The End of Our First Month Monday 11th August

Please note the angle of the sloping rock on the right

It’s four weeks to the day since we arrived in France, and for the first time, we have awoken to overcast skies and a good chance of rain. You can tell that we are becoming gardeners because we welcome this break from the heat and the baking sun and we know that our new lettuce plants will enjoy a day without having their sun hats on.

Today it is “make or break” with the internet. Jean has awoken with the bit between his teeth and the first gang on his hit-list is France Telecom. We have run out of patience with their “Just another 48 hour” nonsense that went on all last week, and as long as he can get past the recorded message and find an actual human being to take to task, we might get somewhere. Failing that, a search through the Yellow Pages has thrown up a couple of local guys who work with websites and who might be prepared to allow us to link into their systems and clear a bit of the horrendous backlog which is steadily growing.

We also need a quick trip to Leroy Merlin – the purveyor of all things handy for the house and garden, and once we have purchased another roll of irrigation hose, Jean can extend his watering capabilities to the new leeks. We now need to instigate a search to find things like broccoli, cauliflower, brussel sprouts and onions in the hopes that our deep freeze will be filled for the winter months.

Papy was clearly a great believer in fridges and apart from the excellent one in the kitchen, there are another three in the garage. Maybe he used one as a wine cooler, and although he seldom drank wine himself, he thoroughly enjoyed collecting bottles from the many and varied wineries that surround us. The first time I came to St Jean du Moulin and we were invited for lunch, I was told that if Papy liked me, he would go and open a bottle. I am happy to say that we got through three that day which I felt was an auspicious start.

My height is proving to be something of a problem. The French are not particularly tall as a nation, and I am finding that either my head is banging on the headboard, or my toes tend to get stuck under the baseboard of the bed. We have hopefully solved this problem by encasing the old mattress in two layers of thick sealed plastic that is filled with mothballs, and putting it back on the bed, and then putting the new one on top. Hopefully this will deter any of the beasties which had invaded it from escaping and making a return to their old haunts, and I can avoid getting my toes bruised. Underneath the bed is another single mattress that is being stored and a quick look at the whole edifice looks as though I am the star of the children’s story of “The Princess and the Pea”. From what I recall, she couldn’t sleep due a pea being placed under no fewer than a dozen mattresses, thus proving her royal lineage and status to the Prince and his busybody of a mother. I’m not that bothered about proving anything, but I would like to be able to drape my feet over the end of the bed, even though I might need a safety net to sleep so far off the ground.

A moment’s silence please. Jean has just spoken to France Telecom and a most concerned lady assured him that our problem was indeed grave but that the technicians (according to the records showing on her computer screen) had gone out no less than four times in order to do battle. She informed us that this very morning, they were returning to the fray and that in all likelihood, we would be connected between the hours of 9.30am and 11am. It is now four minutes to 11 and our breath is bated, but not actually held as we have the feeling that we have been here before. Just in case, we dashed into Castries – in the rain I might add – and quickly rounded up supplies including a packet of radish seeds.

Another crime to which I must confess is the purchase of a bottle of “Bonne Maman” strawberry jam. I have no idea who the original Maman was, but she sure knew what she was doing in the jam department. I also discovered butter that is not only salted, but which has actual chunks of sea salt embedded in it. What a delicious alternative to its’ rather bland unsalted relative.

The radish seeds are in the ground, the sheets are on the line and Jean is about to give himself a double hernia by trying to shift the most enormous block of stone which was unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the courtyard a hundred years ago. He has been eyeing it since we arrived and he has the look of someone who used to work at Stonehenge and knows just how to go about it. My back is fairly unforgiving, and if I pick up a large pile of branches which I did yesterday when I gave the oleander bush in the courtyard a stiff haircut, it quickly lets me know who is boss, so I am loath to offer my services. I think I have already mentioned that I have undergone two laminectomies, and I doubt that three is a lucky number on this occasion.

“It’s all a question of moments and levers” he is going to say, and already he has found a large metal lever and any moment he is going to use it. Admittedly it would be much nicer if it were level and in a position where it could double as a bench, but rather than have to call on the services of the French medical profession, we might need to call on the services of our new Son In Law who is a Mason, and who might know a bit more about the science of shifting it.

Ah thank heavens; darkening skies and rolling thunder have put paid to dry sheets and large blocks of rock and Jean has gone back inside to glare at the telephone which still fails to ring despite it being 11.45am. I wonder if they’ll let off those rockets and blow the hail out of the thunder clouds. It really is rumbling about up there but the rain is perfect for the grape ripening so there is good in everything.

It’s evening and it has rained seriously. The new plants are all standing to attention and everything looks washed and refreshed. We went for a drive around the village earlier this evening to see just how much it had grown since Jean knew it, and we found ourselves disappearing up cul de sacs, blind alleyways and little lanes that were totally new to us. At one stage we managed to find our way into the cemetery so we quickly removed all the dusty old plastic flowers and pots from in front of Mamy’s family burial chest and generally tidied it up and took a photo. I know she will be happy to think that we have taken the time to keep it looking nice, especially since it houses the remains of her second husband Robert. When he died in Liberia, she went to great expense to have his body returned to France, and although he never saw “Notre Coquille”, he did make it back to the village where Mamy had hoped that they would share their later years.

When we got home, Jean hauled out the pickaxe and with a few swift blows, he managed to loosen the row of rocks that made the driveway a very tricky manoeuvre to drive in and out of. Papy never drove and failed to see why the gap between the house and the edge of the rock border should pose a problem, and luckily until now, I have been able to depend on my mirror reversing skills to get in and out. With an extra six inches on either side now, I no longer have to worry about demolishing the house or ruining the paintwork on Michelle’s car, and we can now set about assuring the rest of the family that it is safe to enter the gates rather than park on the other side of the very narrow road outside.

Speaking of paintwork, we tried patching up the side wall where the plastic paint has fallen off due to the damp in the walls. The colour that we bought came out a rather pale cream instead of the warm beige illustrated on the tin, and I’m scared that the Paint Police might come round as the whole of Languedoc Roussillon has to adhere to a strict colour scheme. For all I know, the evening rains have washed it all off anyway and we are back where we started.

Just a postscript. It appears from one late afternoon phone call that the problem lies with “Le server” which refuses to co-operate with “la ligne direct”. According to the lady at Customer Services, we are assured that even as we speak, several technicians are sweating over the problem, refusing to accept defeat, and if we do not have a connection by 8pm tomorrow night, we are to phone back. “Rien de nouveau”! which means "Nothing new". (I wanted to say “Plus ça change” but Jean claims that it doesn’t mean anything). Goodie, that means another trip to Montpellier tomorrow morning. Now if we can just find the Arab gentleman with the internet café in the back streets of the city, we’ll be doing just fine. I hope we can find him because I’m taking along the cool bag as he is situated right next to Les Halles where the fish, cheese and meat market is. If we can’t email, at least we can eat well!