ANNUAL RAMBLINGS, 2012

The nice thing about this time of year is the chance to reflect and take stock.  In most ways it has been an uneventful year, though not without its highlights and sad moments.  In the summer we received the shocking news that an old BT France colleague had been killed in a road accident on the Thai-Cambodian border.  I worked with Etienne in Paris in the early 1990s, and had got back in contact via Facebook only this year: we’d planned to connect in Paris at some point.  Too late now: carpe diem.  Through the same medium, we’re in touch with another colleague, Martin and his wife Patricia, who live a couple of hours from us in the Languedoc. We’ve also got back in touch with another colleague, also called Martin, and his wife Kath.  My old boss and his wife, Adam and Oona, came to lunch one day in the summer.  Martyn too has been in touch with ex-colleagues this year.  Patrick, has moved with his family from Brixton to the other end of town, and another, Barbara and her husband, parked their vast camper van in the village in the summer, spending a bit of time with us.

But the big news is the arrival of my first great nephew, Thomas, of whom more anon: here he is with two of his great-uncles.

We potter away at our hobbies: Martyn’s model railways progress apace: there’s usually some adjustment going on in the Swiss landscape up in the loft, and the studio in France now includes a dollop of SE England in 1/160 scale.  He’s also giving a lot of administrative help to his cousin who runs a care home nearby: we were also drafted in to redecorate a room for her back in the spring. 

I draw and paint when the spirit moves me, and have turned out a few pot-boilers over the year.  I’m more than half way through my bench ‘career’, and spend rather a lot of time on Magistrates’ Association work – rather more, in fact than on the ‘job’ itself these days, or so it seems.  

The usual Annual Ramblings columns follow.

The Garden

The Justice of the Peace

Successes and failures in just about equal measure this year in the garden.  Our new rose has settled in well.  Launched last year to mark the 650^th anniversary of the beakdom, it turns out to be strong and a prolific bloomer.  Similarly, cosmos grown from seed have done well, and we grew  cherry plum tomatoes in pots with great success (just as well, given the seed price!).  Our seedling rudbeckias were disappointing, though, and not one of the New Guinea impatiens cuttings made it into bloom.  We have fewer leylandii than we had this time last year – the hedge has gone from between our drive and next door’s, and we had another tree cut down this autumn.  We might get brave and have the hedge at the back taken out – we’d gain about 3 metres of garden – but to achieve anything in the space thus gained, we’d probably have to import a lot of soil, and the shady plot would probably not be all that productive.  The phalaenopsis we were given a while back has not only survived but put out a new flower shoot this year.  The hippeastrum, on the other hand, turned its toes up, and left in the municipal brown bin.

Wheels

The VW grumbles along as before, as does the Egg, which is rising 5 years old.  The depreciation curve on the latter is flattening out now, so we’ll probably keep it so long as it stays reliable.  I grizzle at the garage once in a while about the transmission noise from the VW, and they always respond ‘they all do that, sir’.  But in all other respects it is so good that I can forgive it that one fault.  It had a little misunderstanding with a French wall in July, so needed the tailgate dressed out and re-sprayed.  I took the opportunity to have the tinsel left off when they put it together again.  It was fixed locally, cheaply and very promptly, and looks better. 

We were persuaded to rent a Chevrolet Captiva in France in the autumn, having booked something Mégane sized.  Mistake.  OK, it had leather seats, four-wheel drive and an automatic box, but it was a miserable brute to drive.  The seats had absolutely no lateral support, the gearbox was an old-fashioned slush-pump job and hung on to the gears for far too long, even on the ‘eco’ setting. 

On our travels, we made a lot of use of public transport in Germany and Switzerland, using tourist passes.  One day in Switzerland, we used 3 trams, 7 trains, a boat and a bus.  And we took a train from Berlin to Hamburg that continued by ferry across the Fehmarn Belt into Denmark.   Less impressed by the UK system, though I make much use of my old-geezer passes.

Arrivals

Celia and Andy joined us in France for a few days in the summer: a birthday trip for Celia, and a chance for us to thank them for minding the house while we’ve been away.  We did a lot of the familiar trips together: to the seaside, mountains and the Canal du Midi.  Their arrival in Toulouse was a bit like a French farce: there was a lengthy delay in getting their bags delivered to the carousel, and every so often one of them would appear as the doors to customs swung open, just to let us know that they were still there, and still waiting.  Perfect house guests, I should add.

Mihaela, Roger and Rara passed through in August, while we were away.  They had rented a gite up the road from us, so just dropped in to collect Rara’s cot, which is parked on our landing.  They took down and put away the laundry we’d left hanging in July, however!

In northern climes, we had frequent visits from our part-time pet mallards, who raised a small family this year, perhaps consequent on activities we noticed on the pond.  Sad to report that only two ducklings appear to have survived: cats, foxes, jays and magpies will have had the rest, I suppose.

Food and Drink

Restaurant Louis, Neukölln

As a glance at our profiles readily reveals, we are not missing at meal times.  In my planning of the Germany jaunt, I happened on a place in Berlin that boasts the largest schnitzel of the Federal capital.  The doggy bags and tin foil arrived unbidden when we’d capitulated about a third the way through them, and we got two further meals and a sandwich out of them.  Very friendly place: they’d to send out for more meat after we’d ordered, and plied us with brandy while we waited.

We found numerous bonnes adresses in Germany, but scored out a lot in France.  It’s shocking to discover how French catering has declined lately.  Fast food joints used to be a refreshing surprise: more recently they have disappointed, and many middle-of-the-road restaurants are now disappointing.  As for Switzerland, don’t eat on lake steamers unless you have far more money than taste.

Back here, we have a dwindling supply of marmalade under the stairs, but a couple of bottles of sloe gin are coming along nicely.  New recipes: poached haddock for a digestively-challenged lunch guest.  Onions, carrots, celery and vermouth in the poaching liquid; onions and carrots in the accompanying mash. Rillons de porc – a Hugh F-W recipe: look it up.  Delia’s baked trout with crème fraîche and chives.  And Martyn’s and Celia’s delicious and subtly different fish pies.

Clan

Anna and Richard have a fine son, Thomas James, who arrived in the small hours of Fathers’ Day: I had a call from the proud Grandpapa around breakfast time, and we got to see Tom a couple of weeks later.  He appears to be thriving – well, he would, wouldn’t he?

Martyn’s niece Nina has remarried: we were there to share the day with her and Stephen in Rochester.  My cousin’s daughter Ceri too has remarried, and we learn that she and Paul are now expecting a daughter.  Nephew Nel and I play word games together on facebook.  Beware: he’s damn’ good!    

Arts

I

’ve battled my way through the Booker shortlist again this year, but am wondering whether it’s worth the expense and effort.  My favourite was The Garden of Evening Mists.  I have since read the same author’s first novel The Gift of Rain.  We shall see much more of Tan Twen Eng, I hope.  Ms Mantel’s winner was a deserving one.  Mr Self’s Umbrella was an equally deserving loser, yet it’s his book, for all the affectation of his narrative technique, that sticks in my mind.  I think it was that that brought my Kindle to its knees, forcing me to buy a new one.  I did get a bit of discount, fortunately. 

We’ve been to a few live events this year.  An excellent piano recital by Charlie Felter on an upright in the hall over the changing rooms in Lagrasse, and a deafening organ grind, the programme of which was made up of, we thought, deservedly obscure pieces.  In Disgustedville, we’ve seen impressive performances of Calendar Girls and Chicago and a concert of Saint-Saëns and Poulenc pieces for orchestra and organ.  

I keep slapping paint about, and occasionally manage to capture the loose style that I prefer.  It doesn’t work often, but I think I got it in this one.   I do most of my stuff in acrylics, preferably on canvas, but sometimes also on paper, which is far too absorbent until it has had a coat or two of gesso.  Most recently, I've been fiddling about with water colours again, but really lack the discipline and delicacy of touch to use the medium well.

Departures

Having grown up in the 1960s, the building of the Berlin Wall and the confrontation of tanks in the Friedrichstraβe stick in the mind.  Some years ago, I returned briefly to Berlin, and since then have been longing to go back for a longer visit.  This year we took the chance to take a tour in Germany, spending three nights in Berlin and one in Hamburg.  Excellent experience.  Part of the rationale was to visit the huge model railway layouts in each city, and we weren’t disappointed!  Loxx in Berlin is already impressive, but Miniaturwunderland in Hamburg is worth the journey, even if you aren’t interested in model railways.  The sheer scale of the thing is impressive, and the detail and humorous touches are a delight.

In Berlin, we took a free guided tour of the Reichstag building, and don’t hesitate to recommend it.  You have to book in advance, though, so make sure you check in on the web site a couple of weeks before you go.  I think we did a third of the things we’d planned to do, so we may return.  The flat we rented in the former Soviet sector was inexpensive and superb.  It was only when we got home that we discovered that it was built on the site of the Führerbunker, hence the guided tours that stopped from time to time below our living room window.  Looking further out, the huge Tiergarten park dominated the horizon, and a little closer in was the vast memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe.  Between the two is the monument to homosexual victims of the Nazis, who were recognised only decades later.

Oddly enough, we’ve been to Lagrasse several times this year.  We finally got round to re-decorating the guest room, which has been nagging me ever since I bought the place in 1998.  The ceiling paper was sagging, the wallpaper was tasteless and applied over drips of  cement and plaster, and the paintwork was that tired putty colour that tends to prevail in those parts.  Well, the job was a nightmare, and took about 10 days.  We had to take off several layers of wallpaper, and scrape the distemper off every square centimetre of the ceiling.  Then we had to fill the many cracks and fissures in the plaster.  We’d hoped to put paint on the plaster, but part of the wall was badly stained from what must have been a cracked stovepipe, so we had to paper the walls with a robust German vinyl before painting.  We’ll see in a year or so whether that and a coat of size will be enough to keep the tar in its place.

I’ve already touched on our visit to Switzerland, which came as  a welcome refresher after the Lagrasse chores.  Pam and Geoff once again kindly let us use not only their spare flat in Berne, but also their garage (they being in Scotland at the time), and the car remained there until we left.  We’d bought Swiss rail passes, which allow travel on just about everything for four days in a given fourteen, and we set ourselves some testing itineraries.  It’ll be a few years before the Gotthard base tunnel opens, so in the meantime you can still enjoy the amazing climbs and spiral tunnels. The new tunnel will allow a few more utterly relaxing hours in Lugano, of course. 

I think the day I enjoyed most was the one we spent in old haunts around Zürich.  I’d never lingered in Schaffhausen, so we picked up a walking tour leaflet at the station and had a nice amble round the decorated buildings of the old town.  Train N°3 of the day took us to the Rhine falls, where an even more dramatic viewing platform has been built since I was last there in the late 1990s.  (So too has a rather depressing tourist building.)  From there we ambled on three more trains down through the much under-rated Zürcher Oberland to Rapperswil, where we took the steamer back to Zürich, there to get a train back to Berne.

Another day, we rode down to Flüelen, and caught the steamer back up to Luzern.  Lovely views, even though it was hazy.  At various points we met other steamers and motor vessels, and even an ancient steam dinghy.  The exuberant blowing of whistles just confirmed how delightfully zany the Swiss can be, for all the correctness that I must admit to finding almost as attractive.

We wish you all the best for the forthcoming festive hostilities, and as good a 2013 as the increasingly feckless coalition allows. 

 

Martyn & David

The Teeming Metrollops

Two trips to London in recent days, and another in prospect.  I repeat myself, I know, but each trip reminds me how grateful I am that I no longer have to do it every day.  I'd a meeting last Friday at Guildhall, and the travelling was reasonably painless, even if the 9.00-ish up train was pretty crowded.  Disaster looms, however: I've got into the habit of using a country station where one can park free, and find that a lot of groundwork is in progress to create more parking.  You guessed it: parking will cost £4.30 a day in future.  Wednesday's London trip was the other way round - quiet on the 1:00 pm-ish up train, but no direct evening train.  Train 1 was packed like a jar of anchovies, and I'd a lengthy wait at an intermediate stop for train 2.  For some reason, evening peak hour trains do not stop at our station.  But although parking is much reduced by the groundworks, I did find a slot each time.

It was rather striking to see how much the City has changed since I worked there.  Familiar buildings have come down (and no bad thing, in the case of BTI's monstrous ziggurat, Mondial House) to be replaced with new landmarks like the Shard (only the bottom few floors of which were visible in last Friday's gloom) and the Gherkin, but also by some pretty ordinary structures.  Bucklersbury House has come down, leaving a large hole diagonally opposite Cannon Street station.  A problem in London just now is the sheer scale of disruption caused by work on the Crossrail link.  The bus I use to get from London Bridge to Islington goes pretty well straight there as before via the Bank, Moorgate and City Road, but on the way back it has to thread its way round the back streets almost as far as Liverpool Street before twisting back to Threadneedle Street.  Good job I'd allowed plenty of time.

I'm quietly pleased with the outcome of the elections for our county's Police and Crime Commissioner.  First because a vast majority of the electorate treated the whole thing with appropriate disdain.  Second because those of us who did vote returned the outgoing chair of the police authority (who stood as an independent) with twice the vote of the runner up political candidate.  I'm less happy with the amount of money it has cost the taxpayer, though I suppose it pales into insignificance compared with recent governments' other futile gambles.

The election meant that the art group could not meet at its normal venue, a scout hut in a neighbouring town.  We were due to debrief a project, so I invited the crowd here, and we did the session in the sitootery.  Very pleasant, and I got to show off with a bit of home baking. 

Return match

We've been out and about today, having been invited to lunch with Kath and Martin (see 9 May blog) at their place near Midhurst.  They are such good company, and regaled us with a fine lunch.  The drive there was pleasant in the autumn colours, though a bit more sunshine would have helped.  I'd forgotten how charming the countryside is in parts of Surrey and West Sussex.  We tend to become a bit complacent about the surroundings in our county, and it's refreshing to be reminded that we don't enjoy a monopoly of scenery.

On Thursday, among many other things, I should go and vote in the election of our police commissioner.  I cannot understand the logic for this initiative, other than to show the editors of the red tops that the government is Doing Something.  But at what cost?  If I vote at all, I shall ignore the party line and vote for the outgoing (Independent) chair of the police authority.

Oh, and while I'm on a rant, why is it that diesel costs more here than in France, where the vehicle tax has been factored into fuel taxes?  Well, the answer is clear: if they up the diesel price, the republican highways will grind to a halt behind opérations escargot in which all that's needed is a truck in each lane and on the shoulder running parallel  at 30 kph.  Successive governments, I've heard it said, have thus been blackmailed into keeping the diesel taxes low, which is why I drive a heavy oil burner.  But the principle is impeccable.  Taxation is based on consumption, and rewards fuel efficiency and low mileage.  The heaviest taxes are paid by those who do the most damage to the roads and to air quality.  By adopting this approach, the government could close down the vehicle excise duty industry at the DVLA at a stroke, and save police enforcement effort and court time.

Home

Air travel is never a great experience, and I'm sure Mr O'Leary would agree that he isn't interested in  making it any less unpleasant.  His outfit raked in close on half a billion Euros in profit last year, which can't be bad, even if his customers do grizzle.  The flight got us back on schedule (which they never cease crowing about) despite some delays getting rolling at Perpignan.  We'd plenty time once the closing-down chores were done, and so ambled across the mountains, rather than use more fuel and pay tolls on the autoroute.  Lovely views of the Pyrenees and of the vineyards, which are now colouring up nicely. We also had time for a serviceable lunch at the airport.  (Don't have the red fruit crumble - served cold in a stodgy pastry case, and desperately sweet.)  Nice view south across the apron, watching the starlings swooping across the horizon.   Of aircraft movements, next to nothing: a couple of light aircraft only apart from our flight and one for Orly.  Perpignan serves relatively few destinations, so it was surprising to see a Nordwind Airlines 757 parked there with no stairs attached.  Who they? you enquire.  No clue in the Bermuda registration, and it turns out to be Russian.  There's a firm at Perpignan that does a lot of re-painting and cannibalising of older aircraft for spares, so we speculate that there wasn't room for it on the maintenance hangar apron, which is rather full of de-engined 727s etc.

As when we left, the journey from Stansted home was less bad than we'd expected, with only brief spells of crawling in the M25 queues.  Busy, of course, and unpleasant in the rain and darkness, but it was over in an hour and a half, including a pause to get bread and milk in the village.  It's nice to be back in a centrally-heated house, though, and to get back to our competent vehicles.

During our absence, the Mairie has replied signalling no objection to my proposed re-pointing of the house, saying only that the work must be finished flush to the surface of the stones, using local sand that matches the colour of the stones.  Good news, since the town clerk thought I might have to re-render the wall, which would have cost substantially more.  So, armed with letters from the Mayor, the Architecte des Bâtiments de  France, the Direction Régionale des Affaires Culturelles de Languedoc-Roussillon (Service Territorial de l'Architecture et du Patrimoine de l'Aude), the Ministère de l'Ecologie, du Développement Durable et de l'Energie (whose comment, incidentally, reads 'sorry, mate - not my department, but here's a list of a few other other ministries who could do with the jobs') and the Prefect, no less.  The cream of the Grandes Ecoles having thus been kept busy for three months, I am now authorised to point my walls.  Just don't let them discover 'elf 'n safety, please!

Moving on

The week has flown by. We'll be cleaning and laundering tomorrow, and working our way through the usual leaving checklist.  Exquisite light this morning as we came home from a quick shopping trip to the Préfecture town.  The low sun shows up the contours of the land and the texture of the vegetation very well, and the leaves on the vines are starting to colour up nicely.  The village is starting to move towards hibernation: a number of restaurants have now closed for the winter, though there were still a lot of tourists here at the weekend.  Last Thursday was the Toussaint holiday (the village bone orchard is a blaze of chrysanthemums and cyclamens), and a lot of people will have taken Friday off to make a long weekend (known in these parts as faire le pont).

As we approached town, a white van came the other way, towing a trailer.  The driver was rubbing an eye with his left hand, and clamping the mobile phone to the right ear with the right.  So, one eye in operation, towing a trailer, and steering with I'd sooner not enquire what. The carnage on French roads is pretty easy to explain when you've driven here for a few days.  As I write, a fellow just started up his 4x4 across the way, then started backing up the street while at the same time giving more attention to flicking a cigarette out of the packet and into the gob.  Perhaps I'm wrong about all this: maybe French drivers are without exception sublimely skilful,  attentive - and constantly attended by guardian angels.  And perhaps not.  Despite other people's driving and the sloppy handling of the rental car (which I'm starting to loathe) we made it to town and back unscathed.

Next year's agenda here is about building repairs (officialdom permitting) and plumbing.  We've confirmed the choice of new lavvies that I'd seen on the Lapeyre web site.  We'll get them ordered up and fitted next year, when we shall have a short list of jobs for a plumber.  One of  the taps in the cellier has jammed shut, so we're having to use the dishwasher and washing machine one at a time, and the supply pipe is not properly fixed to the wall.  Still, at least our waste water is dealt with by good republican drains, and not by the temperamental septic tanks that afflict some of our friends.  We really do know how to have a good time, don't we?

Tomorrow brings airports, a cramped and under-pressurised Boeing 737 and the M25.  Stand by for an industrial-strength grizzle next time.

The Joys of Motoring

Footnote on the rented vehicle.  I'm getting used to its bulk, but hate the sloppy handling, which is not helped by seats that are out of tune with the suspension, and lack lateral support.  The gearbox is a bore: despite selecting the setting that supposedly changes gears and locks up the slush pump at lower revs, it seems really fussy, so that the wheels seem only loosely connected to the engine, and there is none of the mechanical harmony that I'm used to with the people's cart back home. For a big, butch-looking vehicle, it sounds distinctly limp-wristed.  It's not without its good points: it steps off the mark briskly, thanks to a low bottom gear (but so did my 1995 Laguna). The large load bay allowed us to schlepp the firewood home in fewer layers, so that there was no fallout over the sides of the tarpaulin - so often we bring home the firewood and stack it, then have to hoover out the car.  Talk about damning with faint praise, though: I'm reminded of a friend of my father who said of a certain Ford 'It's got doors like a Daimler: but I look for more in a car than doors'.  Oh, and by the way, the key fob defines the colour as noir foncé.  That's good: I can't stand pale black.