Oh...., and my aching back.

Mmmm. Well. Gussy booked in for The Op. October 22nd. There. Done it! Got back from Plaisance to find a worried and irate Hubs. "Gus has gone missing again. So has Fleur. We (Bruno and Hubs) think that she has taken him off. I'm so sorry" he said, "Only I know I promised to keep an eye on him and I did and when the builders went off for lunch I blocked up the back entrance as usual, went into the office to do some work, went back out again ten minutes later and no Gus." Apparently he had pushed open the two old doors put across the entrance and had gone.

Hubs was oh so worried, but I wasn't. I seemed to have become quite fatalistic of late, and as far as Gus is concerned: we are doing our best for him and that is that. If he is meant to return to us he will. If he isn't then he won't.

Half an hour later: message from Bruno. Fleur back and with Gus. Hubs gets the lead to go fetch him. Bools goes too. Part of the team, he doesn't like being left out.

A while later, back they all come. "Bools has just been on top of Fleur" Hubs says.
"What, properly on top?"
"Yes, all the way in."
"Oh." Taking a minute to digest this info, I turn to Bools, "Oh well done you," I say to my brave Springer "It's been a long time coming!".
And I think of the hundreds of times that Fleur has flirted and flaunted with Boolie and then sat down on her rump so he ends up with a scrambled head. And I am so glad that he managed to have a go. He is deserving.

Oh. So Gussy. Obviously he has been wanting to get over to Bruno's because Fleur is in season. So we can't really get cross at Gus because he is doing what comes naturally, and that is following his instincts to procreate. But the problem is that he picked up Fleur's availability before Bools did, which means that he is more likely to pick up any other female dog's availability as well and be off. We can't have that. So: October 22nd it is.

And so? Possiblement uno problemo. Is Fleur now pregnant? If so by which of our two boys? Or both? And if so, should we assume responsible ownership of our boys and help out with any vet bills? Is it our fault? But then Bruno comes trotting over here with Fleur following. And she has been such a tease, particularly with Bools. Not so much with Gus. Mostly she has snapped at him in temper. But with Bools, well .........

Taking a moment to give you a roof update. Half tiled!

re: 'My aching back': Actually it isn't aching now but it was for a couple of days. The reason was that in an attempt to wear Gussy out and stop him from roaming over to see Fleur, I have been walking the boys for at least two hours every morning. This is the fifth morning. We have found some splendid new paths to explore, but oh how my body has been complaining.

Leg aches: which I counteract by walking for twenty steps with the right leg leading and taking my weight, and the left one then being able to rest, and then twenty steps with the left leg leading and right one resting. Works perfectly. Counting the steps is good for relaxing my mind, and my tendency towards excrutiating leg pains has diminished. Back ache: Crikey but for two days my back was sore, but I kept on walking finding that swinging my arms as if jogging made me loosen up my waist movement. Et Voila! Today: no back pain. Wet feet because the grass was so wet, but no pain!

And marvel of marvels! I seem to be able to keep going during the day without feeling as if I am wading through treacle for some of the time. My head feels clearer, and I feel generally more chilled out both mentally and physically.

Things I have learnt: That it is not clever to say to oneself 'I haven't got time to take a long walk because I have this to do or that to do.' What nonsense! Because I have found that taking a two hour walk makes me more active during the day, therefore I can actually do more.

Things I have learnt: That walking to a rythm clears the mind, reduces stress, and has a feel good factor so high that it is almost addictive. Take this morning, for instance. Wasn't going to be out for long as had to go into Plaisance. Fifteen minutes down the lane, then out into the maize fields, then on into the woods and I was hooked. Two hours later we were done.

Things I have learnt: That making the effort to take exercise can be tiring on the body at first, but when one has a little doggy called Gus who one is trying to keep occupied so he stays home, then one has to make the effort to do the two hour's worth of walking. And that that little doggy called Gussy has become quite a blessing. Most of the time. But October 22nd still stays.

I suppose Fleur, Bools and Gus all had a good day one way or another. I will keep you posted as to whether there is the patter of tiny feet.

If you greet the day with a smile, then the day will smile back at you.x

Tripping off with wheelbarrow

(This accompanies 'BBQ au naturelle', Aug 2009, over at Jumbly Gardening)

A BBQ. Down on our river beach. That was today's project. But uno problemo: lots of stuff, how to get it all down there.

Aha! Idea arrives: wheelbarrow it down!

So, wood in first, 'borrowed' from the pile out back which is an accumulation of all the wood both old and new which has been associated with our house renovation. Next some kindling: easy - loads of dried grass floating about. Spare sandals for messing about in the river: put on handle. Next, food and towels and stuff relevant to our BBQ food requirements. Put onto wood pile already on barrow. Ah ha! All slid off when barrow was moved.

Another idea! Use the sunbed as a platform for these items. Done! Sundry items loaded on. Bed folded over to keep all in place. Sort of.

Recruitees needed to give life to the wheels of the wheelbarrow. Daughter Karen and grandson Tom provide necessary muscle power.

Unfortunately some of the recruitees ran out of puff when they arrived at the beach:


But not to worry, energy was soon restored, and the barrow was unpacked.

I meanwhile took over the role of photo-shooter, which required of me the effort of sitting on my posterior, which unfortunately has not been quite the same since, due to the various shapes and sizes of the river stones upon which it was perched.

Meanwhile the fire was made (See 'BBQ au naturelle' Aug 2009 over on Jumbly Gardening) and roared into life, attended by chief firestoker Jack, whilst Bools messed about with Fleur in the river, or rather, tried to as much as she would let him.

Lazily we passed the time watching the smoke and flames engulf the food, cooking some of it, not cooking some of it, blackening and charring the other bits. It tasted great!

With all the wood and food all gone, time to go. The barrow received its going-home load, we received a smattering of midge bites, had fullish tums, and another cargo of memories. Fleur sits in the background, hoping we will let Bools back into the water so she can scramble his head again by teasing him to pieces.

Things I have learnt today: That memories are like honey: full of sweetness and goodness. When one needs a sugar-rush one can dip into the jar of honey. When one needs picking up, one can dip into memories. But unlike a jar of honey, which will eventually become empty, memories fill a reservoir in one's heart that can never be emptied away. Memories are priceless.

Fleur banned, buildery update, summer storms.

Update: Fleur banned!

She is such a seductress of a dog, and if a human female would have probably been locked up or earnt a fortune selling her favours. Since Boolie is male and intact, her female ways end up by tangling his head up in knots. In other words, he doesn't know who he is or with whom his allegiances lie.

So what he does is this: when she isn't here he sits outside the gate and watches for her. All the day he will do this. In effect, he has become fixated.

To un-fixate him we have to tie him up on his lead inside the courtyard, or put him in the bedroom caravan for an hour or so. This seems to give his head time to unscramble. But most of all he is a danger to himself. You see, we have roads on two of our borders.

This morning, round the back field we went. Lingered at the river's edge which was cut yesterday by the local municipality hommes in their tractor which can cut everything. Grass, brambles, shrubs, baby trees, etc. It is a fearsome instrument of destruction and has cut a large swathe of bank, clearing it of brambles, nettles, young trees (which we wanted to keep!). So now we have a bank directly off our field.
And here is the view to the left, under the bridge.

And to the right, where our river beach is.....

I had a moment or two of quietness, then off along the bottom end of the field, parallel to the road. Boolie was stopped ahead. Dead still. A statue he had become. As I drew close I looked across the road. Fleur, the temptress, was sitting coyly on the other side of the road. She oozed sex.

I heard a car approaching from across the bridge. I saw Boolie partially un-statue himself, and stiff-legged tiptoe across the road. I called him. Deaf-headed he had become. The car was now visible. I crossed the road to get Boolie. Fleur had meanwhile moved off down the lane which is at right angles to the road. Bools was nose to her rump. Taking him away, that is what she was doing.

The car beeped at me. I was in the way. "Sorry" I mouthed at the driver. Claudine heard the commotion. Came out of her Chambre d'hote which was beside me. We had a chat. Don't know what about particularly. She is the only one here who gives us no quarter in regards to not being able to converse fluently in French. Everyone else breaks up the sentences into small portions for us. Claudine doesn't. One day we will fox her and meet her as linguistic equals. Not for now though. But I think she is tired from her busy summer of visitors, has offered us some cucumbers, had trouble with her pump, and wasn't wearing a bra which I absolutely sure I interpreted correctly because she flipped her bosoms up and down.

Meanwhile I was calling Bools, who knew by my tone of voice, that I was not amused. He went down in a low crouch. Fleur was nowhere to be seen. Scarpered off. I went and got him. I was cross.

So Fleur will be discouraged from coming here and seducing Bools. No doubt she will stay away for a few days, then back she will come again. She is persistent. But when she comes into season, she will not come and ask for Bools to service her. Oh no! Off down the lane she will go, and get herself pregnant by a scrappy little black dog. Then off to the vets she will be taken for the doggy equivalent to the 'morning after' pill. All she does is practice her feminine doggy ways with Bools and tease his head to pieces!

Update: The Builders:
They came in yesterday, dropped off plastic sheeting and steel mesh for the house floors, then went. But said everyone on holiday, pow-wow soon with the plumber and electrician to sort out where everything is to go, and where do we want the toilet, shower, washing machine, sink, etc. They didn't seem to mention the 'roof' word.

The lighting cables have been put in the roof of the half barn by our French electrician. Now the plasterboard can be put up.

Generally, slowly, we are moving forward with the re-build. It occurred to us yesterday, that when all is done, that we will virtually have the equivalent to a new-build house, but with old walls.

Update: The weather:
Changing by the day. Autumn is on the way. The light changed last Friday. Suddenly there was a rich mellowness to the sunshine and we could feel the seasonal change. It was magic.

We are into the time of summer storms now. Last night we sat outside in the dark and watched the lightning flashes coming towards us. It was magic. Then it rained, and that too was magic. At least the caravan awning was covered by a replacement tarp, so everything would stay dry.

Today we are going to steam-cook. It is hot, as ever, and the sun is going to pull the moisture back up to the sky which the rain clouds deposited last night. Which means that our energies are going to be zilch because the air is going to laden with water. Not to worry though. Have lots to do with my web site so can utilize this steamy heat to do so.

As ever, life is good down here in SW France.

Altercations and mischief

Toot Toot. The post lady had arrived. Bools and Fleur launch themselves through the archway, I follow. A packet. Pour moi. "Merci" I say, surprised at its arrival. Hurriedly I head towards the kitchen and my scissors. Et quel surprise! Uno packeto from Val up in the Charente.

And join me for a little sniff as well. MMmmmmMMMmmmMMMmmm. Can you catch a waft?

In a recent conversation I had been having a bit of a moan about the lack of decent curry powder in France. You can only get a small pot here, and that is it. No range of various intensities of flavour, just the one pot. Which, quite frankly, hardly needs to be bothered with. Throwing the entire contents of the pot into the curry only gives forth a hint of curry and nothing more.

Anyway, a girly chat transpired. Et voila! Val, bless her, sent me a couple of packets of homemade curry powder she had from a stash she had made a while ago. It smells delish. I have enclosed the recipe for the powder over on my Foody-ing blog. (Blog title: Val's Curry Powder)

Up early this morning so had time for a long walk with the dogs. Fleur is staying here while Bruno is away. It wasn't intended that she did, but she did anyway. fleur is a hunter dog and was banned from our smallholding last year because she has a hunger to catch things which run fast. Last year we had loads of cats living here in the ruins of the house. With babies they got themselves begot. Fleur's passion is to chase. She chased the cats with their kittens. Then delivered the treasure to us with great pride. All mangled up they were. And we thought about the animals we would eventually have here, and the babies they would hopefully have.

So Fleur was banned. From everyone else's houses she was banned as well, after she ran amok amongst Christiane's chickens, was found swimming in another neighbours swimming pool and had to be fished out, did unto death one of Claudine's ducks, and could be heard at all hours of the day and night chasing after cats. We knew she was doing that because she has this peculiar high pitched yelp which sounds like she is in dire agony. The first time we heard her make that sound, Lester and me looked at each other in dismay, thinking that she had somehow done untold damage to herself. Not so. She was trying to do untold damage to something else.

But that was last year. This year she seems to have calmed down. So she is allowed back here. But is not allowed to make a hullabaloo underneath the tarpaulins. Cats, I think, sometimes shelter there. I don't mind the furniture and other stuff stored under the tarps having to be eventually dumped because it has become damaged, but I really have trouble with throwing stuff out which has been damaged by Fleur's feet as she scrabbles about on a cat hunt.

So off we went down the lane. Met dog down the lane. Had a satisfactory stare-down with him. All three of us. Shoulder to should, in a gang, eyeballing him. Well, he was eye-balling us as well! To break the impasse because time was getting on, I did a little growl. Not a loud one. Just a 'we are a pack and we won't have you attacking us' type growl. The leader had spoke! Because with that, Bools and Fleur did a thrusting dive at him, and off they all went, with dog down the lane's rear end almost hitting the floor as he galloped away with the other two barking joyously at his heels. It was quite, quite, satisfactory!

It might be that I sound a tad on the juvenile side in regards to dog down the lane. And I would agree. But I would also add that I am of an age when eccentricity is expected unless one is going to be thought of as a fuddy duddy elderly person. Since that won't do, I am practicing eccentricity whenever I can.

Busy in the kitchen. Heard snorts. A bit of stomping. Oh, Lester coming into the kitchen caravan for a cup of tea. Was a bit on the late side with his tea rations because I was catching up with the washing up I didn't do last night because I was Facebooking. So needed to do it before I could start cooking lunch. No room, you see, to cook lunch and have stacked dishes as well.

I heard Lester's voice from aways a bit. Sharp. His voice sounded sharp. I looked through the door. Obviously something had upset him.

Oh naughty Toto!

Grabbing his lead, Lester hauls him back through the gate. Toto says 'Nice visiting you' by leaving a nice pile of his rear end doings by the door to the bedroom caravan. We are going to have to remember that pile if we are not going fetch up with mucky feet as we head towards bed in the dark tonight!

Down to the woods Lester takes him. "There" he said, "That should make him stay put".

No, it didn't. Fifteen minutes or so later, and back in the awning Toto had come, having pulled up the stake that Lester had only minutes before hammered into the ground.

"Oh Lester" I called, "You had better come and get Toto".
"What do you mean!" Lester says irritation in his voice. He has a lot of coding to do. This is not a good day to be messing about. He sees Toto standing inside the awning. He looks at me, as if to say, 'Must you play with the horse, can't you leave him tied up'. But I don't know why Toto seems to like to visit with us in the courtyard. Obviously he had not finished with his previous visit because he had pulled his stake up to come and see us again.

By now the giggles are starting. Naughty giggles. Coming at times when it is best to keep a modicum of decorum. Snapping pictures also seems to fuel the giggles.

Lester takes Toto out onto the field. Hammers the stake in right down to ground level. I think his mood can be seen in the manly squaring of his shoulders as he returns back to his PC.

Ah bless. But the overall manly impression was spoilt by his shorts flapping about round his knees making look all of five years old.

So I made him a cup of tea, and gave him a hug and a piece of cake, and said "Well done for being a bon homme".

Lessons I have learnt today. That proper curry powder actually smells like curry powder: all spicey.
That sometimes animals get fed up with not having any company and need to visit and be made a fuss of.
That little doggies who chase the little kittens are not really dreadful creatures at all: they are just following their instinct. The same as cats do when they raid the nests of the little birds in the trees and eat the babies of the birds.

A bit of a bonfire

Most of my kitchen equipment is put away in boxes. Before the hurricane hit us in late January I knew where everything was. Since then I don't. But I have managed.

One of most used pieces of equipment are these cheapo plastic bowls, bought from Wilkinsons for £2.25 each before we left the UK. These I have managed to keep to hand, although often get in the way because of their size.

I have six. Or rather, had six. One was used as a drinking bowl for Boolie, and was left outside during the winter. It didn't like the cold, and died, breaking into several pieces as it did so. So, one down.

The rest have been so very, very useful. They can be dropped and won't break, are big enough to mix bread and cakes in, can be used as a washing-up bowl, can be used to soak one's feet in, can be used as a store from donated under-ripe fruit from Sara, can be used as a mini-compost bin for veg peelings en route to the proper compost heap, or can be 'borrowed' by Hubs for various unrelated kitchen tasks. Oh so many uses, and most times they are being used or waiting to be washed up after being used. They are very busy bowels.

So, in the kitchen this morning. Kettle on for tea, Hubs just getting up. Kitchen caravan a bit overloaded with washing up, it being a difficult environment to stay in for any lenght of time because of the heat. Normally do the tidy up in the morning when it is cooler. Stack washing up to minimalize untidyness. Bread made, one bowl. Cake made, another bowl. Veg peelings from yesterday just been put out onto compost, that makes three bowls to wash up in total. The other one is somewhere else I don't know where, and one is being used as the washing up bowl.

Fleur barks. Boolie chases out to see what she's making a fuss about. Ah, the overnight converted jallopy campervan conversion made out of an old horsebox which arrived at two this morning, and parked out on our front. It's arrival had woken Lester up, who swore and cussed his way into his trousers before going out to have a look at who had arrived in the middle of the night, him being worried in case Toto got loaded up and carried away to somewhere else.

Bools and Fleur messing about in the river.

Now in daylight, I go out to meet and greet them. Fifteen minutes later, after having a chat with the young dreadlocked (or is is it 'deadlocked'- you know when they put extensions into the hair which makes the hair have furry ringlets) female owner of the van, whose partner was still in situ inside the van with their three huskies and one collie, all of who were off to the coast for the summer, I made a return to kitchen-tidy-up duties and making Lester's tea.

Toast. Need to cut the bread. So need to have a bit of a clear surface. Oh I know what I will do: On top of the stove I stack the saucepans, then the bowls on top of them. Big items. Out of the way. Bread cut. Grill on. Toast under grill.

Lester calls. "Can you help me move Toto?"
Toast removed from under the grill. Kettle switches itself off, it having been boiled twice already for tea.

Me and Toto

Out I goes, to receive a nuzzle from Toto. Fleur and Toto belong to Bruno and Maddi who are on holiday up in La Rochelle. Fleur isn't supposed to be staying with us, just Toto, but she decided otherwise when she say Bruno and Maddi drive off without her. She is supposed to be at her own home, staying with the remaining family of one son. It would seem that she also has decided to go on hol as well.

We shift Toto. Then heft his large water bowl to his new grazing place. The flies are already bothering him, so we stay a while and keep brushing them away, before our tummies do a rumble and "Tea and toast" I call out to Lester as I mooch off back to the caravan.

The smoke wasn't too bad. Obviously whatever was making the smoke was not in too dire a way.

Through the haze I can make out quite a perky flame. Mmm, well actually, several perky flames, all emanating from the grill. But not to worry, the toast is out from under the grill so it is probably some bits of food splash from yesterday which are now being grilled.

But I turn the grill off anyway.

The little flames seem to do a bit of a higher surge.

Mmmmmm. Hubs to the rescue. Manfully he thrusts me out of the way, taking charge. Grabbing the pots and stuff he takes them outside. Then he returns. Deadens the flames. Growels at me. Goes outside. "Do you want your cup of tea now?" I call after him. "And your toast?"
"I'll just have bread today, not toast" he flings back at me over his shoulder as he extinguishes the last of the flames. "....And my tea. I would like my tea."

But not to worry though. The saucepans, although blackened, have scrubbed up OK, and while they are never going to be the same again, they are usable. They still have life.

The cupboard, plates, cups, and other bits and bobs, all washed up fine. The ceiling is not too bad, but waits for another day for its wash over.

However:

Three bowls down, two to go!

Things I have learnt: That plastic bowls behave like melting butter when they get hot.
That plastic bowls behaving like melting butter can put up quite a little bonfire.
That plastic bowls behaving like melting butter are likely to be forever unusable mostly because of the wapping big hole they will get in them after the melt.

Not to worry though. Since the kitchen was out of bounds until the smoke cleared, and I thought it best to give Hubs, who was now in the office, time to cool down as well, I gathered Toto, Bools and Fleur and we all had a nice walk down to the Louet and back passing Christiane and Pierre just back from their holidays who gave me a donation of a huge flagon of fifteen percent sweet white wine bought from a wine cave in Spain. Yummy.

And the good news is: that the bowl which was missing turned up, and that one together with the washing up bowl makes two remaining bowls. Raising my glass and saying "Salut" I gently weave my way to my bed.

Doggy romps and French recipes

Its hooligan time here at Labartere as Boolie, Fleur and new Lady Dog charge about amongst the stuff in the courtyard playing chase with each other. Round and round they go. In here, round there, through there, oops didn't mean to barge into those legs nor tip over that ladder or make a mess of the once neat pile of ballast. Snap! someone upsets someone else, which sends Bools heading in my direction with his 'It wasn't me, Mum' expression on his face. B

ut two girl-dogs, wow! How his life has pepped up. Including the offer of having a go at fatherhood with Val's lady Springer-girl early next year to make Springer babies. Also possibility of Fleur getting her way as well. She's trying hard enough. Still visiting. But banned from tarpaulin-adventures. The new Lady Dog, belonging to the roofer? Well, Bool's would have to have a ladder to make her pregnant. She is quite a tall dog. As for Fleur - he can kneel down to oblige her, but of late she has been taken to rolling around underneath him, possibly to show him that there are other ways to get the job done. This is a very willing little lady dog.

I have mentioned before about French supermarket shopping - everything is written in French for a start, and the French people don't eat like the English do either. For instance, their view of cream is that it is hot milk with an egg yolk mixed in and then left to go cold. It's quite nice. In its own way.


I came here with a head full of known and tried recipes, plus a tattered old notebook of valued dishes, most of which have had to be dumped because for one: I can't translate the ingredients into French, and for two: I can't find the ingredients when I do manage to do the odd conversion. So I can either hunt down English suppliers, which most of the English seem to do here, which seems to me an intolerable waste of time, or I can go au naturelle and do French cooking. And joy of joys: looking at recipes in a French maggie, and actually recognising the ingredients by name. OK, so don't know where to find them yet. But I have seen them somewhere. So now I have to go on a hunt to find them, but at least I can ask someone the whereabouts of a missing ingredient.

Ah. A Thought. That would require, would it not, some French words? MMmmmm. Perhaps a stumbling block to my intended cooking project. Perhaps, maybe, ummm, .... now where did I put that old recipe notebook....


Updates: Builders rolling along. Rhubarb sprouting. Dreadful blackness over the Pyrenees. Bools slept on bed last night because he was cold which left us all squashed up like the contents of a tin of sardines - will have to stop him from doing that as Lester spent most of the night crammed up against the window, I had minimal space in the middle while Bools, bless him, took up nearly half of the bed and would not move AT ALL. But it was a cold night. So we were probably all the warmer for being in a huddle. Mud is slightly moister today, sun is asleep, methinks the Pyrenees are posting up to us some of their dark weather, et au revoir pour ce moment.

It was a heavenly day.

It was a heavenly day today. For once we were tidy. The caravans were polished and vacuumed, bed made, washing up done, awning not too bad, PC room OK, courtyard devoid of any detritus left over from the tempest ten days ago, including miles of tarpaulins and our stuff underneath them. The sky was magnificent, the sun warm, the Pyrenees were twinkling in the distance. 'Twas a peaceful day. I felt organised. 'I'm going to take it easy for a couple of days, perhaps do some hobby-stuff, do a bit of pampering,' I thought to myself.
"You can't do that" the Universe said, "that's wasting time."

It is Wednesday today. And yes, the roofers turn up. With a huge CAT machine which rolls heavily over our once-upon-a-time front lawn, and deliver into the tidy courtyard piles and piles of bricks, sand, wood, and general buildery things. Upon instructions from Roofer Man, everything has to come out of the half-barn, and so another pile of stuff is dumped into the courtyard including the tattered and torn tarpaulins. The percentage of grass to mud is now vastly diminished, but the bright blue skies overhead give a cheerfulness to the picture and makes the green tarps all shiney and bright giving the false impression that there is more green around than what there is actually is. But at least the roofers are here.

I survey the chaos, and the Universe smiles at me. "Ah ha!" it seems to be saying, "You can't waste time sitting around, you've got work to do!"
"Yes" I reply, "but when am I going to get to do something other than mess about with boxes and tarpaulins?" There is no answer to that, so I take myself off for a walk, for once minus Fleur. She set up two large roe deer the other day who were sheltering in our woods. I would have preferred that they stay there. She thought otherwise. She is the chief mischief-maker of the neighbourhood. Today she was elsewhere. It was therefore a quiet and gentle walk.

Val's sheep has had two babies, the fig tree is sprouting the fruit which we will be harvesting in late summer, the chicken project has had to be shelved yet again because there is no room in the courtyard now the roofers are sharing our residence, the floor of caravan number one is still pot-holey but not so much so - a few more bricks should sort that out, Bruno has invited us to a party on Saturday and is involving Lester in a 'project' which may or may not be a good thing, we decided not to join the two caravans together under one tarp after a gust of wind lifted the tarp up into the air like a balloon - have made a joint decision that it is better to get a little wet when commuting between the various living spaces rather than keep battling with tarps preferring to behave like kites. Our only escapee so far was one which went AWOL during the tempest, the rest we have managed to tame - for the moment.

But over all, it was a heavenly day. Repeating that to myself as I toddle off to bed via the kitchen caravan for a snack, and then off to the bedroom caravan for a sleep, I bid you goodbye for now. And may the sun shine brightly on your corner of the world.

And our roof has been started. Yippeeeeee!

Help Arrives!

"It's here!" I yelled at Lester, grabbing the torch, scrabbling into wellies, shrugging on a cardi and hurtling across the courtyard with Bools racing ahead to see what all the fuss was about.

And there, in the nearly-midnight darkness, she stood. Squat, elderly, plump: our new home brought to us by angels in the form of Val and Ron, who were at that very minute getting out of their 4x4, and putting their feet straight into muddy puddles because they had parked up on the mudbath which is supposed to be our drive.

And sitting behind the car was our 'new' caravan, towed down to us by our friends who had rang us the day before to say, "We are coming down to help you tomorrow." With the gazebo no more, and a large mound of stuff sitting in the middle of the courtyard covered by a tarp, and no dry space other than the caravan and the tiny 'office', because the tempest (which is what the French are calling the big wind of last weekend) ripped all the roof tarps off the house and barns, things were getting a bit dire. Not to worry, though, we were cheerful but flat.

And then the phone call came in, and help was on the way.An Internet search had put up an elderly caravan for sale which they could pick up on the way down from the Charente, which was all of a six hour drive away. It was nearly midnight. They were here!

Inspection-time. Caravan looked pristine inside and out. For all of five seconds, that is, which was the time it took Ron to open the caravan door, and for their two soaked-in-mud dogs to barge past him and romp round the beige carpeted floor. It was very wet outside on the drive. It became quite wet on the floor of the caravan. Not to worry, though. Stoically Val and Ron spudged through the mud to our tiny office, and we all squeezed in for a warm-up and a slice of Val's homemade quiche.

Then all off to bed: us to caravan number 1, and Val and Ron to caravan number 2, plus assorted four footed friends.

Fleur was sent home. She had also decided to romp around in the mud. She has also taken to romping around underneath the tarpaulin covering our furniture in the tall barn. If the furniture rots, which it is likely to do now it is no longer in a dry space, I don't mind. At least we have done our best to save it.

But Fleur has a passion, apart from promising sexual favours to Bools, and that is to hunt down cats, and the tarp-covered pile of furniture makes an ideal hidey-hole for cats. Or so Fleur thinks. I make battle with her over this. Rotting furniture is OK. Saved furniture covered in muddy scratches is not. So off home she is being sent until the roof is done.

By the way, on that front - roofer-man came last Friday "Bonjour ....noos seimn s proshen mercredi niosrions ...." which is interpreted as "We will be here next Wednesay" we think. Well, we understood 'Mercredi' which is Wednesday, so are presuming the rest meant that they were going to make a start. It has been dry of late. Good roofing weather. Last night it rained. Like my washing - whenever I do the washing it rains. I suspect that rain will show up again tomorrow, just as the roofer-men start work. But at least we have another pile of building materials stacked up out front to show that things are happening.
Sooner or later this year it should end up on the roof.

Meanwhile, Val, bless her, cooks a humungous UK-style breakfast with provisions supplied entirely by herself, announces that she has brought down a freezer bag full of meat from her recycled animals (leg of lamb, lamb chops, duck) and a joint of pork from the half pig a local farmer sold her - apparently he plays his pigs music to them and massages them with lavender water: "A happy pig is a tasty pig" being his method of animal raising. Lester is enthused about the music. I ask if Queen would be appropriate. A good dose of 'We are the Champions' or "We will rock you" should get them frisking about. But no. Classical music is favourite apparently, preferably Mozart. I don't think Lester will do lavender massage, might do music though.

So on happy tums, Val and me battle with getting the awning up on caravan number 2, which has by now been moved into the courtyard and sits at right angles to caravan number 1. Ron decided that he was going to provide us with hot water, and that it ought to go in the house. "Where in the house?" I ask curiously, seeing as how the sky is the roof, and there is no enclosed space. "Where the sink is" he says. Silly me! Of course! But can't stand in the sink, can I, to have shower, I think to myself. Pre-empting me, Ron says "You can stand on a pallet and let the water drain onto the floor. It will just mix with the rain water already there. Won't do any harm" Silly me for not thinking of that! End of day: Awning up, dinner cooked, hot water in house, Ron had a test shower to see if it worked. I didn't look! I took his word for it that everything worked!

Sunday: Another full tum, and we wave our two angels off. Spent the day heaving the stuff under the tarp into the awning of caravan number 2. Lester has a try of shower. Didn't use pallet to stand on, might get splinters in his feet. Stood in orange Halfords box instead. We have loads of those boxes, donated by our UK removal man. Good for storage and keep things excellently dry. Also good for shower tray if you get stuck! Lester can vouch for that!

So: We have a bedroom and clothes-storage which is caravan number 1. I have a kitchen and dining room, which is caravan number 2. The awning provides more storage. The PC's are now in the PigChick Hut which is our tiny office. Gosh! Aren't we doing well! The roofers may or may not be up on our roof tomorrow depending on the weather, and Lester said the trees in our wood are starting to show signs of waking up. The year is on the move and so are we!

Hello

So I have think I have finally managed to create a blog-spot after having been tangled up with France Google which was all in French (of course!) so I didn't have the foggiest idea of what it was saying.

Now I have been living in France for all of nearly 7 months, and although I can manage the odd word or two, for techno-French it is still no go for my head. Then Voila! just as I was going to give up, there...up the top of the page was a box to choose another language. After considering Chinese as an interesting second choice, I opted for good old English, et voici! Don't know if this will upload so if you are reading this it has. If you haven't then it hasn't! As you can see, living in the caravan has not improved my capacity to think nonsense. It must be the fresh air!

Just to let you know that I have fallen in love. Or been fallen in love with. By Fleur. Who loves my leg. And also Pot Belly Lady. She loves my skirt! Ah the joys of rural France.

But before you think that I am going even further off the planet than is usual for my 60 plus years: Fleur is a white thingummy dog, or chienne; Small, wiry of coat, completely herself, and a free spirit. She was our first visitor when we arrived, and pops in nearly every day to come play with Boolie, our Springer chien, and my leg if she gets a chance.

Of late she has also tried having a practice on the back end of Boolie, who would oblige by practicing on her back end but she has the unfortunate habit of sitting down so he can't.

But that doesn't stop him from trying.

Or her from having a go up my leg if given half the chance. I think she must be cross-wired or something!

As for the Pot Belly Lady, well she lives down the road at the House of the Camels and is the house pig of Sara and Paul. She, too, has a fascination for my legs, and also my shoe laces. It is quite a hoot for her to also grab a mouthful of my skirt.

Since we are camping, this does not improve the general muddy appearance of my mode of dress. Due to camping conditions, the clothes have to be recycled more than would ordinarily be necessary. It does not help if a skirt which is due to be worn for a few days has muddy mouth marks on it on day one.

But heyho! We are camping!