembrance at the Cenotaph and seen the petals drifting down from the roof of the Albert Hall, and England and France seemed very close. My dear Dad who was in the RAF and my mother who nursed at the Royal Northern throughout the Blitz were very much in my mind, while Jean thought about his grandfather, General Fagalde who had commanded the French troops at Normandy.

Four years ago, I had stood on the after-deck of the QE2 out in the southern Atlantic Ocean and watched a similar ceremony take place, and today they are dropping one million petals onto her decks as she awaits the start of her final journey from Southampton to Dubai. A man stood next to me that day and wept for his shipmates who had all drowned in the freezing waters of the North Atlantic after their ship was torpedoed, and the silence on that great ship is one of my enduring memories.

Thank God for every last man and woman who put on a uniform to defend us from the unthinkable. We shall not forget.

Autumn in the Vineyards mid October

The photos are the result of a quick outing before the sun went down behind the Cevenne Mountains. The warmth is incredible and the stolen grapes were warm and already tasted like the wine that they are destined to become. Actually the ones we are eating are the ones left behind by the mechanical harvesters so it's up to us and the birds to make the most of them.

Medieval Sheep - 14th October

It's three months to the day since we arrived in France. Autumn has arrived in all its glory and we are so happy to be here.

The Bridge over the River Vidourle at Sommieres. Something is going to happen!


The crowd is becoming impatient. But I am sure it will be worth the wait.

Here they are. The smelliest medieval sheep you'll ever see The faces of some of the onlookers say it all!

Just a quick note to say that I am back in France after a week in England, and so very very glad to be home again. Admittedly the autumnal colours were beautiful when I managed to grab the odd gap between rather grey wet afternoons, and it didn't help that the security lady at Luton insisted on taking away two tins of baked beans and a bottle of marmite which were clearly part of a cunning recipe to bring down the aircraft.

The weather here is still mild and the vines have gone from a lush green to a mix of deep burgundy and gold. After a few days of good rain, the garden has softened enough to receive about five hundred hyacinth bulbs which we turned up earlier, and the show in Spring should be quite something.

We nipped up to Sommieres on Sunday under the impression that they were holding a Medieval Fair. Clearly something was going on because usually the market is held on a Saturday, but this time, there were new stalls laden with everything from rows of crispy almond filled sacristans(and you all know how I feel about them), huge loaves of country bread, olives of every hue and flavour, herbs and lavender products, pottery, clothing and endless cheeses and wines.

We realised that whatever action was to take place would be on the bridge that crosses the Vidourle River at the entrance to the old walled town, and we stood around with the gathering crowds, expecting at any moment to be entertained with a cavalcade of minstrels, damsels, knights in armour and an assortment of kings and queens. What did we get? Sheep. Yes, you read right - sheep. Terribly smelly idiotic confused sheep with half a dozen goats chucked in for good measure (and added smell).

There seems to be some sort of ancient custom which says that on one day of the year, a flock of sheep can be driven through the streets of Sommieres, and within half an hour, all the fragrant aromas of freshly baked bread and roasting chickens were overwhelmed with the stench of ripe sheep manure.

Fortunately they left almost as soon as they arrived, having deposited their calling cards throughout the market streets, and we continued trawling the stalls while sidestepping the chocolate drops.

So what was the medieval bit we wondered. Pausing to re-read the sign which we had only read at high speed from a moving vehicle, we realised that what it said was "Market of local produce to be held in the Medieval City of Sommieres". Then again, there was no mention of the sheep but I will enquire as so why we had to put up with the stink and get back to you!

PS I discovered that this is the tradition of "Transhumance" when the sheep are moved from the high grazing lands down to the warmer climes for the winter months. A very smelly tradition is all I can say!

The Biggest Baguette I Ever Did See - Sunday 2th Sept

Imaging trying to fit that into the toaster!

The Spanish dancers at the Teyran Market

Sunday morning in France. How sweet it is to awaken to the birdsong, the outline of light behind the curtains which is a sure sign that it is going to be a sunny day, and the smell of percolating coffee. It's a bit nippy to have breakfast outside any longer, but we still enjoy our daily lunch in the courtyard and it's proving to be a lovely sun trap.

Our plans included a drive over to Teyran to check out the "Marche du Terroir" which roughly translates as a market of local country products. Teyran wouldn't be a particularly interesting venue apart from its tiny tightly built village centre, where there is little room for vehicles, and lots of small passageways to explore. We shoe-horned the car into a parking spot and walked up into the church square to be greeted with the sight of four ladies in Spanish dance clothes swirling to the rythmn of the fandango. All around us, tucked away in different alleyways and cul de sacs were stalls offering a wide range of products from pickled snails, tripes in bottles, local wines, paintings, knitting, pottery, woodwork and a huge selection of sausages made from all sorts of animals (including donkey I have to say).

My favourite stall was the bread stall (quelle surprise) and the two young guys who were operating it, were doing a roaring trade selling off large chunks of the biggest loaf of bread I have ever seen. If I hadn't been leaving for England in 48 hours, I would have happily purchased a piece, but instead, we settled for two rather delicious circular sweet pastries filled with sultanas and vanilla cream.

We managed to turn down pottery cicadas, house number plaques, stone sundials and any number of lavender products and with the music from Swan Lake wafting through the sun filled streets, we left and headed back home for lunch before driving up to Ledignan.

With the help of a couple of the staff, we got Mamy installed in the car and took her for a lovely drive through the surrounding countryside. I think she thoroughly enjoyed seeing new villages and vistas of the Cevennes Mountains which were really quite close to us, and it certainly gave her a great topic of conversation when we left her with her pals awaiting supper.

Home just in time to order a delicious anchovy pizza from Mr Marco and I am headed for bed in view of my date with the dentist tomorrow. This time I definitely am not going to forget the appointment time. Once that is over and done with, I must pack my suitcase and prepare for my departure on Tuesday. There won't be any blog for a week but I hope that you'll check back after the 7th October. I am leaving Jean with a fridge full of all sort of appetising meals and he already has a couple of lunch invitations, so I don't think he is going to pine away. Meantime, I am missing him even before I go, and I can't wait to get back to La Belle France.

Je Reviens.

A couple of Photos - Saturday 27th Sept

Sommieres - the old clock tower above the town wall


Changing colours in the vineyards

I Nearly Lost My Nerve - Saturday 27th Sept

I know I said No More Curtains but this really is the last one!

I have the sneaking suspicion that I am starting to suffer from senior moments. “Starting” says Jean; “How about it becoming a permanent state”.

On Wednesday (despite me losing Tuesday) he kindly phoned the dentist and made an appointment for 11am on Friday morning. The moment he told me, I went and wrote it on a piece of paper and stuck it up in full view. I then proceeded to get up on Friday morning having spent half the night raiding the medicine chest for pain killers, and convinced myself that the appointment was at 3pm. I have no idea why I didn’t consult my bit of paper, and we duly presented ourselves and were met by a slightly annoyed dentist who pointed to her computer screen which clearly stated that I should have been there in the morning. Meantime I would have sold my granny to have had the job done and the pain stopped, but now I have to wait until Monday morning.

This partly explains why there was no blog yesterday. I couldn’t think of anything particularly jovial to tell you about and I seemed to spend a lot of time sleeping off the effects of the pain killers that the dentist issued, and finishing off the final curtain.

Last night was much better and we awoke to another gorgeous sunny day and drove up to Sommieres market in order to buy some bits for friends and family back in UK, and also to meet up with some of the folks that we had met last week. This time we braved the long queue outside the terrific little boulangerie and I was rewarded with a very good sacristan. Mind you, now that I am becoming something of an expert, I must confess that the one at Lunel Market was definitely the best so far. I suppose it’s a bit like your first love – you never quite get over it!

There can be few nicer ways to spend an idle hour than nibbling your way through a whole sacristan while wandering past the sun-warmed stalls selling herbs and spices, lavender and lace, roast chickens and cheeses and home brewed beer.

We arrived at Delices du Liban just before midday and didn’t spot anyone we knew, but within five minutes, the gang began to show up. Some of the folks from last week were there and in addition, there were a few new faces, a couple of house-hunters and the general easy coming and goings. In a way, it’s a bit like being at a rather nice open-air English country pub and the babble of French and English mingles very happily.

Thanks to Douglas who is the senior member of the group, I discovered how the eating and drinking system works. At first I was a bit surprised to see someone sit down at the table and haul out half a baguette, two slices of ham and half a melon. I imagined that the owner might have something to say, but instead, our host came and plonked down a litre carafe of rosé wine and a handful of glasses. The next bunch to arrive were bearing a tray of fresh oysters. Douglas peered at the shells and said, “Hmm looks like they got the expensive ones”.

I asked what the going rate was and he looked very serious as he informed me that the usual ones are 2 euro 40 a dozen but the big ones are around 2 euro 80”. Bearing in mind the fact that you would probably have to take out a bank loan to purchase a dozen oysters in London, it sounded like a reasonable price for lunch, especially when we were washing it down with a very nice wine which was setting us back about 8 euros a litre.

Douglas then went into Hunter/Gatherer mode and disappeared for five minutes before returning with a sheet of aluminium foil in which nestled a sort of crepe filled with spicy mincemeat.
“Where is everyone finding all this food?” I queried. Douglas waved his hand indicating the busy market square in front of us.
“The Mum of the guy who runs this place does the crepes, and the cousin does the oysters and then you can get fresh bread from over there next to the chap with the sausage stall”.

He went on to explain that the couple that ran our hostelry had toyed with the idea of doing food, but realised that they were far too busy keeping up with the demands of their thirsty clientele to be fiddling around in a kitchen. Hence the fact that you bring you own lunch and they supply the drinks. How organised is that!

Rather than risk a flare up in the tooth department, I turned down offers of oysters and crepes and carefully sipped on the rosé wine, all of which resulted in me getting home with toothache and a headache.

Never mind; a snooze, the last chapter of my book and a nice gentle walk in the vineyards this evening rounded out a very pleasant day all in all. Tomorrow we are going to nip over to Teyran and see what goes on at their village artisans market before driving up to Ledignan to take Mamy out for a spin in the new car. Hopefully the weather will hold, and the golds and red and yellows are steadily overtaking the green.

I’ve just seen the forecast for my trip to UK. Rain on Tuesday and Wednesday!

I've got a Nerve - Thursday 25th Sept

We want the creeper to grown on the house, but this might be a bit excessive!

No writing tonight, and I have no excuse other than the fact that the three missing bags finally arrived today, plus the missing carton of camping equipment, and the house has looked like a bomb site ever since.

I haven't been further than the front gate all day and therefore have nothing of any interest or excitement to impart, other than the thrilling information that I am going to the dentist tomorrow to have a nerve killed in my tooth. Since it has been killing me all week, I reckon it has got it coming but I am none too sure about how Jean is going to cope with being in such close proximity to things like novocaine (of which there had better be a lot) and the sound of drills (of which I hope there is not so much).

The dustbin got emptied which goes to show that if you hang on long enough, the bin men will come along.

Farewell Thabo Mbeki. It sounds like a bit of a sad day for South Africa, but maybe the ship of state will get back on course once more. I have friends in America who are worried sick about the state of their finances, and I must confess that I am rather glad that the baby spinach is looking healthy and we could always survive on acorns judging by the number that plop down onto the car every day. It's a funny old world, but I am very content with my bit of it.

"If It's Tuesday It Must be Belgium" Wednesday 24th Sept

The colours are changing - The Esplanade Charles De Gaulle (but you knew that!)

I felt really bad when I woke up this morning and realised that it was Wednesday. I had spent the whole of yesterday thinking it was Wednesday and I had watched Jean nobly put the bin out last night. This meant that he had to leap out of bed this morning while it was still only half-light and go and bring it back in before the neighbours realised what idiots we were. (OK Jean, what an idiot I was).

Time is a strange thing when the hours are governed by sunshine and a slow pace of life. There is always so much to do, but the actual time of day, or day of the week seems to be very unimportant, hence the dustbin spending the night all alone on the other side of the road without any other bins to keep it company. Tonight he totally refused to put it out until he heard the rumble of Philippe putting his out.

Speaking of our neighbours, what a lovely feeling it was today when we were walking up to the village and prepared to cross at the pedestrian crossing. I realised that a vehicle had stopped for us, and on looking up to wave my thanks, I realised that it was Nathalie from over the road. How nice to be exchanging cheery waves with a neighbour once more.

We had gone up to the Mairie to finalise the paperwork on the new car, only to be handed another sheaf of forms to be filled in. However, we did make the encouraging discovery that if we go to the Montpellier Aglomeration office in Castries, they will give us a composter for free (or just about free). The leaves are about to begin falling and we really could use the proper kit if we are going to produce some good mulch for the garden next year.

The garden seems to be a bit confused at present. In the corner from where we moved the pile of wood for Michelle, we have discovered no less than two bright yellow crocuses in full bloom with more following. Whether they think it is Spring I don’t know, but they are in for a bit of a surprise when they realise that it’s only halfway through September. We’ve managed to replant just about all the bulbs that we dug up while turning and enriching the flower beds, and now we are just about ready to put the garden to bed and wait and see what happens after winter. I phoned Mum today and she informed me that she had put the heating on already, and she advised me to bring my thermal vest and a couple of warm jerseys with me.

Great news. I sent the shipping company another rocket yesterday and low and behold, the local delivery guy phoned to say that he was bringing our three missing bags plus the box of camping stuff that went astray, round to the house tomorrow morning. It’s been three months since we saw those bags and for the life of us, we can’t remember what’s in them, but I do know there is a fair amount of reading material which will be welcome.

I have just started reading “When A Crocodile Eats the Sun” by Peter Godwin, and it is desperately sad to read about the decline of Zimbabwe even though the writing is exceptionally good. I just hope that the present political upheavals in South Africa will soon be smoothed out and that our remaining friends and family who still live there will be safe. I loved my time in Africa, but this sort of reading makes me so glad that my children and grandchildren are safe and happy in Australia, and that we have found a home in France.

The threatened rain in the forecast must have decided to go elsewhere because they have changed their minds and are now promising us another week of glorious weather. The sheer joy of being able to sit out in the midday sun in the courtyard without burning or perspiring is just wonderful. No wonder those little crocuses couldn’t wait to pop their heads up.

We've Got A Ticket To Ride - Tuesday 23rd Sept

The lads taking a shower in Antigone

Now don't you go pulling the plug out Fred. This water's just the right depth!

The Place Royale Du Peyrou - I'm the King and we're not having anyone else up here!

Doing the tourist thing aboard the Montpellier "Petit Train"

This morning, we watched in amazement as the man and his wife boarded the train, complete with two suitcases, a brief case and half a dozen bags of shopping.
“Do you think he reckons that this is the TGV to Paris?” asked Jean.

I had to suppress a giggle and I turned my attention to the group of men next to me who were busy putting up a series of small tents. We weren’t at the central railway station in Montpellier; we were in the Place de la Comedie, waiting for the little tourist train to depart at 11am, and the tents were being prepared to house the upcoming Artisans Fair which will be held from this coming Thursday until the end of the weekend.

The “Petit Train” that trundles around the centre of the ancient city is a very pleasant way to see some of the narrow streets and excellent viewpoints, but it still didn’t explain why our fellow passengers had so much luggage. I suppose this was their last bit of sightseeing before heading back home, and I must admit that we had all chosen the perfect day to be tourists.

The first thing I noticed when we got off the tram at Corum and started our regular walk through the Esplanade Charles De Gaulle, was that everything has changed colour. The trees are fast turning yellow, and with a slight nip in the air, most of the inhabitants of the city have changed from their summer plumage into rather more dark drab colours. The students only wear black from what I can make out, and everyone else had on a jacket or a thick jersey to ward off the autumnal chill. The open air cafes under the trees weren’t doing any trade at all and the regular coffee drinkers had moved into the Place where the sun warmed the clientele as did the strong sweet coffee.

The little train pulled away on time and I pressed the English audio guide to my ear in order to bone up on what I was seeing. Nothing! The ticket office man had assured me that I didn’t have to do anything, but I realised that I actually had to press a button every time the French commentary started up. Consequently, I was still finding out about the egg-shaped Place de L’Oeuf while everyone else was halfway up the hill.

The frustrating thing about the tour is that the carriages all have a roof, and this stops you from seeing the most interesting bits. It’s all very well to be at street level, but the view is mainly of shop fronts with the occasional glimpse down side streets. My aunt, who was a great historian, always told me never to look at old buildings at street level, but to always admire them from the second storey upwards. This is where the real architecture is, but short of craning my neck and risking having my head knocked off by a passing stone wall, I had the feeling that I was missing an awful lot.

Never mind. The sun shone, our feet had a rest, and the bits of information were interesting. Clearly the driver had a few favourite points of his own along the way, and he paused outside a little bakery and hollered for a “pain au chocolat”. This gave him the chance to point out to his passengers that this was the best bakery in town, and I have the feeling that his breakfast didn’t cost him much. The taped commentary pointed out a particular gateway through which could be seen an historic staircase, and as we approached, the solid gates opened as if by magic, and an elderly lady stood back to reveal the aforementioned staircase before shutting the gate again firmly as we trundled off. I wondered if they phoned ahead or she just listened for the rumble of the approaching train, but she was bang on cue.

One of the best viewpoints in Montpellier is at the end of the Place Royale Du Peyrou. This is the sandy area with little other than an equestrian statue in the middle and a sort of folly at the far end. Apparently the king decreed that nobody should have any sort of monument higher than his, thus ensuring that the good people of Montpellier had a jolly good vantage point to view their city and the mountains beyond in the years to come.

We did the odd jobs that needed doing, one of which was to purchase two new batteries in order to bring Ralph the blue plastic bird back to life. He was obviously in need of having his pacemaker upgraded but I think he is feeling a bit post-operative at present, because we haven’t had much of a chirp out of him.

I think I know how he feels. Even sitting down and being a tourist is a pretty exhausting pastime and I think an early night might be on the cards.

Step Away From The Axe Mother Dear - Monday 22nd Sept

The back route to Braggasargues in the Gard region - no more grapes!

I heard from my pal Maggie today that England was enjoying some really great autumnal weather. A bit nippy but lovely blue skies and no rain. What a welcome change after the rotten summer that they have experienced. I thought I’d give Mum a call and see how she was enjoying being out in the garden, and she gleefully informed me that she had been trying to take down her bird table.
“I had a go with a saw but I got a bit tired halfway through, so I thought I might try the axe”.
I begged her to desist from either and to go inside and have a large sherry.

Unfortunately I know where my genes spring from, and if there is a job that needs doing, I won’t rest until I have fathomed out a way to do it. I do hope that by the time I go and visit her next week, she will have all her digits intact and Molly the Labrador will have stayed well clear of any swinging axes.

If I had a euro for every time that I have climbed up the step ladder today, I could retire a wealthy woman. However, it has been worth it, and the curtains are now in place and looking super. We got around the sewing machine problem by purchasing a few rolls of the very clever iron on tape that instantly turns to glue the moment it gets hot. In a trice I had the side seams stuck down, but I did the decent thing and hand stitched across them where I had joined them just in case someone gave them a bit of a tug, and they fell in half.

It was so lovely sitting out in the courtyard today. The sun has changed its course considerably and the table is being nudged further and further towards the bedroom wall in order to benefit from the warmth. There was a bit of an edge on the breeze, but tucked away round the corner, I sewed and sang along to my music, and decided that early autumn was a fine time of year to be in France.

My mother asked about my French studies and I had to burble all sorts of excuses, but this evening, I had the best French lesson possible. Jean’s internet business links us to the worlds largest on-line shopping mall, and we do most of our shopping on-line which is no hardship at all, since we then receive a very nice cash bonus from the reward points. It was time to do the monthly shop which we used to do through the USA Mall, but this time, I needed to shop through the French Mall and what fun it turned out to be. It’s amazing how quickly one can translate various words when in search of a really snug thermal vest or a long cosy nightdress. I even managed the check-out procedure and was delighted to get an instant 30% off my purchase. I did mention to Jean that if I were to shop every evening, I could probably pick up the language in no time, but he wasn’t buying it, not the way I wanted to buy it! It’s a free membership so if anyone is interested, have a look at The Home Shoppers Club .

We went for a walk this evening just to stretch our legs a bit and it’s amazing to see how fast the gardens are changing. The geraniums are just about over and the last of the petunias are putting on a brave show, but clearly it is time for them to move over and make way for other things. The climbing ivy and their various cousins are changing to a beautiful red and gold, and there is a distinct nip in the air by about six o clock. It’s lovely to come home, close the doors, draw the curtains and put our feet up. Tomorrow we are going into Montpellier and then I think a quick detour to Leroy Merlin and the Castries Fruit and Veg shop might be on the cards. We’ve started replanting all the hundreds of bulbs that we lifted, and I think a garden fork is something that we can no longer do without.

Right now, I am hoping that the weather will stay nice in England, but just in case, I am also hoping that my thermal vest arrives here in time. Who knows, we might even get our three missing bags by the end of the week, and then all we’ll need is our missing box which was actually on the truck but which “got lost”. Talk about hurry up and wait!

Run Rabbit Run Rabbit Run Run Run - Sunday 21st Sept

The Vidourle River at Lecques

We awoke this morning to three different sounds, all of which signalled the start of autumn. There was a volley of gunfire, the baying of hounds and the unmistakeable sound of an ancient Citroen 2 cv (known as deux chevaux – two horsepower) carrying a couple of equally elderly hunters. It’s amazing how many of them you still see puttering around the country lanes and according to Jean, they are just about impossible to kill.

Speaking of killing, the volleys of gunfire signalled the start of the hunting season, and from now on, any rabbit worth its salt is keeping its head tucked inside its burrow. I can’t imagine that there is anything like sanglier (wild boar) or deer around to hunt, so I presume that it remains up to the humble rabbit to keep the French hunter in business.

We had decided to drive up to Sommieres and do a bit of shopping at the big supermarket which has re-opened in a new situation since we were here a few years back. The Vidourle river which is currently an amiable gentle river, broke its banks back in 2002 and flooded the supermarket for the second time. At this point, the owners decided to give up the fight and they moved to a slightly higher site on the edge of town. All the land next to the road which runs past the edge of the old town and along the side of the river is now extensive car parking which makes for a far more pleasant visit, knowing that you will definitely find a spot.

Having finished shopping, we then headed north towards the hill village of Lecques, but before we reached it, we drove along a country road which was being guarded by men wearing camouflage clothing, carrying large shotguns and wearing bright orange caps. The caps were so bright that quite frankly they could have been wearing Florida pineapple shirts and bright red cut-off pants for all the success that they were having blending into the countryside. At least you could see them for hundreds of yards ahead, but quite what our situation would have been if a big fat sanglier had run across the road, I don’t know. If I had been standing there since crack of dawn, I am sure that I wouldn’t give a fig for a passing motorist if he got between me and my target.

Lecques was pretty but steep, and after our climb up the hillside to the castle yesterday, we were idle tourists and took the easy way out and drove up into the village. I felt as though we should have switched off the engine and talked in whispers. Some of the residents were leaning over their balconies, still dressed in their night attire and holding a cup of coffee, while others were opening the shutters and yawning widely, and despite it being after ten in the morning, I don’t think there was going to be much action before midday.

From here we continued on up to Braggasargues and spent a very pleasant couple of hours with Jean’s sister. She and Jean had business to discuss, so I sat on the terrace and sewed another curtain and listened to the soundtrack from “Pride and Prejudice” on my Zune, and wallowed in the sunshine and the sense of peace, tranquillity and absolute beauty. By 1pm we all decided that the sun was over the yardarm and we broke out an excellent local rosé wine, and we opened up the last bottle of olives from her own tree. Crusty bread, a dish of saucisson (spicy sausage slices), some very tasty quiche and some of her enormous home grown tomatoes served with olive oil and oregano, and we had the makings of the perfect Sunday lunch in my book. No preparation, no washing up, and always a bit more cheese to finish up the last piece of bread.

A busy weekend one way and another, but one filled with beautiful countryside, early autumn colours, azure blue skies and a sense of deep satisfaction in feeling that the season is changing. This will be our first autumn in six years and we are both looking forward to it – especially now that some kind soul has given us a large gas heater and a number of snug jerseys and jackets.

Photos from Sommieres - Saturday 20th Sept

The walls and tower of the Sommieres Castle. I wish we knew you could drive here instead of climbing up through the woods - Duh!

The view towards the Cevennes mountains from the hill above Sommieres.

Hunting for sacristans on the bread stall - no luck!

The Fagalde family used to be chocolatiers during the time of Napoleon. I wish we had a little shop like this to call our own!

Street stalls abound throughout the town on market day

The famous Sommieres flea market filled with all sorts of trash and treasures

Oysters and Bonhommie - Saturday 20th Sept

I also felt a bit like an ancient ruin once we had climbed up to the top of the hill!

Jean inspecting bits of the Sommieres Castle

The view from the Delices du Liban - Sommieres - highly recommended

I don’t know what it is about sitting around a table with a group of people, nibbling on pieces of spicy Lebanese bread, sipping a very pleasant white wine and slurping down the occasional oyster. Is it the sunshine and the ebb and flow of the people wandering through the market? Is it the delight in suddenly being able to understand everything that is going on? Or is it that it is France on a Saturday lunchtime, and we have discovered where many of the local Brits and other assorted ex pats gather to swap news and views.

Thanks to a kindly email from Peter Holby who runs the very excellent Languedoc Pages website, we had gone off to the market in Sommieres today, partly to hunt for sacristans (in which we were unsuccessful because the queue at the bakery was too long) and partly to climb up to the castle on top of the hill (in which we were successful, despite the fact that we took the tough route straight up through the woods, instead of walking up the gently sloping road). It was only when we came back down into the centre of the busy market town that we realised we were standing outside Le Delices du Liban and I remembered that Peter had said that he would be there around midday.

In the past, we had arrived at the market early and were usually gone by 11am, but thanks to a slow start this morning and our energetic clamber up the hillside to visit the castle, we were still there as lunchtime approached and realised that not only was the market a great place to shop, but that every restaurant and bar was filled to overflowing, and the tables and chairs set up outside every available provider of food and drink were jammed with people.

From the moment that Peter arrived, it was as though the focal point of some sort of amoeba had placed itself at the table, and from then on, there was a steady flow of cheerful folks, some of whom sat and ate oysters, some of whom exchanged a quick word and moved on, and others who generally milled about greeting old friends and making new acquaintances. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had so enjoyed a casual lunchtime get-together with the chance to meet new people. The wine flowed and the countries represented by the various ex-pats seemed to expand at the same pace. Brits seemed to be in the ascendancy but they were divided into permanents and holiday-home owners. There seemed to be a fair number of Swedes, a Scot or two and some French spouses. English and French were spoken seamlessly, and the Lebanese couple who ran the restaurant were kept on their toes with the non-stop orders for platters of oysters and refilled pichets of wine.

In addition to meeting Peter and hearing more about his association with the informative “Le Thirty Four” magazine, I was also delighted to meet with Laurence Boxall who is the editor of The Languedoc Sun magazine. Her husband is the President of Brit Nimes, and within the hour, I ceased to feel in any way cut off from my fellow English compatriots, and realised that if we were prepared to make the effort to get out and about and enjoy the many things that are on offer in the region, we could once again have the sort of social life that we had enjoyed in southern Africa.

I was glad that Jean was behind the wheel as we drove home via Saussines.
The views of the old village and the expanse of vineyards that surrounded it was definitely enhanced through a gentle haze of rosé wine. Peter had explained that Saussines used to be on the main route from Montpellier to Sommieres, but now with the main route bypassing it, the village is well off the beaten track. I can tell you that there is no way on earth that our delivery truck from the other day would have made it through the centre. I found myself breathing in slightly as we threaded our way past the church and the Mairie, hoping that nobody in a hurry would be coming in the opposite direction.

So what with castles, unexpected new friends and a glimpse of yet another beautiful village, I didn’t even mind that we came away empty handed with regards to the sacristans. It would be greedy to expect to have everything on the same day now wouldn’t it!

Time Flies When You're having Fun- Friday 19th Sept

I promise this is the last photo of curtains - amazing what you can do with scissors, map pins and glue!

Jean was working on his computer this morning while I was busy cannibalising the very wide short curtains in order to turn them into very long thin curtains, when he suddenly announced that it was the 19th September. I had slight difficulty in remembering what day of the week it was, never mind what day of the month it was, but then the penny dropped. This time twelve years ago, Jean and I were taking a group of friends out for lunch at the country hotel in Zastron, South Africa, prior to going off to the Magistrate’s office in order to get married.

You might ask yourself why it was that we were taking everyone out for lunch “before” we got married. The reasoning behind this was that the Magistrate had informed us that he had to do murderers in the mornings and could only marry people in the afternoon. Since we had to get home by five to feed the cattle and we wanted a bit of a celebration along the way, we ate first and married afterwards!

My goodness. If we only knew what lay ahead of us and where we would be twelve years later, I wonder what our views on the subject would have been. We went back to the farm thinking that we would be spending the rest of our lives there, and here we are twelve years later with no less than three different countries under our belts.

We fell asleep last night to the sound of rain gently pattering down into the courtyard, but were rewarded this morning by the clouds breaking up and disappearing so that by lunchtime we were sitting outside enjoying a barbeque and wearing our tee shirts again.

Lunch was a rather strange affair but very tasty. We had spotted four short kebab sticks with black balls and white balls on them. The word Boudin was written on the packaging and the photograph of them sizzling on a barbeque looked rather enticing so we decided to give it whirl. What we ended up with was the rather sloppy insides of the black balls which we think was a sort of blood pudding, and the very strange texture of the white ones which we preferred to not think about too much. We had also put a variety of red peppers, aubergines and courgettes on the fire and we chopped these up and topped them off with a very tasty tzatziki, and this, combined with a fresh crispy baguette made for the most deliciously unusual meal. Jean had also picked fresh lettuce from the garden and pulled up a handful of spicy radishes and we began to think about planting up the potager for next summer and producing all sorts of delicious things.

I am now wrestling with the yards and yards of curtain material with no sewing machine. The only pins that I can find are map pins with little plastic heads that are bruising my thumbs and fingers cruelly, but I have already completed two sets of 2.5 metre long curtains and have one more set to do. We had a break at about 5.30 this evening and went to track down the lady who does sewing in the village. However, when we saw her smart little van parked outside her house with “Couturier” written on the side, we turned tail and fled. No way was I letting her see my efforts. If I can’t find a sewing machine, then glue is the next option!

So I am off to sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam, and dream of SACRISTANS because we are going to Sommieres market tomorrow if the weather is good, and I am sure we will be into Sacristan country.

PS Two bits of important news. The two guys who run the Castries Fruit and Veg Market are not twins but they are cousins. We discovered this while purchasing our vegetables yesterday and they thought it was a huge joke that we had decided that they were twins.

The second bit of information is that I went to the dentist this afternoon and made a discovery. "Ouch" means the same in French as it does in English. When I get back from England, we will have further dealings with her. Jean hates the sound of dentist drills but had to be on hand in order to translate. Poor man - what a way to spend his anniversary!