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.
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.
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