Off to the flicks we go!

"Where have you been?" I said to Lester, after he disappeared for a couple of hours the other day. He had been last seen talking to Bruno, which does not always bode well. They are like a couple of lads when they get together, and tend to wander off to do boy-o things. Like going on the hunt for manure, or investigating the entrails of Bruno's ancient tractor, or discussing how to retrieve the wood from under the bridge out in the middle of the river, etc.
"We went into Plaisance", he said, "Bruno took me to the market and we had a coffee in the bar, then we went into the post office, then the bank, then we had a look at what's on at the cinema."
I frowned. "I thought you were over at Bruno's".
"Well, we were, then he said 'let's go and do some shopping for some more fruit trees in the market - it's on today' and you know I want some more fruit trees (do I? He's already planted 30) so I went with him. Did you listen out for the phone?" (I do secretarial duties when he isn't in the office in case the office in the UK call him.)
"No" I said, feeling left out of an adventure which I wouldn't have minded going on myself. " What's on at the cinema?"
"A sci-fi. We're going tomorrow night."
"Oh, are we!"

So we went, collected by Bruno who parked at the bar in Prechac on the way, so we could have a drink first. And a bag of French fries. Cooked in a van parked outside of the bar.
"It's really great, being able to eat like this" Bruno said, as he unwrapped the nicely wrapped parcel of fries onto the table. " You know, we only have restaurants here, or we have to cook ourselves. It is good that we can buy food like this. It's a new thing here. "
Lester and I looked at each other, remembering the fast food culture of the UK. Another reminder of how different the two cultures are. However, the fries were nothing like the chip-shop chips back in the UK; these were seasoned, and crisp and very more-ish.

Nous arrivons au cinèma: "Oh, an English film: Nicolas Cage, no less, in Prédictions" I said, thinking 'Great! French subtitles!' Oh but where is the queue? Perhaps everyone is already inside, time is getting on. Ooh, a bag of popcorn perhaps? Or some sweeties?

No. No people. No popcorn. No sweeties. The cinema would be the equivalent to an updated village hall, only better: more cinema-like, less Women's Institute. It was lick-spit clean, freshly painted, and cosy. Not like those huge cinema complexes of our pre-France days, where one was encouraged to gourge oneself senseless of loads of junk-type food while standing in the queue, or going straight inside if one was lucky, after first having found the correct screen out of several others. Straight in we went. No nibbles. Plenty of choice for seating: apart from one other, we were the only three. Oooh, the seats were soooo comfy. And clean. No litter anywhere. Around the walls were posters of coming films. No adverts. There were no adverts anywhere.

Film starts. Directly it starts. I nudge Lester "Where are the adverts!" I whisper in his ear, in a curious way missing the loss of the minutes of my life having to watch the pre-film stuff relevant to UK cinema showings which sort of prepare one for the film to come.

Nicolas Cage is on screen. Mmm. Subtitles? Mmmm. No! Looking forward to hearing his lovely deep drawling voice, I am momentarily thrown into confusion by the foreign language which is emitting from his mouth. It takes me but a few seconds to realise that he has been dubbed. I thought it was the influence of the French fries, it being a while since I last ate out of a chip packet.

Was the film good? Well, it was a fun evening. And the film had me rivetted, mostly because I was trying to make out the story line. It was one of those films with a lot of chases, crashes, spooky houses, and make-you-jump moments but not in a hairy-scary way.

However, I had to do a search on the Internet this morning to find out what it was really all about, and it is called 'Knowing' when spoken in English. Probably if I had heard it in English, I would most probably understood it more. But I am in France, and I will go to the cinema in Plaisance again, the main reason being that the evening was such a simple, pleasurable experience. No adverts, and no seduction for buying naughty foodies, seemed to strip away un-necessary excess. We went to see a film, and we saw a film, and we had no extra clutter to get in the way.

It was another grand evening in France.

Val's Duck

Back aways, after the great wind of late January, angels descended from the Vienne going by the name of Val and Ron. In tow behind them was the replacement caravan for the now-dead gazebo which had done us proud all through the winter, and in the back of their car: fodder. Val is an excellent cook, and came with provisions. PLUS, meat from her smallholding: leg of lamb, lamb chops, and pieces of stewing lamb. Plus some local pork. AND a duck. All frozen. We have no freezer. Down the road to Sara of the Camels the meat went, there to reside for a while.

And it came to the time of distribution. Along to Sara I went. On my bike. There to retrieve but only a portion of the meat, the donated pieces being bigger than I thought. A bike is not the easiest of vehicles to manage when the handle bars are festooned with plastic bags carrying chunks of frozen meat. Tends to make the bike feel unsafe as the wobble factor increases.

Met, at Sara's, a white camel who a Dutch girl had had shipped down from Russia or somewhere similar, so she could learn to ride it and then travel back to Holland via one of the pilgrim routes of which there are quite a few. However, the camel was too young, so she had bought a donkey from the Ju Beloc donkey farm which Lester and Bruno have raided for donkey manure, said manure being a subject I raise quite frequently in these blogs. Anyway, here she is, on a practice walk up by our bridge. At the time this was taken, the donkey was having a bad moment: he doesn't like dogs, and he doesn't like cars, and he doesn't like bridges. Put the three together, and on strike he goes. He is actually heading in the opposite direction to the one she wants him to go in and she is trying to pursuade him to turn around. It had already taken her ages. He is a stubborn fellow. She leaves today. I think 'all best wishes' are urgently needed for her.

So, duck and pork retrieved. Pork went into pot. Duck was donated to Claudine and Daniel over at the Chambre d'Hote to say 'thankyou' for all the help they have given us, and for the splendidly huge repast they invited us to on New Year's Eve. And it wouldn't have gone into the caravan oven anyway. It was well received.

An email arrived shortly afterwards. To dinner we were invited. Our hearts sank. They only speak French. It can be a long evening when one doesn't. We wrote back with a 'yes', there being no way we could do a tactical withdrawal.

Wednesday night: over the road we went. Starter: cochon noir pieces. Next: Cheese souffle. Followed by: Duck, quartered. With flagelout beans. Then: Hard goat's cheese, soft goat's cheese (from local goat farm - we are going to recce that out when we get the chance). Next: Cake made from Daniel's Mum's recipe. Then: prunes in almangnac. All interspersed with quantites of red wine, and white wine which is like nectar and nothing have I ever tasted which is as delicious as that wine.

So the duck was laid to rest. I was proud of the fact that it was my English friend who had provided it, - the French have a tendancy to make jokes about the English infront of us. Since we can't understand their language they think we don't know that they do. But they can never disguise the word 'Anglaise' sufficient for us to remain oblivious to their in-house jokes. Curiously, we don't mind. It is their country, after all, and the English do not always show themselves very well here. We feel as if we are good ambassadors for the England because at least we are trying to integrate with the French community, and Val's duck, that very kind donation, pushed us forward with this. Not one word of English was spoken, although there was another guest sharing the meal, who did. But he gave no quarter to us, which is another thing we are finding: that the French will not speak English until we have made the effort to speak French first. And I think this is quite right and I have much respect that they do this. As I say, this is their country after all.

We survived the evening. And felt all the stronger for doing so. We managed to hold our own with French conversation, Claudine has invited me along to the local swimming pool on Monday afternoons if I can find my swimming costume, and the Duck was great.

So thanks to Val and Ron, thanks to Claudine and Daniel, and thanks to the Universe for giving us an opportunity to partake of an evening of excellent French hospitality.

Now onto the leg of lamb.......

UPDATE ON THE DONKEY-GIRL: She is on her way, having just this minute passed by. A minor problem is that it has taken her nearly two hours to get to us from Sara's, which would normally take ten minutes walking time if without a donkey who is not enthused about embarking on this adventure.

And I think of the other people I know of, who are also embarking on 'mad-cap' ideas, who are having a go a doing something different, including us. And I think how safe the majority prefer to stay, and how few 'have a go'.

It is better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all. As Dianne, a fellow English woman, said yesterday: "I don't want to be one of those people who say 'Oh I wish I had done this, or I wish I had done that, but now it's too late.' " I agree with her totally. So good luck to the madness of the Donkey-Girl, however far she manages to get towards her goal of Holland. Even if she decides to pack it in at four o'clock today, at least she gave it a try. But then, she might surprise herself, and get further than what she thought, and she might learn a lot about herself along the way.

Psychic Virgin

I have been deep in the bowels of Psychic Virgin for the last few days, and yippeee! Just one more quick once-over and then finito for this stage of the book's life. It has taken three years! Crikey, but I can't believe what I've got up to during those years! Anyway, it's done now. All I have got to do is sell it! Am now doing the sister book, which is The Psychic Toolbox, which is mostly written and just needs tidying up. Or so I thought, until I started working on it today. But, PV is now just about ready to venture out into the world. It is at this point that it is best not to look at the thousands, if not zillions, of other books all jostling for position in the sales lists. 'Grit your teeth' time now.

And here is a photo of the bookcover taken from Lulu, the printer/publisher. All designed by me, so has a kind of 'not quite right' look about it! But, it didn't cost me anything, and is original, and it will do.

Oh but it is my baby! And just like any baby in its infancy, it has been sometimes troublesome, given me acres of sleepless hours during the night, has often come perilously close to being thrown out of the window but wasn't, needed loads of fuss and attention, sometimes behaved and was a joy to have around, other times it was a case of 'what the hell am I doing' interspersed with 'well, I thought it a good idea when this got started'.

And now it is done. All I have got to do is press the 'Publish' button, and it will be off out into the world. Will it succeed? I haven't the faintest clue. But it will be a pleasure to say in the future 'I have written a book'!

Off we go now, over to Claudine's at the Chambre d'hote, for dinner. I think they said Wednesday when they invited us over.