2013…
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he year I met a cousin I didn’t know I had: more of
that anon. Otherwise, a mercifully
uneventful year, with the usual pattern of trips south, though with some subtle
variations.
The house here has needed the usual attention, expected and
unexpected. The rubbishy doors between
the dining room and the conservatory broke again early in the year, so we
gritted our teeth and replaced them with a three-leaved set that we think
comply with building regulations, unlike the original set. More to
the point, they are double-glazed and securely lockable, so they should save us
a bit of gas this winter - and spare us quibbles from the insurers should the
worst come to the worst. The central
heating and the burglar alarm have cost us quite a bit during the year. We don’t mind shelling out to keep warm, but
when certain bits don’t last three years, we feel entitled to be hacked
off. And we didn’t want a bloody burglar
alarm anyway.
We were happier to spend a bit on decorating: Jonathan
did a fantastic job repainting the hall, stairs, landing and the nine doors
leading from them. We had a lot of fun
sourcing carpets – it seemed that every time we found one we liked, it turned
out to be discontinued. At one point we
found a compromise candidate, and might have gone ahead with it had I not suddenly
thought, on checking the colour, ‘dog food’.
Radical reappraisal ensued: the
walls having turned out a little bluer than expected, we settled on an air
force grey-blue, and we love the overall effect.
I’m not allowed to express political views in a
publicly accessible blog, so will keep my counsel on the cost of Police & Crime Commissioner elections, aircraft carriers, the results of budget
constraints on the CPS, the outsourcing of probation services, etc, etc.
After some 45 years, we have sacked the Royal Bank of Scotland: the
Bank’s appalling record of mismanagement, incompetence and uncontrolled
remuneration of the undeserving finally moved us to move on. Impressed with the ethical stance of the
Co-op, we moved accounts thither. Poor
sad fools, it transpires, that we are.
Now toying with where to go next.
I’m coming to the conclusion that there are no right answers. But foreign-based hedge funds are definitely
the wrong ones.
Looking forward to 2014, though it promises more
property maintenance costs: some of the repairs are finished in Lagrasse, but
others await. The fence between us and
the street to our right here in the UK is starting to look very tired, and in any case we want
rid of some of the shrubs that are leaning on it. At least the threatening ash tree to our
south has now gone, though not without our putting our hands in our pockets.
But the strongest theme of the year, as so often, has
been the joy of being together (over twelve years now, and seven since we did
the legal stuff), and the chance to have time and fun with family and our
lovely friends, old, new and renewed.
Martyn & David
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he pots and sinks on the terrace cropped well: Martyn treated us
to a solar powered irrigation system which largely kept stuff going during our
summer absence. The charlotte spuds were good
again, and tomatoes similarly did well.
The herbs we planted in the spring are a mix of success and failure, and
a fresh bag or two of compost worked wonders for the old ones. For some reason rudbeckias were a dismal
failure. The roses have done quite well,
and at last the cornus seem to be getting their roots down, one of them helped
by my taking a sudden scunner one morning to a golden lonicera (aka ‘that thing
in the middle that needs a trim') that had been overshadowing it and taking any remaining goodness out of the already dreadful soil.
The Bramley apple tree did better this year than ever, and we’ve had
ample makings of bruschette. The
magnolia goes from strength to strength, after years of being overshadowed by
leylandii. We’re hoping the garden will
benefit from the extra light now that the huge ash tree has gone from the
garden next door.
Wheels
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o unpleasant surprises from the cars this year, though
Manuel, the little man under the bonnet of the Egg who changes gears for us,
did get a bit sleepy at one point. The
Tiguan has needed three new tyres, the last two costing £40 each less after
shopping around than we’d paid when we got a puncture on the way to Brighton in
December. Martyn bought us a GPS
navigator last Christmas. We’ve named it
Dotty (a) after someone bossy I once knew, and (b) because she gets a bit confused
from time to time. Dotty she may be, but she found us a new tyre shop when we needed one.
A mixed batch of rental cars. We opted to fly and rent in September. The Focus we were given at Toulouse was dynamically excellent, and it
didn’t take long to work out how to switch off the gizmo that shoogled the
steering wheel whenever we moved out of lane.
I couldn’t suppress the annoying prompts to change up a gear, and at one
point I found myself shouting at it, ‘If you’re so clever, why don’t you do it
yourself?’. More serious was the fact
that, after over 36000 km,
the front tyres were very worn. Enterprise were rude and
grudging about replacing the car, and we finished up with a most unpleasant
little Peugeot 207SW, but at least it had tread on its tyres. Alamo did us
a nice little Mégane out of Montpellier
in November. The handling was a touch
vague, but at least it had a good twin-clutch gearbox that did its own
shifting. But it was good to get home to
our familiar tall vehicles, which make one feel more in control.
Arrivals
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or a couple of months in the summer we were having
nightly visits from as many as three badgers at a time. They can hoover up a tray of peanuts before you can say ‘knife’. Quite often
there’d be a couple of foxes lurking in the distance, but the badgers would see
them off if they got too close. The
mallards were much in evidence in the spring, but one day the female stopped
appearing, so I imagine she was caught napping by a fox at some point.
More conventional visitors were Annie around New Year,
and we again had the pleasure of Celia and Andy’s company in Lagrasse in the
summer.
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splashed out on
a new bread machine earlier in the year.
The Kenwood machines we’ve had in the past just haven’t lasted. I’m hoping that the Panasonic will keep going
a bit longer. I think it makes better
dough. As I write, we’ve just had ham
sandwiches made with chouriço knot rolls for lunch.
We haven’t done huge amounts of entertaining this year,
but are trying to extend our repertoire a little. Delia Smith’s recipe for barbecued belly pork
strips is excellent, as is a recipe for cauliflower shaken with oil,
breadcrumbs and parmesan, and baked. I
might have a go some time at Jamie Oliver’s version, which uses cumin, coriander and
almonds. We’re a bit short of
interesting vegetable recipes, but do some pretty hearty soups, and the
occasional tray of roast veggies.
We’ve turned to a career in poaching – of fish caught
lawfully by other people, I hasten to add.
The first couple of exercises were rather successful, we thought, and
they offer a good way to use up those left-over veggies in the bottom of the
fridge. We have an excellent fishmonger
in town – but get your mortgage arranged before you enter the shop.
Eating out has been a mixed pleasure this year. Our regular pizza joint in Limoux has been
disappointing, and even the place by the canal at Le Somail was not quite up to
snuff last time we visited.
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| Chris, Martyn, David, John, Margaret, Philippa, Gill |
An exciting year.
Cousin Philippa discovered the birth certificate of a son born to our
grandmother some years before the grand- parents were married, and ten years
before Charles, who we’d thought was their first-born. When we saw photographs of Frank, it became
amply clear that he was our grandfather’s son: the resemblance to Charles was
breathtaking. Alas, he died suddenly in
his mid-70s. I’d love to have met him
and heard the stories of his career in
aeronautical engineering. Well, we’ve at
last met his only child, our cousin Gill, and the family got together here for
lunch one day in June.
Our local theatre/concert hall does a good
programme. Our first visit of the year
tends to be the Mayor’s charity quiz in late January. We and six friends form a team that tends to finish around the middle of the
field, but it’s good fun. In the same
hall this year we’ve been to an orchestral concert of Britten (excellent) and
Berlioz (under-rehearsed and ragged); Fascinating Aïda (you need a broad mind
if you go to see them...) and a good touring performance of Cabaret.
The daubing has been pretty poor this year: I have a growing number of
works in progress, but just don’t seem to get it right. The longer I spend on a piece, the worse it
gets. This one was a quickie.
Departures
Familiar and unfamiliar surroundings this year. We spent a fair bit of time in Lagrasse,
achieving rather less on the building work front than we had hoped. The most difficult of the repairs to the
rendering are over, but the biggest part is yet to come. Builders have been dithering about whether to
point the stones, strip the wall and re-render or just patch where necessary
and lime wash it. I’ve opted for the
last-mentioned on cost grounds, but the weather is now too cold and wet. They can in the meantime get on and replace
the leaky window on the roof terrace.
The day we left, our sailing was in the evening, so we
headed south from Bilbao into the mountains before looping back north to
Santander to catch the boat. Beautiful
country: we shall be back. I hadn’t done
much research into the area: the coastal mountain range is essentially a
continuation of the Pyrenees, rising to giddying heights in places. The air was not too clear the day we were
there, but we still got some pretty impressive views.
Santander looks to be worth a bit of exploring some
time. The grid-pattern commercial centre
near the port is rather functional and stark, but as you head towards the mouth
of the estuary you find yourself passing the huge wedding-cake that is
headquarters to the Banco de Santander, then on to the posh resort quarter
which has a sort of Nice-meets-Torquay feel.
As for the ferry itself, our cabin was quiet and comfortable enough, but
the loading process was utter chaos and took ages. We found ourselves being guided down into the
bilges, beneath a huge trapdoor. We were
on the smaller of the two vessels that ply the route, and in the calm conditions we had, it was very
comfortable. The catering was somewhere
between fair and middling. Definitely worth taking a cabin, though – it
was nice to be able to go and read, snooze and drink tea when we felt like it.
Closer to home, we took a day trip in March by steam
train to Worcester, enjoying the Cotswold scenery on the way. We had time for a prowl through the city and
a good look round the cathedral before returning, and enjoyed
the cheerful welcome of all the West Midlanders we met as we went round. It’s a long day, however, and the 1960s
rolling stock is not a comfortable place to be for so long, so if we do it
again we’ll go for the more expensive seats we had on the Bath trip last
year.
One day in September, we took a ride over the mountains
toward Perpignan, planning to have lunch in the airport restaurant. It was closed. We went up to the memorial to the soldiers of
the First Republic who fought the Kingdom of Spain at Peyrestortes in 1793,
where we had an indifferent sandwich each.
Nearby is the perimeter fence of the airport, whence we watched a flight
coming in from Orly on the taxi way about 50 yards from where we stood. As he taxied in, the first officer gave us a
cheerful wave. Suddenly I was 5 again,
delighted at getting a wave from the engine driver! Funny how things make an impression.
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