And finally...

...a coat of paint seems to be sticking to the ceiling.  Scraping off the distemper yesterday was a hellish job, but it's done, and we've decided that, but for a minimal bit of filling, we're going for the rustic look, allowing some of the history of the house to show.  Like cracks, gouges and rough fillings of the plaster.  The bad news is that the paint is rubbish (granted: a bad workman blames his tools) and we'll have to get some that nods a bit further in the direction of opacity.  But looking again just now, it isn't looking too dreadful.  We're still a few days off re-hanging the curtains, but they've had a wash in the meantime.  They are from a batch I was given in 1991 when I took over the flat in Neuilly.  They first hung in the old BT France office in the rue Daru.  They served me well throughout my expat days, hanging next in the flat on the Île de la Grande Jatte, then Brussels, then Dübendorf ZH, and now in Lagra55e.  Others hang at Forges-l'Evêque.  Given that they owed me nothing in the first place, I reckon they have become models of recycling.

We enjoyed our few days off.  With Barbara and David we did the Limoux pizza circuit on Friday, pausing on the way home at the Vaissière art materals shop in Carcassonne, and again at the Cave Coop in Camplong.  At the former I bought some canvases and colours, and a big pot of Louvre white, plus a couple of roller trays and a roller.  They take a very broad view of what constitutes painting!  At the latter we found the usual essentials, plus an export order of l'Oulibo olive oil.  We got together later on Friday for drinks and nibbles at Barbara and David's RV, which was moored for the time being at the camping up the hill from Lagra55e.  To our surprise, the camp site is very smart, and tolerably well equipped: I suddenly have a bit more respect for a neighbour who runs it (particularly since his dogs no longer bark all day, now that his mother is in residence).

Patricia and Martin treated us to a truly splendid lunch on Saturday in their back garden in Mèze, and their company was a tonic as always.  Must remember to ask what spices they used on the leg of lamb that Martin barbecued.  We and their Jack Russell terrier, Chota (whom one if not both of us would gladly kidnap), went for a stroll along the waterside after lunch  - at about 5:00pm.  We were rewarded with a couple of ends of joute (water jousting) in the harbour.  Unfortunately, it wasn't yet the turn of a rather large contestant on the red boat  to take up the lance while we were watching - had he lost and gone in, he'd have set off the tsunami alarms.

So, back to poverty and dirt: we now need to get the ceiling finished, the paper hung and emulsioned, the wardrobe rebuilt, the floor tiles scrubbed, and the furniture moved back in.  After all, we must get the place in good fettle so that, if and when we finally sell it, the government can collect on the extra capital gains tax it's reputedly planning to impose on foreign second-home owners.