Photos our our evening in Montpellier - Sunday 31st August

Approaching the craft stalls down the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle

The park, early evening

All the time in the world for a game of chess

The Glass Blowers stall

Promenaders in the Place de la Comedie

The last rays of the sun catching the entrance to Polygone

"Kiss Me Hardy" - Sunday 31st September

Summer stalls in the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle

I thought I’d better write this quickly just in case you don’t hear from me again. Half an hour ago, we found a really large mushroom that had popped up overnight and it looked exactly like the ones that we have in the fridge. We dutifully went onto the internet and checked out the site for identifying the good mushrooms and it seemed to pass all the tests, so we chucked it into a frying pan with some salted butter and ate it, and it was delicious. That was 20 minutes ago so if this turns out to be a very short chat today, you will know that we were last seen legging it to the Montpellier hospital!

Last night was fun and it is something that we will definitely repeat, only not until next year because it closes on the 2nd September. Running down the lower end of the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle in Montpellier are a series of little wooden houses that look like a cross between a Victorian bathing hut and a wooden rondavel.

“Nobody is going to have that many ice cream stands” I ventured when we were there on Thursday, but during our quick visit to the Tourist Information Centre right next door, we discovered that throughout the height of summer, the little houses open up and are in fact craft shops. The idea is so great because when they shut shop at 11pm, they quite literally shut shop and the shutters that lift upwards and form a roof for the customers and are then brought down and locked so that all the displays inside can be left intact.

Before embarking on a tour of the thirty or so little stands, we first did a circle of the park that is right next door, and quickly realised that this was a very different Montpellier from the one which we had been seeing during daytime and the whole pace and rhythm had slowed (if it were possible). Groups of friends sat on the grass around the lake, sharing a bottle of wine, enjoying their music and laughing together. Parents with little ones in push chairs paused to point out the ducks to their offspring, and elderly folks sat on the park benches and enjoyed the scene. I began to realise that we were definitely in the upper age bracket of the people wandering about, and as the evening progressed, it was easy to see that the youth of Montpellier are definitely in the ascendancy when it comes to the population that is out and about on a Saturday night.

We began our tour of the stands and it was good to see that a great deal of what was on offer was hand made, or at least locally produced, and there was none of the awful cheap Chinese tat anywhere. Clearly used to tourists, many of the stall holders spoke English, and were knowledgeable about their products and proud of what they were selling.

One of my favourite stalls was run by a delightful young lady who had two sides to her business. On the one hand she sold good quality tee shirts with excellent designs on them, and the rest of her stand was taken up by a series of incredibly frustrating wooden puzzles. There was an Australian guy with his girlfriend who had apparently arrived when the stall opened and he wasn’t planning to leave until he could solve the problem. Eventually the stall owner was just about begging him to have a look at the solution and his girlfriend was dragging at his arm, but this was one Australian who wasn’t going to be beaten. As we reached the last stall, I looked back and there he was, still battling for the solution and nearly short of a girlfriend who was by now sitting on a nearby wall sulking. Nobody can say that the Aussies are short of tenacity.

All the time we strolled and looked, I could hear the gentle strains of some really nice music drifting down from the trees, and realised that speakers had been strung the length of the park, and far from being the usual wall-paper music, they were playing some excellent ballads. Nothing was intrusive and yet it formed a lovely background sound to the hum of the general public.

From the Esplanade, it was merely a matter of twenty paces and we were into the Place de la Comédie . Again, this was a very different Place from the one where we had sat and sipped our early morning cup of coffee two days back. Everywhere there were people strolling, people sitting at the cafés ordering their early suppers and people taking photos of other people who draped themselves around the base of the famous fountain of the Three Graces behind which stands the Opera.

That most French of sounds, the accordion was being played by an elderly man who had set up camp in the centre of the Place, and as the last rays of the sun slid away from the top of the Hotel du Midi, the lights of the ancient manège or merry go round, began to shine more brightly.

Montpellier was coming to life under its night time guise, and the young people poured into the Place and wandered into the side streets. There was no shouting or a feeling that they owned the streets but rather a more vibrant atmosphere began to fill the place. Pretty girls in low backed dresses and high heels managed to navigate the cobbled stones of the old alleyways, and the young men, clad almost to a man in tee shirt and jeans, laughed and joked with each other, and delivered the traditional three kisses to any young lady that they recognised.

We sank gratefully into chairs in one of the smaller squares and ordered a quarter pichet of white wine and allowed our somewhat stiff hips to have a rest. Why is it that if you are walking briskly for three miles on the flat, you can keep going, but a short wander of stop-start, uphill and back down again walking can quickly reduce you to exhaustion. The accordion player had caught up with us and he provided the most perfect backdrop of sound to the surrounding brasseries which serve light refreshments and the open air restaurants which go for the more serious cuisine.

Just a quarter of a pichet of wine earns you the right to sit for as long as you like and watch the other people watchers. A group of small children were dancing in a circle in the middle of the square, the little girls trying to convince two very small boys that it would be fun to join in. The boys were having none of it and ducked and dodged rather than be caught as “piggy in the middle”, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the same children playing the same games to the same music a hundred years back.

We finished our drinks and made a concerted effort to explore further into the narrow lanes, but whereas I felt perfectly safe where there were lights and people, I found it slightly disconcerting to venture into the darker alleyways where we had walked so happily during the daytime, and so we returned to the bright lights and eventually made our way back down to the Place de la Comedie.

Walking back through the Esplanade towards Corum, we became aware that there was another group of young people now on the move. Darkly dressed in semi-military fashion, they moved in groups with any number of big rangy dogs at heel. There was nothing confrontational about them, but I had the feeling that it was time for us to leave the city to its youth, be it the sparkling young girls and lads or the heavy booted dog owners. My hips had finally won the battle and we sank onto the seats of the tram and let the driver take us safely back to Sabblasou.

The pichet of wine must have been even better than I thought because having driven the little Golf since we arrived with no problem at all, when we got to the car park, I discovered that while we had been in Montpellier, someone had stolen the reverse gear; it just wasn’t where I had left it. All we need at this stage is a car with a broken gearbox, and so when we got back home, Jean went out and had a look and came back and reported that reverse was in exactly the place where it should be. He then pointed firmly towards the bedroom and wished me a very good night, which is just what I had.

It has just occurred to me that having written this much, we are clearly not going to fall into the hands of the stomach pump operators, and with it looking as though it might rain today, I shall have the frying pan ready. Montpellier (as I might have mentioned) boasts an average of 300 days sunshine a year, but today isn’t one of them. I just hope it perks up for the picnic tomorrow.

God Bless Grandma Saturday 30th August

A little clue about where we are headed this evening!

I have a stalwart friend who lives in South Africa and I have known her for what seems like forever. Elaine is the sort of person who lives quietly in a very small town in the Free State, but who keeps all sorts of useful hints and tips tucked away up her sleeve, ready for use at a moment’s notice. For many years she has been a patient reader of my books and blogs and it is comforting to know that she manages to keep track of us despite our varied twists and turns in life.

She has just sent me a message to say that she found that Sunlight Dishwashing liquid sprayed lightly around the ant holes sent them scurrying far away. She assured me that it would neither kill the plants nor the ants, but they wouldn’t hang around anywhere near it. I wish I could develop the idea so that in the end the beans picked themselves, cooked themselves and the pots were all clean and shiny at the end due to the early application of the washing up liquid!
Another clever idea that her grandmother swore by was keeping a block of dried soap tucked away in her underwear drawer. Apart from making her “smalls” smell fresh and nice, it had an adverse effect on the bugs and beasties that like to hide away in the dark, so I think I might give that a whirl as well. If all else fails, she suggests that along with putting a pea under the mattress, I might try a dried bar of soap as well. Thanks Elaine – I shall put all these suggestions into effect and will report back on the results.

It occurred to me that many of my readers might have similar ideas or queries about the content of the blog, and I have tweaked the “comment” ability, and thanks to my daughter Claire in far away Australia, I have realised that I had it closed before. Technology comes slowly to someone who used to have a phone nailed to the farmhouse kitchen wall with a handle on it, and eight other people on the party line! There’s no point in sending me adverts for little blue pills, ways to make instant money, or expensive implements for the garden, because I have no time to read them and no money to spend on them, but anything to do with our lives here or your own experiences would be a pleasure to read.

In view of the busy time that we have ahead of us, I stole a march on the cooking this morning in preparation for Mamy’s birthday party in mid October. I have a fixed menu for such functions which I think my children could quote by heart, but at least everything is ready for the great day and all the slicing and dicing, washing up and cleaning is already done. It was so great to be able to have the red peppers sizzling on the barbeque, and I must confess that I was sorely tempted to use some of the mushrooms which have begun springing up all over the garden. Isn’t it amazing; when we were farming, we went to great effort and expense to try and start growing mushrooms, importing the right spores, bringing in a load of old horse manure and keeping the humidity and temperature correct. Not a single mushroom. Here we drag a black bin bag full of old horse pooh over the wall from the field next door, and suddenly the garden is alive with the things. Just as soon as I confirm that they are the real deal, I shall begin using them, but I would hate to poison the guests at our first party.

In another couple of hours, we are going to head off to Montpellier for the evening and tomorrow

I will report back on the festivities which take place, so until then, you will have to contain your curiosity. Suffice it to say that it looks like a lot of fun!

Beware of Geeks Bearing Figs - Friday 29th August

The first fruits of our labours - ten beans, but they are our beans!

Our fig tree which has done so well despite being ignored for so long

The fig tree in the garden is now laden with ripening fruit and although we manage to eat a fair number ourselves, and have delivered a basket full to Mamy, we thought that perhaps our neighbour Nathalie who lives opposite would like some for her family.

Switching off our computers and making some sort of effort to tidy ourselves up, we went and rang the bell on their large electric gate, and Nathalie appeared, pleased to see us and very happy with the figs.

We have invited them all to come over and say hello to Mamy and join us for birthday cake in mid October, and having got the niceties over, we got around to bewailing the speed at which traffic whizzes up our section of the road. It is a total mystery as to why the entire village has a speed restriction of 30 kms on either side of our stretch, but some idiot who was probably in a hurry to get to his lunch and who couldn’t find a 30 sign, went and stuck up a 45 sign instead. Despite a petition to the Mayor, it is one of those situations where it has now been decreed by some distant traffic board that whatever is here now stays.

What we actually need is a speed hump about three feet high, and there are days when the prospect of a little piano wire wouldn’t go amiss.

I fail to understand that in a country where everyone is trying to do so much to avoid air pollution and rubbish pollution, that the wretched makers of small motor cycles aren’t forbidden to build bikes that sound like irate hornets and have a decibel level which can splinter glass. Isn’t noise pollution something that we are all supposed to be aware of?

I have absolutely no beef with the tractors and trailers that rumble past, and the reasonable speed of the large contingent of commuters who need to get through to the next lot of villages, but why oh why do we have to put up with the screech of these everlasting buzz bikes.
OK Moaning session over so you can relax, but if you know anyone who knows someone, please drop them a line.

Another thing that we needed to ask Nathalie was whether it would be OK for the truck carrying our much longed-for possessions to park on her pavement while they offload. She kindly said that it was no problem, and went on to say that when their furniture lorry arrived, she actually had to walk up the road and flag down the traffic to stop them from hurtling around the bend and straight into her three piece suite.

We walked up to the Tabac this morning and bought a Daily Telegraph and put up a small notice to see if there are any other Brits in the village. It would be nice to make contact with a few other folks around, so hopefully there will be a few calls. I know we are not cast adrift in some far off ex colony, but it is nice to know that there are a few people around who understand cricket, even if I don’t.

I had a good look around the Tabac while Jean was getting some Photostats done for our driving licence applications. The little shop really does just about sell only tobacco products if you don’t count the huge array of magazines and a fair number of rather suspect looking cheap sweets. Apparently there used to be a rather nice little supermarket in the village, but the lure of the big shops down at Lattes proved too much for the villagers, and having taken their custom elsewhere, they then realised that the convenience of having a shop on hand for the last minute odds and ends was now over, and I think everyone mourns its loss.

There is a rather curious shop which is situated right next to the Tabac but we have never seen it open, although the other day, the metal shutters were up but due to a large truck parked in front, I couldn’t see what was going on inside. We will have to creep up on it in an unsuspecting moment and see what is for sale. I have the feeling that it is something like a combination of wine and gas! I suppose that technically both could be classed as fuel so maybe he gets a licence for selling both!

We called in at the boulangerie and what in England would be described as a queue was a cheerful gathering of people exchanging niceties and news while the lady behind the counter managed to get their orders for “deux baguettes et deux croissants s’il vous plait” and get the change right without interrupting the conversation or getting the order of service wrong.

Everyone arriving calls out “Bonjour Monsieur, Madame” to the general public, and those who have been served and who are departing never fail to throw “Au revoir, bonne journée” over their shoulder. I found my attention being drawn to the glass counter which houses the most divine hand made delicacies. Tiny cakes beautifully iced and decorated with different fruits nestled in their little white paper cups, my all time favourite mille feuilles called out to me but I had to harden my heart, and there was the last palmier looking so lonely, just begging me to buy it.

“Une flûte” asked Jean of the lady, pointing to the thicker slightly shorter version of the baguette, and I had to tear myself away and follow him out of the shop, only just remembering my “Au revoir - merci” as I went.

We are just about to go out into the garden and plant the four celery plants which we bought in the Castries market this morning. The car park had suddenly filled up with trucks selling meat, cheese, olives and plants, and we are feeling so pleased with our initial harvest of beans that we are now moving into the big time.

There may be a special outing on the cards for tomorrow evening but I am waiting to see if we go and then I will tell you all about it. Bonsoir!

Photos of another great morning in Montpellier - 28th August

A closer look at that headless art. I suppose it's fairly 'armless. OK That's enough.

La Prefecture - even the police in Montpellier do it in style!

Jardin des Plantes - a sneak peek over the wall but we will return

The entrance to the University of Medicine - founded 1220 and world famous

Jean checking his watch against the sundial on the University wall - It's just about right!

Walking up the hill from the University of Medicine. This is where we were glad that we didn't have bikes.

The view down the hill to the University of Medicine with a thoughtfully placed restaurant halfway up!

The choice was amazing and I doubt the restaurant seated more than 20 people.

Time to go home for lunch!

Burning Shoe Leather - Thursday 28th August

The steep street leading up from the University of Medicine

I trust that you appreciate the effort that we are making to bring you some wonderful photographs of Montpellier. We could have sat home this morning, toiling over our computers, but in the interests of the reading public, we forced ourselves to catch the tram and go into the city once more. It's such a tough assignment!

In case we had to walk further than we had planned, we disembarked at Corum which is the huge brown edifice which houses the Berlioz Opera, and instead of walking up the three flights of steps, we joined a lady with a suitcase and another who was slightly pregnant , and ascended in the small lift. Lazy I know but on your behalf, we wanted to achieve our programme.

The Esplanade Charles de Gaulle makes for the most pleasant approach to the Place de la Comedie, and we strolled under the trees that line each side, realising that nobody seemed to be in any sort of hurry. There was no queue at the Musée Fabre and the Tourist Information centre was quiet. Lovers sat on benches discussing previous assignations and planning future ones; a couple of youngsters strummed on their guitars but were minus the usual begging cup and a thin dog. Children dabbled their fingers in the fountains and the waiters began issuing cups of coffee to their regulars, moving slowly at this stage in the certain knowledge that nobody was in a rush to do anything.

We were a bit early for our appointment at the bank, so we sat outside our favourite brasserie and sipped the tiny cup of strong coffee and watched to see if anyone seemed to be late for work. A few late-season tourists took the obligatory photos of the Opera and of each other, but I noted a definite lack of Japanese who never take their eye from the viewfinder. A few couples sat with hands linked across the table as their coffee and croissants went unnoticed; nobody wore a suit and tie, and even the secretaries who were headed for the office flaunted summer suntans and laughed with their friends. Montpellier doesn’t believe in starting early that’s for sure. I imagine that in three weeks time, all the students will be back at University and the pace will pick up, but for now, the city is chilling out after the tourist season and enjoying the lazy late days of summer.

The man in the bank was far happier to see us this morning. His cold had improved and he saw my South African tee shirt and informed us proudly that he was the man to whom the famous Montpellier rugby team came to do their banking since he had a grasp of English. I didn’t get to hear much of it, but he set about the business of applying for a bank card for me. To be honest, I think it took less time to take out Lesotho Citizenship, but the good news is that I will be receiving my Carte Blue in no time at all.

The banking business done, our aim was the Jardin des Plantes, but first we had to call in at the Prefecture in the centre of old Montpellier in order to exchange our American driving licences for French ones. I mentioned to Jean that I hoped it would be a direct swap, because if there was any written test in French, I would be a gonner. He rather unkindly suggested that if there was any driving test, I might be out of luck as well, but I kicked him under the table to help him change his mind. The reason we had a table was that we had paused for the most delicious palmier from a boulangerie which just happened to block our path. This crisp multi-layered sugar-dusted heart shaped confection was just what I needed to continue my journalistic enterprise on your behalf and if you ever see one, don’t hesitate to purchase it. (I feel it is important to give you a flavour of the region as much as possible, and so I asked Jean if he would like to comment on the fougasse that he was devouring at a rate of knots, but all I could get out of him was a grunt of satisfaction and a lot of crumbs).

The Prefecture was knee deep in people who had been there since 8.30 so we took the forms and retreated. The day was far too nice to be sitting on long wooden benches waiting for a number to be called, so we moved on up the Rue Foch, passing the triumphal archway and the Palais de Justice and came out at the Place Royal du Peyrou. This is a very scenic spot with wonderful views to the outskirts of the city, but not a place to be when it is windy as the entire surface is made of fine dust and it can very quickly look like a scene from Lawrence of Arabia if the breeze kicks up.

Only a short walk down the hill brought us to the Jardin des Plantes founded back in 1593 but sadly it was only opening in another hour and since we had a very good view of quite a bit of it over the wall, I took some photos and we doubled back and dived into the narrow streets leading to the University of Medicine. Founded back in 1220, it was suppressed during the French Revolution but re-established in 1799. Just to make sure, Jean checked the time against the old sundial and it was only an hour out thanks to the implementation of Summer Time, and we marvelled at the age of the structure. This had been built before leeches were even in fashion, that’s for sure.

We had toyed with the idea of renting bikes to find our way around Montpellier, but when we saw the steep streets rising from the University back into the centre of town, we were pretty pleased that we only had ourselves to lug up the hill without pushing a bike as well.

With time completely on our side and our feet holding out well, we turned this way and that, exploring narrow streets that led into hidden squares where small fountains tinkled and shady trees gave protection to little outdoor restaurants. An ancient building on our right had been the old Montpellier hospital and I would give you the street name except I see from the city map that it changes no less than eight times as it winds around the old quarter.

Turning a corner, we were suddenly back in the 21st Century and only a short walk to Corum where we happily climbed aboard the tram and headed back home, stopping at Leroy Merlin en route so that we could get the last bits and pieces to extend the drip irrigation. Now you’re gonna’ see spinach grow!

Photos of the Magimix and Montpellier - 27th August

Jean making another row for spinach seeds against his better judgement

Earning my day off in the city sans rubber gloves!

Our favourite coffee stop when we get to town - Place de la Comedie

The view up the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle towards Corum

Look carefully up under the tree and you'll see the Pathe Rooster

The Old Pathe Cinema

The Musee Fabre (my apologies for having no accents)

Charming garden apartments along the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle

Look closely - I warned you about the headless public art!

My apologies -the tram photos are repeated on the following page of photos. Blame it on over-enthusiasm on my part!

Just 2 Euros to park for free way outside Montpellier, and then travel all over the city on either of the two tram lines. Now that's a bargain.

The interior of the tram on the number 2 line - Jacou to St Jean de Vedas

The Montpellier trams crossing at Sabblasou on the road of grass

Blogging through France Magazine - 27th August

The Montpellier Tram travelling along the roadway of grass


The interior of the Montpellier tram Route 2

I was delighted yesterday when I not only discovered the fabulous France Magazine, but was invited to place my Diary blog onto their site. For those of you who have been reading the blog via the usual method of me sticking it under your noses on a daily basis, have yourselves a real treat and access it through:

http://www.francemag.com/forum,-blogs-and-gallery-france-blogs-diary-of-a-french-housewife--79433



Apart from catching up on our news, you can feast your eyes on some of the wonders of France, and if you are like me, desperately trying to get my schoolgirl French back up to speed, there is also the excellent French Corner

http://www.thefrenchcorner.net/2008/08/how-french-see-it.html

Yesterday, instead of our evening walk, we decided that in view of the fact that the rotovator has to be returned, we had better get in one more row for excess spinach plants. Jean always looks a little disinterested when I mention spinach, but then I remind him of the delicious spinach, feta, mushroom and bacon mini quiche that I used to make on the farm which sold like hot cakes in the farm shop in town. I would never presume to present my baking skills to the general public in France however; it would be a bit like emailing Shakespeare and giving him a few hints and tips. However, with the birthday party for Mamy coming up, I think I shall have to dust off my culinary skills and get the deep freeze stocked with some delicacies.

But back to the potager. Nobody can say that I don't know my place, and sitting on a very low stool in the centre of the "magimix" circular bed, I crushed hard lumps of very old horse manure into a powder and mixed them with good soil and pushed them through a seive. Glamorous it may not be, but it makes for a really good starting soil for the seeds. In answer to those friends of mine who used to agonise about my lack of make-up and my habit of wearing flip flops all the time, Yes I did use rubber gloves!

Following the depradations of the ants the other day, I planted another row of seeds alongside the old spinach seeds, and was rather startled to find a series of little holes the next day. If I catch just one ant carrying one spinach seed it is total war! Forget "Shock and Awe", I shall be there with my ant powder, dishing it out in spoonfuls around every possible exit hole until I have defended the last seedling.

Having worked so hard last night, we gave ourselves the morning off and went into Montpellier to visit the bank. With the sky a peerless blue and the lightest of breezes blowing through the Place de la Comedie, there can be no nicer place to be on a late summers day. The crowds seem to have vanished and apart from the little market at one end of Comedie, and the other down the centre of Antigone, there was not much activity apart from the waiters delivering endless cups of coffee and crispy croissants to their patrons.

We stopped in at the book shop just near the entrance of Polygone, and found a reasonably large English section, but having seen the prices, I decided that the Emile Zola central library would probably have an equally good selection at a far reduced rate i.e. free! It was worth the walk down through Antigone, and we paused and watched a young labrador dog playing tag with the fountains which are there one minute and gone the next. Nobody seems to be in any hurry and there is always time to watch a child shriek in delight as he runs forward onto the seemingly flat surface and then rushes back to his mother as another jet of water threatens to soak him.

It was that time of day when the last of the morning coffee drinkers were folding up their newspapers and the waiters were starting to set out the tables with their snowy white cloths in anticipation of lunch. The boards were already out displaying the host of choices available, and anything as mundane as fish and chips or sausage and mash were outnumbered by lists of omelettes, salads, hot dishes and colds ones.

The English section at Emile Zola proved well worth a visit. Once inside the library, you take the elevator (lift for my English readers) to the first floor and work your way right to the left hand end. At first I thought it was all studious reference books, but then I turned a corner and found a veritable treasure trove of books that I was wanting to read. The only slight draw back is that anything taken out from this library has to be returned there and not to another branch, so that means another trip to Montpellier. Oh dear, what hardship.

We actually have to return tomorrow to see the bank. All Jean wants is a bank card for me, but this seems to involve a great deal of paperwork, appointments and sitting in a rather small office with a Frenchman who is currently suffering from a very runny nose. I do hope that he is feeling better before we meet again tomorrow! We are thinking of including a visit to the Jardin des Plantes and if the weather continues to hold (which the pundits assure us it will) I shall have some nice photos for you.

We stopped off en route to the tram station to have another look at that Peugeot. The only slight worry is that it is ten years old and only has 20,000 on the clock and there are no identification marks as to what model it is on the back of the boot. This makes us rather wary that it has either had the odometer moved around or else it has been in a nasty crash at some stage. The price is good but maybe this gift horse really does need to be looked in the mouth so we aren't going to rush it.

Meantime, we have found a very nice Citroen Xantia with a lot more on the clock, but in excellent condition and a thousand euros less. It belongs to a mechanic who lives just behind us so it isn't worth his while selling us trouble because we will blow the hooter early every morning and wake him up!

We did as promised and got off the tram at Corum this morning and then walked through the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle, passing the Musee Fabre and the building which used to house the Pathe Cinema. I'll put up some photos for you on the next blog page - Enjoy!

Shopping for Wheels Tuesday 26th August

The Castries Fruit and Vegetable market (and wine and pizza!)


The best sort of fuel pumps!

Wow, it’s hot. Nearly as hot as it was back in July when we arrived, and we heard from Michelle when she nipped in today that her canoe business is still going strong despite the fact that most of the holiday makers are supposed to have left. Either there are a lot of Doctors letters being issued or else the locals have woken up to the fact that they have a really nice opportunity to explore their own area rather than pay petrol expenses and head off somewhere else.

“Staycation” was the buzz word being bandied about in the States when we were there and more and more people were investigating their own locality, so I guess that a lot of people are doing it here as well.

We stayed home this morning and worked on our computers but then rewarded ourselves with a quick trip to the municipal tip. You see how little it takes to make us happy! The trailer was fully laden with the remnants of the overgrown oleander bush that blocked the centre of the courtyard, along with some dried drooping boughs that were a little too close to the top of the old barbeque for our liking. We are getting along so well with the gas barbeque that I doubt we would bother to fire up the old wood one, but I would hate to give the pompiers a reason for tearing down the road and dousing us with water.

We are starting to look for our own car, and we called into the local garage to enquire if he had anything much for sale. Jean has the wise theory that it is always best to buy close to home in case you have to phone the guy up on a cold winter’s morning and tell him to come round and start the wretched thing if it has gone on the fritz. They told us about one possibility that we will take a look at tomorrow, and then we nipped down to Castries to have a look at the offerings at the second hand car mart. There is a rather nifty Peugeot which has rather taken our fancy, and the salesman took a great shine to us. Although he spoke extremely fast, from what I could make out, he had been living very happily in Montreal until his family had dragged him back to France. He raved about things like ice fishing, tobogganing and skiing and insisted that the sun shone endlessly throughout the winter months. I mentioned that my brother and his family lived in Toronto, but he swept that aside with the single word “English”.

We’ll go back and have another look at the car once we have a comparison, and meantime, tomorrow we are off to Montpellier to go to the bank. I feel as though I should nip in and see the guys in the internet café but they might be so disappointed when they realise that their milk cow is no longer producing, that it’s probably best to stay away.

This time I want to go and investigate the big book shop at Polygone which I understand has a very good English section, and the Montpellier library also has one, so that might be worth investigating. At least our local library is open again, but their computer system was down when we called in today, so you could look but you couldn’t take anything out. Now there’s frustration for you! I did have a nice chat with the charming young librarian who speaks such good English, and discovered that his mother was American which explained his rather interesting accent.

If the weather is as good as this tomorrow, I can see us getting off the tram at Corum and walking through the park to Place de la Comédie. I wonder if that little restaurant in Antigone is making Croque Monsieur?

As promised, we went back to the vegetable market with the wine pumps at the back and I hope you enjoy the photos. Come and see it some time and bring your own bottles!

Shopping With A Difference - Monday 25th August

The hill village of Corconne

The problem with having the internet working is that I am starting to sit for hours with the result that when I do get around to standing up, my bottom feels as though it has spread to cover the base of the reclining garden chair and my neck and shoulders are stiffening up from lack of exercise.

To think that four weeks ago we were desperate to get connected but in the meantime we were chopping, digging, painting and generally working hard, and now we have to call a halt long enough to ensure that the garden gets watered. I know that in time we will have caught up and then we can relax a bit and start to plot our day so that it also includes a bit of fun.

Speaking of fun, we have just nipped into Castries to buy some groceries and this time, we were determined to get our fresh fruit and vegetables from the open air market in the centre of town. This place of business has changed hands a few times since Jean used to stay here, and he can recall it being a petrol station, a winery and now the fruit and veg market. We had finished purchasing all our requirements and Jean had to go with the proprietor to the back to use the credit card machine. He came back looking rather pleased with himself.

“The old wine pumps are still there in the back” he announced. “I have no idea if they are still operating them but it all looks quite promising.

We nipped round to the supermarket to purchase the more mundane items like washing up liquid and breakfast cereal and then returned to the mystery wine pumps.

“Bonjour Monsieur, Madam” came a cheery greeting from a very suavely dressed gentleman who clearly ran this side of the operation.

Jean enquired about the pumps and to our delight, the owner not only assured us that they were working fine, but he raised a curtain to display a mound of empty 1 litre water bottles.

‘You fill as many as you like” he said, and like a pump jockey in America, he proceeded to squeeze the pump handle and fill up the bottle with a nice house rosé.

“That will be 2 euros 40c he said” and deposited the plastic water bottle into a plastic bag lest I should have to suffer the embarrassment of coming out of the wine shop with my bottle exposed to public view. It takes a lot more than that to embarrass me, as many of my friends and family will assure you, and tomorrow, we will return so that I can take some photographs. I might even take some of our small water bottles so that I can test drive some of the other vintages. It’s by far the best looking set of fuel pumps I have ever seen and I feel sure that if gas prices in America were the same, the world would be a far happier place.

We drove home the “scenic route” and stopped off to see what the advertising boards for “Aqua Fit” were all about. Sadly our search resulted in finding a very small indoor pool that was obviously designed for people to jump up and down in but not for swimming lengths. Having been incredibly spoiled at our condominium in Florida with a large pool which I made great use of, this certainly wasn’t going to cater to my needs.

We trundled slowly through the vineyards of St Jean de L”Arbousier, stopping to say hello to the two lovely horses which appear in one of the photos on the blog. The vines are so heavy with grapes that they are hanging down to the ground and with this heat, it must only be a matter of days before they start bringing them in.

I thought of our shopping trips in Aventura. Down 17 floors in the elevator, walk through the lobby trying to avoid the endlessly complaining occupants, collect the car from the car park, drive around Country Club Drive, straight to Publix Supermarket, shop, queue, pay, load and go straight back to the air conditioned apartment. No wine pumps, no farmers offloading their fresh plums and aubergines, no Camargue horses and no vineyards. We might have had blue skies, palm trees and big swimming pools, but I definitely know where I would rather be.

Midnight Raiders Monday 25th August

Pic St Loup

You bolt the garden gate, lock the front door, close all the shutters and go to bed and you’d think that you would be safe. But no. We were attacked last night and never heard a thing. I went out in my nightdress this morning in order to bid the beans “good morning”. (I firmly believe in talking to my plants even though they yawn and pretend to be busy doing something else). I then worked my way along the rows of courgettes and leeks until HORROR! There was a cabbage missing. When I say missing, the heart had gone out of it and all that remained was a little pile of limp leaves. I checked on its immediate neighbour and it was looking distinctly unhappy and I called for the Death Squad.

“Bring the ant powder” I yelled.
“What about the Buddhist monks?” came the response from the bathroom where my beloved was further along in his ablutions than I was.
“I don’t know how the system works but this lot have got it coming to them”.

Of course at that time in the morning, no self respecting ant has stirred. He is still fast asleep in his little hole digesting MY CABBAGE PLANTS. Don’t worry little ants, I have got all day and I’ll be waiting.

By lunchtime, they must have thought that I had given up, but I had stayed at my post on the terrace all morning, pretending to write my blog, but in fact I was waiting patiently. Result! By midday the little beasts were out and about, trying to look very busy moving acorn shells into holes that were too small. You don’t fool me for a moment. I had to turn away from one little fellow who was battling along with a chunk of something far bigger than he was. In went the powder and I had to leave quickly before I suffered an attack of conscience. We haven’t had our first water bill yet, but I’m blowed if we are going to be paying to keep an army of ants well fed. They can shift off next door where the summer residents have closed up shop and gone.

I’ve come to the realisation that for the past four days I haven’t suffered any mosquito bites. I think we are definitely past the bed bug stage but I was getting several nips that were annoyingly itchy. I know that I have lost weight since we turned the diet around and maybe my hips don’t present such a large scale buffet as they did before, but I put it down to the fact that we are eating a great deal more garlic. I seem to remember reading that mosquitoes don’t like garlic, and we have discovered that garlic, olive oil and herbs de provence brushed onto slices of aubergine which have been cooked on the barbeque is utterly delicious, and might be doing double duty as insect repellent. Here is another tip. I was feeling rather “garlicky” after supper last night and went and picked and ate a fresh fig (as you do) and instantly the garlic taste was gone. Our fig tree is laden with fruit at present and we were so happy to be able to take them to Mamy yesterday. I am sure she will issue them to all the care home staff, but she loved having something from her own garden.

Jean has been out checking on our vineyard this morning. OK Jean went out and looked at our four grape vines and they are coming along nicely. We had just finished doing that when a massive tractor and trailer loaded with crates went past the house closely followed by another. Clearly the farmers are in the starting blocks and the weather is so settled and gorgeous at present that this must be the final stretch until harvesting begins. The temperature is back up again today and is just touching 80F or 25C which ever you prefer. There is not a cloud in the sky and Montpellier is obviously experiencing one of its 300 days of sunshine a year.

The terribly unfortunate accident which resulted in my sister-in-law breaking her arm in several places, has put an end to their plans to fly from Canada to Europe next week and this means that my mother doesn’t get to see my older brother for a long time to come. In order to cheer her up, I went on line to see if I could find a reasonable flight up to London so that I could spend a week with her. How reasonable is this:

From Nimes to Luton Airport return (which is about 40 minutes from Mum) is costing me the princely sum of 5 euros each way with NO TAXES! OK I have to wait for the first week of October, bring along my own sandwiches, only take carry-on luggage and take pot luck on choosing a seat, but apart from that, Ryan Air are definitely the cheapest game in town. Mum is delighted and I will see some of the lovely autumn colours and catch up with a few pals, so it is definitely worthwhile. I’ll buy some marmite and be back in time for Mamy’s birthday party and then we can start to hunker down for the winter months. Once my thermal vests arrive, this thought holds no fear for me whatsoever, but then again, anyone can say that when they are sitting here on the terrace in a tee shirt and skirt, perspiring gently.

In Search of the Holy Grail - Sunday 24th August

It has been a pleasant day, uneventful and yet pleasing. After a very late start, we drove up to Ledignan to enjoy Sunday lunch with Mamy and Papy at their Care Home. It’s always a pleasure to see them, and the drive makes it even more so. Winding up through Sommieres, the countryside changes from the lush vineyards of the Herault region to the more rugged rocky area of the Gard. There is still no shortage of vineyards in this area but the closeness of the Cevennes mountains makes for a superb backdrop to the already stunning scenery.

On our first few visits to France many years ago, we would head for Provence, but now we have realised that there is no need to travel further than half an hour from our own front door to find hill villages, quiet country roads and beautiful views. I appreciate that Peter Mayle did an amazing job of alerting the world to the beauty of Provence, but secretly, I think the Languedoc Roussillon region is probably quite relieved that he didn’t “discover” this area, and although we get our full quota of visitors, there isn’t the urge to visit the famous hill villages of Provence and buy up the last bit of real estate for vastly inflated prices.

We noted that there were still a great number of foreign number plates around, but many of them seemed to be loaded with bikes and roof racks and were headed northwards, so despite the glorious weather we are enjoying, apparently someone has to get back home and head for the office.

The children are still enjoying a few more days of freedom before school starts at the beginning of September, and then I imagine that the next influx will be the grape pickers. The vines are now starting to bend under the weight of the massive bunches of grapes that are just about ripe. Like heavy udders under a cow, they hang down below the wires that support the vines, and in the time that we have been here, they have gone from green to black.

We sat after lunch with Mamy and watched a bit of the closing ceremony of the Olympic Games. I was aware that I had missed out on a great deal of excitement by not having either TV or internet, but then again, I have had a great deal to occupy myself with and I am sure that by the time the 2012 games come about, I shall be firmly in front of a TV to see what sort of a show London can put on. Wow, I wish we had a bit of that sort of funding to stock up with lavender plants and oleander bushes for the front fence.

We are becoming experts on other people’s gardens, although it is invariably difficult to see the gardens due to the high walls and large gates which enclose just about every property in the village. I have seen walls and gates in Johannesburg, and these could give South Africa quite a run for their money. From the moment we arrived, Mamy and Michelle went to great lengths to ensure that we understood the imminent danger from rogues and thieves. The only thing that we possess of any value at present are our two laptops, but we follow instructions and close the shutters and lock the front gate before going any distance and it is a bit like closing up Fort Knox if we go into Montpellier.

We have taken to having an evening walk and are constantly amazed at just how big the village has grown. Our house used to be on the outskirts of the cluster of old houses, but now it is just about central, and the lotissement which is the name given to developments of new houses around a village or town, have grown incredibly in the past twenty years. Apparently the arrival of IBM in Lattes was responsible for a great many people buying and building in the area, and the prosperity of many of the houses goes to show what technology can do for your bank balance. And so we walk the small roads, peering over fences when we can, or peeking through gates as long as a large guard dog doesn’t hurl itself at us from the other side. We admire creepers, trees, flowering shrubs and the occasional swimming pool which can be seen through the gaps, and we are becoming expert on architectural styles and how many houses one builder got to build in a single road.

I have spent the evening trying to devote myself to answering many of the questions that I had before Uncle Google was back with me. This is not an easy task because as you will no doubt understand, searching for something as odd as Knights Templar – Chateau de Puget – Verargues can finish up with me reading up a recipe for Lebanese Aubergine Dip. I tried accessing information on the Cross of the Languedoc and kept coming up with something that doesn’t look a bit like the anchor shaped cross that we, and many others in the region, have on the house. The fougasse bread was fairly easy to find but then I came across the wonderful BBC Good Food site and I started to get enthusiastic about baking some until I realised that in the time in took the dough to rise, I could have legged it up the road to the boulangerie and bought a nice fresh hot one.

Tomorrow is Monday which means that just about everything is closed, but on Tuesday we can get to both the Municipal tip and the library will re-open after the summer break (now that we don’t need their internet services any longer – typical). I have thoroughly enjoyed reading “A House for Mr Biswas” and will return it along with the huge book on the Cathars which is fabulous for its photography, but frustrating because it is all in French. I think I might have to approach my old friend Amazon.com and see about getting something in English.
Stop Press: My clever husband just pointed out that my quest for the Languedoc Cross might be frustrated because what I am actually looking for is the Camargue symbol – Bingo! It represents faith, hope and charity and the anchor represents the fishermen of the region. Now about those Cathars!

A Few Photos - Saturday 23rd August

The road leading into the village

Corconne - the hill village

The Road Above Pompignan

Aigues Mortes looking towards the Constance Tower

On the Canal Du Midi near Aigues Mortes

Cowboys of the Camargues farming the black bulls

Glad Tidings of Great Joy - Saturday 23rd August

Grandfather Jean with Priscilla and Baby Ihlan

By now some of you might be checking on the dates and thinking that I am slacking. In fact I spent the whole of yesterday uploading the diary to the Blog. I am something of a Babe in the Woods when it comes to the high tech stuff but hopefully you are pleased with the results and many thanks to those kind folks who have already written and said how much they are enjoying it.

We took a bit of a break around 5.30pm yesterday evening to go and visit Jean's pal Joseph in the next village. I mentioned earlier that we hadn't been able to get hold of him and it turned out that he had been in hospital, so we reckoned that a quick "cheer up" visit would do him good. We hadn't been there five minutes when the phone rang and it was his daughter trying to track Jean down. What are the odds of that! She then proudly announced that he was a new Grandfather and that Priscilla had produced her son around lunchtime. (Trust a Frenchman to arrive in time for lunch!)

Great excitement all round and we headed for home and hit the telephone and the emails to announce the arrival of little Ihlan. (I really am going to have to confirm that spelling but I am sure that was what was written on his crib.) What joy to see this little bundle of life firmly latched onto his Mum and to know that all had gone well. Jean had dressed in a suitably grandfatherly but slightly trendy fashion so as to give the newcomer the best impression, but in my role as honorary Grandmother, I must confess that I sat in the very hot room and perspired profusely and spent a great deal of time mopping behind my glasses which led everyone to believe that I was overcome with emotion. In a way I was. He's a very special little man and it was lovely to see how Priscilla had taken to motherhood in such a calm and loving way. She has worked with and cared for many little ones while helping her mother who works at a crêche nearby, and now to have her own babe is the realization of her greatest dream.

The father had done the clever thing and having got to the hospital on time and stood his ground throughout the delivery, he had been taken out for lunch by his Uncle so we have yet to shake his hand. Priss comes home from hospital on Monday and they move house on Saturday, but they seem singularly unfazed at the prospect. We bought them a large and fairly heavy pot plant which can go into their courtyard and hopefully Sapho the dog won't knock it over, and it should carry on flowering until Ihlan is nearly three months old. They will be round to collect their car seat once they have found their feet, and secretly I know that both Jean and I are itching to get our hands on our little grandson again.

We drove to the hospital via Clapiers and called in at the Bio Nursery where we bought the plant. It is a massive American style garden shop with a large section devoted to fish and an assortment of ferrets, hamsters and rats. There was another section for Bio facial products and a restaurant for Bio snacks and drinks, so they had pretty much got all the bases covered, but it is easy to see that the holiday season has ended and there were far fewer people around. The traffic was light and the variety of number plates has almost returned to the local "34". Jean tells me that fairly soon they are going to do away with the old style of French plates where you can tell where someone comes from by the last two digits. "Damn fool Parisien" you can shout when you see anyone driving badly with "75" at the end of his number. In fact you could probably shout it just because they have got the number, even if they are obeying all the rules of the road. They must be completely used to being shouted at down here and probably find it charmingly provincial and colourful.

Tomorrow we are invited for lunch with Mamy up at Ledignan and we are going to tell her that we will attend the picnic which is being held the following Monday for all the residents of her care home. I know she is really hoping that we will go, and I daresay we can make ourselves useful by getting behind a couple of wheelchairs and helping move the elderly folks out into the open air for a change.

I am now about to load the brochettes with a large bowlful of chicken breast chunks which have been lolling about in a marinade for an hour or so, and we can put them on the barbeque, eat some and freeze the rest. The whole trick of dieting is to have something tasty on hand at all times which isn't ice cream, a large slice of pizza or a bag of pain au chocolat. There are still five lurking at the back of the freezer by the way, and they know that I know that they are there even though I keep trying to hide them under piles of green beans. I shall have to ensure that the freezer door is shut at all times lest they make an escape and turn up on a plate somewhere!

A footnote to the City Fathers of Montpellier. When grandparents are trying to find their way across the city to visit their latest addition, it would be a huge help if the street names of the city were visible and were not tiny blue squares attached to old walls and usually half covered in ivy. This does not make for marital bliss in the map reading department.

At Long Last - Thursday 21st August

The Barbeque Builder, Chief Cook and Occasional Bottle Washer

For those of you paying attention, you will note that I didn’t write yesterday. Our lives have been altered and our timetables upturned. We are back on line. The gentlemen who run the internet cafe in Montpellier will probably close up shop and the lady in Customer services will be mourning the end of our daily phone calls.

Having got to the stage where we never believed anything that she told us, we went into Montpellier yesterday morning to be greeted warmly by the owner of the internet café. By this stage he was giving us the same two computers each time and making every effort to ensure that we felt at home, in the hopes of us returning on a regular basis. It was only due to the fact that they close firmly for lunch at midday that made us pack up and go home as we really didn’t hold out much hope for the promised visit of the technician between 2pm and 6pm. However, we did have a more definite date with the electrician who was coming to install a night meter to help us keep down the electricity costs.

We waited patiently and then all of a sudden, it was like a car park outside in the front garden. Not one but two little vans arrived, with the France Telecom technician getting in through the door about thirty seconds before the electrician. Things could have gotten ugly at this point as the technician needed the electricity switched on in order to work his magic, and the electrician needed it switched off so that he could complete his task and get on.

I fled to the kitchen and quickly rounded up glasses, iced water and fruit syrup and offered it to the electrician who was gracious in his acceptance and quite happy to hang on for five minutes. There was a roar of applause and general back-slapping and high fiving when the computer screens came to life and there was dear old Yahoo waiting to welcome me. We were back in touch with the world. For the first time in five weeks, I could speak to my children in far away Melbourne, I could download photos of the new family dog, phone my mother in England, and contact my brother in Canada and commiserate with my sister in law who had just suffered a broken arm. Skype messages from Argentina flashed up on the screen, a message came in from South Africa and my dear friend Sybil in Florida sent us a cheery wave. Emails from patient friends started coming in and there was access to all the latest news from around the world. I felt like a child in a sweet shop and didn’t know what to do first, and until nearly midnight last night I was still rushing hither and thither.

We did stop long enough to go for a very pleasant walk around a new neighbourhood that came as a complete surprise to us. We knew that St Jean du Moulin had grown in the past twenty years, but we stumbled upon an entire new chunk of grand houses, steep driveways and high walls covered in the much sought-after ivy. Having walked for nearly an hour, it was quite a relief to find that we had completed a circuit and we came out just about opposite the house for which my knees and hips were most grateful.

My liver has apparently returned to its normal shape and size after giving me a serious fright, and my waistline is also returning to a better shape and size after four days of careful eating. I suppose I shall have to undergo a barrage of tests once we are signed into the French medical system because this isn’t the first time it has given me a bit of a warning, and I am duly chastened and getting really good at making home made soup, seafood bouillabaisse and roasted vegetables on the barbeque. Who says that diet food has to be boring? The little melons which we buy from the farm stall are as sweet and juicy as could be, and there are six pain au chocolat languishing in the deep freeze and there they will stay for the time being.

I have been sitting here this afternoon tearing up copies of the Daily Telegraph. It’s not that I dislike the paper and throughout my travels I have always been delighted to come across a copy of it. We are starting a compost bin and now with access to Google and all the information that we need, we can begin to make use of all the vegetable parings and melon skins, and old newspapers We are going to have thousands upon thousands of leaves coming down in the near future which apparently help the process along, and we have found an unusual wire mesh container in the tool shed which will work perfectly. We were slightly suspicious that Papy might have been planning to rear rabbits in it with a view to popping them in a pot at some stage, but I cannot verify this so I shall give him the benefit of the doubt and decide that it was some clever gizmo for stopping rabbits eating some sort of plant.

We inspected the beans early this morning and I am proud to announce that as the flowers fall off, there are little green beans appearing. I’m sorry to think that there is no time to get another batch going before the autumn comes, but we will thoroughly enjoy our first batch. The courgettes are definitely preparing to go into action and the spinach shoots are starting to show. There are some very suspicious gaps in the rows and some extremely fat ants walking about, and while I don’t want to cast aspersions, I might be forced to cast a bit of ant powder down some of the holes.

It seems to be all gardening and computers today but we will work out a decent schedule once we have caught up with the backlog. I had forgotten what a terrible time waster it is to have all this information at my fingertips, but at least I found out about what to put in my composter!

Getting My Goat - Tuesday 19th August

The potager taking shape with four rows ready for planting

This has not been a day for the record books but finally things are looking up. Having started the day feeling worse than I did yesterday, I really began to wonder if I had picked up some strange bug but without the assistance of “Uncle Google” to check out my various ailments, I could do little more than rely on a liver cleansing remedy, headache pills for the detox symptoms and drink litres of water.

I hung around all morning like a limp rag and Jean waited patiently for signs of improvement and also for the promised phone call from the technician. Neither appeared to be in the offing, so he took matters into his own hands - quite literally. Among his many talents, Jean has the power of Reiki and in the past, he has worked wonders on battered and bruised bits of my body. I always reckon that internally I am as strong as an ox, but the bodywork is a bit the worse for wear having hurled myself from my horse many years ago in Africa. Laying his hands on my horrible distended stomach, he sat patiently and I felt the intense heat building up. It makes him terribly thirsty and he is cautious about washing his hands afterwards, but there is no doubt that it works. I was still feeling wobbly and weak, but the cramping pain just below my ribcage had eased off and I even felt strong enough to face a trip to the supermarket.

There was one more thing that he had to do before we left. Getting on the phone to Customer Services, he gave them a right royal ticking off and the result is that they have promised to send a technician to the house tomorrow afternoon. The electrician is also coming to sort out the night meter and steady down the boiling water that comes from the tank, and if all goes well, I can see us breaking out the pastis and doing a victory dance in the courtyard. Clearly France is back to work and thanks to Jean never loosening his grip on the telephone people, we have stayed near the top of the priority list and they know that he won’t give up.

In view of the damage done with regards to our diet over the past five weeks, we have turned over a new leaf and have reverted to our eating habits from our time in America. The fridge is now bare of cheese, butter, bread, ham, saucisson and paté. The wine bottles remain unopened and the olives stay in their pot. Until we get our waistlines back under control and our livers back into shape, it is green beans, brown rice, fresh vegetables, lean chicken and fish and lots of fresh fruit.

We went to see Norma this afternoon. Norma isn’t so much a friend as an establishment where it is possible to purchase large packs of assorted goods from a warehouse setting rather than have the wide selection from the local supermarket. I was only after the chicken breasts and the fish and the washing powder and softener so it didn’t take us long to nip round and stock up, before heading off to the local supermarket for the fresh vegetables and freezer bags.

Even now as I write, the large pot of homemade vegetable soup is simmering on the stove and the chicken breasts are in a marinade waiting to go onto the barbeque. The goat nearly got me, but we are turning the tables and looking to a healthier future. Of course I am quite sure that these delicious delicacies will sneak back into the diet eventually, but in a far more controlled manner.

18 Is My Lucky Number - Monday 18th August

An update on the bean progress with the bare garage wall behind

You may have read the headlines “Tourists in France attacked by mountain dogs guarding sheep”. Well, I bet you don’t read the one that says “English woman savaged by goat and cow disguised as cheese”.

We tried the bed switch last night and at 3.00am I was awake and in pain and decided that the time had come to stop blaming the bed and have a serious think about my eating and drinking patterns over the past week. The scorching heat had abated last Monday and with it went our ability to drink water like thirsty camels arriving at an oasis. We still drank some, but nothing near the amounts that we had been getting through. My clever habit of drinking wine mixed with water and ice had gone out of the window when I had started sampling some of the bottles that we had purchased during the wine fete at Le Clerc, and we don’t even want to discuss the baguette, croissants and the pain au chocolat! Of course, there was no let up in the consumption of brie, camembert, goat cheese, and all the other wonderful cheeses on offer. Not having eaten cheese for the past five years unless it was a bit of parmesan sprinkled onto spaghetti or the occasional slice of pizza, and never keeping bread in the house, my liver was making a very clear statement.

“Step away from the pate, the cheese and pork stuffing meat. Put down the wine glass and pick up the water glass. Avoid the supermarket and the boulangerie and head for the fruit stalls”.

So from this morning, I am surrounded by bottles of water, slices of apple, and as soon as we head out to do some shopping, I will be stocking up on melons. You see before you a reformed citizen of France who has to stop acting like a tourist on a five week binge and settle down to being a responsible and slim permanent resident.

We nearly fell out of the window with excitement this morning when a truck loaded with cement and a concrete drilling machine parked outside the house and started digging up the road. This could mean one of three things.

1. They were going to install a speed hump to reduce the noise and the manic racetrack behaviour on our stretch of road.
2. They were digging up the “tout è l’e gout” which is the extension of our rather smelly sewage system.
3. France Telecom had arrived to lay a new line to the house.

It turned out to be number three, but before you get excited on our behalf, they weren’t laying a new line but fixing the concrete around the manhole cover that was starting to sink into the road surface. I was all for offering them coffee and the use of the loo if they would just chuck in a speed hump while they were at it, but sadly, like workmen all around the world, their job is specific and their worksheet is unbending.

Jean is marching around with an assortment of tools in his hands and making various banging noises around the corner out of sight of the terrace. When I ask him what he is doing, he merely says “Helping the guys” which I know is a big fat lie. Eventually curiosity will get the better of me and I will go and see what clever plan he has come up with this time. When I think that we arrived on the farm in Africa and neither of us had the first idea how to set about doing anything much, by the time we left, Jean could strip the gears on the windmill, service the diesel engine, string a tight wire fence and even put his hand inside a cow and produce a calf. After five years in Miami doing nothing much other than pounding the keys of a computer, it is so good to see him with a hammer and a chisel in his hand, and a look of deep satisfaction when he sees a job well done.

Curiosity has been satisfied. Clever man has moved a row of rocks that were cemented in to the edge of the driveway. He had made some changes a while back but it still wasn't enough, and reversing out is always a bit of a trick and we really don’t want to damage Michelle’s car despite its considerable age. In moving the line of rocks back by a couple of feet, he has not only made the drivers life far easier, but he has left a nice little border into which can go an assortment of bedding plants that will create a lovely splash of colour on the rocks.

The sun is playing hide-and-seek today which means that the temperature is far more pleasant, and the plumbago is looking far brighter, and hopefully by lunchtime, so will I. Right now I feel like a walking swimming pool with about three litres of water sloshing about inside and a rather muggy head from the effects of the de-toxing that must be going on. I can hear you saying “we have no sympathy for you – anyone who tries to commit suicide by eating cheese and washing it down with wine deserves all they get”.

Another project is underway. We are determined to grow some of the very pretty climber that seems to do well on sunny walls. The bare garage wall that forms the side of the courtyard gets full sun and a covering of the red and gold leaves in autumn would be so pretty. The pounding has begun as Jean attempts to break a hole in the concrete in order to get a root going. Now where did I put the last two headache pills?

You’ve probably heard the theory that stolen plants always grow better. We’ve been really trying to do the legal thing and buy some of the climber but a trip to the garden centre this afternoon proved fruitless because “the green man” who knows about everything wasn’t there today. We went down to the quarry in the hopes of finding some rambling over the old stone walls, but once again were disappointed. Refusing to be beaten, we then drove all around the back of the village and out into the vineyards.

The lovely buildings of St Jean de l’Arbousiers winery are covered with the stuff but we didn’t want to get nicked by the watchman in the process of stripping his walls so we bypassed that and continued to St Drezery. Jean’s old friend Joseph lives there but despite several phone calls, we couldn’t raise him. Perhaps we should just nip in and check up on him. Oh dear, no Joseph, but his walls were covered in the much sought after climber! I can’t think of anyone who would more willingly give us a few cuttings, so we filched a couple and have put them into the hole in the concrete next to the garage wall. Now all we have to do is hope that they take a liking to the surface and in no time, we will have a thick coating of leaves adorning the building.

I haven’t mentioned the “you know what” so far today, but of course we still don’t have a “you know what” but Jean is right this moment making his daily phone call. The moment he got through, they asked if he was Mr Fagalde, so clearly we are making some sort of headway. She says that red lights are flashing on her screen so we seem to have got to the top of some sort of lost of jobs needing urgent attention, but regardless of the encouraging sound of her voice, it is not the sound that we wish to hear. What we need to hear is a loud ringing sound. It is five weeks to the day since we arrived and the phone was ordered in the first week. We are assured of a phone call tomorrow morning from the technician himself and it starts to look as though they only really got working on the problem last Thursday just before the long weekend. Never try and get anything done in France in August.