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APRIL
26-04-08 Le Grande move Part 1
"Fuck, fuuuccckk, FFFUUUCCCKKK"
That is the sound that signifies the loss of the £100 deposit on your rental van.
So far it had been a very long but rather uneventful trip, (apart from an 'I thought you had the reservation numbers' moment at the overnight motel in Boulogne) but here 10 miles from our new front door it all started to go a bit pear shaped.
My Lovely and quite wonderful cousin had offered to drive our belongings from the North-east of England to the West of France, via Edinburgh and Luton (logistics have never really been my strong point and I think if our belongings and weekend babysitters were anymore scattered my head would have exploded), and after 3 days and 1500 miles we had arrived at the estate agents to pick up the keys to our new place. Sadly, for us, our English speaking estate agent friend was out on an appointment so after a fair bit of nodding and pointing and mutually exchanged blank looks we had signed the contracts and were given the keys.
Off we set with a bounce in our step back to the van. The 'big town' where the estate agency is has a beautiful medieval basilica and some wondrously twisty tiny streets. And a modern but very low railway bridge. as we approached Hubs and I were too busy clutching the keys and each other to be paying too much attention, but as cousin started muttering things like 'should fit' & 'didn't hear the chains'(you know the chains that are supposed to trail on your roof if your vehicle is too high, but are always wrapped round the barriers several times and all hang at different lengths, those ones), we turned our attention to the rapidly approaching concrete. With Hubs now immortal words ' I don't think it’s going to fit...' came the distinctive sound of twisting metal impacting on concrete and the expletive stream from cousin.
As he tried desperately to reverse the van out of the bridge (I'm not sure which sound is worse, crashing in our scraping out), a small crowd of onlookers had gathered to applaud his heroic efforts. With a mighty surge we were free and reversing up the hill and trying to find another way out of town.
Hubs later told me that he thought I was really angry as I didn't say a word, but in all honesty I didn't think that bursting out laughing would add a positive to the situation so I clamped my teeth together until the urge subsided.
We pulled into the supermarket car park and got out. Cousins optimistic statement that 'it doesn't look too bad, I could probably bash that out' was not echoed by the look of sheer horror on Hubs face. It was, in the words of the hire company 'a really bloody big dent' in the roof of the van (and that was after cousin had spent two hours the next morning hammering it out). Still the purchase of baguettes and beer lightened the mood and we traveled the last short distance to home.
And what a home, as far distant to Luton and London as you could get, and not a knife amnesty bin in sight.
As we started to unpack our worldly goods a sense of peace overcame me quite suddenly. I stood under the apple tree in our front garden and started to cry some very happy tears. We were home at last.
Le Grande move Part 2
So, home at last. Almost as soon as I had the front door open the van was being unpacked, and boy what a pack it was, if you can for a second imagine the contents of a 3 bedroom house compressed and compacted into the back of a transit van, (sadly minus our WONDERFUL chairs which are now residing in a garden shed in the north-east - we'll come for you soon..), then you will realise that there was barely a centimetre left unfilled. As I surveyed my new domain, I suddenly remembered the last thing I had packed very carefully in the van - I ran to the front garden, but it was too late. There on the road was Hank.
Hank has been with us for a long time; since hubs and I set up home together he has been part of the family. He survived a multitude of home moves and with each move he has been rewarded a new home of his own and has thrived and grown with us. I remember when we first got him, he was so small you could hold him in one hand, and by the time he was packed this time he took up an entire bag for life.
Hank is our cactus; Hank was now battered and broken on the road outside our house. It’s not the first time that Hubs has dropped Hank (accidentally of course) but judging by the state of him I fear it may be the last.
After clearing the wreckage as best we could, and removing a multitude of cactus spines from our fingers, we carried on unpacking. Several hours later with hubs and cousin dispatched on a quest for beer and tobacco, I was in unpacking heaven. Most of these boxes had been packed over 6 months ago and been in storage and each was a voyage of discovery. But we do have WAY too many vases
Upon the return of the hunter gatherers we tucked into the best bread, cheese and beer I had ever tasted (until we met Sophie the baker, but that's another story). Exhausted we all retired to our mattress, leaving cousin locked in a battle to the death with a flat pack desk (the desk won by the way), we were ready to fall into bed so we switched the light out, and fell into each other. Literally. It was SO dark, you really can’t see a thing, as we crashed and stumbled around the room trying to find the light switch again, the view from the window stopped us in our tracks. Stars, so many stars, thousands, millions spread before us in a sky that you wouldn't believe. It might seem like a silly thing to ask, but when was the last time you really saw the sky? Not with an ever present dull orange glow, not the occasional bright pin spot amongst the aeroplane lights. But a real dark black sky with the cosmos laid out before you. I urge you all to find some time, and go as far away from civilisation as you possibly can, and just look up.
27-04-08 Back already
It was with a heavy heart that we locked up the house the next day. Time to return to England, return the dented van and collect the small one. Try as I might, the night before I just couldn't figure a way to get small one to France without me having to go and get her. The miles passed in relative quiet and sooner than I would have liked we were back in the UK speeding towards London to drop off hubs in a random suburb of London, just off the m25, to find his way back to pimlico via the night bus network. On we sped to the m1 desperate to get to junction 10 to overnight at Luton. We were celebrating with each other that in about 10 mins time we would be drinking coffee and eating pasta, and commiserating that it would probably take hubs a hell of a lot longer to get across London than it would for us to get 'home', when the traffic started to get heavier and slower. We had just passed junction 9 on the m1 when we ground to a halt. A total stop, 4 lanes at that point and those seeking a quick escape on the hard shoulder were also out of luck. We scanned the radio for any sign of what it could possibly be causing this standstill, we were thinking a multiple pile up at least, and I mean it was 10pm on a Sunday night. 10 minutes later we had managed about 100meters at a crawl and tempers were starting to fray, there was still nothing on the radio and as if to stick the knife in we could still see the slip road of the previous junction in the mirror. It was about an hour later that we received news that hubs had made it to Leicester sq and was waiting for his last bus of the evening; we on the other hand were still some way from the next junction. Then we eventually came upon the cause of the delay my gast was indeed flabbered. No accident or emergency, just plain simple good old fashioned roadworks. For nearly 2000 miles we had slogged across Europe with not so much as a tiny tailback to impede us, and here 4 miles from our destination we were well and truly stuck. While my cousin vented his spleen about the government, the road traffic agency and anything else he could think of, I decided that the only sensible course of action was to sit back, have a smoke and wait. We made it to my friend’s house at 11.45pm; just minutes before hubs rang to inform us he was safely back at the flat. 36 miles in just under 2 hours. I know it’s important to do roadworks and I know that on a motorway the best time to close an entire section of the motorway (and divert all traffic off at the slip road round the roundabout and down the other side to rejoin the motorway), would be late on a Sunday night, but I really wish it hadn't been at our junction.
26-04-08 Le Grande move Part 1
"Fuck, fuuuccckk, FFFUUUCCCKKK"
That is the sound that signifies the loss of the £100 deposit on your rental van.
So far it had been a very long but rather uneventful trip, (apart from an 'I thought you had the reservation numbers' moment at the overnight motel in Boulogne) but here 10 miles from our new front door it all started to go a bit pear shaped.
My Lovely and quite wonderful cousin had offered to drive our belongings from the North-east of England to the West of France, via Edinburgh and Luton (logistics have never really been my strong point and I think if our belongings and weekend babysitters were anymore scattered my head would have exploded), and after 3 days and 1500 miles we had arrived at the estate agents to pick up the keys to our new place. Sadly, for us, our English speaking estate agent friend was out on an appointment so after a fair bit of nodding and pointing and mutually exchanged blank looks we had signed the contracts and were given the keys.
Off we set with a bounce in our step back to the van. The 'big town' where the estate agency is has a beautiful medieval basilica and some wondrously twisty tiny streets. And a modern but very low railway bridge. as we approached Hubs and I were too busy clutching the keys and each other to be paying too much attention, but as cousin started muttering things like 'should fit' & 'didn't hear the chains'(you know the chains that are supposed to trail on your roof if your vehicle is too high, but are always wrapped round the barriers several times and all hang at different lengths, those ones), we turned our attention to the rapidly approaching concrete. With Hubs now immortal words ' I don't think it’s going to fit...' came the distinctive sound of twisting metal impacting on concrete and the expletive stream from cousin.
As he tried desperately to reverse the van out of the bridge (I'm not sure which sound is worse, crashing in our scraping out), a small crowd of onlookers had gathered to applaud his heroic efforts. With a mighty surge we were free and reversing up the hill and trying to find another way out of town.
Hubs later told me that he thought I was really angry as I didn't say a word, but in all honesty I didn't think that bursting out laughing would add a positive to the situation so I clamped my teeth together until the urge subsided.
We pulled into the supermarket car park and got out. Cousins optimistic statement that 'it doesn't look too bad, I could probably bash that out' was not echoed by the look of sheer horror on Hubs face. It was, in the words of the hire company 'a really bloody big dent' in the roof of the van (and that was after cousin had spent two hours the next morning hammering it out). Still the purchase of baguettes and beer lightened the mood and we traveled the last short distance to home.
And what a home, as far distant to Luton and London as you could get, and not a knife amnesty bin in sight.
As we started to unpack our worldly goods a sense of peace overcame me quite suddenly. I stood under the apple tree in our front garden and started to cry some very happy tears. We were home at last.
Le Grande move Part 2
So, home at last. Almost as soon as I had the front door open the van was being unpacked, and boy what a pack it was, if you can for a second imagine the contents of a 3 bedroom house compressed and compacted into the back of a transit van, (sadly minus our WONDERFUL chairs which are now residing in a garden shed in the north-east - we'll come for you soon..), then you will realise that there was barely a centimetre left unfilled. As I surveyed my new domain, I suddenly remembered the last thing I had packed very carefully in the van - I ran to the front garden, but it was too late. There on the road was Hank.
Hank has been with us for a long time; since hubs and I set up home together he has been part of the family. He survived a multitude of home moves and with each move he has been rewarded a new home of his own and has thrived and grown with us. I remember when we first got him, he was so small you could hold him in one hand, and by the time he was packed this time he took up an entire bag for life.
Hank is our cactus; Hank was now battered and broken on the road outside our house. It’s not the first time that Hubs has dropped Hank (accidentally of course) but judging by the state of him I fear it may be the last.
After clearing the wreckage as best we could, and removing a multitude of cactus spines from our fingers, we carried on unpacking. Several hours later with hubs and cousin dispatched on a quest for beer and tobacco, I was in unpacking heaven. Most of these boxes had been packed over 6 months ago and been in storage and each was a voyage of discovery. But we do have WAY too many vases
Upon the return of the hunter gatherers we tucked into the best bread, cheese and beer I had ever tasted (until we met Sophie the baker, but that's another story). Exhausted we all retired to our mattress, leaving cousin locked in a battle to the death with a flat pack desk (the desk won by the way), we were ready to fall into bed so we switched the light out, and fell into each other. Literally. It was SO dark, you really can’t see a thing, as we crashed and stumbled around the room trying to find the light switch again, the view from the window stopped us in our tracks. Stars, so many stars, thousands, millions spread before us in a sky that you wouldn't believe. It might seem like a silly thing to ask, but when was the last time you really saw the sky? Not with an ever present dull orange glow, not the occasional bright pin spot amongst the aeroplane lights. But a real dark black sky with the cosmos laid out before you. I urge you all to find some time, and go as far away from civilisation as you possibly can, and just look up.
27-04-08 Back already
It was with a heavy heart that we locked up the house the next day. Time to return to England, return the dented van and collect the small one. Try as I might, the night before I just couldn't figure a way to get small one to France without me having to go and get her. The miles passed in relative quiet and sooner than I would have liked we were back in the UK speeding towards London to drop off hubs in a random suburb of London, just off the m25, to find his way back to pimlico via the night bus network. On we sped to the m1 desperate to get to junction 10 to overnight at Luton. We were celebrating with each other that in about 10 mins time we would be drinking coffee and eating pasta, and commiserating that it would probably take hubs a hell of a lot longer to get across London than it would for us to get 'home', when the traffic started to get heavier and slower. We had just passed junction 9 on the m1 when we ground to a halt. A total stop, 4 lanes at that point and those seeking a quick escape on the hard shoulder were also out of luck. We scanned the radio for any sign of what it could possibly be causing this standstill, we were thinking a multiple pile up at least, and I mean it was 10pm on a Sunday night. 10 minutes later we had managed about 100meters at a crawl and tempers were starting to fray, there was still nothing on the radio and as if to stick the knife in we could still see the slip road of the previous junction in the mirror. It was about an hour later that we received news that hubs had made it to Leicester sq and was waiting for his last bus of the evening; we on the other hand were still some way from the next junction. Then we eventually came upon the cause of the delay my gast was indeed flabbered. No accident or emergency, just plain simple good old fashioned roadworks. For nearly 2000 miles we had slogged across Europe with not so much as a tiny tailback to impede us, and here 4 miles from our destination we were well and truly stuck. While my cousin vented his spleen about the government, the road traffic agency and anything else he could think of, I decided that the only sensible course of action was to sit back, have a smoke and wait. We made it to my friend’s house at 11.45pm; just minutes before hubs rang to inform us he was safely back at the flat. 36 miles in just under 2 hours. I know it’s important to do roadworks and I know that on a motorway the best time to close an entire section of the motorway (and divert all traffic off at the slip road round the roundabout and down the other side to rejoin the motorway), would be late on a Sunday night, but I really wish it hadn't been at our junction.
Misadventures in Mayenne
July/August/September
If you have any comments or questions, please feel free to contact me at hillywillyworld@gmail.com
MAY
05-05 I want to go home now
So after a few days back in the UK, at my wonderful friend JJ's house, all I could think about was getting home, we finally booked our passage. I decided that the easiest, and cheapest, way (as we still had no car) was to National express it from London to Paris overnight then train From Paris to home. The evening came and we set of for Victoria coach station to bid farewell to hubs (who had to stay and work), and wait for our coach. And wait, and wait, and wait...over an hour had passed since the scheduled departure time, and moo who was already having a late night adventure, was getting cranky(in case you have never had the joy of travelling via Victoria coach station it’s really not that nice - although much better than Milton Keynes...). The coach finally arrived and we managed to fight through the surge of bodies rushing to get their luggage stowed and grab the best seats, and after a tearful farewell with hubs, we were finally on board. I had picked a couple of seats behind an elderly quiet looking man and opposite a young man who was either on his way from or to (or possibly both) a festival, and it was fair to assume he would be asleep most of the way. We set up camp for the night and as we left the station I noticed that moo was already asleep, I planned to join her as soon as possible. What I hadn't counted on was the old man’s bottle stash overhead clinking together at every bump twist or turn in the road...so much for sleep. We were already against the clock to get to euro tunnel in time for our train, but the driver assured us that as long as there were no hold ups we would just make it. And we did make it to the departures area with minutes to spare, just a quick flash of the passports and we'd be through, or so we thought. Immigration and customs boarded the bus and took all of our passports for checking and as the minutes ticked by we all gathered there must have been a problem, other than the fact we had just missed our train. Immigration returned without our passports and requested that we all leave the bus retrieve our luggage and wait in the customs hall for further instructions. The young traveller beside us was now in a cold sweat frantically searching through his pockets whilst trying to locate the nearest dustbin that was out of sight of the customs office. It was now just after 2am, and moo was not at all happy at being woken and moved, but I'd like to say a HUGE thank you to our bus driver, who wrapped her in his coat and hushed her back to sleep as I faffed about getting luggage and buggy from the bus (and on the way back onto the bus), you have no-idea how much that small act of kindness meant to me. By the time I made it into customs the search was all but over and done and I was waved through the formalities by a very understanding young French officer who took one look at me and the now sleeping again moo, and decided that we didn't look like the smuggling type and saw no need to wake her up to put the buggy through the scanner - god bless you Monsieur - so we were sorted and re-instated with our passports and told to get back on the bus. As we left the room we saw the cause of our little delay. One of the passengers had 4 enormous suitcases packed with fake designer goods, from perfume to shoes, handbags to jackets none of which would now make their final destination of the Paris market stall which they had been intended for. As we got settled back into the bus moo woke up briefly and stated that when we got to France there would be chickens in the garden, I've no idea where this thought came to her but she was most adamant that this would be so, I tried to dissuade her but she would not be told. It was then I saw the young traveller from the seat opposite trying to be nonchalant as he searched the outside bins for his recently discarded stash. From the big grin on his face when he got back on I'm guessing it was a successful search.
06-05 part 2
In the end we had to wait another 2 hours in the eurostar coach park, but at least I managed to get some sleep! The rest of the journey was thankfully uneventful and as I watched the sun rise on the road to Paris all of the tiredness seemed to melt away. We were nearly home. Of course the delay meant that we arrived in Paris at 8.30 am instead of the planned 6.15 so traversing the city on the metro was a little busier than I had hoped for, but the commuters on the midweek metro were courteous, and extremely helpful with carting the buggy up and down the steps at the interchange and allowed us as much space as they could in the carriage. They were all either very accommodating or rather unnerved by this loony tourist who had obviously had no sleep, with a ton of baggage and a small person in tow at rush hour in the centre of the city. Either way it was a pleasant journey for us. We arrived at the main station and on seeing that we could rush for a train that was leaving in 15 minutes or get one in an hour I opted for a coffee and a croissant and a sit on the grass outside in the sunshine. It was a beautiful sunny morning and all was well with the world, I had coffee and moo was having a run about on the grass chasing the pigeons. We made our way to our platform in plenty of time and finally found out where we were supposed to be sitting, it was a busy train, but moo contented herself with colouring in and eating strawberries and telling anyone who would listen that 'we do live in France now, and we've got a chicken in our garden’. Try as I might I could do nothing to persuade her that there would be no chicken. We changed onto the local train at Le Mans and less than 2 hours from leaving Paris we were standing in the estate agents. Well we would have been had we not arrived at 1pm, bang in the middle of lunch. It’s a curious thing to realise that here they still close for lunch, not only that but lunch is 2 hours long. We headed instead to a local hotel and sat outside with a beer and baguette (well I did, moo had juice) and relaxed in the sunshine. I could get used to this. When 2 o'clock rolled round I headed back to receive instructions from our friend J, at the agency, and then headed off to the bank and the insurers to get the legalities squared. Even given my alarming lack of French it all went rather smoothly, particularly as moo has decided to have an afternoon nap during proceedings. By this point I was itching to get to the house but as we had no car I was waiting for a lift from J, who had another appointment so I went shopping for provisions at the local butchers and bakers and epiceré (a store for everything you can’t get at the butchers or bakers). At last J had finished for the day and we were on our way home. Moo and I were both so excited, the drive through the countryside passed in a blur and before we knew it we were there. Home. As I opened the front gate moo let out a squeal of delight as there in the front garden, under the apple tree, was a big fat brown chicken.
07-05 Meet the neighbours
It was the best night’s sleep I'd had in ages. I woke early to the sound of the church bells and the sight of a clear blue cloudless sky. And moo was still soundly sleeping in her new bedroom. Perfect. I wandered around gazing in wonder still actually not quite believing that we lived here. It would take a while to sink in. I decided to venture on to the back step for a morning coffee, and sitting there in my pyjamas was where I met the neighbours. We had introduced ourselves briefly during our hasty moving weekend to the couple next door, who had themselves only been there a few weeks at that point and were around about the same age as Hubs and I. Mr. A came to welcome me and joined me on the step for a chin-wag (I feel I should point out at this stage that Mr. A is originally from the UK, just in case you thought that I had managed to master French overnight in my sleep- oh how I wish - His girlfriend ,Mlle A, is French and works locally as a teacher,). We chatted for a while, and I was introduced to the dog and 2 cats, who wasted no time on formalities and wandered into the house to have a good sniff around. MR A had noticed our lack of vehicle and insisted that we come with them on their weekly supermarket trip the following day so we could get some supplies in till we found our feet (and some wheels). MR A is a very quiet young man and quite shy and I gathered from our conversation that he had suffered from the strains of a hectic crowded life in the UK and was seeking some peace in the rural life. As I proceeded to fill him in with my life story so far, we noticed that our other neighbour, Mr. G, (who is somewhere around the 70 mark) had started work on his spectacular garden. It really is a sight to behold (especially for someone who has just arrived from city life). The dazzling array of fruit and vegetables, surrounded by some of the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen. He noticed us sitting there and called out a loud good morning. I went to the fence and decided to unleash my well memorized phrase. 'Bon matin, Monsieur, s'il vous plait, pardon ma français, c'est n'bon pas. Mais, je suis savouir lentement' he replied 'ah, bienvenue, Madame....'after that I was lost, I think he said that he hoped we liked the village and enjoy our time here...or something like that anyway. I've got so much to learn. At that point Moo appeared at the door and declared to the world that she needed a big poo, so I excused myself and got on with the business of the day. A little while later we ventured out into the back garden again for a sit in the sun. Mr. G was in his garden and I called to him to introduce moo, he rushed over to say hello, moo was a little shy until Minnou arrived. Minnou is a tiny dog and as he sniffed around this small strange person she found her voice and said to me, “mummy he's a really ugly little doggy”. Fortunately neither Mr. G nor Minnou speak English so my blushes went unheeded. It was then that Mr. G produced a bunch of gorgeous lilies from his garden as a small welcome for us. I was so touched. The small gestures of kindness from people mean so much and it made me feel so welcome. After only a day in our new home, I felt more settled than at any time during the last 12 months. All we need now is for hubs to get some time off work so he can come home too.
09-05 Storm runnerawayers
When hubs was home we took a stroll to the local village to stock up on provisions, we decided to have a short break for coffee before the walk home. While we were sitting outside in the warmth of the afternoon sun we looked up and approaching us was an immense wall of black cloud heading our way. Fast. We paid and I manage to communicate to the tabac owner that there was a 'grande l'orage'(big storm) on the way, 'ah oui, vingt minutes je pense pour ici'. When I told her we were walking home she looked alarmed and urged us to 'promenade, rapide'. We took her advice and set off at a pace through the country lanes. It was about a 30 minute walk and she thought we had 20. hmmm. As we hurried along still sweating in the glorious heat and sun of the day the wall of cloud drew ever nearer, and we watched in awe as the lightning hit the hills not 10 miles away. The whole of the landscape changed before our eyes, the dark clouds seeming to turn the hills and forest into a flat, but still strangely beautiful monochrome drawing. As the church came into view we lost the sun and the air around us took on that charged quality, even Moo was impressed and told us that the air felt tingly on her skin. We reached the gate as the clouds broke and we were drenched by the fattest rain I have ever seen. In the 20 seconds it took to get from the front gate to inside the house, we were all soaked to the skin, but elated to be home. The lightning flashed and the thunder did indeed roar. So now that we were home what did we do? We all piled out into the back garden with heads up and open arms dancing in the rain. As the storm began to pass we noticed Mr. at his back door waving and laughing at 3 happy drowned rats.
12-05 Meeting new friends
The people who introduced us to this area and helped us find our house have a holiday home nearby. Sadly when Moo and I arrived, they were not on holiday, so we really were on our own. Mlle A, from next door, has been absolutely wonderful to us since we arrived, making sure we were OK and taking us to the supermarche to get provisions. But it was time to wander. We made tacks to the nearest village (2.5km), and it was a beautiful walk. It took us about an hour (at Moo pace) and I think we stopped to say hello to every cow on the way. We made our way to the village bar, L'homme vert, which had recently been re-opened by an English couple who had moved to the area a few years previously. We introduced ourselves and had a coffee with them and they made us feel instantly welcome (like any good innkeepers should). We chatted for ages and were filled in on the local area and people, but the walk home beckoned and we said our farewells, with Moo declaring her love for her new best friends, and an invitation to coffee at their house the next time we were in the village. Well the next time came round a couple of days later when I discovered I'd run out of bread and milk (so many years of living over a shop does not prepare you well for rural shopping!). We arrived, not really sure if the coffee invite was genuine (well we've all said 'oh you must come round...'), but thankfully it was and we sat with her and one of her friends, (another ex pat too, there's quite a lot in this neck of the woods) a rather beautiful blond lady. BB just happened to live at the other end of our village and offered us a lift home which we gladly accepted. On the way we stopped in to see her babies, Morgan and Alan. Morgan is a beautiful horse, but rather shy of strangers, and Alan is the friendliest rowdiest donkey you could ever hope to meet. (She does have 2 real babies too, a boy of 9 and a girl of 11, who sound quite lovely). Moo was utterly enchanted and when BB said we could come to see them whenever we wanted I got the feeling that we were in for a few more long walks. On the short drive home to the village BB was so very interested in us and how we had come to end up here and again invited us to drop in whenever we liked and meet the family. And you know what I actually believed her. I really hope I'm not wrong about her, but I think I may have just bumped into my new best friend.
17-05 Parents visit
It was the day I had been waiting for, my parents were visiting me in my new home. My parents live in America and make an annual pilgrimage to visit 'the children' once a year. When they were planning their visit we didn't even know if we would have found a house, never mind have moved in, so the fact that they had a 4 day window and a hire car made my heart leap. They had managed to catch up with hubs in London in the midst of his hectic work schedule, and they were so excited for us. Moo was up even earlier than usual, and running around getting all her toys ready to show 'grama'n'grampa' even though they weren't due to arrive till about 5pm that evening. Then came the phone call to tell us that they were at the ferry waiting to get in. except that wasn't the call they made. They were at the ferry port on time, sadly the ferries weren't. The French trawler-men were on strike and blockading the French ports and no ferries were crossing that day. The port staff were assuring everyone that the ferries would be running again within the next 2 days and that tickets would be valid, as my parents were due to fly back to the states in 6 days this did not console my mother, or me when she told me. I was straight on the phone to hubs in tears and moo was all of a sudden wondering why mummy was crying. I was SO disappointed, but hubs and I were trying to work out a way to get me back to the UK before they flew home. Meanwhile my dad had turned tail and headed as fast as he could to the Euro tunnel terminal. They managed to get there just as the police were closing off the route. God bless the police man who waved my mum and dad through, the last car that day to make it to Euro tunnel without a reservation. They did manage to get on a train (but refused to tell me how much they paid - which means it was hideously expensive), and without any more incident they did indeed arrive at our house just a couple of hours later than they were due. As my dad put it 'I had my wife and my daughter in tears, do you really think I wasn't going to make it'. Thankfully after such an emotional and expensive day I'm happy to say they like it here. It was such a pleasure showing my parents round, and finding new and interesting routes to and from the local towns. As I don't have a car (or as it happens any sense of direction) I wasn't really terribly sure about the way to and from places, and we managed to revisit several very picturesque villages more than once, in fact sometimes more than twice. But they were very pretty. My parents were extremely generous as ever and spoiled moo and me many times over, and the 2 best housewarming presents came in the form of a strimmer and a strimee, thanks dad. The weather was fantastic and we managed an afternoon on the beach. Moo dad and I were all mucking about paddling in the lake and mum was pretending to throw water on us all. And then mum fell over on the sand and couldn't get up and Moo decided that was the perfect time to run to the lake, fill up her bucket then empty it on grama's head. That's my girl.
25-05 I've got a car!!!
With much re jigging and reworking I decided to return to UK with mum and dad in order to buy a car. The French second hand market is a bit too pricey for us at the moment, so it’s back to search on good old e-bay. Once again relying on the hospitality of my good friend JJ. It was a tense time for me as my time window was a very short one, but I spotted one I wanted and to cut a long story short, I got it. Hurray! I had a few days to acclimatise myself and get to know the car before I undertook the epic journey home. To say the car was a dream was an understatement. We bonded immediately and soon he was no longer just a car, he was Gordon. Although I had only passed my driving test a month before, I was confident about the Drive through France, what was worrying me more was the drive through central London beforehand. There was no avoiding it; we had to stay in London the night before the ferry. So off we sat on Saturday lunchtime (brilliant timing I know) first into north London to collect some keys, and then through marble arch and Victoria, yikes. It went alarmingly well till we got to just before marble arch. No great drama, we just got stuck in traffic. It took nearly an hour to travel the ¾ of a mile to the arch itself and then about 20 seconds to get round it. Again we got snarled up at Victoria, but the journey passed without incident, I even managed to reverse park right outside hubs Flat, my driving instructor would have been so proud. And so the next morning to Dover and the ferry. (I much prefer driving in London at 6am on a Sunday). We got to France and Moo, most obligingly, slept for over half the journey and before we knew it we were home and the only issue I had on the way was having to jump across to the passenger window at the toll booths. Some may say that undertaking such a drive barely a month after passing your test and only 3 days of having a car was foolhardy, and they would probably be right, but it's in the genes. The day after my brother passed his driving test he drove from Germany to Scotland! And I have to say after delivering us safely home, Gordon is well and truly one of the family, and I'm looking forward to many more adventures with him.
05-05 I want to go home now
So after a few days back in the UK, at my wonderful friend JJ's house, all I could think about was getting home, we finally booked our passage. I decided that the easiest, and cheapest, way (as we still had no car) was to National express it from London to Paris overnight then train From Paris to home. The evening came and we set of for Victoria coach station to bid farewell to hubs (who had to stay and work), and wait for our coach. And wait, and wait, and wait...over an hour had passed since the scheduled departure time, and moo who was already having a late night adventure, was getting cranky(in case you have never had the joy of travelling via Victoria coach station it’s really not that nice - although much better than Milton Keynes...). The coach finally arrived and we managed to fight through the surge of bodies rushing to get their luggage stowed and grab the best seats, and after a tearful farewell with hubs, we were finally on board. I had picked a couple of seats behind an elderly quiet looking man and opposite a young man who was either on his way from or to (or possibly both) a festival, and it was fair to assume he would be asleep most of the way. We set up camp for the night and as we left the station I noticed that moo was already asleep, I planned to join her as soon as possible. What I hadn't counted on was the old man’s bottle stash overhead clinking together at every bump twist or turn in the road...so much for sleep. We were already against the clock to get to euro tunnel in time for our train, but the driver assured us that as long as there were no hold ups we would just make it. And we did make it to the departures area with minutes to spare, just a quick flash of the passports and we'd be through, or so we thought. Immigration and customs boarded the bus and took all of our passports for checking and as the minutes ticked by we all gathered there must have been a problem, other than the fact we had just missed our train. Immigration returned without our passports and requested that we all leave the bus retrieve our luggage and wait in the customs hall for further instructions. The young traveller beside us was now in a cold sweat frantically searching through his pockets whilst trying to locate the nearest dustbin that was out of sight of the customs office. It was now just after 2am, and moo was not at all happy at being woken and moved, but I'd like to say a HUGE thank you to our bus driver, who wrapped her in his coat and hushed her back to sleep as I faffed about getting luggage and buggy from the bus (and on the way back onto the bus), you have no-idea how much that small act of kindness meant to me. By the time I made it into customs the search was all but over and done and I was waved through the formalities by a very understanding young French officer who took one look at me and the now sleeping again moo, and decided that we didn't look like the smuggling type and saw no need to wake her up to put the buggy through the scanner - god bless you Monsieur - so we were sorted and re-instated with our passports and told to get back on the bus. As we left the room we saw the cause of our little delay. One of the passengers had 4 enormous suitcases packed with fake designer goods, from perfume to shoes, handbags to jackets none of which would now make their final destination of the Paris market stall which they had been intended for. As we got settled back into the bus moo woke up briefly and stated that when we got to France there would be chickens in the garden, I've no idea where this thought came to her but she was most adamant that this would be so, I tried to dissuade her but she would not be told. It was then I saw the young traveller from the seat opposite trying to be nonchalant as he searched the outside bins for his recently discarded stash. From the big grin on his face when he got back on I'm guessing it was a successful search.
06-05 part 2
In the end we had to wait another 2 hours in the eurostar coach park, but at least I managed to get some sleep! The rest of the journey was thankfully uneventful and as I watched the sun rise on the road to Paris all of the tiredness seemed to melt away. We were nearly home. Of course the delay meant that we arrived in Paris at 8.30 am instead of the planned 6.15 so traversing the city on the metro was a little busier than I had hoped for, but the commuters on the midweek metro were courteous, and extremely helpful with carting the buggy up and down the steps at the interchange and allowed us as much space as they could in the carriage. They were all either very accommodating or rather unnerved by this loony tourist who had obviously had no sleep, with a ton of baggage and a small person in tow at rush hour in the centre of the city. Either way it was a pleasant journey for us. We arrived at the main station and on seeing that we could rush for a train that was leaving in 15 minutes or get one in an hour I opted for a coffee and a croissant and a sit on the grass outside in the sunshine. It was a beautiful sunny morning and all was well with the world, I had coffee and moo was having a run about on the grass chasing the pigeons. We made our way to our platform in plenty of time and finally found out where we were supposed to be sitting, it was a busy train, but moo contented herself with colouring in and eating strawberries and telling anyone who would listen that 'we do live in France now, and we've got a chicken in our garden’. Try as I might I could do nothing to persuade her that there would be no chicken. We changed onto the local train at Le Mans and less than 2 hours from leaving Paris we were standing in the estate agents. Well we would have been had we not arrived at 1pm, bang in the middle of lunch. It’s a curious thing to realise that here they still close for lunch, not only that but lunch is 2 hours long. We headed instead to a local hotel and sat outside with a beer and baguette (well I did, moo had juice) and relaxed in the sunshine. I could get used to this. When 2 o'clock rolled round I headed back to receive instructions from our friend J, at the agency, and then headed off to the bank and the insurers to get the legalities squared. Even given my alarming lack of French it all went rather smoothly, particularly as moo has decided to have an afternoon nap during proceedings. By this point I was itching to get to the house but as we had no car I was waiting for a lift from J, who had another appointment so I went shopping for provisions at the local butchers and bakers and epiceré (a store for everything you can’t get at the butchers or bakers). At last J had finished for the day and we were on our way home. Moo and I were both so excited, the drive through the countryside passed in a blur and before we knew it we were there. Home. As I opened the front gate moo let out a squeal of delight as there in the front garden, under the apple tree, was a big fat brown chicken.
07-05 Meet the neighbours
It was the best night’s sleep I'd had in ages. I woke early to the sound of the church bells and the sight of a clear blue cloudless sky. And moo was still soundly sleeping in her new bedroom. Perfect. I wandered around gazing in wonder still actually not quite believing that we lived here. It would take a while to sink in. I decided to venture on to the back step for a morning coffee, and sitting there in my pyjamas was where I met the neighbours. We had introduced ourselves briefly during our hasty moving weekend to the couple next door, who had themselves only been there a few weeks at that point and were around about the same age as Hubs and I. Mr. A came to welcome me and joined me on the step for a chin-wag (I feel I should point out at this stage that Mr. A is originally from the UK, just in case you thought that I had managed to master French overnight in my sleep- oh how I wish - His girlfriend ,Mlle A, is French and works locally as a teacher,). We chatted for a while, and I was introduced to the dog and 2 cats, who wasted no time on formalities and wandered into the house to have a good sniff around. MR A had noticed our lack of vehicle and insisted that we come with them on their weekly supermarket trip the following day so we could get some supplies in till we found our feet (and some wheels). MR A is a very quiet young man and quite shy and I gathered from our conversation that he had suffered from the strains of a hectic crowded life in the UK and was seeking some peace in the rural life. As I proceeded to fill him in with my life story so far, we noticed that our other neighbour, Mr. G, (who is somewhere around the 70 mark) had started work on his spectacular garden. It really is a sight to behold (especially for someone who has just arrived from city life). The dazzling array of fruit and vegetables, surrounded by some of the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen. He noticed us sitting there and called out a loud good morning. I went to the fence and decided to unleash my well memorized phrase. 'Bon matin, Monsieur, s'il vous plait, pardon ma français, c'est n'bon pas. Mais, je suis savouir lentement' he replied 'ah, bienvenue, Madame....'after that I was lost, I think he said that he hoped we liked the village and enjoy our time here...or something like that anyway. I've got so much to learn. At that point Moo appeared at the door and declared to the world that she needed a big poo, so I excused myself and got on with the business of the day. A little while later we ventured out into the back garden again for a sit in the sun. Mr. G was in his garden and I called to him to introduce moo, he rushed over to say hello, moo was a little shy until Minnou arrived. Minnou is a tiny dog and as he sniffed around this small strange person she found her voice and said to me, “mummy he's a really ugly little doggy”. Fortunately neither Mr. G nor Minnou speak English so my blushes went unheeded. It was then that Mr. G produced a bunch of gorgeous lilies from his garden as a small welcome for us. I was so touched. The small gestures of kindness from people mean so much and it made me feel so welcome. After only a day in our new home, I felt more settled than at any time during the last 12 months. All we need now is for hubs to get some time off work so he can come home too.
09-05 Storm runnerawayers
When hubs was home we took a stroll to the local village to stock up on provisions, we decided to have a short break for coffee before the walk home. While we were sitting outside in the warmth of the afternoon sun we looked up and approaching us was an immense wall of black cloud heading our way. Fast. We paid and I manage to communicate to the tabac owner that there was a 'grande l'orage'(big storm) on the way, 'ah oui, vingt minutes je pense pour ici'. When I told her we were walking home she looked alarmed and urged us to 'promenade, rapide'. We took her advice and set off at a pace through the country lanes. It was about a 30 minute walk and she thought we had 20. hmmm. As we hurried along still sweating in the glorious heat and sun of the day the wall of cloud drew ever nearer, and we watched in awe as the lightning hit the hills not 10 miles away. The whole of the landscape changed before our eyes, the dark clouds seeming to turn the hills and forest into a flat, but still strangely beautiful monochrome drawing. As the church came into view we lost the sun and the air around us took on that charged quality, even Moo was impressed and told us that the air felt tingly on her skin. We reached the gate as the clouds broke and we were drenched by the fattest rain I have ever seen. In the 20 seconds it took to get from the front gate to inside the house, we were all soaked to the skin, but elated to be home. The lightning flashed and the thunder did indeed roar. So now that we were home what did we do? We all piled out into the back garden with heads up and open arms dancing in the rain. As the storm began to pass we noticed Mr. at his back door waving and laughing at 3 happy drowned rats.
12-05 Meeting new friends
The people who introduced us to this area and helped us find our house have a holiday home nearby. Sadly when Moo and I arrived, they were not on holiday, so we really were on our own. Mlle A, from next door, has been absolutely wonderful to us since we arrived, making sure we were OK and taking us to the supermarche to get provisions. But it was time to wander. We made tacks to the nearest village (2.5km), and it was a beautiful walk. It took us about an hour (at Moo pace) and I think we stopped to say hello to every cow on the way. We made our way to the village bar, L'homme vert, which had recently been re-opened by an English couple who had moved to the area a few years previously. We introduced ourselves and had a coffee with them and they made us feel instantly welcome (like any good innkeepers should). We chatted for ages and were filled in on the local area and people, but the walk home beckoned and we said our farewells, with Moo declaring her love for her new best friends, and an invitation to coffee at their house the next time we were in the village. Well the next time came round a couple of days later when I discovered I'd run out of bread and milk (so many years of living over a shop does not prepare you well for rural shopping!). We arrived, not really sure if the coffee invite was genuine (well we've all said 'oh you must come round...'), but thankfully it was and we sat with her and one of her friends, (another ex pat too, there's quite a lot in this neck of the woods) a rather beautiful blond lady. BB just happened to live at the other end of our village and offered us a lift home which we gladly accepted. On the way we stopped in to see her babies, Morgan and Alan. Morgan is a beautiful horse, but rather shy of strangers, and Alan is the friendliest rowdiest donkey you could ever hope to meet. (She does have 2 real babies too, a boy of 9 and a girl of 11, who sound quite lovely). Moo was utterly enchanted and when BB said we could come to see them whenever we wanted I got the feeling that we were in for a few more long walks. On the short drive home to the village BB was so very interested in us and how we had come to end up here and again invited us to drop in whenever we liked and meet the family. And you know what I actually believed her. I really hope I'm not wrong about her, but I think I may have just bumped into my new best friend.
17-05 Parents visit
It was the day I had been waiting for, my parents were visiting me in my new home. My parents live in America and make an annual pilgrimage to visit 'the children' once a year. When they were planning their visit we didn't even know if we would have found a house, never mind have moved in, so the fact that they had a 4 day window and a hire car made my heart leap. They had managed to catch up with hubs in London in the midst of his hectic work schedule, and they were so excited for us. Moo was up even earlier than usual, and running around getting all her toys ready to show 'grama'n'grampa' even though they weren't due to arrive till about 5pm that evening. Then came the phone call to tell us that they were at the ferry waiting to get in. except that wasn't the call they made. They were at the ferry port on time, sadly the ferries weren't. The French trawler-men were on strike and blockading the French ports and no ferries were crossing that day. The port staff were assuring everyone that the ferries would be running again within the next 2 days and that tickets would be valid, as my parents were due to fly back to the states in 6 days this did not console my mother, or me when she told me. I was straight on the phone to hubs in tears and moo was all of a sudden wondering why mummy was crying. I was SO disappointed, but hubs and I were trying to work out a way to get me back to the UK before they flew home. Meanwhile my dad had turned tail and headed as fast as he could to the Euro tunnel terminal. They managed to get there just as the police were closing off the route. God bless the police man who waved my mum and dad through, the last car that day to make it to Euro tunnel without a reservation. They did manage to get on a train (but refused to tell me how much they paid - which means it was hideously expensive), and without any more incident they did indeed arrive at our house just a couple of hours later than they were due. As my dad put it 'I had my wife and my daughter in tears, do you really think I wasn't going to make it'. Thankfully after such an emotional and expensive day I'm happy to say they like it here. It was such a pleasure showing my parents round, and finding new and interesting routes to and from the local towns. As I don't have a car (or as it happens any sense of direction) I wasn't really terribly sure about the way to and from places, and we managed to revisit several very picturesque villages more than once, in fact sometimes more than twice. But they were very pretty. My parents were extremely generous as ever and spoiled moo and me many times over, and the 2 best housewarming presents came in the form of a strimmer and a strimee, thanks dad. The weather was fantastic and we managed an afternoon on the beach. Moo dad and I were all mucking about paddling in the lake and mum was pretending to throw water on us all. And then mum fell over on the sand and couldn't get up and Moo decided that was the perfect time to run to the lake, fill up her bucket then empty it on grama's head. That's my girl.
25-05 I've got a car!!!
With much re jigging and reworking I decided to return to UK with mum and dad in order to buy a car. The French second hand market is a bit too pricey for us at the moment, so it’s back to search on good old e-bay. Once again relying on the hospitality of my good friend JJ. It was a tense time for me as my time window was a very short one, but I spotted one I wanted and to cut a long story short, I got it. Hurray! I had a few days to acclimatise myself and get to know the car before I undertook the epic journey home. To say the car was a dream was an understatement. We bonded immediately and soon he was no longer just a car, he was Gordon. Although I had only passed my driving test a month before, I was confident about the Drive through France, what was worrying me more was the drive through central London beforehand. There was no avoiding it; we had to stay in London the night before the ferry. So off we sat on Saturday lunchtime (brilliant timing I know) first into north London to collect some keys, and then through marble arch and Victoria, yikes. It went alarmingly well till we got to just before marble arch. No great drama, we just got stuck in traffic. It took nearly an hour to travel the ¾ of a mile to the arch itself and then about 20 seconds to get round it. Again we got snarled up at Victoria, but the journey passed without incident, I even managed to reverse park right outside hubs Flat, my driving instructor would have been so proud. And so the next morning to Dover and the ferry. (I much prefer driving in London at 6am on a Sunday). We got to France and Moo, most obligingly, slept for over half the journey and before we knew it we were home and the only issue I had on the way was having to jump across to the passenger window at the toll booths. Some may say that undertaking such a drive barely a month after passing your test and only 3 days of having a car was foolhardy, and they would probably be right, but it's in the genes. The day after my brother passed his driving test he drove from Germany to Scotland! And I have to say after delivering us safely home, Gordon is well and truly one of the family, and I'm looking forward to many more adventures with him.
JUNE
03-06The circus parc
Finding things to do to keep moo amused is an ongoing battle, she's a bright kid who will sit happily colouring in for hours on end and playing with 'her guys'. But trawling round banks, DIY shops and supermarkets is not top of her list of fun to do. So I decided to find a park. that in itself was not too much of a problem as there are plenty of parks around and there are many dotted around the 'big town'. We had stumbled across a few in the last couple of weeks but as I was parking Gordon in our’ regular spot' behind the bank. I noticed, for the first time a park behind the car park, it looked like a good one (primary coloured plastic turrets are always a good sign), so off we went. Imagine my delight when we arrived at 'the circus park'. Complete an 8ft ringmaster, 2 strongmen ('holding up the slide) and a big sandpit (amongst other attractions). after an inspection for sabotaged/burnt out equipment and broken glass and discarded needles, and then remembering I don’t have to actually do that anymore, we played and played on the equipment, that given the height and lack of bark chippings would doubtless given the HSE and a few nervous mothers sleepless nights, till mummy needed a little rest. It was while I was sitting on the bench that I noticed that one of the aforementioned strongmen was wearing a thong - I kid you not, only in France!! Then things took a dramatic shift. Moo was climbing the ladder to the 'big slide' when at the top (about 2.5m) she lost her footing and plummeted between the rungs. All I heard was a scream. In slow motion I ran to the slide to see her heading head first towards the ground. Somehow (and I’m still not sure how) she reached out and grabbed a passing rung. She managed to hold on long enough to right herself and slow momentum before losing her grip and landing on the ground, feet first, closely followed by her bottom. All of this happened in about 2 of the longest seconds of my life. As I reached her she was starting to realise what had happened and wailed. As I checked for blood and broken bones a lovely man came rushing over to see if she was ok, and somehow by the grace of God she suffered not a single scratch. She was crying from shock rather than pain. I comforted her as best I could and started to pack up so we could head home, but moo was having none of it. after a swig of fizzy pop, a few smarties and a cuddle she was demanding to be released and allowed back up on the slide, when I said no she pulled the saddest face she could muster and said' but mum, I didn’t get to slide down so it wasn’t a proper turn, please mum' I tried to coax her onto the smaller slide, but she was adamant. I watched her race back over and climb, very cautiously (with a nervous mother shadowing her every step), to the top. And with huge grin she ran across the wobbly bridge and threw herself down the slide. The lovely man returned and asked if I was ok, I replied in halting French. I think so. As he proffered me a cigarette, (it was at this point I realised how much I was shaking), and shrugging in a way that only a Frenchman can utter 'ah, les enfants-what can you do?'
07-06The area
I guess I should really say a little something about the area we live in. We are situated just across the border of Mayenne province in western France deep in the heart of a national park forest. Our village is incredibly small. The official population is 238, but I think they must be counting the chickens in that. The length of the village can be walked in about 20 minutes at a slow amble. We have a mairé (mayor), a village hall, a school (for 7-11year old) a public loo and a church, which doesn't have a Sunday service but caters for the christening and wedding blessing needs of the village, and I am led to believe, holds a Christmas mass. There are no shops here, but 3 times a week a van from one of the local bakeries services the need for bread (and rather delicious cake) for the surrounding area. (The gathering at the bread van is also a fine way to meet the locals). And it just so happens to stop outside my gate. Oh yes, and the street lights go out at 10.30pm. The nearest shop, bar, post office, tabac and 2 bakeries are within 3km and the nearest town is 8 km. 6Km away is 'la foret plage '. No I haven't got my French wrong again, it is 'the forest beach’. A wonderful natural lake in the local forest, which has a small man made beach. Heaven on our doorstep! At la plage you can swim, fish take out a pedalo, have a lake cruise, go fishing, have a hike in the forest, camp, eat drink and be entertained. Or just take a picnic and lie on the beach. The scenery all around is stunning, from the medieval castles to the grand chateau to the small bakers shop that was built in the late 1700's. It really does feel like stepping back in time. I can’t wait to get a bike and start exploring!
12-06 L’ecole
We arrived to attempt register moo at the local l'ecole maternelle (pre-school up to 6yrs old), in the neighbouring village, with great trepidation, and a stack of paperwork detailing our every move since she was born, would we get a place for her, would they be able to understand this nutty woman jabbering in very poor demi-french and just how many forms would I have to fill in? What would prove more pressing however was would there actually be anyone there? No. Not a soul. So back to the car and swing round the corner to almost run over the entire student body as they were crossing the road on the way back from a field trip. Not the best of introductions. So back to the school and this time success. With a cursory glance at the paperwork and only 5 forms to fill in, moo will be registered to start at school in September (they actually asked if she wanted to start next week, but too much to-ing and fro-ing needs to be done still).. she even had a little play with her new school mates to be who took great delight in running up to her and saying 'eloo leetle gerl'.It is a charming little school, in the village square, with very well appointed and modern classrooms and a large outdoor play area and much to Moo's delight, a big sand pit. With less than 40 pupils and 6 teachers it is a far cry from schooling in UK. The school that Moo would have gone to (well the one we would have wanted her to go to at any rate) had a ratio of 17 pupils to 1 teacher, which is actually very good. They are most excited to have another English speaking child at the school (BB's son finished in June after being there for 2 years). And at Moo's they expect she will be fully bi-lingual by Christmas (oh how I wish it were me!)
15-06 Compare and contrast
-Last Saturday I fought my way through central London traffic in a car I’d owned for 3 days sitting for ¾ hour on Edgware road waiting for the impending hell of marble arch, to the sound of muse on the cd player, arrived at a tiny, and somewhat odorous, (sorry love, but it did smell a bit), bedsit in Pimlico and was charged £2.50 for a tin opener at the corner shop (on a side note, how can you live in a flat for over a year and not own a tin opener??). Today I went to the local beach to the sound of Muse on the CD player, paddled in the lake, played beach ball, sunbathed and built sandcastles, came home watered the garden and watched the football. Regrets? NON!
20-06Cherries
We have a cherry tree in our back garden, a really big lovely cherry tree. I watched from the window with anticipation every day as the fruits got fatter and started to redden. My head was full of cherry pies, crumbles, jams and bottles of preserved cherries at Christmas, yes there were that many! Each day as I put out the washing I would look with longing and anticipation, I had even arranged to borrow a ladder so I could reach the higher ones. OK perhaps I sneaked the odd one (or 2 or 3), and my they were delicious. I described to hubs their progress each day and even promised to make him a homemade cherry cheese cake for his birthday when he got home next so sure I was they would be ready. One fine summer evening after the regular inspection, I decided that the very next morning the tree was to be stripped and pies would be baked crumbles would be crumbled and jam would be jammed (and a big bowlful kept for the birthday cake of course). The day dawned bright and sunny, I flung the shutters open to look upon my fruit. ”Nooooo”. I actually cried out in horror. The tree was black and alive with squawking birds feasting on my treasure. I ran to the garden - a vision in my spotty pyjamas and flapping dressing gown- to try and ward them off, but as much as I flapped my arms and yelled they just sat there unperturbed and fully aware that this deranged barely awake woman could do nothing. After a while I realised that it was no good and I retired defeated to watch then sate themselves on what should have been mine. Not that I was bitter. When they had gorged themselves to the point that they could barely lift their fat bellies they slowly flew off twittering at me with scorn and contempt - I'm sure they had a mocking glint in their eyes when they passed - I went out to survey the damage. Hanging from the tree, were nothing but stalks and stones, yes, they even left the stones hanging on the tree. Alone amongst the stones hung one solitary cherry, so I quickly plucked it from its branch and stored it in the freezer. Hubs did get his cherry cheesecake, well a promise is a promise, sadly the cherries were purchased from our local supermarche rather than picked form our tree, all aside from the one solitary frozen cherry that sat proudly in the centre of the cake. Better luck next year.
29-06 87 ½ bloody miles for a happy meal!
Never assume that just because it's a big shop in a retail park it will be open on a Sunday, because it probably won’t be. As I found out when we drove 30 miles to Le Mans. I had promised to take moo to mcd's if she was good in the big shops when we looked for a fridge. She was thrilled and delighted when we arrived and the only bloody place open was the golden arches. (Of course none of the staff spoke English so we immediately felt as at home as we used to in London...) so one very happy meal (and a rather nice little cakey thing) later. Off we went home again. Now the eagle eyed among you will have spotted that its 30 miles to Le Mans yet we drove nearly 90. I did get a tiny weeny bit lost on the way home, ironically we got lost leaving the same retail park a couple of weeks ago when my folks were over, but this time I got lost in a new and exciting way and ended up in a terrifyingly complex one way system. The one way being of course the wrong way. By the time I managed to find somewhere to pull in that had a signpost we were proper lost - thank god for the map book!! So all in all I’m not lovin it, we did get a balloon though and it has to be said that the staff did actually all smile....
A bientot
03-06The circus parc
Finding things to do to keep moo amused is an ongoing battle, she's a bright kid who will sit happily colouring in for hours on end and playing with 'her guys'. But trawling round banks, DIY shops and supermarkets is not top of her list of fun to do. So I decided to find a park. that in itself was not too much of a problem as there are plenty of parks around and there are many dotted around the 'big town'. We had stumbled across a few in the last couple of weeks but as I was parking Gordon in our’ regular spot' behind the bank. I noticed, for the first time a park behind the car park, it looked like a good one (primary coloured plastic turrets are always a good sign), so off we went. Imagine my delight when we arrived at 'the circus park'. Complete an 8ft ringmaster, 2 strongmen ('holding up the slide) and a big sandpit (amongst other attractions). after an inspection for sabotaged/burnt out equipment and broken glass and discarded needles, and then remembering I don’t have to actually do that anymore, we played and played on the equipment, that given the height and lack of bark chippings would doubtless given the HSE and a few nervous mothers sleepless nights, till mummy needed a little rest. It was while I was sitting on the bench that I noticed that one of the aforementioned strongmen was wearing a thong - I kid you not, only in France!! Then things took a dramatic shift. Moo was climbing the ladder to the 'big slide' when at the top (about 2.5m) she lost her footing and plummeted between the rungs. All I heard was a scream. In slow motion I ran to the slide to see her heading head first towards the ground. Somehow (and I’m still not sure how) she reached out and grabbed a passing rung. She managed to hold on long enough to right herself and slow momentum before losing her grip and landing on the ground, feet first, closely followed by her bottom. All of this happened in about 2 of the longest seconds of my life. As I reached her she was starting to realise what had happened and wailed. As I checked for blood and broken bones a lovely man came rushing over to see if she was ok, and somehow by the grace of God she suffered not a single scratch. She was crying from shock rather than pain. I comforted her as best I could and started to pack up so we could head home, but moo was having none of it. after a swig of fizzy pop, a few smarties and a cuddle she was demanding to be released and allowed back up on the slide, when I said no she pulled the saddest face she could muster and said' but mum, I didn’t get to slide down so it wasn’t a proper turn, please mum' I tried to coax her onto the smaller slide, but she was adamant. I watched her race back over and climb, very cautiously (with a nervous mother shadowing her every step), to the top. And with huge grin she ran across the wobbly bridge and threw herself down the slide. The lovely man returned and asked if I was ok, I replied in halting French. I think so. As he proffered me a cigarette, (it was at this point I realised how much I was shaking), and shrugging in a way that only a Frenchman can utter 'ah, les enfants-what can you do?'
07-06The area
I guess I should really say a little something about the area we live in. We are situated just across the border of Mayenne province in western France deep in the heart of a national park forest. Our village is incredibly small. The official population is 238, but I think they must be counting the chickens in that. The length of the village can be walked in about 20 minutes at a slow amble. We have a mairé (mayor), a village hall, a school (for 7-11year old) a public loo and a church, which doesn't have a Sunday service but caters for the christening and wedding blessing needs of the village, and I am led to believe, holds a Christmas mass. There are no shops here, but 3 times a week a van from one of the local bakeries services the need for bread (and rather delicious cake) for the surrounding area. (The gathering at the bread van is also a fine way to meet the locals). And it just so happens to stop outside my gate. Oh yes, and the street lights go out at 10.30pm. The nearest shop, bar, post office, tabac and 2 bakeries are within 3km and the nearest town is 8 km. 6Km away is 'la foret plage '. No I haven't got my French wrong again, it is 'the forest beach’. A wonderful natural lake in the local forest, which has a small man made beach. Heaven on our doorstep! At la plage you can swim, fish take out a pedalo, have a lake cruise, go fishing, have a hike in the forest, camp, eat drink and be entertained. Or just take a picnic and lie on the beach. The scenery all around is stunning, from the medieval castles to the grand chateau to the small bakers shop that was built in the late 1700's. It really does feel like stepping back in time. I can’t wait to get a bike and start exploring!
12-06 L’ecole
We arrived to attempt register moo at the local l'ecole maternelle (pre-school up to 6yrs old), in the neighbouring village, with great trepidation, and a stack of paperwork detailing our every move since she was born, would we get a place for her, would they be able to understand this nutty woman jabbering in very poor demi-french and just how many forms would I have to fill in? What would prove more pressing however was would there actually be anyone there? No. Not a soul. So back to the car and swing round the corner to almost run over the entire student body as they were crossing the road on the way back from a field trip. Not the best of introductions. So back to the school and this time success. With a cursory glance at the paperwork and only 5 forms to fill in, moo will be registered to start at school in September (they actually asked if she wanted to start next week, but too much to-ing and fro-ing needs to be done still).. she even had a little play with her new school mates to be who took great delight in running up to her and saying 'eloo leetle gerl'.It is a charming little school, in the village square, with very well appointed and modern classrooms and a large outdoor play area and much to Moo's delight, a big sand pit. With less than 40 pupils and 6 teachers it is a far cry from schooling in UK. The school that Moo would have gone to (well the one we would have wanted her to go to at any rate) had a ratio of 17 pupils to 1 teacher, which is actually very good. They are most excited to have another English speaking child at the school (BB's son finished in June after being there for 2 years). And at Moo's they expect she will be fully bi-lingual by Christmas (oh how I wish it were me!)
15-06 Compare and contrast
-Last Saturday I fought my way through central London traffic in a car I’d owned for 3 days sitting for ¾ hour on Edgware road waiting for the impending hell of marble arch, to the sound of muse on the cd player, arrived at a tiny, and somewhat odorous, (sorry love, but it did smell a bit), bedsit in Pimlico and was charged £2.50 for a tin opener at the corner shop (on a side note, how can you live in a flat for over a year and not own a tin opener??). Today I went to the local beach to the sound of Muse on the CD player, paddled in the lake, played beach ball, sunbathed and built sandcastles, came home watered the garden and watched the football. Regrets? NON!
20-06Cherries
We have a cherry tree in our back garden, a really big lovely cherry tree. I watched from the window with anticipation every day as the fruits got fatter and started to redden. My head was full of cherry pies, crumbles, jams and bottles of preserved cherries at Christmas, yes there were that many! Each day as I put out the washing I would look with longing and anticipation, I had even arranged to borrow a ladder so I could reach the higher ones. OK perhaps I sneaked the odd one (or 2 or 3), and my they were delicious. I described to hubs their progress each day and even promised to make him a homemade cherry cheese cake for his birthday when he got home next so sure I was they would be ready. One fine summer evening after the regular inspection, I decided that the very next morning the tree was to be stripped and pies would be baked crumbles would be crumbled and jam would be jammed (and a big bowlful kept for the birthday cake of course). The day dawned bright and sunny, I flung the shutters open to look upon my fruit. ”Nooooo”. I actually cried out in horror. The tree was black and alive with squawking birds feasting on my treasure. I ran to the garden - a vision in my spotty pyjamas and flapping dressing gown- to try and ward them off, but as much as I flapped my arms and yelled they just sat there unperturbed and fully aware that this deranged barely awake woman could do nothing. After a while I realised that it was no good and I retired defeated to watch then sate themselves on what should have been mine. Not that I was bitter. When they had gorged themselves to the point that they could barely lift their fat bellies they slowly flew off twittering at me with scorn and contempt - I'm sure they had a mocking glint in their eyes when they passed - I went out to survey the damage. Hanging from the tree, were nothing but stalks and stones, yes, they even left the stones hanging on the tree. Alone amongst the stones hung one solitary cherry, so I quickly plucked it from its branch and stored it in the freezer. Hubs did get his cherry cheesecake, well a promise is a promise, sadly the cherries were purchased from our local supermarche rather than picked form our tree, all aside from the one solitary frozen cherry that sat proudly in the centre of the cake. Better luck next year.
29-06 87 ½ bloody miles for a happy meal!
Never assume that just because it's a big shop in a retail park it will be open on a Sunday, because it probably won’t be. As I found out when we drove 30 miles to Le Mans. I had promised to take moo to mcd's if she was good in the big shops when we looked for a fridge. She was thrilled and delighted when we arrived and the only bloody place open was the golden arches. (Of course none of the staff spoke English so we immediately felt as at home as we used to in London...) so one very happy meal (and a rather nice little cakey thing) later. Off we went home again. Now the eagle eyed among you will have spotted that its 30 miles to Le Mans yet we drove nearly 90. I did get a tiny weeny bit lost on the way home, ironically we got lost leaving the same retail park a couple of weeks ago when my folks were over, but this time I got lost in a new and exciting way and ended up in a terrifyingly complex one way system. The one way being of course the wrong way. By the time I managed to find somewhere to pull in that had a signpost we were proper lost - thank god for the map book!! So all in all I’m not lovin it, we did get a balloon though and it has to be said that the staff did actually all smile....
A bientot