It feels really odd to be travelling alone after all these years. But it is going to get cold over the next few days, and Martyn is no fan of cold temperatures! In any case, I’m only doing the trip to do a final clean at the house and to complete the sale formalities.
As I write, we’ve begun our descent to Toulouse after a (so far) comfortable flight. As usual, the flight is pretty full, complete with loud sprogs, but it isn’t for much longer. The Gatwick experience was pretty painless, but I’d a longish trek from the entrance to the gate, which again was across the bridge at the North terminal. It all looks less grim in the bright sunshine, of course. Although a mid afternoon departure at this time of year means driving home in the dark, at least the airport is a bit quieter.
And what a drive home. The car is a nice little Mégane, and I soon got the hang of changing gears again. Not that I did much of that in the first hour, which was mostly in first gear until I reached the motorway. I thought that by doing my shopping before heading for home I might be spared the rush hour traffic. No such luck, and a closed lane on the rocade didn’t help. Well, I got home safe and sound, but not until close to 21:00. Shop-bought pizza, and an early night.
Friday
Next morning I went looking for breakfast, only to find that the baker has gone on holiday for a week. I googled the address of the baker in the next village, only to find it closed, by all appearances, years ago. So, it was off to Lézignan, and by the time I arrived there, the grocer in Lagrasse would have opened, complete with dépôt de pain. Too bad: at least I’m now stocked up for my evening meals now.
The car, though endowed with zip and handling that would put certain sports cars to shame, has some annoying habits. It decides when you may have main beam headlights [I later learned how to disable that, for the benefit of the next renter], and every so often displays, in German, a report on the quality of your driving [and in another traffic queue I learned how to change the language too, and toyed briefly with setting it to Japanese...]. It also scared me when the parking brake failed to release, and a simple press on the release button did nothing for a while.
Cleaning the downstairs windows warmed me up a bit. Helpful, that, since I couldn’t get the gas heater to light. I finished the first window cleaning session by doing the car windscreen. I think the previous renter had sneezed rather exuberantly at it. Ugh. More window cleaning after lunch, then a siesta.
Saturday
I was invited to supper with Christoff, Peter and a bunch of their friends. Ten of us sat down for a delicious, if boisterous meal. These days, I find noisy gatherings rather stressful, since I can’t take a proper part in the conversation. But the meal was superb. Pissaladière with the apéritifs, a chicken casserole (legs on the bone) with spuds, haricots verts and a cream sauce. Apple clafoutis. And rather a lot of strong local red wine.
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| Autumn in Lagrasse |
Next morning dawned sunny at last. I did a spot of, I hope, final cleaning, and then went for a cup of tea with Sheila and her daughter Lisa. Sheila is in very good humour, considering what she’s going through, and had had a good evening the previous night with a bunch of friends at the Hostellerie. I’d already accepted an invitation - see under London buses. After lunch I took Lisa to the airport for her return flight to Dublin. Most of the leaves have gone from the vines now, but the countryside looked beautiful in the autumn sunshine.
As I got back, I spotted a neighbour, Roger, taking his dog for a walk. Knowing him to be of an adventurous nature, I collared him and asked whether he’d like the Rücksack that has been gathering dust on the landing for the past 19 years: fortunately he can make use of it, so that’s a home found for the last of the odds and ends that my buyer is unlikely to want.
Monday
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| No longer Château Smith |
A largely painless drive to the airport, though there was the usual congestion and kamikaze behaviour on the rocade. I fuelled and turned in the car (they didn’t seem to notice that I'd graunched one of the alloy wheels when trying to park in Fabrezan...). I then spent a pleasant hour or so in the 8e Ciel bar at the airport, watching the traffic. Nothing spectacular, but I think it was the first time I'd seen the recently certified A350-1000 in motion.
By the time I got to the gate, all the lockers at the front of the cabin were full, so my bag had to go in the hold. That worked out well, because by the time I reached the baggage carousel the bag was there. It's a long trek from the gate (over the bridge again), so it was handy to be burdened only with the iPad and an envelope of sale papers. Passport control was very rapid (once I'd put my passport in the machine the right way round), and Martyn was waiting for me at the arrivals door. The Gatwick experience was vastly better than last time: we were on the road within half an hour of the plane touching the runway. Simple supper, quiet evening, early night.
Tuesday
I feel curiously unsentimental about leaving the house. Quirky in parts and quite elegant in others, the house was not particularly comfortable, and the absence of land gave it a slightly claustrophobic feel. It was also difficult and expensive to heat, and I guess I took a bit of a scunner to it after the 1999 flood. I shall miss the surrounding countryside and the friends in the village, of course, but you don't need to own a house for that!
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