Rape, etc

About half of the French land mass appears to be covered in oilseed rape. Just great for late adopters of hay fever. I sneezed and spluttered my way through the top three-quarters of the country yesterday. But the cowslips are also in flower everywhere, and they couldn't possibly be the culprits, could they? Closer to home today, we encountered some superb clumps of poppies by the roadside.

Back home, we've left the garden as it is coming to life: just before we left, after several fine, warm days, the spireas and the magnolia (var. Susan) were coming into flower, as were HM and Royal Mail potentillas (yellow and white resp.). The fritillaries have done very well this year, and will probably have finished by the time we return. A new subject (a 60th birthday present last year from Jane) was just coming into flower as we left - I'll have to ask her to tell me the name again! It has beech-like evergreen leaves, a prostrate habit and delicate yellow flowers on long stems with a tiny trumpet and four cruciform petals.

We'd a good run down, all things considered. Traffic wasn't too heavy, and the weather was magnificent yesterday, even making the Sologne appear quite interesting in its spring leaf colours and blossom. The northern approaches to Paris were as nerve-wracking as ever, though less awful than on yer average weekday, thank goodness. We stopped overnight as usual at a familiar motorway rest stop in the Auvergne, but found it more than usually expensive and mediocre this time. Time, maybe, for a change of plan: shame, because the 360° views from its hilltop location are a delight. Cloud, mist and drizzle this morning up in the mountains, giving way to sunshine and strong winds once we were through the Escalette tunnel. The A75 has finally been completed through to the A9, so the route is now a good bit faster and easier. We were here in a whisker over 3 hours from our overnight stop.

There are now some supermarkets in France that open on Sunday mornings. Those in Lézignan are not among them, hence a few wasted miles as we left the motorway. Still, the village shops were open, so we're stocked up with essentials like old Cantal and local ewes' milk cheese, semi-skimmed milk and some fresh veggies and bangers for supper tonight. The fresh milk is a welcome recognition by the local shop of the numbers of tea-drinking Brits in the village. A little depressing, however, is the cabinet of stuff like Marmite, Hobnobs, HP sauce and sundry other Brit-fodder. What's the point of coming to the Languedoc and eating beans on toast?