Just noticed in a facebook post that the equivalent French proverb refers to April. Reason obvious.
Still, it has been pretty damn' cold here for a few days, which prompted us to go and buy root veggies to make a pot of broth. Our doing so today has, needless to say, prompted a rise in the temperature. But we still enjoyed the soup. We'd to resort to stock cubes, having not had the remains of a chicken to boil up. I did improve the stock a little though: Martyn did delicious roast asparagus with mushrooms and lardons for lunch yesterday, so I chopped, boiled up and strained the tough ends of the stems to add to the soup. We spent a pleasant little spell together in the kitchen this morning slicing a leek and dicing carrots, turnips, swede and a couple of potatoes, and are not unhappy with the result. Three more relatively healthy lunches cooling in plastic boxes as I type.
Since I'm still not on Cagalière climbing form, and fancying a visit to the parcours botanique close to the summit thereof, I suggested that we drive up. This we did; very gently, because the track is quite badly rutted by run-off from winter rains. It wasn't as bad, nor anything like as long, as the Escala de l'Ours with which we tested the Tiguan six years ago, but the Ateca is now nevertheless pretty thoroughly tested. Not a trace of wheelspin, so I guess the transfer box is doing its job.
As it happens, the flora were a shade disappointing - nothing like the display we enjoyed on the road up to Villerouge-Termenès on Friday. Yesterday and on Friday we saw a whole lot of aphyllante de Montpellier, but on Friday we also saw plenty of broom and cistus in flower, as well as asphodels and a vivid blue flower the name of which I've yet to find out.
As I went up to the shop at lunchtime for a dinner ingredient, I found a neighbour sitting in another's gateway. I assumed he was enjoying a bit of sun until the penny dropped: I realised that what he'd said in his almost impenetrable accent was 'je suis tombé', and he was clearly unable to get back up again unassisted. I couldn't manage it alone. Between us, we just managed to get him up and back indoors. He spends much of each morning sitting on the bench outside the shop, so I asked the assistant if she had contacts with his large family. She assured me that one of the grand-daughters was in town to give him his lunch, so I'm hoping he told her he'd had a fall. He's really in no shape to be living alone.
We are on orange warning for thunder, hail and squally winds until early tomorrow. Meanwhile, the washing is drying pretty well up on the terrace, supervised (I suspect through closed eyelids) by His Grace. To my shame, I must admit to having found two towels in the washing machine drum, where they had been drying since last September. Well, they've had another wash, and are on the line. I nearly did the same with one of the shirts today: good job I can still count up to eight, eh?
Sunday 30 April 2017
Thursday 27 April 2017
Home from home
Having eaten rather badly in the flophouse restaurant last night, I went and got us some breakfast from the baker up the road. I can just about put up with the mediocre dinner, but breakfast of Lipton's yellow label, tepid water and HIV milk, not to mention Other People, is more than I can bear. As I headed up to the baker's shop this morning, another car of the same
model as mine was just leaving the car park. As I got there,
said car was outside the boul-pat, and its owner and I left at around the
same time. He told me he's as pleased with his as we are with ours.
Another was leaving the motorway as I joined, oddly enough, and these are
the only two Atecas we've seen other than at dealerships. Plainly a
select band of owners. (I didn't ask him how to reset the clock, but have subsequently worked out how to do so. Next challenge: how to reset the bloody clock without zeroing the bleedin' trip. And don't say RTFM: so to do is bad for my blood pressure.)
Not a bad ride down from the Auvergne, though the cloudy skies deprived us of the best of the views. As we approached Millau, Martyn noticed a couple of dozen birds circling at altitude. Probably griffon vultures, we think. We elected to keep moving. Having left around 08:30, and filled the tank the night before, we were home and shopped, having survived the awful A9 and A61, well before 13:00.
Botanically speaking, we have been enjoying the fine display of cowslips by the side of the motorways. We hadn't noticed before just how many laburnums there are beside the motorways: not my favourite subject, but good motorway furniture. Down here, the poppies and valerian are flowering like mad, and up in the Auvergne there were still daffodils in flower, braving the -1.5°C cold at 1100 metres. The vines are coming into leaf hereabouts, though signs of spring are fewer up at altitude, as you'd expect. Our tiny weed patch is weeding along nicely, though the sage seems to be asserting itself, as is the mint. Our solitary rose has a handful of buds.
On which point, by the way, a singularly weedy Piccadilly rose back at Forges-l'Evêque is bounding into growth. It is hemmed in by bulbs, which have recently had a bit of post-flowering feeding. We'll repeat the process on the other roses when we get home, though the English rose Geoff Hamilton and the Justice of the Peace (they do guard duty on either side of the steps up to the grass) were looking pretty vigorous unaided when we left, so we expect to return to a few blooms. Hereabouts, we think we're too late for the tiny daffodils and irises up on the hill, but hope to find some cistes cotonneux in flower once we're out and about again.
Not a bad ride down from the Auvergne, though the cloudy skies deprived us of the best of the views. As we approached Millau, Martyn noticed a couple of dozen birds circling at altitude. Probably griffon vultures, we think. We elected to keep moving. Having left around 08:30, and filled the tank the night before, we were home and shopped, having survived the awful A9 and A61, well before 13:00.
Botanically speaking, we have been enjoying the fine display of cowslips by the side of the motorways. We hadn't noticed before just how many laburnums there are beside the motorways: not my favourite subject, but good motorway furniture. Down here, the poppies and valerian are flowering like mad, and up in the Auvergne there were still daffodils in flower, braving the -1.5°C cold at 1100 metres. The vines are coming into leaf hereabouts, though signs of spring are fewer up at altitude, as you'd expect. Our tiny weed patch is weeding along nicely, though the sage seems to be asserting itself, as is the mint. Our solitary rose has a handful of buds.
On which point, by the way, a singularly weedy Piccadilly rose back at Forges-l'Evêque is bounding into growth. It is hemmed in by bulbs, which have recently had a bit of post-flowering feeding. We'll repeat the process on the other roses when we get home, though the English rose Geoff Hamilton and the Justice of the Peace (they do guard duty on either side of the steps up to the grass) were looking pretty vigorous unaided when we left, so we expect to return to a few blooms. Hereabouts, we think we're too late for the tiny daffodils and irises up on the hill, but hope to find some cistes cotonneux in flower once we're out and about again.
Wednesday 26 April 2017
On the move again
A typically lousy night before travelling: I was awake before 02:00, despite not needing to be until 05:30. We're always the same. Still, we'd time to relax at Folkestone, Eurotunnel having cancelled our shuttle, and despatched the next one late. But since we practise a two-hor shift pattern on long trips, we each get a chance to snooze. Of the journey, more anon.
The last few days have been quite busy, with the obvious stuff like getting the laundry and garden as up-to-date as possible. I'm not sure how the very young climbing courgette seedlings will take to being potted up and plonked out in the cold frame after their cosseting indoors in the propagator. But the fuchsia plug plants have come along well, and now hardened off a bit, ought to be OK outdoors. At which rash comment, along comes a cold snap. The weather was good enough for me at least to get the grass cut, to plant out the primulas from containers to borders, and to get a few nurtured perennials into their new homes.
Meanwhile, I'd rashly fixed a get together with a former colleaguie who was visiting London on business from his base in Botswana. We met for afternoon tea in The Canteen at the Royal Festival Hall, and reminisced until we were hoarse. We worked out that we hadn't met for fully 32 years, so could have chewed the fat until midnight. Great to share some memories, and news of mutual friends. Less fun was the crowded rush-hour train home, though. I'm glad I don't have to do that every day, and more so that Martyn could do the station shuttle for me.
As for today's journey, we had a mix of weather, including thundery sleet showers as we approached Paris, some fine sunny views in the north and also south of the Loire. We arrived a bit later than usual at our regular Auvergne flophouse, thanks to long spells of rain, countless lots of roadworks and a couple of rather spectacular accidents. Just north of Orléans, a car appeared to have rolled, leaving a lot of debris across the roadway, along with an alarming amount of reddish sawdust... Another had finished up on its roof in the ditch somewhere in the soporific Sologne. In view of the appalling standard of driving we've seen today, spectacular accidents come as no surprise. The good news is that the Ateca is refined, responsive and frugal at motorway speeds (though the north wind can't have hurt). But I can't remember how to reset the clock, and the handbook is precious little help...
The last few days have been quite busy, with the obvious stuff like getting the laundry and garden as up-to-date as possible. I'm not sure how the very young climbing courgette seedlings will take to being potted up and plonked out in the cold frame after their cosseting indoors in the propagator. But the fuchsia plug plants have come along well, and now hardened off a bit, ought to be OK outdoors. At which rash comment, along comes a cold snap. The weather was good enough for me at least to get the grass cut, to plant out the primulas from containers to borders, and to get a few nurtured perennials into their new homes.
Meanwhile, I'd rashly fixed a get together with a former colleaguie who was visiting London on business from his base in Botswana. We met for afternoon tea in The Canteen at the Royal Festival Hall, and reminisced until we were hoarse. We worked out that we hadn't met for fully 32 years, so could have chewed the fat until midnight. Great to share some memories, and news of mutual friends. Less fun was the crowded rush-hour train home, though. I'm glad I don't have to do that every day, and more so that Martyn could do the station shuttle for me.
As for today's journey, we had a mix of weather, including thundery sleet showers as we approached Paris, some fine sunny views in the north and also south of the Loire. We arrived a bit later than usual at our regular Auvergne flophouse, thanks to long spells of rain, countless lots of roadworks and a couple of rather spectacular accidents. Just north of Orléans, a car appeared to have rolled, leaving a lot of debris across the roadway, along with an alarming amount of reddish sawdust... Another had finished up on its roof in the ditch somewhere in the soporific Sologne. In view of the appalling standard of driving we've seen today, spectacular accidents come as no surprise. The good news is that the Ateca is refined, responsive and frugal at motorway speeds (though the north wind can't have hurt). But I can't remember how to reset the clock, and the handbook is precious little help...
Thursday 13 April 2017
Ten whole years today....
....since we move into Forges-l'Evêque, a move we haven't regretted for a moment. Since we moved in, traffic has pretty much doubled, now that the best part of sixty additional households use our street to access their little new-build boxes. But on the other hand, we now have easier access on foot to the village, and also to another bus stop.
We've done a fair bit of improvement over the years. The biggest improvement is, of course, the sitooterie, which increases our living space (public rooms, as we say in my country) by over 50%, and gives us a comfortable summer living room. The original sitting room has essentially become the television and music room. Another early change was a refit of the shower room adjoining the main bedroom: we inherited a rather cramped shower enclosure and a ridiculously small wash basin, and a lot of boxed-in air. We have put in units more suited to us two strapping lads. That and the kitchen were somewhat depressingly beige, so both have now moved to a scheme of white and dark grey. We've almost eliminated miserable magnolia from the premises, and only the bedroom - magnolia walls and putty-coloured cupboard doors - remains to be redecorated. The bathroom is the last bastion of grotty DIY wooden flooring and beige tiles, but we'll live with that for a little longer.
Outside, I don't think the previous administration would recognise the garden. About half of the leylandii have gone, and there's probably about 20% less grass, replaced by the pond and rockery, the conservatory and the path round it, the garden studio and the path up to it (that involved taking out two more leylandii - hurrah!), and large areas for planting. The decrepit paving at the back is now level and firm, and the front drive, which had subsided round a drain top, no longer presents a trip hazard - quite a consideration, given that we have no street lighting. We still have a tall hedge of leylandii across the back, though an early job was to bring it down by a meter or so. A few more remain down the west side, but they do at least spare the neighbours the torment of having to see us. The main purposes of the hedge at the back are to provide an unité d'habitation for the blackbirds etc, to give us a green - well, green with patches of brown and sundry gaps - outlook from the back of the house, and of course to prop up next door's rotten fence. (Correspondence continues with absentee landlord...).
Another rash of leylandii used to separate our front drive from next door's, and yet another formed a sort of hedge across the front. I replaced both with an unstructured selection of shrubs and perennials, some of which in turn have already passed their sell-by dates. This past week I've hacked down some of the hebes and penstemons to give a bit of breathing space for Annie next door's lavenders. All of the above have a tendency to become leggy and unsightly. I think the penstemons will bounce back, but if the hebes don't, I shall not cry myself to sleep.
Conscious of the march of time, we have converted some useless savings into a deposit on another Jolly Jaunt in a Big Boat in the summer of next year. (Same Big Boat, and even the same cabin as last time!) We do pause to wonder, however, whether two of the ports of call, Tallinn and St Petersburg, will be accessible sixteen months hence.
Having sacked RBS a few years ago in disgust at the behaviour of the management thereof, I find myself on the point of doing the same to the Co-operative Bank, the value of which has just been written down to zero by the parent company. Although the service I've had from said bank has been very good, I don't want to be caught up in a Bank of England winding-up process, which could follow if the potential buyers (one of which I don't care for anyway) pull out. We are seeing a potential replacement, spun off from a state-supported failure of a bank by order of what we used to call DG XIII. Wish us luck.
We've done a fair bit of improvement over the years. The biggest improvement is, of course, the sitooterie, which increases our living space (public rooms, as we say in my country) by over 50%, and gives us a comfortable summer living room. The original sitting room has essentially become the television and music room. Another early change was a refit of the shower room adjoining the main bedroom: we inherited a rather cramped shower enclosure and a ridiculously small wash basin, and a lot of boxed-in air. We have put in units more suited to us two strapping lads. That and the kitchen were somewhat depressingly beige, so both have now moved to a scheme of white and dark grey. We've almost eliminated miserable magnolia from the premises, and only the bedroom - magnolia walls and putty-coloured cupboard doors - remains to be redecorated. The bathroom is the last bastion of grotty DIY wooden flooring and beige tiles, but we'll live with that for a little longer.
Outside, I don't think the previous administration would recognise the garden. About half of the leylandii have gone, and there's probably about 20% less grass, replaced by the pond and rockery, the conservatory and the path round it, the garden studio and the path up to it (that involved taking out two more leylandii - hurrah!), and large areas for planting. The decrepit paving at the back is now level and firm, and the front drive, which had subsided round a drain top, no longer presents a trip hazard - quite a consideration, given that we have no street lighting. We still have a tall hedge of leylandii across the back, though an early job was to bring it down by a meter or so. A few more remain down the west side, but they do at least spare the neighbours the torment of having to see us. The main purposes of the hedge at the back are to provide an unité d'habitation for the blackbirds etc, to give us a green - well, green with patches of brown and sundry gaps - outlook from the back of the house, and of course to prop up next door's rotten fence. (Correspondence continues with absentee landlord...).
Another rash of leylandii used to separate our front drive from next door's, and yet another formed a sort of hedge across the front. I replaced both with an unstructured selection of shrubs and perennials, some of which in turn have already passed their sell-by dates. This past week I've hacked down some of the hebes and penstemons to give a bit of breathing space for Annie next door's lavenders. All of the above have a tendency to become leggy and unsightly. I think the penstemons will bounce back, but if the hebes don't, I shall not cry myself to sleep.
Conscious of the march of time, we have converted some useless savings into a deposit on another Jolly Jaunt in a Big Boat in the summer of next year. (Same Big Boat, and even the same cabin as last time!) We do pause to wonder, however, whether two of the ports of call, Tallinn and St Petersburg, will be accessible sixteen months hence.
Having sacked RBS a few years ago in disgust at the behaviour of the management thereof, I find myself on the point of doing the same to the Co-operative Bank, the value of which has just been written down to zero by the parent company. Although the service I've had from said bank has been very good, I don't want to be caught up in a Bank of England winding-up process, which could follow if the potential buyers (one of which I don't care for anyway) pull out. We are seeing a potential replacement, spun off from a state-supported failure of a bank by order of what we used to call DG XIII. Wish us luck.
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