More miles

The week drove on with a pretty much relentless traffic of kitchen contents to other parts of the house; mainly the conservatory, where the stack of Fortnums' veggie trays had risen well past the window ledge, and the clutter in the upstairs rooms was building up as well.  Since the garage will be full of kitchen furniture and equipment, that wasn't a storage option, and the chaps want to use the dining room as a depot during the work.  The dining furniture is therefore in the sitting room, together with my red wing armchair.  I remember this chaos and clutter all too well from the kitchen refit at Smith Towers.  (That was worse, of course, in that there were fewer, smaller rooms, no conservatory and no garages.)

Having learnt from the experience, I am writing this from Another Place.  We left shortly before 07:00 on Monday, and some minutes later the skip, the carpenter and the plumber should have arrived.  Kitchen furniture and appliances were due for delivery next day, ready assembled.  We've had no progress reports so far, and are not soliciting them.  The dream is that we return three weeks hence to find a new kitchen that needs no more than a lick of paint.  We'll see.

Meanwhile, we were on the good old Newhaven-Dieppe ferry by 09:00, and rested (having slept as badly as usual the night before travelling) until it was time for brunch à l'anglaise.  Tepid by that stage, of course, and I'd forgotten the French cafeteria trick of providing microwaves for customer use.  Otherwise, a good, comfortable and punctual crossing, with many fewer noisy sprogs than last time.  The day was still and sunny, so we sat out on deck, reading and snoozing for a while.  Whereas when using the tunnel we hit the motorway at around 09:30, we weren't on the shorter but much slower route from Dieppe until about 14:15.  The road is quite good until just after Rouen, but from there until one joins the motorway north of Orléans, it's balls-achingly slow going.  Remembering this from last time, we opted to stay overnight near Bourges, which adds a two-hour driving shift to the second leg of the journey.

We again used the Ibis Styles hotel, which does B&B for two for around £80, has suitable eateries a short walk away, and provides 15% discount vouchers for them.  Our experience of the short-straw chain is mixed, but my magret was delicious, and Martyn's noix d'entrecôte, if somewhat labour intensive, was reportedly a lot better than it looked.  The hotel offers hot drinks machines in the reception area, which isn't too handy given the state of attire in which I enjoy my first cup of tea in the morning, so the trusty tea kit was deployed once again.  Better tea, better cups but unforunately we hadn't brought fresh milk.  A motorway pee and changeover stop had at least provided a chance to get half a litre of what Mother once memorably described as 'yon HIV milk'.

From Bourges southwards, the drive was initially pretty quiet, but the motorway is always busy for thirty miles or so either side of Clermont-Fd.  The traffic included the usual complement of kamikazes, none of whom, fortunately, accomplished his mission in our sight.  We stopped to refuel and change over at Issoire, and Martyn took the next shift, allowing me to enjoy the wonderful landscapes of the Auvergne.  His two-hour stint brought us to the rest stop at the Larzac, so I drove the rest of the Causses, the Pas d'Escalette and the busy race track down past Lodève.  This time, I was determined to use the departmental road from Béziers, and with Martyn navigating, we'd no trouble.  We stocked up with everything bar fresh milk at the bright, airy and well stocked new Fortnums' on the edge of Capestang, then ambled gently home through the vineyards and along the side of t he canal.  We needed only a quick dive into the Lézigzag Carrefour on the way home, for milk, but I did yield to the temptation to get a bag of frozen calamars à la Romaine as well.  The parking régime seems to have slackened off in the village, but since someone has parked in front of the door, I had to look for a space elsewhere.  The car is now right in front of the doors of the chiottes publiques along the street, and may stay there for a day or two: I don't plan to drive anywhere unless the space in front of the house comes free.

Quiet day today, after two days' travelling.  Quieter than usual, in fact: we haven't heard the church clock since we got here.  It normally rings every hour, on the hour and again two minutes later, and delivers a solitary cracked clang on the half hour.  I haven't heard the Abbey bell either, though Martyn reckons he has.  Maybe the boys and their local helpers are too busy getting their grapes in.  I shall not be volunteering: my hands, back and general lack of tone suggest that my grape harvesting days are over. 


All was in order on our arrival - we've never seen the bed so beautifully made up after Immy and Jon's flying visit a couple of weeks ago.  One exception: the gas supply to the hob.  There's gas in the bottle, but the adaptor's done for.  Fortunately, we'd bought a full bottle towards the end of our last stay, so it was soon hooked up and delivering.  Not before, while manoeuvring the hose to the gas bottle, I'd knocked the glass jug off the coffee machine and smashed it on the floor.  Having been liberated during an office move 20-some years ago, it doesn't owe me anything, and fortuitously, the filter funnel sits perfectly atop an under-used vacuum jug.  It's an ill wind, eh?