I guess a centuries-old house is bound to spring the odd surprise on one.  And in a village like this, with houses jammed together to make the most of the land within the ramparts, proximity to neighbours is a fact of life.  A neighbour's garage and workshop runs round two sides of ours, and I suppose I've known for years that the rendering on our walls wasn't going to last a lot longer.  Well, the neighbour collared me the other day to show me the damage to the garage roof where some of our rendering had come down.  At the back, the situation is worse, and the rendering is falling into his gutter and blocking it, letting water into the workshop.  We had a builder round the other day, and he is going to give us an estimate.  Since we're inside the ramparts of a site historique, we'll need an autorisation, and of course no work is allowed from June to September, so it may be a while before we're out of it.  Good news is that the builder comes highly recommended, so I'll get him to estimate for a few other bits and pieces that need tackling.  Watch this space: there may be tears...

On another administrative errand, the Mairie couldn't help me this morning with a parking permit, but did confirm that the réglementation limiting parking to residents comes into force on Monday.  I guess it takes a few weeks to get the mind-set back in tune with the way of life down here - we've only been here a week.  I dropped in on the Post Office as well this morning to shuffle a bit of cash between the dwindling accounts.  And though one is on tu terms with the excellent counter clerk, Jean-Luc, he still had to ask me for proof of identity: I suppose that, until he enters my driving licence number, computer says 'Non'.  Can't blame the administration for the international money laundering laws.

The weather has been amazing - fine sunny days with no wind to speak of, and temperatures up to 25°.  We've seen a few swallows and house martins, plus the occasional yellowhammer and redstart.  The trees were barely in leaf a week ago, but are now looking quite spring-like.  Must take a ride up the hill and see if the dwarf irises have joined the tiny daffodils in flower.  The peach and almond blossom is out, the former generally grafted to root stocks of the latter.  The vines are still a bit reticent, but I expect we'll see some leaf before we head north.

Supper tonight with Kate and John, who are celebrating an administrative triumph.  It took a trip to the Préfecture, but they are finally en situation régulière with their hitherto unregistered mopeds, Bucephalus and Pegasus.  Until a couple of years ago, it wasn't necessary to register low-powered motor vehicles, and their drivers didn't - and still don't - require a driving licence.  So it's a fair bet that a  lot of such vehicles are driven by people who either haven't the wit to pass a driving text, or have lost their licences.  One neighbour had to give up his licence years ago because of a progressive deterioration of his eyesight.  Until a year ago, he was still terrorising us on a 49cc motorbike capable of a good 90 kph.  I hope I've the sense to give up if the time comes.

Crossing continents

I must say, good weather really helps.  It’s a long drive, and dull, wet conditions make it into something of an ordeal.  But apart from some fog in Kent and a few spots of rain in the central plains, we had fine weather until we were past Béziers.  We entered the tunnel half an hour earlier than planned, and both weather and road conditions were really pretty good all the way.  We were glad to be going in the direction we were as we went round NW Paris: the Renault employees were protesting about something along the quai at Boulogne-Billancourt, and the traffic on the road up from the Pont de Sèvres was backed up to Meudon-la-Forêt (of blessed memory).  The rain stopped long enough for us to unload the car, but we’re having heavy showers this afternoon.  We huddled round the wood-burner at lunch time, eating Madame Donnet’s ewes’ milk tommette, a bit of cantal vieux, some nice boiled ham hewn from the solid at the local shop, local bread and a glass of pink wine from Mèze, trying to convince ourselves that summer’s on the way.

A couple of oddities on the drive south.  About half an hour after  we left Issoire, four late-model VW Golfs zipped out of a feed-in lane in front of us, only to leave the motorway in orderly, well-spaced line astern at the next aire.  It wasn’t long before they all overtook us again, only to leave at the next junction, and rejoin the motorway at the next one, overtaking us again.  The last we saw of them was at Sévérac-le-Château, where they left the motorway again, following us on the parallel ex-RN9.  We paused to change over at the aire just north of the magnificent Viaduc de Millau, so it may be that they had rejoined and overtaken us again.  I wonder what that was about?  The next funny was a convoi exceptionnel: a tractor with a very long trailer transporting what we assume was a sail for a wind turbine.  It made for fully three times the length of your average HGV, which might account for two motorcycle outriders and a pilot van in front and two pilot vans at the rear.  That was one blade: the next two followed close behind, each with a similar entourage.  We were glad we weren’t following them when they ascended the tortuous pas d’Escalette.

And while we’re on motor transport, it has been interesting to notice the make-up of the HGVs we have passed on the way.  On the last stretch, we’ve seen plenty of Spanish tractors and trailers, of course.  But we’ve also seen some odd mixtures: Bulgarian tractor with Belgian trailer; Romanian tractor and Dutch trailer.  And shortly after we started this morning, we were overtaken by a Dutch registered M-class Benz that must have been doing close to 200 kph.  Martyn picked up the last watch at the wheel today, which meant the A9, where driving is about as undisciplined as on the approaches to Paris or on the Toulouse ring road.  Well, we made it here safely.

We left Forges-L’Evêque less than twelve hours after re-connecting the cloakroom WC, not without anxiety on the part of yr. obed. servt.  I hate plumbing, and am somewhat squeamish about the southern end of the usual offices, so was glad to see the job finished, all but for a bit of plaster and paint.  We’ve isolated the supply to the cistern, since we’d like to be nearby during the first week or so of the new installations.  But the overall impression is good – we like the pale terracotta walls, our terracotta tiles with grey edging, and the fact that the WC is now something more nearly approaching flush (pun intended) to the wall.  I’ll finish the grouting round the waste pipe once we’re satisfied that everything as it should be.

The tiling and grouting of the floor followed by a day and a half in the car have left the old back complaining a bit, so once the weather has improved we’ll need to take some long walks to loosen thing up again.

One step forward, two steps in random directions

There are days when it would have been better not to bother getting out of bed.  Wednesday, as it rolled out, was one such.  I got roped in to deputise for the chap who was doing the admin for a visit by a learned professor to the local beaks’ club committee, so that knocked out an extra hour of a fine day that I’d otherwise have spent in the garden.  Around 12:00, when he was due to arrive, he left a message to say that he was stuck in a train 20-some miles away, awaiting a replacement bus.  I offered to go and collect him and set out, only to be greeted by signs saying that the motorway was closed after the M25.  Well, I got to the station where he was waiting, but by then the traffic was completely gummed up with vehicles that had been kicked off the motorway.  It transpires that a van had collided hard with the railway viaduct, thus taking out both the railway and the motorway at a stroke.  Cutting a long story short, we aborted his visit, and I finished up dropping him at a different station to head back to London.  With all the detours and traffic jams, I finished up spending an almost wholly fruitless extra two hours at the wheel.  Still, I did give him my personal take on his questions about the new sentencing guidelines (in between swearing at fellow motorists) and he still seems keen to come and see us another time.

The ducks are still very much in evidence, and as hungry as ever.  They eat a bit, then swim for a while in the pond, then come back and eat a bit more.  The arrival of a crow sent them running to the pond this morning, and they were rather irritated by the squirrels, so didn’t hang around for too long.  They’ll be back for sure, quite possibly with a spectacular crash-dive into the pond as the female did yesterday. 

I had another look yesterday at the Spurn Head piece I started last week, and warmed up the colours a bit.  Happy with it now, so at a suitable moment I’ll slap a bit of varnish on it. 

DIY proceeds apace: the house looks a bit like a builder’s yard.  I did the rather nerve-wracking job of applying levelling cement to the cloakroom floor yesterday, and think I’ve got away with it.  We’ll probably make a start on tiling today.  Also on today’s agenda is a farewell to the horrible leylandii hedge between our driveway and next door’s.  Both households hate it, and once it has gone, the neighbours might be able to get all three of their (smallish) cars off the road.  I have a few bits and pieces to plant in place of the hedge.  Leylandii really takes it out of the soil, so I may use the opportunity to empty the contents of the compost heap into the resulting holes.    

Where do the days go?  I guess I've been sitting around with my nose in a book or the kindle so much lately that it hasn't occurred to me to do any scribbling.  I've come across a writer of whodunits called James Craig, and although his journalist background doesn't make for great writing, his characters are strong, his yarns good, and the 99p ticket on kindle is splendid.  I've read another Kate Atkinson recently, a Jo Nesbø, a truly weird whodunit by Bateman, and a fascinating book on typography called Just my Type.  I gather there's a thriller set in Finland coming my way from an art class colleague.

A propos, I knocked off a quick acrylic sketch on Thursday last, using one of the views we enjoyed at Spurn Head last October.  I may do one or two more, since the light was  lovely and the beach scenes quite inspiring.  But I'm looking forward to getting back to the Corbières for inspiration. 

Forges-l'Evêque is more than usually chaotic at the moment: we're redecorating the cloakroom, and the erstwhile contents are scattered along the hall, round the kitchen and, in the case of the WC, out in the conservatory.  We (ie Martyn) will be re-tiling the floor, and the installations needed re-sealing anyway, so we've gone radical.  The ceiling is painted, as is the woodwork, and the ghastly wood flooring was last seen in a skip at the local tip.  The original flooring was thermoplastic tiling, fitted round the base of the WC, and its relationship with the concrete floor beneath was somewhat patchy.  Well, the loose tiles are now looser still and out in the bin, and the next errand is to seal the floor prior to levelling it for the tiles.  I'll probably paint the walls before the new tiles go down!  Definitely getting too old for DIY.

We got our local chap in to cut the hedges for us the other day.  His portfolio is pretty wide: for example, he has an enormous chicken shed with ample field and wood for the birds to get out and roam in, he raises pigs, stables horses and runs the local football club.  We rarely buy eggs anywhere else, and his hedge-fettling costs less than half as much as the last lot charged us, and is actually better.  So, we have a rather better backcloth to the garden as it comes back to life.  The snowdrops have gone over now, so I'll split a few clumps in the week and distribute them.  Crocuses and daffodils are giving us a good display, and there are some primulas and polyanthus in flower.  The roses are responding well to a vicious pruning and a spot of fertiliser, and some of the perennials are coming up again: sedums, lychnis and aquilegias in particular.  Our travelling plans complicate the seed-sowing schedule a bit, but I dare say we'll be OK if I sow in mid-April.  I'll probably put our four tomato plants out into foster care while we're away.

As for the local wildlife, Martyn found a couple of newts yesterday while he was clearing out the pond, and our familiar pair of mallards has returned.  I'm sure it's the same pair: their behaviour is identical to that of the pair the visited us last year.  Like last year, the female came and tapped with her bill on the french window, prompting me to go and refill the tray with seed.  Once she's had enough, she wanders off and starts getting noisy, then takes off, closely followed by himself.  Always in that order.  Yesterday was the first time we'd seen them swimming in the pond this year.  Our thrush is still serenading us, and we have frequent visits from the robin and the wren.  I haven't seen a woodpecker in the garden for a few weeks, but we certainly hear them drumming in the trees nearby.  There are signs that the blue tits are using the nesting box over the kitchen door.  And someone is eating the goldfish.  We've seen a heron down at the pond, so have pensioned off the plastic decoy.  The fact that there have been dead fish at various places in the garden suggests that it's a cat that's doing the damage.  I've seen one lurking in the bushes.  Foxes and owls punctuate the dark nights (we have no street lighting, and like it that way), and when the wind's in the right direction, we hear the cows from a nearby farm.  So, as suburbs go, it's a fairly rural one, and we love it.