Peace and quiet in la France Profonde

Sometimes I wonder about this country.  We were aware of some loud music at a distance yesterday evening and thought it might be some neighbours at a farm half a mile away.  Not a bit of it: it was in Marmande, twelve bloody miles away!  More to come: the festival continues until Sunday.  Pity the good people of Marmande.

We’d a decent enough drive up to Annie’s on Wednesday: the motorway wasn’t too busy.  The Toulouse ring road was its usual mix of lunacy and anarchy, but I did my usual trick of keeping my distance and sticking to the limit, allowing the nutters to provide entertainment.  We haven’t - yet - had the crazy temperatures that have been breaking records elsewhere in the country.  We’ve seen 37C on the car thermometer once or twice though.  We went to the market in La Réole this morning, picking up all sorts of fresh veg and things, with the intention of going into town to see an art exhibition.  By the time we’d shopped, we all came to the  conclusion around the same time that we’d just go home: by 11:00 it was getting quite oppressive.  As I write around 13:00, the mercury has passed the 33 mark.  Siesta in prospect.  Much is to be said for skulking indoors in an ancient stone-built house in this weather.

Sleep

Well, it’s as well we had our afternoon naps.  We were aware of a lot of food preparation going on next door during the early afternoon: it turns out to have been in preparation for a big noisy party.  We just about managed to get to sleep, but the combination of loud music and conversation - and a visit from one of the neighbourhood cats via a door we’d left ajar for ventilation - made it clear we were in for a nuit blanche.  In the small hours, we gave up and went downstairs for a cup of tea.  Around 03:30 I went round in baffies and goonie with a polite but exasperated ‘can’t you turn the volume down?  People are trying to sleep’, leaving with an emphatic slam of the door.  Well, the volume did go down a little, but not for another three hours, so it was broad daylight by the time we got a couple of hours’ fitful sleep.  The still-loud music and raucous laughter went on until about 09:30.

After breakfast we went out for a drive to our favourite viewpoint over the Pic de Bugarach and the Pyrenees, which still have quite a lot of snow on the higher slopes.  As usual, we were serenaded by a lark when we got there.  The flowers are better at altitude: lots of orchids, broom, scabious, poppies, asphodel, verbascum and plenty more that I couldn’t name.

We had lunch in Limoux, ordering a Caesar salad apiece, emphasising that we wanted no onions.  They arrived absolutely full of raw onion, and so went straight back.  The replacements were satisfactory and generous.  A gentle amble afterwards back up to Carcassonne and over the hill from Capendu, then down the Congoust gorge to Camplong.  The party seems to have been disbanded, with replacement noise pollution from a loud-mouthed builder and his cement mixer.  Such a peaceful little village, Lagrasse.

Lagrasse

The rest of the journey went well. We were in Avignon practically on time, and didn’t have too long to wait get the hire car.  As I’ve probably said before, the ride from Avignon to Lagrasse involves a long stint on the very busy A9, where driving standards tend to be appalling.  The picture was complicated by all the fancy toys in the car, including a robot that tugs on the steering wheel when you look like drifting out of your lane.  Before I got that far, I had to summon assistance to get the damn thing in gear in the first place.  Getting the cruise control to work was distinctly hit & miss, but I think I’ve got it worked out now.  I’d love to know why manufacturers don’t standardise some of these minor controls.  My old Mondeo had the best cruise control: four buttons on the steering wheel: set, resume, + and -, and having now had 5 VW group cars, I have got used to their awkward system.  Peugeot-Citroën have to be different, of course.

Here in Lagrasse, we’re installed in Kate and John’s house.  We had apéros on the Prom last night - entirely unplanned - with a bunch of old friends, then dinner with other friends down the road: how I kept going until midnight having woken at 02:00 I really don’t know.   As always on arriving in Lagrasse, we’d soon met several people we know, and caught up on some of the local news.  The till at the Cave Co-op in a neighbouring village was manned today by a former Lagrasse neighbour.  We gather that the chap who bought my old house left just before we arrived: wise man.  He has had some fine new windows installed, but has yet to have his planned additional windows cut into the side wall.

We had a brief drive out this morning, reminding ourselves of the beautiful landscapes of the region, then returned to one of our favourite sports: people-watching from the Prom Café.  Good, moderately priced pasta with chicken and mixed mushrooms, and a pichet of a familiar rosé.  Then snoozes.

On our travels again

On the road early again today after giving the garden a final water.  We were away by 06:00 for the drive (into the sun) to catch our train at Ashford.  The last leg of the drive was complicated by a very long diversion, so it was a good thing we’d given ourselves plenty of time.  

Yesterday I had an email from Barclaycard, saying that, since I hadn’t used my card lately (if indeed at all), they had cut my credit limit to £250, if you please!  Well, on arrival in Ashford, I realised that I’d forgotten to pack tea bags.  Fortunately, one of the shops had a packet of Twinings English Breakfast, so I made a token contactless purchase thereof with said card.  We’ll see whether that restores my old limit: it will at least use up the little bit of credit that has been hanging around on my account, and I’ll be able to give Barclaycard the sack with a nil balance.

The wonders of modern technology: I’m posting this as we hurtle across northern France at close on 300 kph.  The train left Ashford at 07:55, and we expect to be deposited in Avignon at 14:08.  When my father was the age I am now, I doubt he’d have believed anyone who suggested you could get a direct train from Kent to Avignon, let alone one that does the journey in barely over 5 hours.  Well, we ain’t there yet, of course, but we’ve used the service twice before and found it good and punctual.  We’re in one of the 25+ years old sets, but it has been refitted recently, and although the seats are less generous than before, they are clean and comfortable.

De-cluttering

The imminent arrival of James the painter has prompted a bit of clearing out.  Martyn has shifted a lot of stuff from the bookshelves in his study, and freecycled one of them.  The corner cupboards from the sitooterie have just left for their new home, and we’ve passed on a screen, keyboard and mouse to a lady who’s hoping to build herself a computer.  The local hospice shop has had three boxes of crockery, glass and ornaments, and we sent off another couple of boxes yesterday for the bric-à-brac stall at the village fête.  I can’t quite bring myself to part with Ma’s willow pattern tea and dinner set, even though it hasn’t been unpacked since we moved here twelve years ago.  Likewise, the parents’ wedding present tea set, practically unused, will stay a little longer.  Thanks to some ruthless clearing out of kitchen cupboards by Management, we’ve made space for most of the contents of the corner cupboards, so no longer need to store stuff in the sitooterie.  We’re already enjoying the free space.

Yesterday morning two big strong boys turned up to strip off some turf from a slope that was difficult to mow.  Gardener Ben, a likeable Fifer, already works in a number of the neighbours’ gardens, so we’ve got to know him over the years.  He really puts his back into it, and inside two hours, the pair of them had stripped about four square meters of turf, dug the bed over and added vast quantities of grit and muck (which we got from the allotment stores last weekend).  Unfortunately, rain has delayed my re-planting efforts, but I’ve made a start, and should get a bit more done before we head south on Friday.  For a rest.

Old Timers

Martyn’s car passed its MoT yet again yesterday, with a whisker over 1000 miles on the clock since its last one.  While we waited, we ambled along to the nearby electrical factors to buy some fancy LED filament bulbs for the new movement sensor lamps at the front of the house.  Colin the sparky was here on Tuesday to fix most of our list of jobs, including a broken light fitting in the cupboard under the stairs. The first new LED fitting was nice and bright, but only for about 45 seconds before going ’phut!’ and tripping the circuit breaker.  The replacement seems a shade more durable.  Invoice awaited...

The Egg’s MoT was done by around 14:30 so, that being the scheduled arrival time in these parts of the D-Day flight of DC-3s out of Duxford, we hied ourselves along to a suitable vantage point.  Cutting a long and chilly story short, we finished up drinking tea at Bewl Water until close to 17:00, when the first of them came over.  It proved to be the perfect viewpoint: just a shame the weather was so grey.  Quite something to see so many 75-80 year old planes still airworthy, and they were accompanied by Mustangs, Harvards and Beech 18s of comparable vintage.  As for the delay, one version has it that they had to wait for decent weather near Caen, where the DC-3s were to drop their parachutists.  Another has it that various VIPs’ helicopters were holding things up.  Knowing which VIPs were involved, the latter story seems the more plausible.  Whatever, it was a remarkable experience, and I doubt if we’ll see the like again.

Normality

We’re getting back to it.  The symptoms of Martyn’s stroke soon disappeared, though he tires easily.  I’m doing the driving at the moment, since he was advised not to for a month after the event.  Though it’s now eight weeks, he is waiting to see the consultant before getting behind the wheel again.

Sam the plumber/handyman has finished the tiling and boxing in of pipes in the cloakroom, so it’s ready for James the painter to work his magic while we’re away in France later this month.  He’s doing Martyn’s study and the sitooterie while he’s at it, so we’re doing quite a lot of clearing out at the moment!  We have a growing pile of stuff to take to the charity shop, and have freecycled one of his bookcases and some computer bits and pieces.  I need to tackle the cupboards in the sitooterie: they are full of crockery and glass that we never use, so I think quite a lot of it will be heading down the road ere long.

The garden is in fine form: the roses have started to flower, and old favourites like the irises, cistus and thrift are doing very well.  The potatoes have a luxuriant canopy of leaves, and the runner beans are reaching the top of their frame.  The dwarf French beans are sulking a bit: the big-name supplier’s seeds have done next to nothing, whereas those from a long-open packet from Fortnums are looking altogether stronger.

On Friday, having finished breakfast, I was sitting around in my dressing gown, tapping away at the iPad.  At one point it occurred to me to check my hobby email account, and found a reminder to change my password for the common platform that contains the rota and suchlike.  Having duly complied, I took a quick dip into the rota, only to find that I was due in that very day.  I’d plainly failed to copy the sitting into my calendar.  Well, I was showered, dressed and out the door with the speed of a fleeing adulterer, and was on parade only twenty minutes late.  Needless to say I have double-checked and fortunately found no other errors or omissions!