...dawns reluctantly, grey and damp. Although the dawn slips forward for a few days, it's a comfort to know that the we'll gradually get a bit more daylight. But I can't forget my grandmother's dictum: 'the day lengthens, the cold strengthens'. It was already bitterly cold in the county town on Friday when I was there for the hobby. We had an hour's gap in proceedings while professionals scrabbled about for evidence they in due course found they didn't need anyway. During the gap I went in search of some motor maintenance bits, and almost froze in the process.
Cars are so clever these days: at intervals a warning light would come one to let me know a light bulb was literally on the blink, and the system even told me which one it was - one of the number plate lights, which I could easily change myself. Not so a few years ago, when a headlamp bulb failed on another VW product I owned at the time. The approach to said bulb was so tortuous that I couldn't get near it before my rheumaticky hand cramped up. It really offended me that I'd to get the garage to replace a bulb! But there's so little maintenance an owner can do on a car these days. Just as well: I'm not to be trusted. When I replaced the brake linings on a certain Renault 16 some years ago, I made an utter pig's tit of it, and had the wheel and hub cap back on before realising that I hadn't replaced the split pin when I reassembled the hub.
A trip along the beautiful lanes of the county next door yesterday. Our farmer friends had just got some beef back from the butchers, having recently slaughtered the first of their small Dexter herd, so I'd to go and collect our Christmas joint and some other cuts, plus a couple of bags of bangers. The house was quieter than usual: mother was at hospital with a very poorly daughter who was to go later in the day to a specialist hospital in London for further tests.
Our house, on the other hand, was substantially less quiet than usual yesterday evening. Each year around this time one or other of the neighbours throws a drinks bash, and we decided that, seven years on, it was our turn. We had quite a good crowd: twenty including ourselves, and the 6:30-8:30 pm forecast ran over to closer to 9:30. Martyn's Mary Berry mince pies, topped with crumbled marzipan, were the star turn.
We catered it ourselves: a couple of big pizzas, sausage rolls, hummus and crudités, blinis with crème fraîche and caviar, shrimps or gravadlax, some spicy koftas made with a nod to Madhur Jaffrey, some little onion bhajis (the only shop-bought ready-made component) and the mince pies. The left over crudités will shortly find their way into a casserole of Dexter braising steak!
Practically all the ingredients and drinks came from one or other of the discounters, Lidl (known as Fortnum's in this house) and Aldi. True, the makings of the sausage rolls were from Sainsbury's, but these days we darken their door rarely. What we save, of course, we partly spend in diesel getting to our nearest Fortnum's, but the experience is so much more pleasant. Of the other lot, founded by Albrecht and Dietrich, I've less experience, and the one I used the other day was a bit like a North African soukh. Their wines are on the whole more recherchés than Fortnum's, though.
So, with the festive hostilities officially started, the next job is to gear up for Christmas Day. The bread is proving as I write, the Dexter topside is in the fridge and we're turning our minds to the cheese board.
For the annual blethers, click here.
Monday 22 December 2014
Tuesday 16 December 2014
Two steps forward, one step back
The news from Another Place is encouraging: Pierre tells me that he and Pierre #2 have applied two layers of lime render to the base of the side wall, and will be doing the third during the current week, though we've heard that before. He has done some more leak chasing around the new bathroom window and assures me it's watertight. That's good news, given the torrential rain of recent weeks: at one point the river rose by over 4 metres, which is over half way to panic stations.
Back here at Forges-l'Evêque the sitting room is festooned with cards sending greetings and good wishes from friends round the world. The parcels are stacking up by the Christmas tree, following lots of on-line ordering. We did shop briefly yesterday, but browsing for inspiration soon got me tired and grizzly, so I've suggested a pause for thought and probably more on-line ordering.
Two of the dining room windows are still decorated with condensation between the panes. I had a call last week from JokersЯUs Home Improvements, asking whether they could come and measure for the replacements - a third time. Evidently visitor #2, who arrived with replacement units of quite the wrong size and shape, has gone sick, taking his notebook with him. Deep sigh.
The social season trickles on: we were at the annual Punch and Carols party at Ginny and Richard's on Sunday, and sang ourselves hoarse as usual. We left at half-time to catch our bus and train home - it's a shame that, for less than two hours' worth of party, we have over four hours of travelling by car, train, bus and Shanks's pony.
The new London buses are pretty impressive, as they'd want to be at a million a pop. The best thing about them is that I don't have to pay, but I get a sense that that little privilege of decrepitude is unlikely to persist. Still, by the time it's abolished, my state pension will take the strain instead. I wonder if we're the only indigenous Brits to use the buses. The languages being spoken round about us were, I think, Russian, Japanese, Arabic and Italian. Last time I was in London, two fellow bus passengers were arguing over the phone in voluble Portuguese, my grasp of which couldn't tell me whether with each other or third parties. The trains are less congenial late in the evening: on Sunday we had a bunch of guffawing young people with us all the way, and our neighbour across the way had certainly been at the ale. So I felt less bad about breathing mulled wine and egg sandwich fumes at him.
We're pretty much geared up for entertaining this coming weekend: we're doing wine and nibbles for the neighbours on Sunday evening. There's still the booze to buy, but I shall be near an appropriate outlet later today. The freezers are groaning under the weight of blinis, pizza and sausage rolls, we hope in sufficient quantities.
Cinema yesterday: Paddington. Anthropomorphic, camp, sentimental rubbish. We loved it!
Back here at Forges-l'Evêque the sitting room is festooned with cards sending greetings and good wishes from friends round the world. The parcels are stacking up by the Christmas tree, following lots of on-line ordering. We did shop briefly yesterday, but browsing for inspiration soon got me tired and grizzly, so I've suggested a pause for thought and probably more on-line ordering.
Two of the dining room windows are still decorated with condensation between the panes. I had a call last week from JokersЯUs Home Improvements, asking whether they could come and measure for the replacements - a third time. Evidently visitor #2, who arrived with replacement units of quite the wrong size and shape, has gone sick, taking his notebook with him. Deep sigh.
The social season trickles on: we were at the annual Punch and Carols party at Ginny and Richard's on Sunday, and sang ourselves hoarse as usual. We left at half-time to catch our bus and train home - it's a shame that, for less than two hours' worth of party, we have over four hours of travelling by car, train, bus and Shanks's pony.
The new London buses are pretty impressive, as they'd want to be at a million a pop. The best thing about them is that I don't have to pay, but I get a sense that that little privilege of decrepitude is unlikely to persist. Still, by the time it's abolished, my state pension will take the strain instead. I wonder if we're the only indigenous Brits to use the buses. The languages being spoken round about us were, I think, Russian, Japanese, Arabic and Italian. Last time I was in London, two fellow bus passengers were arguing over the phone in voluble Portuguese, my grasp of which couldn't tell me whether with each other or third parties. The trains are less congenial late in the evening: on Sunday we had a bunch of guffawing young people with us all the way, and our neighbour across the way had certainly been at the ale. So I felt less bad about breathing mulled wine and egg sandwich fumes at him.
We're pretty much geared up for entertaining this coming weekend: we're doing wine and nibbles for the neighbours on Sunday evening. There's still the booze to buy, but I shall be near an appropriate outlet later today. The freezers are groaning under the weight of blinis, pizza and sausage rolls, we hope in sufficient quantities.
Cinema yesterday: Paddington. Anthropomorphic, camp, sentimental rubbish. We loved it!
Friday 12 December 2014
Festive hostilities intensifying...
I like this time of year in some ways (though not for the barometer-like tendencies of the joints). The greetings from friends are coming in thick and fast, and it's comforting to be remembered by so many friends old and new. An extra entertainment is the form of address on the envelopes: Debretts plainly don't offer a succinct formula for civil partnerships! Many give both our names, others one or the other. A lot come addressed to Martyn & David. Some come to D & M Smith, one to M & D Bishsmith, and one, perplexingly, to Mr & Mrs M Bishop. Well if he can handle being Mr Smith, I guess I can't grumble about Mrs Bishop. And any form of address is preferable to none. (But if you call me that to my face, you may expect a response rich in 'f''s, possibly preceded by the estimable Isla's 'Are you familiar with the expression:....')
We had the art group bash yesterday, and Miss did a couple of demonstration paintings, both on salvaged canvases that she had overpainted in magenta. I love her easy broad-brush style, and think I may go to class next year armed only with two broad brushes, one big round one and a rigger.
We adjourned for wine and nibbles at 11:00: I declined the former since I'd to drive, but hit the nibbles with gusto, hence needed no lunch on my return home. Having made some mini blinis for a wine & nibbles event at Forges-l'Evêque next weekend for the neighbours, I froze some separately for the art class. Dollop of crème fraîche on each, slap on a king prawn and a pinch of paprika (all from Fortnum's, need I add?): Bob = uncle; Fanny = aunt. Caviar or smoked salmon woud do, and for a vegetarian crowd, try halved olives, capers or bits of jalapeño, or combinations thereof. The last time I did blinis for neighbours was in Lagrasse, for Sheila and Henry, using bought blinis. Never again: they were horrible, and it's so easy to make decent ones if you follow this Guardian recipe. Hot, heavy pan, very little oil, and a scant soup spoonful of batter per blini.
My weight seems to be creeping up again. Funny, that.
Tuesday 2 December 2014
Annual Ramblings
Christmas Greetings
Having been down to the Post Office this morning to spend a day's pension on stamps for the Christmas cards, I'd better get the ramblings up on line in case anyone feels like following the link in the card. We remain above ground, and have been out and about probably more than ever during the year. The garden has suffered a bit, but we've taken the opportunity to get some overdue heavy work done. Martyn has spent a lot of time helping with the administration of his cousin's care home, and my hobbies have kept me pretty busy too. The generations come and go, and we enjoy the company of dear friends in UK and in France, as well as those scattered round the world. Useful device, Facebook!
There are days when my main hobby gets almost unbearably frustrating: the government agencies we depend on are so strapped for resources that processes frequently stumble and fall over. As a consequence, far too much of our volunteer time is wasted, and morale is shaky.
I'm glad I'm old. The news brings shock after shock from round the world. Here at home, the ducking and weaving of our politicians would be comical if it weren't tragic. I probably oughtn't to express a view on the outcome of the Scottish referendum: I hope sense prevails when and if there's a vote on EU membership.
The Clan
We learned last Christmas that Jean Routley, one of the last of my mother's generation, had died earlier in 2013. A good soul, Jean: she married against her parents' wishes, so we knew little about her until she and her first husband, Jack, came to the UK and stayed with my parents. Mum and I subsequently returned their visits, and enjoyed meeting their family.
We had a good family Boxing Day last year with my brother's family: the first time I can remember that we were all together with our great-nephew Tom. By then g-n 2, Toby, was on the way, and arrived hale and hearty in the spring.
In May we had the great pleasure of meeting our 'new' family again at cousin Fran's wedding: it was a cold day, but a joyful one nevertheless. They had decided to make it a black-tie do, so after a couple of hopeless attempts to get into my 1968 and 1993 dinner jackets, I was marched down to M&S to get a new one. (We hope Hospice in the Weald will earn a little from my old DJs and all the other stuff we took along a couple of weeks ago!) The two of us, being hefty and shaven-headed, looked rather like the bouncers. Mr Engineer Smith stole the show in his Smith tartan kilt, need one add?
On Martyn's side, niece Fiona has graduated from Camberwell with first-class honours, and is exhibiting frequently. Her husband is also doing well, with a major prize and his own exhibitions. Their delightful kids are doing well at school in east London. They are growing up in a rich cultural environment with a strong, stable home upbringing, so we have great hopes for them.
Garden
It has been an expensive but rewarding year in the back yard. Last winter's storms finished off the rickety fence between us and the adjacent street, so we called in the people who'd done the fence on the opposite side. They did a fine job for a fair price. They also grubbed up the ugly, overgrown shrubs next to the fence.
We'd been worried about the terrace at the back and side of the house: it wasn't very well laid in the first place, and the roots of the previous administration's wretched leylandii had left a lot of cracked and wobbly slabs: we almost had to cordon sections off when we had guests.
We spotted a firm of landscapers working round the corner and liked the look of their work, so got them to come in and do the work, adding better steps, a raised herb and veg bed opposite the kitchen door and a quadrant of proper paving at the top of the garden. We've reused the old slabs, because we liked the weathering and lichen. They also reshaped and dug over the bed where the shrubs had been, adding a fair amount of horse in the process. Apart from signing the cheque, the process was entirely painless for us: we pushed off to Lagrasse for the duration. We've since had the fun of planting it out, though the process has been somewhat haphazard. We got half a dozen new bush roses and a couple of climbers when our local nursery had a sale, and they're starting to get their roots down. As usual, the date for our late summer trip south sneaked up on us, leaving me with a cold frame full of rooted cuttings and the irrigation system employed elsewhere. Well, the new bed finished up full of fuchsias, antirrhinums and penstemons, and they gave us some colour, however chaotic. The soil the landscapers used to fill the raised bed is better than anything we've ever had in the garden: we got a good crop of delicious yellow runner beans despite late sowing and the depredations of snails, and the herbs have taken off like rockets.
Arrivals
We had the pleasure of Phil's company for a couple of days in December. I just don't know how he can get off an aeroplane from the other side of the pond, get into an unfamiliar car and drive round the M25, then remain fresh as a daisy for the rest of the day. A lifetime of long-haul flights may have helped. While here, he got to meet the ladies of our local post office, who hand-stamp each new issue of Royal Mail stamps for the 'used' department of his collection. He has since sent one of his Christmas cakes for them: it was greeted with squeals of glee when I delivered it.
On New Year's day, Annie flew in from Seville, where she and her brother had spent a few days. and stayed with us for a couple of nights. Otherwise, we've had the pleasure of a few lunch and supper guests in one place or another.
Departures
We have been out and about rather a lot this year: Madeira (February), mainland Portugal (October), Italy (June) and three trips to France (May, July and September). During the July trip, we went to Barcelona for a few days to avoid the hideous rock festival that afflicts Lagrasse each year around the time of my birthday. I bored at length on each subject at the time, so won't repeat myself - you can scroll down the blog for contemporary chunterings.
Madeira again? Maybe. It would be good to see the island in better weather (it was February...), and maybe take the ferry ride over to Porto Santo. The north side of the island is less developed and very dramatic. The more developed area around Funchal is a bit crowded, and the historic part is full of restaurant touts, which I hate: one feels one is running the gauntlet.
Italy again? Oh, for sure! But Never Again with Gr3at R4il Journ3ys. We're sure their package has appeal for some market segments, but we hated the regimentation, and the segregation from the general public in hotel restaurants. The budget they had agreed with the main hotel led to catering of which a four-star hotel ought to have been ashamed. We had to change rooms to get the lake (Garda) view we had paid for, only to find that the roof leaked in the second one. The whole thing was a bit of a chapter of accidents, really. See blog entries for June.
France again? Obviously. If only to get the bloody building maintenance finished. I won't start again here: suffice it to say that, so far as we're aware, the missing meter and a half of rendering has still not been replaced. We visited familiar and less familiar places while there: Martyn found a nice road up from the Fenouillède to the Corbières one day, so we got unfamiliar views of the Pic de Bugarach.
It was refreshing to enjoy some good music in the village. First was the Wolfson Chamber Chorus's splendid concert in the church, then a four-day extravaganza centred round a grand piano in the Place de la Halle. Three concerts a day. I went to them all.
Portugal again? Oh, yes! We took a superb flat in a working-class district of Lisbon with views over the local market and rooftops to the estuary of the Tagus. As always, we spent a lot of time bopping around on public transport, watching our fellow passengers and wondering at the lack of carnage as the bus hurtled down narrow streets between rows of tightly parked cars. The train ride to Porto was interesting, if unspectacular. We liked Porto, though the flat was more expensive, much smaller and of less quality.
Food and drink
We've had a few more disappointments in France: familiar restaurants in La Franqui and Gruissan Port were less than mediocre, but fortunately the Auberge du Somail was on form. The restaurant Molhe in Foz do Douro, near Porto, was cheap, generous and welcoming: it helped that the waiter allowed me to trot out a bit of Portuguese. We sat watching the Atlantic waves breaking on the rocks. Magical. A pleasant surprise on a local day out: with friends we lunched on the Bluebell Railway one day in November - altogether not bad value.
Wheels
We keep toying with changes to the Forges-l'Evêque mews, but so long as the cars we've got serve us well, there's little reason to change. I've had the various dents and scrapes fixed on the VW, so will hang on to it for at least a couple more years. Our only rental this year was an elderly VW Golf in Madeira. It had a 1.6 turbodiesel engine that was really not up to the job of navigating a mountainous island. Worse still, the remaining tread on the front tyres was not sufficient to stop us aquaplaning out of our lane as we emerged from a tunnel into a bend under a downpour. The short section between tunnels was on a high viaduct. Fortunately, there was nothing in the lane we drifted into, and we found grip just before we reached the edge.
Arts
Quite a rich year. We went to one Prom, and a whole lot of other concerts, quite a few of them in Lagrasse. We had the great pleasure in November of hearing Kate and John sing in the chorus of Beethoven's 9th at Spitalfields.
The summer show at the Royal Academy failed to inspire us, but we liked a small exhibition of local landscapes near Gruissan by Marie-Claude Canet. My own efforts have been pretty lacklustre this year: lots of half-baked pieces left unfinished.
Kate's latest play, Queen Anne, ran for four weeks in the summer, spanning the tercentenary of Anne's death. Audiences were disappointingly small until Kate got a slot on Woman's Hour, whereafter the box office telephone didn't stop ringing. We saw it on the last night, and liked it very much. Shame about the stiflingly hot theatre.
And forward, though I canna see, I hope, and fear
Let's hope for the best in 2015. I can't really see a satisfactory election result, but can rather too readily see an unsatisfactory and worrying one. Let's hope I'm wrong, and that the main parties come to their senses. I suppose it's a comfort that French politics seem equally bordélique. The President's unpopularity is almost without precedent, and the previous one has just been re-elected to head his party with the slimmest of majorities.
Still, next year's cuttings are in the cold frame, and I have saved a lot of seed to start in the spring. There's nothing quite like gardening to give you something positive to look forward to!
With every good wish for the various December things, and for health, prosperity and happiness in 2015,
Having been down to the Post Office this morning to spend a day's pension on stamps for the Christmas cards, I'd better get the ramblings up on line in case anyone feels like following the link in the card. We remain above ground, and have been out and about probably more than ever during the year. The garden has suffered a bit, but we've taken the opportunity to get some overdue heavy work done. Martyn has spent a lot of time helping with the administration of his cousin's care home, and my hobbies have kept me pretty busy too. The generations come and go, and we enjoy the company of dear friends in UK and in France, as well as those scattered round the world. Useful device, Facebook!
There are days when my main hobby gets almost unbearably frustrating: the government agencies we depend on are so strapped for resources that processes frequently stumble and fall over. As a consequence, far too much of our volunteer time is wasted, and morale is shaky.
I'm glad I'm old. The news brings shock after shock from round the world. Here at home, the ducking and weaving of our politicians would be comical if it weren't tragic. I probably oughtn't to express a view on the outcome of the Scottish referendum: I hope sense prevails when and if there's a vote on EU membership.
The Clan
We learned last Christmas that Jean Routley, one of the last of my mother's generation, had died earlier in 2013. A good soul, Jean: she married against her parents' wishes, so we knew little about her until she and her first husband, Jack, came to the UK and stayed with my parents. Mum and I subsequently returned their visits, and enjoyed meeting their family.
We had a good family Boxing Day last year with my brother's family: the first time I can remember that we were all together with our great-nephew Tom. By then g-n 2, Toby, was on the way, and arrived hale and hearty in the spring.
 |
| Neilson, Margaret, John, Anna, Tom, Richard, Sera and yr. obed. servts. |
 |
| Rob, Fran and some guests |
On Martyn's side, niece Fiona has graduated from Camberwell with first-class honours, and is exhibiting frequently. Her husband is also doing well, with a major prize and his own exhibitions. Their delightful kids are doing well at school in east London. They are growing up in a rich cultural environment with a strong, stable home upbringing, so we have great hopes for them.
Garden
It has been an expensive but rewarding year in the back yard. Last winter's storms finished off the rickety fence between us and the adjacent street, so we called in the people who'd done the fence on the opposite side. They did a fine job for a fair price. They also grubbed up the ugly, overgrown shrubs next to the fence.
We'd been worried about the terrace at the back and side of the house: it wasn't very well laid in the first place, and the roots of the previous administration's wretched leylandii had left a lot of cracked and wobbly slabs: we almost had to cordon sections off when we had guests.
 |
| Relaid terrace, new steps, raised bed - worth the investment |
Arrivals
We had the pleasure of Phil's company for a couple of days in December. I just don't know how he can get off an aeroplane from the other side of the pond, get into an unfamiliar car and drive round the M25, then remain fresh as a daisy for the rest of the day. A lifetime of long-haul flights may have helped. While here, he got to meet the ladies of our local post office, who hand-stamp each new issue of Royal Mail stamps for the 'used' department of his collection. He has since sent one of his Christmas cakes for them: it was greeted with squeals of glee when I delivered it.
On New Year's day, Annie flew in from Seville, where she and her brother had spent a few days. and stayed with us for a couple of nights. Otherwise, we've had the pleasure of a few lunch and supper guests in one place or another.
Departures
We have been out and about rather a lot this year: Madeira (February), mainland Portugal (October), Italy (June) and three trips to France (May, July and September). During the July trip, we went to Barcelona for a few days to avoid the hideous rock festival that afflicts Lagrasse each year around the time of my birthday. I bored at length on each subject at the time, so won't repeat myself - you can scroll down the blog for contemporary chunterings.
 |
| Madeira, not S Australia! |
Italy again? Oh, for sure! But Never Again with Gr3at R4il Journ3ys. We're sure their package has appeal for some market segments, but we hated the regimentation, and the segregation from the general public in hotel restaurants. The budget they had agreed with the main hotel led to catering of which a four-star hotel ought to have been ashamed. We had to change rooms to get the lake (Garda) view we had paid for, only to find that the roof leaked in the second one. The whole thing was a bit of a chapter of accidents, really. See blog entries for June.
 |
| Pic de Bugarach, Aude |
It was refreshing to enjoy some good music in the village. First was the Wolfson Chamber Chorus's splendid concert in the church, then a four-day extravaganza centred round a grand piano in the Place de la Halle. Three concerts a day. I went to them all.
 |
| Gaia and Porto from Ponte Dom Luíz |
Food and drink
 |
| Lunch on the Bluebell Railway |
Wheels
We keep toying with changes to the Forges-l'Evêque mews, but so long as the cars we've got serve us well, there's little reason to change. I've had the various dents and scrapes fixed on the VW, so will hang on to it for at least a couple more years. Our only rental this year was an elderly VW Golf in Madeira. It had a 1.6 turbodiesel engine that was really not up to the job of navigating a mountainous island. Worse still, the remaining tread on the front tyres was not sufficient to stop us aquaplaning out of our lane as we emerged from a tunnel into a bend under a downpour. The short section between tunnels was on a high viaduct. Fortunately, there was nothing in the lane we drifted into, and we found grip just before we reached the edge.
Arts
Quite a rich year. We went to one Prom, and a whole lot of other concerts, quite a few of them in Lagrasse. We had the great pleasure in November of hearing Kate and John sing in the chorus of Beethoven's 9th at Spitalfields.
The summer show at the Royal Academy failed to inspire us, but we liked a small exhibition of local landscapes near Gruissan by Marie-Claude Canet. My own efforts have been pretty lacklustre this year: lots of half-baked pieces left unfinished.
Kate's latest play, Queen Anne, ran for four weeks in the summer, spanning the tercentenary of Anne's death. Audiences were disappointingly small until Kate got a slot on Woman's Hour, whereafter the box office telephone didn't stop ringing. We saw it on the last night, and liked it very much. Shame about the stiflingly hot theatre.
And forward, though I canna see, I hope, and fear
Let's hope for the best in 2015. I can't really see a satisfactory election result, but can rather too readily see an unsatisfactory and worrying one. Let's hope I'm wrong, and that the main parties come to their senses. I suppose it's a comfort that French politics seem equally bordélique. The President's unpopularity is almost without precedent, and the previous one has just been re-elected to head his party with the slimmest of majorities.
Still, next year's cuttings are in the cold frame, and I have saved a lot of seed to start in the spring. There's nothing quite like gardening to give you something positive to look forward to!
With every good wish for the various December things, and for health, prosperity and happiness in 2015,
Martyn & David
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