Left Luggage Monday 28th July

Ralph at home

There’s a lot to be said for moving into a community of just over 2000 people. You can be fairly sure that a fair number of people will start to recognise you, and in our case that wouldn’t be difficult. We have been wearing the same set of clothes for nearly three weeks now although I must mention here that they have been through the washing machine on several occasions. We boxed up the contents of our home in Florida nearly two months ago and waved it goodbye as it set sail across the Atlantic ocean. With what remained, we lasted until our departure from America and with a generous luggage allowance from British Airways, we brought 200 lbs between us to England. It was here that the game got sticky because from Luton to Nimes, Ryan Air give a strict baggage allowance of only 30 lbs each. I am sure you can start to see a pattern emerging here. From a closet full of clothes, shelves full of books and walls full of paintings, we are now reduced to four t shirts each and an odd assortment of gardening clothes and one or two slightly tidier outfits for going to town.

Daily I bless my darling daughter Claire in Melbourne who presented me with a pair of Australian Crocs flip-flops which I live in. I have my South African t shirt from Sybil, a few skirts from Miami, a couple of shirts from England and a pair of French trousers, so I am nothing if not internationally dressed.

We have been tracking the progress of our various shipments and it starts to sound like someone gathering up an amoeba, but I am assured by the shippers in England that the Customs are just about to release the Miami boxes and the three large bags which we left with Mum in Buckinghamshire are being collected today, and hopefully we will be reunited with our worldly goods within the next couple of weeks. I am slightly nervous at the prospect of a nine metre truck arriving in the village, knowing full well that for the time it takes them to offload our goods, we will effectively close the main street. Since they can’t turn round, they will have to continue in a straight line on up through St Drezery until they make it to the big road up at Teyran, but if the wine tankers can make it through, then I suppose we should be OK.

Meantime, it does make getting dressed in the morning a very quick process. No agonising about “what shall I wear today”. We know it’s going to be hot and we’re going to be home, so that means the loose cotton dress that I threw in at the last moment, and if we have to go to town, then I simply rinse the garden dust off the Crocs and pull on a pair of jeans and a t shirt.

Sometimes less is best, but I am slightly concerned about what to wear this coming Saturday evening. We have been invited to a country wine festival or fête champêtre as it is called. A winery up near St Hippolyte du Fort opens their farm to the public each year at this time. They set out tables and chairs under the trees and a great deal of wine tasting, eating and dancing then takes place. It all sounds very bucolic and I can imagine that it will be great fun as there is going to be quite a merry gang of us. I daresay the Crocs, jeans and the South African t shirt will probably do the trick. It better had, because that’s all there is!

This morning Jean said that he could hear a cuckoo singing in the woods behind the house, but then on listening closely, we decided that it was just a lazy pigeon who was only singing half his song. I remember the wonderful call of the cuckoos when we were here in May back in 1990 but I am quite sure they don’t continue singing until this late in the year. Our small bird Ralph started singing late last night just as we were settling down to sleep. He has his own little house hanging in the tree and from there he watches the French sparrows who come and steal the mure berries from the platane (plain) tree and listens to the fat pigeons arguing on the potting shed roof.

We found him in an bric-a-brac shop in far away Tennessee, although he probably started life in a little toy factory in China, and he has become one of the family. Daft I know, but it’s nice having a little blue and orange bird who doesn’t need a cage, doesn’t require feeding or cleaning, and only sings when he feels a slight motion. He must have been exhausted when he got here as he would have sung his way across the Atlantic and continued chirping all the way down through France. He’s resting now and watching me as I sit here on the terrace and type. When I’ve finished, I’ll go and give his house a nudge and he’ll sing for me. It’s the little things isn’t it!