Sunday, 9 September 2012

Douce France, vol. 173

Our remarkably fecund neighbour, who used to hack us off by revving his old bangers under our window (not to mention leaving a slick reminiscent of the Torrey Canyon), seems to have bought a mini-moto for one of his brood, and a scooter for another.  The paramour of a daughter has a small-engined trials bike.  All of the above are kept in Grandpapa's garage, which adjoins us, and are regularly brought out and revved up.  Consequently, one is forced to close the windows when they're out there, and one is not 'appy.

Still, it was a bit of an incentive to clean the fan that usually stands guard on top of the crockery cupboard, and it now stirs the fug rather more efficiently than of late.  We bought it in Colmar ten years ago, when a bug we'd caught in Belgium en route left us languishing in a top floor room in a pub in Riquewihr for two days.  Fortunately, said bug didn't get me until I'd been down to Colmar to get the fan.  It earned its keep in Riquewihr, and just added to its credentials when all we could get in Orange was a Première Classe room.  So, ten years on, it was entitled to have its face wiped.

We went to a piano recital at the salle polyvalente yesterday evening.  It was given by one Charlie Felter (look him up on YouTube), whose parents live in the village.  He gave a broad-brush rendering of the Goldberg variations, somewhat dictated by the cracking pace he set himself, and I guess that in our times that's as valid as some of the more clinical interpretations.  Some might say it got them over with quicker.  His Bach-Busoni Chaconne was good, but I think the general accolade went to his Chopin ballades.  Pretty good, considering that he gave the performance on an upright in the hall above the footy changing rooms, where the acoustic was surprisingly good.  I estimate that there were around 150 there, which ain't bad for a village with an electoral roll of scarcely three times that.

Matters practical this coming week.  I have murdered several forests in the process of producing the paperwork required by the free, equal and brotherly administration so that it may consider my proposed steps to stop the house falling on free, equal and brotherly passers-by.  Meanwhile, Pierre is coming to take off the most threatening bits of render from the back and side of the house, starting tomorrow.  We should get Kate's keys back on Tuesday from the tardy termitistas, and we are also meeting friends for lunch, and a toast to celebrate the all too short life of our mutual friend Etienne.  His memorial service will be held on Tuesday in Montrouge, followed by a bash in the parish hall.  With luck, we'll be able to honour his memory in the more restful shade of the surviving planes of the Canal du Midi. 

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