Back at the Fat Wifie

It’s good to be back, but the process of getting here is a pain. Since we’re in the south for just over a week, we came by Easyjet to Toulouse, and have rented a car. The only respectable prices were for the 06:25 flight, which meant alarm clock at 03:00, depart around 04:10 for the wet, windy and winding drive to the airport, where breakfast was served by graduates of the N°93 Soviet Satellite State School of Surly Service. I suppose they were on the overnight shift, and had had a basinful of bolshy boozy Brits. The flight was then delayed by half an hour while the aeroplane was ‘deep-cleaned’ to neutralise the nasty niff that greeted the dispatcher when he opened the door. Toulouse, thank goodness, was sunny and mild, the airport lavatories were clean and un-smelly (in stark contrast with those at Gatwick), and the car rental desk clerk was friendly and helpful. But the hidden extra excess waivers are always rather annoying. Sure, you can have the published rental price. But note that if you biff the car or it’s stolen, you’re responsible for the first €1000 bzw. €1200, and if you burst a tyre or break the windscreen you aren’t covered at all. The car – a C3 Picasso in regulation hire-car metallic grey – does the job willingly enough, but handles like a sack of potatoes, not helped by a total lack of lateral support in the seats, and the interior is distinctly grubby. I imagine that, with 11’000km on the clock, it’s probably on its last rental.

That aside, quite a busy week, with a last day of wannabeak interviews on Wednesday. We’ve got 11 suitables, against a target of 10, out of 40-odd applicants. With our ‘trade union’ hats on, a couple of us went to meet our new local top cop, and found him welcoming and approachable. But as for true magisterial work, I’ve practically forgotten how to do it, so few are my sittings lately.

At Thursday’s art class I did some final fiddling with the two canvases that have been tormenting me for too long, and slapped on each a signature and a coat of varnish. I have brought my tiny water colour kit with me, and might take a ride up to Carcassonne for some water colour paper and brushes. On the other hand, I might get some tubes of acrylic primaries, since I have a few canvases here… But I might more probably just sit and read a book.

I tried out the motor mower yesterday for the first time. It cuts grass. The electric one it replaces was OK for the tiny patches of grass at Smith Towers, but the greensward of Forges-l’Evêque is far bigger, and was taking an hour and a half to cut, particularly if I’d left it more than a week. The new contraption cuts a far wider swathe through the grass, and drives itself, sort of, accompanied by that old-tech Briggs & Stratton chunter familiar to gardeners the world over. It starts easily, but is rather heavy to manoeuvre: I imagine there’s a knack that I may eventually acquire. Fortunately, it fits into a corner of the big garage.

Here at Château Smith, all seems to be in order, and the place is spotlessly clean, no thanks to me. John and Margaret left here after us in the summer, and left the place clean and polished – not to mention equipped with a fresh 10-litre box of Camplong red! Didier’s truck is outside, with a stère of firewood on it, as ordered over the phone before we came away. I’ll catch up with him later to get it unloaded and paid for, then we can try to coax the fire into life. Another neighbour has some vines and kindling for us to burn, since her chimney is lethal, and her landlord indifferent. And having put all these measures in place, we arrive to find that the temperature is mild. Mustn’t grumble.