The roses are regrouping for the next flush, but will take their time because of my radical dead-heading. The beans are cropping about as fast as we can eat them: dwarf French and runners are doing well. We still have half a dozen more bags of spuds to turn out, and are enjoying our little nod at self-sufficiency, particularly since the veg taste so good when they’re freshly cropped. We’ve sown a dozen more bean seeds today, so hope for a modest autumn crop as well.
The penstemons are well into their stride, so need a lot of dead-heading. I re-homed three rooted cuttings this morning to a neighbour who has promised me a bit of her acanthus when she splits it in the spring. The weeds are also thriving, thanks to last week’s mid-30s heat and the torrential rains that followed. Today being rather milder, we set about some of the weeds in the front garden, and have shifted a couple of large garden buckets of dandelions, willowherb, forget-me-nots and much else.
Lots of blue lights outside yesterday evening: three paramedic vehicles and a fire engine turned up at a house just up the side road to our north. I went up to enquire whether there was anything we could usefully do, which a paramedic politely declined. As we were weeding this morning, the neighbour on whose house the blue lights had converged came down with his son to tell us that their wife bzw. mother had died during the evening. Gill was a good and friendly neighbour, and though her health had not been terrific in recent years, there was no hint that she was imminently on her way out. She was 63: carpe diem.
As for us, we’ve had a couple of dealings with the medics this week, but the heirs needn’t bother rubbing their hands yet awhile. We think...
Monday 29 July 2019
Saturday 20 July 2019
Holiday photos
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| Martyn, Martin and our favourite small dog, Chota, on Ruud’s boat. |
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| Spiders’ webs in the mares tails, Canal Latéral à la Garonne, Meilhan |
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| Hollyhock, Saint-Cirq-Lapopie |
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| Place des Herbes, Uzès |
Soixante-neuf and counting
A sad but in a way happy event on Tuesday. Cousin Gill, of whose existence we’ve only known for a little over six years, succumbed a couple of weeks ago to a metastatic ovarian cancer. She chose to ease the burden of the family by deciding to spend her last days in a hospice in Bury St Edmunds where, by all accounts, she was very well looked after. Her funeral was held in the rather lavish late perpendicular church of Sts Peter and Paul in Lavenham, a Suffolk town enriched by the wool trade in the later Middle Ages. The church was not full, but the congregation would have stretched most ordinary village churches. Gill’s husband Chris gave two readings, followed by a cheerful tribute full of anecdotes. Daughters Penny and Fran followed with a nice double act tribute, equally entertaining. Penny and Amanda joined the choir in a rendering of Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus, and their brother David was one of the pallbearers. So Gill had the happy funeral she’d asked for, involving lots of the family.
I have to say that the rendering at the end of the service of the toccata from Charles-Marie Widor’s fifth organ symphony was the second worst I’ve ever heard. It’s a pop piece, sure, but it still needs rehearsing. The organist played it infinitely better than I could, of course, but loud discords held while he tried to work out where the devil he was in the score did nothing for his reputation. (The worst ever, by the way, was in the Tower ballroom in Brighton, where the organist plainly had a train to catch. One-way, I hope.)
Back here at Forges-l’Evêque we’ve just about got the house back to normal after the redecorating, and are content with the results, if a little cross at having had to do the finishing touches ourselves. We’ll brief our man in more detail if we use him again. The sitooterie looks a lot better (a) for a fresh lick of pale grey paint and (b) the absence of the corner cupboards. My parents acquired the cupboards from ‘Auntie’ Phyllis several decades ago, when they were already past their best, and I had them at Smith Towers before we moved them here. They moved to the sitooterie to make space for Martyn’s piano, and the harsh environment did them no favours. So off they went, freecycled to someone who’s going to paint them grey and flog them. The downstairs hüüsli is also looking much tidier, and Martyn’s study too is transformed. Time for me to bite the bullet and sort out my study. Mañana. Talvez.
Last night’s storms (though which I slept) filled the big water butt by the kitchen door overnight. They also brought down a lot of rudbeckias, so I’ve been out with stakes and string, attempting to restore a bit of order. The rain played havoc with the roses, so I filled a big bucket with dead-headings this morning.
Birthday supper of Wiener Schnitzel tonight with vegetables from the garden. So I’d better go and beat nine bells out of the pork fillet.
I have to say that the rendering at the end of the service of the toccata from Charles-Marie Widor’s fifth organ symphony was the second worst I’ve ever heard. It’s a pop piece, sure, but it still needs rehearsing. The organist played it infinitely better than I could, of course, but loud discords held while he tried to work out where the devil he was in the score did nothing for his reputation. (The worst ever, by the way, was in the Tower ballroom in Brighton, where the organist plainly had a train to catch. One-way, I hope.)
Back here at Forges-l’Evêque we’ve just about got the house back to normal after the redecorating, and are content with the results, if a little cross at having had to do the finishing touches ourselves. We’ll brief our man in more detail if we use him again. The sitooterie looks a lot better (a) for a fresh lick of pale grey paint and (b) the absence of the corner cupboards. My parents acquired the cupboards from ‘Auntie’ Phyllis several decades ago, when they were already past their best, and I had them at Smith Towers before we moved them here. They moved to the sitooterie to make space for Martyn’s piano, and the harsh environment did them no favours. So off they went, freecycled to someone who’s going to paint them grey and flog them. The downstairs hüüsli is also looking much tidier, and Martyn’s study too is transformed. Time for me to bite the bullet and sort out my study. Mañana. Talvez.
Last night’s storms (though which I slept) filled the big water butt by the kitchen door overnight. They also brought down a lot of rudbeckias, so I’ve been out with stakes and string, attempting to restore a bit of order. The rain played havoc with the roses, so I filled a big bucket with dead-headings this morning.
Birthday supper of Wiener Schnitzel tonight with vegetables from the garden. So I’d better go and beat nine bells out of the pork fillet.
Saturday 6 July 2019
Home
Given the high temperature in Avignon on Friday (the car was reading 41C) we opted for a long, leisurely breakfast and then a quiet hour or two in our air-conditioned room, reading, word gaming and the like. We had lunch at the hotel, taking our time, then headed out to fuel the car and do some final shopping at the Carrefour near the station. We ambled round every single air-conditioned aisle with no intention of buying anything, but had eventually to go back to the car and turn it in (miraculously without damage).
What of the hire car? It was a Citroën C5 Aircross (car names get more fanciful by the year). Though a mere 1.5 diesel, it performed more than adequately, and was roomy and comfortable, if a bit prone to roll. The automatic gear selector took a bit of learning, as did the cruise control, but once I’d mastered them, the car and I became friends. A couple of things I liked: the cruise control was very prompt to change down on downward slopes, and the reversing camera looked round corners in response to the amount of lock applied. What I disliked? The steering wheel with its silly flat bits top and bottom. The minuscule back window. The ‘lane assist’ thingy which kept tugging at the steering wheel. Oh, and the rather sloppy handling, probably a trade-off for the generally decent ride.
The TGV station at Avignon is air-conditioned, but could not cope with the 41C heat. It is consequently not the best place to spend a couple of hours, let alone the almost three before our delayed train finally hove in. Unaware of the delay, we were out on the platform at the announced ‘à l’heure’ departure time. Shortly before sunstroke set in, a spot of phone prodding revealed that the train was actually running half an hour late, in consequence, we later learned, of a breakdown on the way south. Announcements? Nary a one.
Once on board, we were soon settled into a slightly less crowded coach than last time. At no point on the journey, however, could we access the WiFi, unlike on the way south, and the service was haphazard to say the least. The route is very pretty in parts, particularly between Lyon and Macon, and we were treated to a magnificent sunset when we (finally) left Lille. One ironic moment was when we looked out to see the vast displays of graffiti south of Lyon. Beneath copious rolls of razor wire...
I have to say that the Lille experience is awful. Since there are no international facilities at Marseille, Avignon or Lyon, all passengers must get off at Lille together with all their bags, bits and bobs, go upstairs for ticket checks, two passport checks and baggage X-rays, then hang around in a stuffy waiting room before re-boarding.
It was about midnight before we got home, thanks to roadworks on the M20 (maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to opt for the easy route). In the circumstances, we were perhaps a bit picky when it came to reviewing the decorating that had been done in our absence. Come morning, we were still not wild about it, but have decided to remedy the faults ourselves.
The garden has been busy in our absence. The penstemons have responded well to the hacking I gave them in the spring, the roses have been flowering like mad (I’ve filled a big bucket with dead heads) and the beans (well, most of them) are flowering and starting to set. We’ll give the spuds another week of generous watering before we start turning them out. The weeds have of course been excelling themselves, so there’s plenty of work out there.
A fine day here, so the laundry mountain we brought home is now cupboards and drawers full of clean stuff. I suspect we may be having an early night.
What of the hire car? It was a Citroën C5 Aircross (car names get more fanciful by the year). Though a mere 1.5 diesel, it performed more than adequately, and was roomy and comfortable, if a bit prone to roll. The automatic gear selector took a bit of learning, as did the cruise control, but once I’d mastered them, the car and I became friends. A couple of things I liked: the cruise control was very prompt to change down on downward slopes, and the reversing camera looked round corners in response to the amount of lock applied. What I disliked? The steering wheel with its silly flat bits top and bottom. The minuscule back window. The ‘lane assist’ thingy which kept tugging at the steering wheel. Oh, and the rather sloppy handling, probably a trade-off for the generally decent ride.
The TGV station at Avignon is air-conditioned, but could not cope with the 41C heat. It is consequently not the best place to spend a couple of hours, let alone the almost three before our delayed train finally hove in. Unaware of the delay, we were out on the platform at the announced ‘à l’heure’ departure time. Shortly before sunstroke set in, a spot of phone prodding revealed that the train was actually running half an hour late, in consequence, we later learned, of a breakdown on the way south. Announcements? Nary a one.
Once on board, we were soon settled into a slightly less crowded coach than last time. At no point on the journey, however, could we access the WiFi, unlike on the way south, and the service was haphazard to say the least. The route is very pretty in parts, particularly between Lyon and Macon, and we were treated to a magnificent sunset when we (finally) left Lille. One ironic moment was when we looked out to see the vast displays of graffiti south of Lyon. Beneath copious rolls of razor wire...
I have to say that the Lille experience is awful. Since there are no international facilities at Marseille, Avignon or Lyon, all passengers must get off at Lille together with all their bags, bits and bobs, go upstairs for ticket checks, two passport checks and baggage X-rays, then hang around in a stuffy waiting room before re-boarding.
It was about midnight before we got home, thanks to roadworks on the M20 (maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to opt for the easy route). In the circumstances, we were perhaps a bit picky when it came to reviewing the decorating that had been done in our absence. Come morning, we were still not wild about it, but have decided to remedy the faults ourselves.
The garden has been busy in our absence. The penstemons have responded well to the hacking I gave them in the spring, the roses have been flowering like mad (I’ve filled a big bucket with dead heads) and the beans (well, most of them) are flowering and starting to set. We’ll give the spuds another week of generous watering before we start turning them out. The weeds have of course been excelling themselves, so there’s plenty of work out there.
A fine day here, so the laundry mountain we brought home is now cupboards and drawers full of clean stuff. I suspect we may be having an early night.
Thursday 4 July 2019
Quercy, Causses and Cévennes
On Monday, Jan and Mark took us to Saint-Cirq-Lapopie, a Cathar town not far from Puylaroque, typically built on a crag overlooking the Tarn. Very pretty village, and consequently wall-to-wall tourist traps. We stopped for coffees, ice creams bzw. a glass of wine, and managed to find bread supplies for lunch back at the ranch.
Annie and I spent a little while later in the afternoon in Jan and Mark’s pool: it’s about 10 metres long and about 1,50 at the deep end, so I had a chance to remind myself how it’s done. As ever, after a long interval since the last swim (last July on board the Queen Victoria), I was a bit panicky at first, but soon got the hang of it again.
In the evening we went for supper in Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val, after a good stroll round the historic centre. Good meal, but a bit on the copious side, which made for another lousy night’s sleep, alas.
I took plenty of breaks on the way from there to our next destination. A fuel stop in Lanuéjouls: ever heard of it? Moi non plus. A pause at Lidl in Rodez to buy sandwiches: they were awful, as we discovered at our next stop at the Lac de Gareloup, where we sat on the beach for a while watching people playing in the water, including some water skiing. Thus refreshed, we headed for Millau via pretty minor roads, including one that brought us under the Viaduc. It’s as impressive to pass under it as over it (though infinitely cheaper).
Our digs in Millau were on the outskirts, uphill from the riverside camp sites. As we arrived, people were paragliding off the Causse Noir, and landing in the field just down the hill from us. Our little cabin was clean, minimalist and air-conditioned, and our terrace had a fine distant view across the town to the bridge. When you could see it. Not long after we arrived, the thundery showers began, and continued for a good hour, letting up just in time for us to walk down the hill for supper. Unfortunately the hotel’s WiFi was not reaching the cabins, so any internet use depended on mobile phones.
After a reasonable night’s sleep and breakfast in the open air, we set off for Avignon, taking a beautiful route up the Gorge de la Jonte and down the Corniche des Cévennes. We stopped to buy sandwiches en route at Saint-Jean-du-Gard, and paused for lunch nearby in a shady spot near the Gardon d’Anduze. After lunch we drove to Uzès for a brief look round, pausing for shandy and people-watching in the Place des Herbes. I’d like to take a longer look at Uzès on a cooler day: fascinating city with a maze of streets and alleys between medieval buildings.
The rest of the ride to Avignon was slowish, and our built-in GPS took us on a long ride round the ancient ramparts. The hotel seems clean and quiet despite its location in an industrial zone in the southern outskirts. Still, with temperatures nudging 40C, we wouldn’t be planning on a stroll round the area anyway.
Undecided what to do with our last morning of the trip. Our train leaves at just before 16:00, and we can use our hotel room until 12:00.
Tuesday 2 July 2019
Next stop, Puylaroque
We had a most enjoyable few days at Le Roc with Annie, meeting old friends Danielle, Pierre, Christine and Jacques for an enjoyable catch-up. The canicule had largely dissipated, leaving us with grey damp mornings and more bearable temperatures.
Before we left yesterday, there was a spot of excitement. As we were addressing our first cups of tea, a huge low loader came up the lane carrying a socking great logging tractor. As it passed it caught the telephone wire, snapping it off the post at the foot of the lane, and trailing it up to the top. The fellow didn’t stop, though it was clear when we went and taxed him that he knew he’d done it, and he went into defensive mode: ‘it should be at least 4,50 off the ground, and my truck’s only 4,20!’ We’ll, a kind neighbour reported it to Orange, who’ll no doubt come and fix it in their own good time. This will leave Annie with pretty marginal communications, since the mobile signal at Le Roc is pretty weak.
Not a problem for the next couple of days, since we’ve driven in convoy to Puylaroque for a couple of nights’ stay with Martyn’s relatives Jan and Mark (not forgetting Nellie the labradoodle and Oscar the cat). Mark has been busy since we were last here a couple of years ago. He has had to rebuild the swimming pool because of heave in the clay substrata, and has made, as always, a super job of it. He has added a dining room and a big terrace to the house, built a woodshed and a garage, and doubtless various other things that we haven’t spotted yet. We’re here for one more night before Martyn and I head for Avignon via Millau, and Annie returns to Le Roc. As usual I was the first to surface, so have been to the bakery, returning with warm bread and viennoiseries, so our basement gîte is smelling rather welcoming.
Before we left yesterday, there was a spot of excitement. As we were addressing our first cups of tea, a huge low loader came up the lane carrying a socking great logging tractor. As it passed it caught the telephone wire, snapping it off the post at the foot of the lane, and trailing it up to the top. The fellow didn’t stop, though it was clear when we went and taxed him that he knew he’d done it, and he went into defensive mode: ‘it should be at least 4,50 off the ground, and my truck’s only 4,20!’ We’ll, a kind neighbour reported it to Orange, who’ll no doubt come and fix it in their own good time. This will leave Annie with pretty marginal communications, since the mobile signal at Le Roc is pretty weak.
Not a problem for the next couple of days, since we’ve driven in convoy to Puylaroque for a couple of nights’ stay with Martyn’s relatives Jan and Mark (not forgetting Nellie the labradoodle and Oscar the cat). Mark has been busy since we were last here a couple of years ago. He has had to rebuild the swimming pool because of heave in the clay substrata, and has made, as always, a super job of it. He has added a dining room and a big terrace to the house, built a woodshed and a garage, and doubtless various other things that we haven’t spotted yet. We’re here for one more night before Martyn and I head for Avignon via Millau, and Annie returns to Le Roc. As usual I was the first to surface, so have been to the bakery, returning with warm bread and viennoiseries, so our basement gîte is smelling rather welcoming.
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