Le Couvent Diary

We're back from New York and I've hopped over to Suffolk to see my mother since I last blogged. We've also put up details of next year's volunteer week, and, although we have a pretty full list, we are still taking applications in case we have any cancellations.

I haven't had any time with my mum on her own since I was about five, so it was just wonderful to spend four days in England with her last week. We had a hugely enjoyable meander through all the places we lived when I was a young child, Bury St Edmunds, Lavenham, Hadleigh - all beautiful places in deepest Suffolk.

 

The day was a stunner, balmy and sunny and we  didn't have any of the frustrations that  an itinerary might have brought. Easy parking space on Angel Hill, totter through the alleyway to Churchgate Street, meander round the art gallery that sits in the space where my mum coiffed women's hair fifty years ago, and where my brother was born. Notice a good-looking french restaurant over the road. Have a wonderful lunch surrounded by french-speaking hosts and chefs - thank you Maison Bleue . Toddle off to Lavenham to buy luscious black Suffolk dry cured bacon , (which I've left in my mum's fridge, dammit). We laughed and reminisced and thanked God that we don't suffer the privations that those times carried.

 

I've lived in France for seven years now, and I'm used to the ramshackle look of the place. The summer dries and crumbles the stone of buildings, the water-starved hedges deserve the winter to regrow and are rarely trimmed, verges die down in the blasting heat of the summer and our eyes are rested by the reappearance of green, so grass is allowed to grow unchecked in the cooler months. It's considered vulgar here to make the outside of your house a showpiece, one keeps one's jewels hidden so to speak. So it comes as something of a shock to travel through the pristine villages of Suffolk. Pretty gentrified cottages that once held farm workers now coddle wealthy Londoners each weekend, hedges are clipped and trimmed as if prepared for Crufts, verges are tamed into billiard tables. It's all perfect and leaves me relieved that I'm not part of that form of keeping up with the Joneses. Life's a lot less stressful here.

Meanwhile, making the most of my absence, Ali set to and redecorated our bathroom as a surprise. And very beautiful it is too. Thanks a million.

It's feeling an unusually English autumn at the moment, since we now have UK television. When we arrived in France, mute because we didn't speak the language, we took the decision not to have British TV, reasoning that we'd neither speak french nor understand anything of the culture if we didn't move here wholesale. So we stuck with french television for seven years and our french improved immeasurably. Then my mum agreed to come to stay for a month, for the whole of this December. At 79 it seems unfair to force her to endure endless chat programs in a new language so we've used her as the excuse to install a satellite dish. And now we're enjoying watching all those programmes that our UK friends are sick of. Without subtitles. Or dubbing. But I'm conscious that it does shift the culture inside this old house, so I'm hoping the novelty will wear off soon.

 

Just to keep the English theme going I'm about to order my mother some chocolate as a birthday present from Cadbury Gifts Direct. Sadly they don't deliver to France, but it does make a change from flowers.

PS   A belated Happy Thanksgiving to all our lovely chums in the USA.

It's hurling rain down in a waterfall. Ali and I have spent an hour mopping up the office which has beautiful, if completely ineffective, doors. These ancient crusty blue doors are full of holes and let in all weathers, but we're loathe to replace them with something modern that will scream at the rest of the house. Idem the windows. So when it really rains we have to circle bearing thick towels, mops, buckets and crossed fingers.

Last weekend was terrific, however. We spent three sunny days doing a fantastic dry-stone walling course just north of Montpellier. It's an hour from Roujan so we had a pretty early start, driving through the sunrise. On Sunday morning there was a huge dead wild boar lying in the outside lane of the autoroute. I doubt it would still have been there by the time the cops arrived. White vans were slowing down, the drivers imagining a long slow casserole for supper. 

Our fellow wall-makers were all French and worked for Credit Agricole bank. They were so charming I didn't have the heart to tell them we'd moved our accounts to another bank after being driven to distraction by CA's inefficiency. Credit Agricole (like all other huge institutions in France) has this excellent system that sponsors part of the cost of such courses for their employees. At least if the bank overcharges you or makes erroneous deductions you can rest assured that their employees will be able to stonewall. 

During the course we dismantled a collapsed wall of around 12 metres and rebuilt it from scratch to it's new former glory. We can't wait to get going on some projects in our vineyards. We have tons of stone, and most of it's flat, making it much easier. Watch out you volunteers, we have surprises in store!

 

 

 

It was a relief that Ali could come dry-stone walling. She'd spent the previous week horizontal after having fallen down the stairs whilst carrying the cat. Gouttiere got off scot free but Ali suffered two twisted and swollen ankles and a badly bruised and twisted knee. Thankfully she's walking OK-ish again now as were off on our hols in two days' time.

We will be flying from Toulouse to Heathrow, then on to JFK New York. We have the lovely Lee coming to dog/cat/hen/house-sit. The dogs adore him as he's around ten feet tall at least, and he plays with them. Unlike me, on both counts. They'll have a very good time, as long as the rain clears up. Thanks too, to all our pals who said they'd box and cox if we really couldn't find a dog-sitter. A thousand thanks to Lee for stepping up to the plate.

Just in case three cars weren't enough, we've just bought another. It was just too pretty to pass by, and I adore driving him. Ali will too, when she can bend her knee enough to use the clutch.

 

 

Marcel the Renault is 29 years and 7 months old. The age is important. The French government has just changed the classic car age from 25 to 30, so in changing his registration plates (which you have had to do here on the change of ownership since 1950) he has to have the yukky new-style modern plates for 5 months until his birthday next March when he can have the lovely old type again. Daft eh?

 

 

 

We had a great day yesterday - an early breakfast followed by a 30 minute drive to Marseillan Plage where there is an enormous flea market each weekend, all through the year. It's a favourite Sunday morning blast for me, and Ali, who loathes mornings, will sometimes come treasure hunting too. Yesterday we went with some lovely guests who are here from Dublin.

At the Pezenas antiques fair in May Ali and I were taken by a water-jousting shield, but at 100 euros the price was too high for me. So imagine my delight when I nailed one for a good deal less than that yesterday.

 

 

So what is water-jousting? Imagine two teams of men, each with a large rowing boat like a huge gondola with a long platform on one end, upon which stand a chap with a wooden lance in one hand and heavy wooden shield in the other. Each team rows like the clappers towards each other and the jousters try to push each other off their platform. Each local coastal town has a team and there is a hotly contested league. Hundreds of tourists turn up to watch from the canal or quay sides. It's huge fun.

I've stolen the bottom two of the photos below from Photo Passion 55 - a blog where there are many fantastic photos of this area.

 

 

 

A couple of Sundays ago we found ourselves in Beziers, having visited our pal Maria in her rest home. We'd been told about a large and interesting brocante in a former Intersport warehouse. Ever eager to spend money we haven't got on bits of art and odd treasures, we went to explore. I saw lots of things I liked very much, but none so much as this little chap. He weighs a ton and has sticky out ears and a hole in his head. He would have had a metal prong with a half moon rasp where the hole is, but that's not there. He's a tool for scraping the flesh out of a coconut and I adore him.

I use the word him somewhat loosely since he has both male organs and pointy boobs, so I'm a little confused.  But I love how he swims towards the patineuse on the other side of the table.

 

 

 

 

A couple of weeks ago we took the most wonderful walk at Lake Salagou, just 20 minutes or so north east of Le Couvent.

 

What an extraordinarily beautiful place. I find it impossible to describe landscapes so I'll point you to these fantastic photos instead.

Our walk took around an hour and a half and was pretty easy. By the time you come to stay at Le Couvent we'll have prepared maps and guides for each of the walks we're doing this winter in case you fancy a mildly energetic jaunt.

Erzsi, our lovely friend who joined us declared it the mst beautiful walk she's EVER taken.

 

Needless to say we took lunch. Why is it impossible to take a walk without a picnic? It must be a hangover from those days, thankfully long ago, when, as a PE teacher, I used to take kids to North Wales as part of their Duke of Edinburgh's Award. I lived in fear of the death or starvation of one of the kids and went loaded with every supply imaginable. I've never been able to look Kendal Mint Cake in the face since. These days it's delicious tarte au poireaux or jambon et fromage from the local baker's. Much more fun, although I have to save a bit for the mutts.

 

 

By the way, Happy Birthday mum and congratulations to guests Mark & Lisa on the birth of Tom!