Et voila! The rear end of HG, deliberating over whether to risk digging up a potato plant or not. Is it time, or is it not time? That is the question hovering in the air.He bends over further. "What do you think?" he says to me. "Dig" is my reply.
In goes the fork. Out comes the camera. Elbowing HG to one side, I inspect our first batch of potatoes.
Oh and wasn't it satisfying! I am addicted. There is no turning back. To go out to the veg plot and get something for dinner feels sssSSSSsoooo good.
Oh and wasn't it satisfying! I am addicted. There is no turning back. To go out to the veg plot and get something for dinner feels sssSSSSsoooo good.
Et l'evidence. Nous avons beaucoup pommes de terre and all from one plant! And today the tiles for the roof have arrived. One more step. Sometime soon we will no longer be living in the 'house without a roof' when people ask us where we live.
Things I have learnt over the last few days: That HG did not mean to get into a panic and ban me from strimming the long grass on the path going down to the river after he nearly inadvertently stepped on an adder whilst mowing the long grass in the back field.
That having the roof tiles here means that things are progressing.
That when someone pays us a visit who we haven't seen for six months, and who had the attitude that we were nuts to be living in a caravan and gazebo when last we spoke, now sees that we have survived the winter, got the garden and veg plot going, and that the house is taking shape, that it is good to notice the respect they now show towards us.
That it is better to keep the sugar cubes put away in the cupboard at all times, otherwise one is in danger of taking on board another addiction, which is a passion for slipping a sugar cube into one's mouth whenever one passes the box. The French don't really do spoons of sugar. Always cubes. They are very more-ish.
That if one is not mindful of the tempermental gas oven and forget to make frequent checks, that one is very likely to burn the cake one is baking for one's Hubs. However, the cake can be rescued by cutting away the burnt crust, although the cake will diminish in size and will look nude.
That Hubs, bless him, is a stirling trooper of a man, and I am sure our builder thinks so as well after being instructed to bring all the several piles of tiles into the courtyard instead of leaving them out on the drive. "For security" HG says.
That keeping in step with one's partner is hard going at times and that it is OK to park oneself up on the sidelines for a short breather occasionally providing one realises that soon the in-step synchronization will return.
That 'afternoon naps' sound better if they are called 'siestas'- not quite so 'old lady-ish.
That Carla, the pot bellied pig, is sound in wind and limb after she went AWOL from Sara's for a few hours last week. She had collapsed on her return, and the vet said 'Measles'.
That gnat bites seem to lose their vigour after one has had quite a few.
That we are now into our second year.
That having the roof tiles here means that things are progressing.
That when someone pays us a visit who we haven't seen for six months, and who had the attitude that we were nuts to be living in a caravan and gazebo when last we spoke, now sees that we have survived the winter, got the garden and veg plot going, and that the house is taking shape, that it is good to notice the respect they now show towards us.
That it is better to keep the sugar cubes put away in the cupboard at all times, otherwise one is in danger of taking on board another addiction, which is a passion for slipping a sugar cube into one's mouth whenever one passes the box. The French don't really do spoons of sugar. Always cubes. They are very more-ish.
That if one is not mindful of the tempermental gas oven and forget to make frequent checks, that one is very likely to burn the cake one is baking for one's Hubs. However, the cake can be rescued by cutting away the burnt crust, although the cake will diminish in size and will look nude.
That Hubs, bless him, is a stirling trooper of a man, and I am sure our builder thinks so as well after being instructed to bring all the several piles of tiles into the courtyard instead of leaving them out on the drive. "For security" HG says.
That keeping in step with one's partner is hard going at times and that it is OK to park oneself up on the sidelines for a short breather occasionally providing one realises that soon the in-step synchronization will return.
That 'afternoon naps' sound better if they are called 'siestas'- not quite so 'old lady-ish.
That Carla, the pot bellied pig, is sound in wind and limb after she went AWOL from Sara's for a few hours last week. She had collapsed on her return, and the vet said 'Measles'.
That gnat bites seem to lose their vigour after one has had quite a few.
That we are now into our second year.
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