I’ve been ignoring the blog a bit lately: we were pretty busy in the run up to our summer migration.  Quite a lot to do in the garden, of course, and it goes without saying that the tomatoes were just starting to ripen as we left.  I found homes for the remaining nicotiana seedlings, but had to edge and weed the front rose bed before I could plant them out.  That process, plus hacking a box of compost out of the bin, was quite a tiring process, I found.  Cutting the grass was rather less so now that the mower is back and on good form! 

On Tuesday we were invited to a session at the Dover lifeboat station: every so often they have a day for people who say they intend to leave them a little something in their wills.  I went once before when Martyn was still working, and enjoyed it very much, so jumped at the chance when it arose again for us both.  This time the weather was fine, so most of the session was outside.  After the stock video, we went outside for a talk from the young man in charge of the Thanet lifeguards (a service that has been under the umbrella of the RNLI since 2001), then one from the Dover operations manager.  He tells a hair-raising story of his experience on the night of the 1987 hurricane, when he came pretty close to hanging up his oilskin for good.  The highlight, of course, was an initially gentle cruise round the harbour on board the lifeboat.  As I’d rather hoped, the coxswain couldn’t resist the temptation to show off the boat’s power and manoeuvrability, at one point swinging the wheel over and opening the throttles – impressive!  The vessel is due to go off for a refit, when the 25 year-old engines will be replaced with units with a bit more power reserve.  I shall have to go and check them out at some stage!

We had decided to leave for France straight after the visit, largely to save a few gallons of diesel.  I’d booked a hotel near Orléans for the night, and rang them from the car to tell them to expect us late – ie not to reallocate our room.  We got there as predicted around 10:00 pm after a pretty good journey.  The A15 into Paris was as busy as ever, but there were few of the motor scooter couriers that we normally encounter – utter madmen – but a fair compliment of aggressive drivers in marginally roadworthy old bangers.  I always take it pretty gently these days, sticking to speed limits, avoiding lane changes and leaving space between us and the car in front.  But as a colleague once said of driving in Paris, if you leave half a car’s length in front of you, the next time you look it’s got a Renault 5 in it.  I remember being surprised at how often people blew their horns at me in the UK when I had lived in Paris for a few years: I’d got used to the cut and thrust driving style that prevails there. 

The house is no worse than when we saw it at Easter.  While we’re here, I’ll aim to get another estimate or two for the work needed on the façades.  We’ve made a start on re-decorating the spare bedroom.  Our plan had been just to slap on a coat of paint, but on removing several generations of wallpaper, we find that the plaster is badly stained with tar where there had been a fireplace at one time.  I’m pretty sure that it would soon come through the paint, so we’ll have to use wallpaper, and hope that’ll do the trick.  Parking is more fun than ever: Didier has three cars parked in the street, and another neighbour’s car has died in front of the house.  I prefer to have our car where I can see it from the house, but that’s not always going to be possible until said neighbor gets his old car fixed or towed away.

Village sound effects are much the same – shrieking swifts and chattering house martins, the church clock with its cracked bell, Dutch tourists, clattery diesels and Didier’s ancient Citroën Dyane, which now sports a perspex roof, red wings and a stencilled Buddha on the bonnet.  Less usual was the gospel choir in the square yesterday afternoon and evening.  Of course, it’s not long before the annual rock festival in the square.  We won’t be hanging around for that, but heading instead for the train whistles and cowbells of the Grisons.