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!

Granny's Brag Book - Thursday 18th Sept

The Bulklip Farm Guest Cottage curtains finally in place once more

My dear late Dad who was a hotshot when it came to maths used to look at me in bewilderment as he desperately tried to get me to understand the science. “But can’t you see it?” he would ask, never raising his voice, but occasionally wiping his brow. He would go on to mutter that those who thought that brilliance usually jumped a generation were absolutely right in my case.

Well today I found out that brilliance really does jump a generation, but this time, it has leapfrogged gracefully through his granddaughter who is still intent on improving her skills and who studies hard and scores high marks in all her exams. Claire phoned from Australia today to let me know that his beautiful seven year old great-granddaughter Katie had not only won the Sports prize at her school, but had also won Class Prize. I would have given anything to be sitting in school assembly this morning, applauding loudly as only embarrassing grandmothers are allowed to do.

At least from my vantage point in southern France, I don’t feel quite as far away from them as I did in Miami. This is all relative I suppose, but it does feel as though there is more of a chance of seeing something of them now that I am back in Europe. Katie informs me that she is already studying French at school, and Claire, who oddly enough spent a couple of nights here at the house long before we ever thought of living here, at least knows what I am talking about and can visualise it all which is so great.

I hoped that we could get through the day without the usual trip to Leroy Merlin, and for once we did just that. Thanks to Jean and a good shopping list, we had got all the screws and plugs and drill bits and brackets so that today we could put up the curtains in the big bedroom. I can’t imagine what his right arm must feel like pushing the drill into the solid stone walls, but the job is done and I am so thrilled to see my beautiful curtains fitting exactly, and framing the big picture window. I now have to set about cannibalising some of the others in order to get them to fit the rather long slim-line windows, and also to cover the big French windows in the lounge.

As each item that we have packed and unpacked in various countries finds its place here in the house, we feel more and more as though we belong. From the word go I had a very real feeling that I had “Come Home”, and with our bits and pieces starting to look as though they had been here all the time, we are very content.

Time is racing by and the weeks seem to go past far too fast. Until 5pm today I was convinced it was Wednesday, only to discover that it was in fact Thursday, which meant that we had missed the recycling collection. I can see the car having to do double duty as a dustcart tomorrow. I’d better not miss out on Saturday as the “smelly belly” really does need to be collected.

It suddenly turned sticky and humid this afternoon and as I write, I can start to hear the heavy rumbling of thunder coming in across the Mediterranean. The farmers are racing along with the harvest and the vineyards are largely bare of grapes, and we await the turning colours of autumn to paint the region a glorious red and gold.

After five years of sleeping under a thin cotton sheet with the overhead ceiling fan on, it is bliss to jump into bed (especially now that it doesn’t have a base-board) and snuggle under the duvet. My dear friend Sybil bought me a pair of soft pink sheepskin slippers last year before we went to Canada, and they are so cosy in the mornings if I’m on coffee duty. I am quite sure I will be squeaking when the real cold arrives, but as long as the days are sunny, we will be as snug as bugs during the evenings.

We have been so busy today that we haven’t even unlocked the gates. I think we must have a break soon and nip into Montpellier. I have library books to return and a bank card to pick up, and I really do need to check out that little lunchtime restaurant which promises the best “Croque Monsieur” (toasted cheese and ham sandwich) in the city.

Rockabye Baby - Wednesday 17th Sept

The dining room end of the salon starting to take shape

I am sure you have heard the expression “ A heavy sleeper”. Well I was a heavy waker-upper, because although I can’t quite work out what happened, the much-hated baseboard of the double bed fell apart on one side, revealing a mass of worm holes. This put us in a bit of a quandary. There was no way that we could repair the bed and return it to its former state, and since half the base-board was already adrift, it seemed like a good time to try and get rid of it altogether.

The last time I saw Jean lying on his back peering up at something with a worried expression, he was under the farm truck, and oil was dripping around his ears. “Hmm” he said in a thoughtful manner, and I felt a bit like the relative of a patient awaiting the decision of a surgeon. “It’s solid oak” was his next comment, followed by “and it’s hand built”.

None of this was filling me with confidence, but he was up and running. “Tape measure, pencil and paper, electric screw driver, drill”
I ran around like a theatre sister collecting up all the tools of his trade, and then helped him strip the bed down to the bare essentials. The headboard, and solid oak frame stood there, sadly lopsided on the one side, while the offending baseboard which had so cruelly bruised my toes glared at me as if it knew its fate. I was now in a position of power and the thumb went down.
“Get rid of it” I decreed.

My wonderful master carpenter got to work and dismantled the frame but it was clear that a trip to Leroy Merlin was on the cards so that we could replace the base board with something a lot lower. To cut a long story short, we finally made it out of the shop with what seemed like a very long plank of Douglas pine which we managed to squeeze into the car by dint of lowering the back seats, and an hour after we got home, the bed was as good as new.

Of course this has played havoc with our schedule and the curtains will now have to be done tomorrow.
I find is fascinating to see what people wear to go to Leroy Merlin. The place is now like the Mother Ship for us and today they offered us a special loyalty card as we seem to be in and out of there every day. You can almost tell what sort of job people are doing by what they are dressed in. Today we stood in the queue behind a very chic couple who are definitely primping up their weekend home and seemed to be working from a list handed them by their builder. Behind us stood a man in a pair of shorts that positively shrieked at the shirt he was wearing. A bewildered look on his face made it clear that he had no guiding hand in either his choice of wardrobe or his decision making in the plumbing department. A young couple waited patiently, billing and cooing and discussing the paint that they had picked out. Was it for a first home or for a baby’s room? I rather admired the woman dressed in denim dungarees in her mid thirties who pushed a large trolley around laden with sheets of shower glass, timber, wood glue, screws and a very determined look on her face. She certainly was wearing the trousers in her household and I was quite surprised that she had slipped off her carpentry belt for the trip to Leroy’s.

It would be really nice tomorrow if we could get on with what we have planned without the daily trip back to the green emporium. Thank heavens it is only about ten miles down the road and stocks everything that a person moving into a rather elderly village house would need. But now it’s late and I think it is high time that I went and tried out the bed. Dormez bien!

Speaking in Tongues - Tuesday 16th Sept

The herb collection growing steadily

It occurred to me today, while I was standing in the electric drill section of Leroy Merlin (these people should be paying me for free advertising) that I had picked up odd bits of different languages in rather strange places. My smattering of Sesotho had been learned largely in the Lesotho mountain trading station of Malealea in southern Africa, when my first husband and I went there as newly weds to run the station for a week. We arrived in the depths of winter, whereupon it promptly snowed, thus closing down the tiny airstrip and the only road which carried any traffic. Cut off from civilisation, we kept ourselves amused by taking all the money out of the safe in the shop and building our own monopoly board using the various trading stations around the country as properties, and airstrips instead of railway stations.

It was my job to hand out tickets for sweets to the little herdboys who would come in with sacks filled with old bones. With bare feet and runny noses, they would line up at the counter waiting for me to hand over the amount due to them once their bones had been weighed, but of course I always gave them more than they had earned, thus throwing out the book-keeping. But at least I did pick up quite a bit of the language between them and the excellent cook who ran the household.

My next language lesson was Afrikaans. It wasn't spoken in Lesotho, but I had already picked up a bit while watching my husband pound around a South African rugby field every weekend, and I picked up a bit more when I went into the cottage hospital across the border in order to give birth to my two children. But on the whole, the ability to be able to converse about rugby and medical matters didn’t much help once Jean and I started farming. I did make an effort to concentrate while in the farm Co-op, and it fell to me to relay instructions from my French husband to the Basotho staff who had a slight working knowledge of Afrikaans. No wonder that rows of beans turned out to be rows of potatoes, and cattle were put into the field on the left instead of the one on the right.

So here I was today, waiting patiently while Jean chose just the right drill bit in order to make some impression on our two foot thick solid stone walls, and listening to the sales pitch on the little TV screen. Now my knowledge (in French) of electric drills and the secrets to great irrigation systems has increased enormously, but once again, I doubt that these topics of conversation will come up all that much.

While I am on the subject of Leroy Merlin, I have to congratulate them on having not only lots of staff, but cheerful young agile staff who are ready, willing and able to find exactly what you want. The young ladies on the till are all trim, well turned out, smiling and efficient, and I am sorry to say that in most cases, the people doing a similar job in the shops of south Florida could do with a major training overhaul. In France, it would appear as though the customer is always right and he is there to be helped in order to make his shopping experience a pleasant one. What a strange concept!

Jean has finally conquered his irrigation systems, and it is now possible to simply turn on a tap, and the potager waters itself. He has also installed hosepipes to the front and back garden. This morning, he arrived in the kitchen and announced that he had completed the “vendange” and he placed a small bowl of deliciously sweet grapes onto the table. I think it took us all of five minutes to eat our harvest, but next year, we will have the four vines laden with fruit, and hopefully the plum, pear and peach trees similarly abundant.

Gone are the evenings when we would sit out on the terrace and have supper and then stay out there and read and work on the computers. By six thirty, we are starting to pull on jerseys and tracksuit pants and begin closing the windows. However, it was bliss to sit in the sun after lunch and have a snooze without being either burned or over-heated. We are thinking about the prospect of building some sort of decking in our sloping courtyard so that we will have a place for our table during winter, when our suntrap will be the best place to sit. Jean says that “I” am thinking about the decking, whereas he is still thinking about the curtains which need to go up, the pictures which have to be hung and the fact that we still need to work a few hours each day on the computers in order to make a living.

Having listened to some of the woeful financial reports currently rocking the various markets, we were swapping well known English sayings such as “cut your coat according to your cloth” when Jean came up with a French one.
“Never fart higher than your backside”. I leave it up to you to make what you will of that!

Wheels Within Wheels - Monday 15th Sept

The bedroom window framed with the curtains from the farm guest house in Africa. I always knew I would find a use for them.

Not a great deal going on today but I did wake up and have a very good idea. This is where Jean usually puts his head in his hands and says "Oh no, what is it this time?"

It suddenly occurred to me while lying in bed looking out of the window at the huge pile of cardboard boxes and bags of packing paper, that it was daft to chuck the whole lot out. There is going to come a time when we will be in need of some, if not all of it, and remembering that we had a big woodshed with very little in it, I thought that rather than have to replace it all at some stage, it made sense to tie the whole lot up and store it. No sooner thought than done, and in five minutes the whole lot had disappeared from view so the trip to the tip was cancelled.

On the 1st September, it became law in France that every vehicle must keep an emergency triangle and a luminous vest on board. We found the vest quite quickly, but had a dickens of a job hunting down a triangle. All the big shops had sold out but we found a little auto spare parts place and managed to purchase his last one. Whoever is churning these things out must be making a quick buck, and apparently in Spain you have to have not one but two triangles.

Just as well we managed to get equipped because we returned our borrowed car today and from now on we have our snazzy Citroen to buzz around in. What a wonderful change for my poor aching shoulders to have power steering. We did make one rather nasty discovery when we drove home however. Usually I drive up onto the curb opposite the house while Jean unlocks the gates. I did this as usual and then heard a horrible grating sound coming from underneath. Clearly the hydrolics didn't like this operation at all and the car must have descended. I gingerly reversed back onto the road and managed to drive it into the garden and I just hope that all is well tomorrow when we take it out.

The drive up to the Gard region was so pretty today with the country bathed in glorious sunshine and the faintest hint of yellow appearing in some of the trees and the grapevines. It is so great to be able to pull on a pair of jeans and a light jersey rather than dripping with perspiration in a tee shirt and skirt. Our dressing gowns arrived in the nick of time and now we go out and sip our first cup of coffee in the garden and check on the progress of the vegtetables, rather glad to be snug in an extra layer.

News from the shipping people is that our three bags are coming down by courier, and I also hope that they track down the missing box with all our camping kit in it. We did get the tent, but that's no use without all the tackle that goes with it. There are certain people who used to say that my camping list was only slightly longer than the Gettysburg Address, but then again, you always got marmalade on your toast and ice in your gin and tonic on my camping trips! I doubt very much that we will get around to doing any camping, especially since we have discovered the joys of touring in an RV or Camper van (depending on which side of the Atlantic you are on), but who knows - maybe our grandson will get to use it one day, and I can pass on my list as well!

Home Sweet Home Again - Sunday 14th Sept

All that remains of our forty boxes

It's done! ALL the boxes have been opened, and thanks to the huge amounts of cupboard space, plus a very big garage, we have actually managed to find a home for everything. I made it my final mission to clear the dining room table this evening, and the old oil cloth has been removed, the surface polished and once again it has become part of the decor instead of a dumping ground.

All we have to do now is to load up the piles of collapsed cardboard boxes and get them down to the tip tomorrow, and it will all seem like a dream. Of course, what would make it like a dream come true is for the remaining three bags to appear, but for the moment, they are on the other side of the Channel, and right now, we are too tired to care.

Thank heavens for the fact that we have a long passage-way which leads from the kitchen through to the bedrooms and I think it is going to become the photo and art gallery. I had no idea how many framed pictures we had, and I feel sorry for Jean who has to do battle with steel nails and a concrete drill to make any impact on the solid stone walls of the house. He has been such a star and all our old favourites are up on the wall and in the right place. We noticed that there were any number of hooks already in the walls, but not a single one was where we needed it to be.

And so our little village house which has stood empty for so long is really taking shape as our new home, and it is such a joy to once again be surrounded by our possessions. We always laughed when we were on the farm, and said that if a thief were to appear, we would happily follow him round until he found something of any value. The value of everything lies in the stories and the memories which go with them, and from a tiny piece of carved rock which came from Jean's birthplace in what was then French Indo China, to the treasured items of pottery from Lesotho and the water colour paintings of Africa, we have travelled many miles and lived many different lives in order to make this collection.

Family and friends have added to it with things as diverse as photos of new grandchildren and fridge magnets from extraordinary places plus some wonderful paintings done by my mother who proved that retirement is an excellent time to take up watercolour. My book collection had to be severely cut back when we left Miami, but all my favourites are still with me, and the photo albums are safely on a shelf awaiting a rainy day when I might look through some of them again and wonder if I really did live that extraordinary life.

They Came, We're Sore, We've Conked Out - Saturday 13th Sept

Santons - the local handmade dolls which are becoming increasingly valuable if you have one which is signed by a well known maker. We have just unpacked our two and they are in pride of place on the mantelpiece.

You know that feeling when you wake up and you just know that Today is The Day. We were absolutely certain that having spoken to the driver last night, they were within reach of us and the coffee was brewing and the fresh croissants were on the plate by 9am when the phone rang.

"We've just been pulled over by Customs outside Montpellier and we have to sit for an hour until they clear the eight trucks ahead of us".

What can you say? They know it is all just a matter of paperwork and apparently they have to drive through this huge Xray machine, so with a couple of hours to spare, we leapt off to Leroy Merlin and rounded up a few more bits for the garden hose and the curtain rails.

I was just settling down on the terrace to clear my emails when I heard a whistle from Jean who was fiddling about in the garage.

"Wow, here they come".

I ran to the front door, and sure enough, here came the biggest road train that I could have imagined. Horse, trailer and another trailer behind, all emblazoned with the name of the Company who shall remain nameless for a very good reason. I am pretty mad at them, because having offloaded our forty boxes, they realised that the three precious vitally important excess bags which had been combined with the sea freight had been left behind in the warehouse in UK. Nobody to yell at because the office is closed on a Saturday, and the poor driver and his mate weren't responsible because they hadn't packed the truck.

What can you do? No point in getting in a spin but I just hope that they have the decency to send our stuff down by rail if they don't have a truck leaving very soon. They've certainly got a fairly brisk email awaiting them when they get back to work on Monday morning.

It has been an exciting and exhausting day, but we are sitting inside this evening, not only due to the fact that it is getting pretty nippy on the terrace by about 8pm, but it is so lovely to see our paintings up on the walls and some of our bits and pieces starting to appear. We must have opened half the boxes, and tomorrow is going to be a busy morning followed by a quick trip up to visit Mamy and show her the new car.

Bed is calling and the only slight drawback is that the sheets are still packed in a box and the bed is covered with the contents of another three. Hey Ho. I'd better go and try and make some sort of effort or I shall be sleeping in this very comfortable recliner chair, clutching the remnants of a rather nice glass of wine which was very much needed.

Hurry Up and Wait - Friday 12th Sept.

The street outside our front gates - I can't imagine an 18 metre truck there!

The day got off to a flying start. Sheets off the bed and into the washing machine, furniture moved out of the way in the lounge to make way for the arrival of the boxes, a quick breakfast, a whizz through the emails and we were ready.

I SAID WE WERE READY!!! Eventually by midday I phoned England. Ever since I heard of the fire in the Channel Tunnel yesterday, I had visions of our forty packing cases going up in smoke, and was relieved to hear that they only use the ferry service. Our shipment was fairly close but the driver of the huge truck was having difficulties. He had a small shipment to drop off in Narbonne which is halfway to the Spanish border from where we are, but he had arrived in the city to find that the street where he had to deliver had been dug up at one end and all the traffic had been diverted to go the other way. This is fine if you are in a zippy little car, but try sorting that one out in a huge road-train truck.

I finally caught up with the poor driver on the phone and he sounded as though he had just about run out of steam and enthusiasm and I assured him that he could pull over for the night and come here tomorrow morning. I even held out the prospect of fresh coffee and bacon and eggs, and he promised that he would appear by 9am. It actually makes good sense because our narrow road is hectic at both ends of the working day, but with most of France lying in bed late on a Saturday morning, we can hopefully get him offloaded and on his way before people start heading for the boulangerie to purchase their first baguette of the day.

In lieu of getting all our stuff, we decided to take the new car out for a spin and what an enjoyable outing that was – once we sorted out the slight problem of having about two teaspoons of diesel left in the tank and being rather a long way from the pumps at Castries. We drove around one of our favourite circuits taking in Montaud and St Hilaire de Beauvoir, and close inspection of the vines told us that the machines had been working hard this week and many of the vineyards had been cleared of grapes. Apparently machine picking can be done for the grapes that go to the co-ops which produce run of the mill local wines, but the serious wine makers have all their grapes cut by hand, and I am hoping to be able to get out to St Jean De L’Arbousier and get some photos of the “vendange” for you.

So the old clean sheets are back on the bed instead of my lovely fresh Egyptian cotton ones, and we are camping in the middle of the lounge rather than putting the furniture back, but tomorrow brings the promise of a great big truck and a cheerful driver who from here, will be turning his nose for home, since he can’t go any further south.

Just before I go, I feel that I should make a confession. I have discovered a recipe for Sacristans. This way surely lies madness, but they look so easy to make. The trouble is that the recipe will produce a batch of about ten large ones and as we all know, these are not going to stay in a tin and be kept for a rainy day for the following reasons:
a) It rained last night so we are in the clear for a while
b) I don’t have any tins
c) We will eat the whole lot at one sitting

Mercifully for my hips, they don’t seem to be quite as easily available in this area and it sounds as though Lunel up to Nimes is the best hunting ground for the perfect Sacristan. Maybe I’ll pick some up en route to the airport at the end of the month and take them home for Mum. I think she’d enjoy one with her coffee and I know I would.

Photos from Nimes - Wednesday 11th Sept

A section of Nimes Amphitheatre, the best preserved one in the world

Amazing architecture all built by slaves I suppose. No days off, just a quick trip down to the lions at the bottom if you felt like having a "go slow".

Nimes amphitheatre after the Christians and lions have left. It is now used for bullfights and rather lovely open air concerts

Tell me how is a girl supposed to keep her figure in this country?

Helping the new University students to raise funds - whipped cream and very tasty!

Going Back In Time - Wednesday 11th Sept

There you are - your very own Sacristans, except we ate two of them - Sorry!

Move over Russell - you've got competition!

It has not escaped our notice that today marks the anniversary of the terrible events in New York, and to all my American friends and readers, you are in our thoughts on this sad day.

We had been slightly concerned about the effects of the CERN project since there were those who thought it possible that we might suddenly pitch up in another century. We really felt as though we had done just that today when we drove up to Nimes and embarked on a tour of the Roman amphitheatre.

I have to confess that the closest I have ever gotten to a Gladiator is a rather hazy memory of Charlton Heston striding about in a rather short leather skirt which did him very few favours from what I can recall, and of course the delectable Russell Crowe who really gave the sport a boost.

Thanks to an extremely good English audio tour, we got a thorough inside view on just how the place was operated. Details not for the faint hearted were expounded upon and apparently the word “Arena” comes from the Latin word for sand, of which huge amounts were needed to cover up the puddles of blood which accumulated everywhere. There were nasty Romans and quite nice ones, and a few eminently sensible ones who knew that if the thumb went down (in fact it was a flat hand and a thumb stuck out) the gladiator in question could be put to death by his victorious opponent, but then he, as the organiser, had to pick up the tab from the Gladiator Training School. Clearly, having shelled out copious amounts of money on keeping the crowds happy and making sure that all the top knobs had the best seats in the house, it didn’t make good business sense to then allow someone to kill the goose which was laying the golden egg.

The tour took us up steep stairs, through tunnels and up and down various levels of the arena itself, and all the while, we were very aware of what life must have been like for both the combatants and the crowd. Having exhausted the subject of the gladiatorial fighting and the animal hunts, we were then given a quick run down on the more modern sport of bull fighting. I had been under the impression that the bulls weren’t killed in Nimes, but sadly they are, and I found my interest ebbing away. I am sure that the aficionados of the art of killing a bull will find me weak and wimpy, but cornering an already wounded creature and then stabbing it to death isn’t my idea of a fun way to spend the day.

We had a bit of a wander around the inner part of the city and decided that we were in desperate need of something delicious. By now you will know that we headed straight for the best boulangerie we could find, and joy of joys, there was a tray of Sacristans just waiting for me. I thought of you all this time, and since you weren’t there to share one, I took a photo for you. Enjoy!

The most useful part of the trip was getting the car insured. The paper work is now done and hopefully tomorrow morning we can go for a little spin before the truck arrives. It’s going to be a busy day so please forgive me if you don’t hear from me. I promise to make up for it later on.

So Far So Good - Wednesday 10th Sept

This is the future as far as I am concerned so nobody had better mess it up!

I awoke this morning and the first thing that I heard was the sound of a pigeon calling out in morse code. “WHO WHO WHO, WAH WAH WAH, WHO WHO WHO”.

“Wake up” I nudged Jean. “Listen to that – it’s morse code, it’s SOS”. I had seen enough episodes of ‘Moonlight’ all about the French Resistance when I was fifteen to know just what was going on”.

Jean who had spent time in the French Army doing his military service, knows a bit about morse code and wasn’t falling for it.

“I’m telling you – one of those message pigeons that they used in the war must have bred in this area and this is one of it’s offspring and they are definitely sending a signal. Oh heck, do you think it’s an alarm call – has the Hadron Collider gone off with a bang and this is nature’s way of letting us know”.

“Look, if we are still here, that means that the coffee is still here. Now are you going to get it or am I?” His tee shirt was rumpled and so was my hair, so clearly we had not gone to another century or galaxy. So much for the Big Bang theory and I pulled on a dressing gown and went to hunt for our two existing coffee mugs.

It is now late evening and it has been one of those days when I can’t say that we have achieved very much, but then again, all sorts of things have been brought to the boil. I think a trip up to Nimes might be on the cards tomorrow as it sounds as though the insurance man is coming into line. Apart from arriving at the airport eight weeks ago, we have seen very little of the city, so it will be nice to take a trip and see the sights.

Postman Patricia delivered a large box that contained a roll of hosepipe and an assortment of plumbing bits which means that we now have the ability to water both front and back garden. We also had a quick trip down to Leroy Merlin (I am sure he was a break dancer in years gone by with a name like that) and we came home triumphant with a 4 metre long curtain rail sticking out of the front window of the car. My gorgeous curtains from the guest cottage on the farm are finally going to be unpacked and hung once more. I haven’t seen them for the best part of nine years and it will be so good to wake up and see those soft colours which represent the cosmos flowers which grew all over Lesotho and Southern Africa.
As my children used to say – “just two more sleeps” and everything will be here.

The high point of my day was a cuddle with our grandson. Priscilla, Damien and Carol Lynn came over for a drink and pizza and of course little Ilhan was the star of the show until he had eaten and promptly fallen asleep again. He is going to be as tall as an American basketball player judging by the length of those little legs, but of course his dad is built like a drainpipe so it is hardly surprising. Priss is doing an Angelina Jolie and has got her figure back within three weeks and motherhood is totally second nature to her.

I have just checked the BBC online news and discovered that although the early stages are going well, the actual serious part of the CERN experiment will only occur over the next few days. So for the time being, it is all rumours that Lake Geneva has been sucked into a Black Hole, and I think we can rest easy in our beds tonight. I am sure the pigeon will give us a warning if we need to take action, although I have no idea what action you have to take if you are about to be turned into a proton. Anyway, I didn’t bother to do the washing up tonight and I don’t know if that can be construed as being positive or negative or just bone idle.

Particles and Past Participles - Tuesday 9th Sept.

Apparently this is what a Black Hole looks like. I hope I've got the right tee shirt on!

“Why are you ironing the tee shirt that I sleep in?” demanded Jean on his way through the kitchen this morning.

“Because Maggie says that if this experiment in Switzerland tomorrow goes haywire, we might all end up in some new dimension or in another century, so I thought we ought to go to bed looking tidy just in case”.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, but since he was on his way to the garage, it was not the right time to share my concerns about us being turned into lots of tiny particles and left floating around in outer space, even if we are wearing well ironed tee shirts.

In view of the confusion surrounding the outcome of the Hadron Collider (even though with a name like that it sounds like something out of Dr Who), Maggie and I had a brief email discussion about the virtues of sleeping with a pencil and notebook somewhere about our persons just in case we needed to leave a message in another century so that we could hook up again. I also told her to carry a Swiss Army Knife, but she didn’t think that her nightdress had pockets. These are not the sorts of concerns that men have and as usual, it is left up to us women to work out how to gather up the remains of humanity if it all goes pear-shaped.

I think that secretly Jean might be concerned about what might happen because he has suggested that we bring Ralph and his little blue house indoors. Perhaps he thinks that if the experiment at CERN goes wrong, Ralph might suddenly morph into a massive pterodactyl with beaks on both his feet and the ability to carry us miles up into the sky and then drop us. At least if he is indoors, he will have a problem getting airborne if he has got this solid stone house to lift, along with the two of us filled with Sacristans and baguettes.

I am quite sure that many of you who read the title of yesterday’s blog thought that I had lost the ability to spell. We are still trying to insure the car which will in time ensure happy carefree motoring, but for the time being, we are getting the usual run-around from insurance brokers who are trying to sell us policies that would cover a brand new sports car, let alone our ten year old Citroen. A friend has kindly gone into battle for us and hopefully she will manage to extract a good deal from an insurance pal of hers, so for the time being, we are housebound awaiting phone calls, with a garden clogged up with cars that we can’t drive.

Instead of worrying about particles, I have been trying to get to grips with participles and other worrying French adjectives and verbs. Only I would start to learn a foreign language the day before the earth is supposed to disintegrate, but you never know whom you are going to meet out there, and a friendly “Bonjour” might be just what I need to be taken aboard the Star Ship. I have found several excellent websites that are encouraging, and they even try and make some sense of the male and female gender and the mysteries of tu and vous. Yesterday evening while we were out for a walk, Jean fired numbers at me in English and I had to translate them quickly into French. Memories of my school-girl studies disappeared like butter off a hot plate and trying to wrestle my way around seven hundred and seventy seven nearly made my nose bleed and my eyes pop. No wonder French is the language of diplomats; it takes so long for them to work out what to say and how to say it correctly that they have to think before any violent outbursts are made. Wouldn’t it be nice if a few more politicians used it, or at least weren’t allowed to make any major decisions until they had learned the basics. That would slow them down a bit!

Our walk yesterday evening started out as a gentle stroll just around the corner to find the illusive “Popes Armchair” which is supposed to be some chunk of stone that a Pope from many centuries past, lowered his posterior on to. Despite walking right out of the end of the village and discovering an ancient stone track deeply embedded with the marks of countless wagons that had been used to haul the aforementioned chunks of stone around the place, there was no sign of any armchair. We walked so far that we found ourselves deep in the garrigue, and decided before darkness fell, to turn around and head for home. I didn’t want to be confronted with the ghostly spirit of some ancient Pope wandering around looking for a place to sit down. Mind you, maybe he would have more success in finding it than we did.

And on that happy note, if there is no blog tomorrow, you know that we are all floating around with our mouths attached to our feet and our eyes on the ends of our fingertips. At least our grandson is coming on a state visit tonight and we are buying pizza from Marco, so we intend to go out with a bang (which I fear is what a lot of the scientists seem to think might happen).

As a footnote, Jean who has just heard this has announced firmly that Black Hole or no Black Hole, he is going to fix his wooden mallet. You’ve gotta love a man with his feet on solid ground!