life in the Limousin

I have found myself thrust into aunthood rather late in life. My sister accidentally (happily accidentally) found herself pregnant for the first time at the grand old age of 44, and so now, when little Megan is 18 months old we find ourselves preparing for her first visit here.

I have had no experience of children, as I lead a rather hedonistic life before I got married and we settled here in France and so I have to admit this impending visit slightly terrifies me. I just don’t know how to talk to children - they seem to cry within milliseconds of being in my presence and when my mother came to visit a short while ago, she looked horrified at the array of hazards her beloved grand daughter would be facing here.

I have moved everything breakable and shut away a few of the household chemicals and Martin and Livvy have lent us a high chair and travel cot so we are vaguely prepared, but there is no denying that within a short space of time she is likely to be covered in bruises, dog hair and chicken shit. We have also put a barrier across an opening into the barn on the first floor, which I am sure isn’t completely childproof, but should buy us some time so that she cant just run across and freefall onto the ground floor (only joking Mother!). I have turned off the horses electric fence although wouldn’t that keep her within a safe boundary?

I also need a course in child communication - how do I hold/touch/talk to her? Its so much easier with a dog I find, and give me a ton of horseflesh and I will be happy as larry and know exactly how to communicate with it. Youngsters of the animal variety are so much easier to understand.

So here we are. Sister, hubby and child are driving southwards as we speak and I am going around slightly like a rabbit in headlights. My hopeful saving grace is that Neil is an uncle twice over, and does seem to have a talent for entertaining children. Well, for five minutes until he gets bored, so I am hoping we will take to aunty and unclehood like our ducks took to their pond – but watch this space!!

I didn’t get round to writing last night as Alfie was on the computer until 10pm.
He left this morning for a 3 week camping trip around Ireland with his oldest French friend Anthony. They’ve known each other since being neighbours at the age of four and although chalk and cheese have kept in touch despite having taken different paths academically at the age of 16. Somehow, though, I think this trip may be the nail in their collective coffin.
Anthony ,who is a year into studying to be a geologist in Paris, had to go somewhere as part of a holiday project for his course.
Alfie who had been back from Les Vosges for only about a day ( following 2 weeks of partying and living in the woods) spoke to him on some social site or other decided to tag along on the grounds that he has a ginger beard, some distant Irish ancestry and likes Guiness so counts himself an honorary native. So plane and rail tickets were bought at various points over the past four weeks, but only after much prompting, he started reading ‘Round Ireland with a Fridge’, Pogues CD’s were downloaded and more worryingly gaelic singing by the likes of Mary O’Hara, which he’s convinced himself he likes, and as with all of his projects all other details were brushed from his mind. I mean really how much preparation do these things take?
Par for the course he spent this weekend at a party in Oradour where 20 or so of them were sleeping in tents. As they were being fed for the entire time we didn’t see him for two days until Sunday evening when he turned up whilst we were mid aperitifs with some Dutch friends and couldn’t question him properly. As he was working early on Monday we assumed that he’d come home early to pack or print out the travel details but no…he was only back to pick up the hair shavers and needless to say the next day he was sporting a barnet that would have left Grant Mitchell feeling naked. Nothing like the mad squaddie look just before going off to Ireland for the 21 days. Apparently it started off well and then all went a bit pear shaped when someone tried to grade in the back……which after a couple of days of drinking and partying in the hot sun is barely believable I know.
As a consequence of no planning whatsoever last night was spent at the computer intermittently swearing and sitting with his head in his hands almost in tears as he spoke to Anthony on MSN, learning of some small new disaster at each turn – the major one being that both thought the other was taking the tent and as a consequence no one had planned to take one.
Anthony, who is flying Air France, said that he was almost up to his limit of 20kg as the first aid kit weighed more than he’d thought! Alfie, who is on a limit of only 10kg, suggested that he might consider leaving it at home and taking living quarters instead but that was met with both incomprehension and disbelief. I think that it was at this point that the reality of the whole thing sank in and only sank deeper when he went to find a bag that fitted Ryanair’s specified dimensions for hand luggage. Two pairs of jeans, a couple of tshirts and a sleeping bag squashed in, for good measure, later and he was walking out of the door in the knowledge that he has about 15€ a day to live on, with someone he can barely stand to talk to and with no tent, waterproof clothing and only a pair of trainers to see him round the Emerald Isle.
The final straw came when Danny the farmer who was sat at the kitchen table making merry with the rouge ( not his first bottle of the day to be sure) was waxing lyrical about the old days when he used to go off with the kids and a caravan and Alfie caught me trying to stuff a toilet roll into the remaining space in the bag. There was a wail of ‘ Oh for fuck’s sake, I’d forgotten about that’ from the shaven one who, one notch away from breaking down properly, now doesn’t even have his trophy ginger hair to take with him.
Both Matt and I are obviously ecstatic at the way this whole thing has panned out because we’ve been telling him since he came back from lycee that he has to grow up, get organised and start to plan his future properly, which he nods at whilst typing furiously at the computer, intermittently dropping in couple of ‘yeahs’ to make it seem that he’s listening and then in the same breath howling with laughter at some ridiculous clip on Youtube which he’d been watching all along and saying ‘…ah you’ve got to see this’ – obviously having not listened to a word.
The final gauntlet across the chops came when mid dramatic exit there was a crashing of branches followed by Danny running outside, red faced and clearly worse for wear, with his 70’s silk Adidas shorts, vest top, wellies and stick in hand, to herd the cattle that had broken through the fence and into our garden again. Of all the ways to be upstaged….

Sorry no blog tonight, family staying and grand Fete in St Pardoux this evening - something about drunken wine making monks!

More news another time.

Robin & Ann.

So we eventually set off at 3pm yesterday afternoon, having spent an hour trying to explain basic finances to Alfie after which enough was enough and not only were we ready to go but then not come back again. The weather was cloudy and although it hadn’t stormed since the morning looked as if could do again at any moment so it was with a sigh and a heavy heart that we set off – but knowing that we had to go through with it as we had bought the tickets and Etienne, at least, was up for it.
Before going to Cognac we had to drive NW for 30minutes to Saintes as that was the nearest place with budget hotels when I’d booked the rooms a month ago. The good and bad news was that we found it quite easily. Maybe we’ve been spoiled in going to the B+B Hotels ( which believe me are not luxurious) but on entering the room, despite the journey and intent on sleep, were horrified at not only the cramped conditions but also the lino on the floor and gloss painted walls. I could go on but there weren’t that many things in there to go on about. As it was a Premiere Classe – which is on a par with the Formula 1’s and their ilk we knew what we were in for but as with all of these franchises some are better than others ….I hope. Atleast the pillows were soft.

Matt tried to get a sleep and I went through the ‘communicating door’ into the kids room – (sounds grand…wasn’t). When she asked if we’d like two adjoining rooms with door I had conjured in my head something verging on the glamourous with maybe Cary Grant popping in and out of one. You will see said porte de communication on the right of the picture. I tried to take a photo of the kids room on the other side but it was so small that I couldn’t get anything in shot, except for the door on the other side of the wall which handily communicated the occupants straight into the ‘breakfast bar area’ where a woman had her ironing board set up when we arrived. Unfortunately this was locked or we could have intruded in the night and made a cup of tea. Anyway not much sleep was managed and at 6pm we set off to investigate Saintes but decided against it at the first roundabout as it was absolutely packed and full of lunatic drivers so went straight to Cognac instead. Like all French events, places, roads or pretty much anything else the signs were almost non existent and although I had the tickets hadn’t taken the address so we headed off to the centre with the intention of locating the venue before finding somewhere to eat.
All of the immediate access roads to the city centre were closed to cars and there were people milling around all over the place. What with that and the big banners across the streets advertising the 16th Cognac Blues Festival we knew that we were within walking distance and by some bizarre quirk of fate a car pulled out of a parking space at that moment so we didn’t even have to look for one, which was just as well because we’d have had to have driven around for ages. Directly opposite was the museum and in the garden behind that was where the concert was so, job done, we went off to find something to eat.
Almost every bar in the city centre with it’s narrow cobbled streets had chairs and tables outside and there were Jazz and Blues bands playing at many of them. I hadn’t realised that there was free music on all day and night for 6 days but will definitely book a hotel early next year and stay in the city centre itself and make the most of it.
Anyway ( longest blog in the world…..) we went across to the gardens at 9pm. It was designed like an amphitheatre with raised sides and held about 4 000 people, although being a French event no one was squashed and everyone had enough space to be comfortable. The stage was clearly visible to everyone and there were also two huge screens on either side so there was no chance of missing any of the action. On top of that the evening was cloudless, warm and without the promised wind which was more than we could have hoped for after the morning’s weather. On the negative side, the other band of the evening AWEK were a bit on the dull side, although the rest of the crowd seemed to like them and an hour and a half later when they finally finished it was a bit of a relief to be honest. We were all ready to call it a day and decide that perhaps the blues really wasn’t our bag ( although we’d only gone for Etienne whose bag it clearly is), when everything changed - a car pulled up stage side and BB King got out waving a white fedora in the air before disappearing behind some curtains. The anticipation was enough to keep us going for the next half an hour or so whilst the stage was set and thank god because it would have been criminal to miss it. His musicians played two numbers and on we waited. Eventually we started to think that maybe it was all turning a bit Tommy Cooper when we spotted a huge silhouette in the wings and he walked slowly to a chair and sat down whilst someone shone his shoes.
Before he could get down to business he was given the Freedom of the town of Cognac by the maire, who was obviously counting on the fact that at nearly 84 yrs old there wouldn’t be many freedoms left to take.
…. I’ve just had to stop to make some food as everyone’s starving and not totally appreciative of my literary endeavors…..
Anyway the long and short of it all is that it was brilliant. I can’t do the whole thing justice, but everyone was absolutely spellbound, even Matt and Louis ,both of whom didn’t really want to be there. He sat on a chair in the middle of the stage, played his guitar and sang with an amazing voice ( with a lot of chatting in between) but more than that it was so rare to be in the presence of a proper star with such huge charisma and stage presence that everyone is hanging on to every word and aware of the priviledge of just being there.
. This is an awful video taken of one of the screens.
He got his guitarist, who like the rest of the band was al big supercool black guy of atleast 60 years old, to show us the clock the managers of the event had put on the floor in front of him to make sure that he ended at 12.30am on the dot, which they all thought quite hilarious. He went about 10 minutes over and ended on ‘Oh when the saints’ which got everyone going – before being helped on with his coat, putting on his white fedora, throwing loads of plectrums into the crowd , getting into his waiting car and driving off into the night. As we had the nearest possible parking spot to the venue we weren’t far behind but I don’t imagine that he was heading off to the Premiere Classe in Saintes to whence we returned and all immediately fell asleep only to be awoken at about 3am by someone above taking a shower with the water running into the downpipe in our room. Then there was a bit of furniture arrangement going on, a bag being zipped….intermittent sleep, then repeat of the same about half an hour later., and so on until the morning when we awoke at 9am. Everyone and his dog were at breakfast. Had it been a B+B we could have looked forward to bacon and eggs ( photo non contractual) and Country store. Here it was Cornflakes, Chocos or nothing and there was a kettle and toaster which had to be worked manually, both of which had attracted a long queue. All in all disaster. Here’s a photo of the stalag. Our room’s the one on the ground floor with the orange thing on the handle which said something sarcastic on it about letting the person inside get some sleep. Erm, a bit of insulation might help.

Waking up is never easy but, as one of life’s more challenging experiences, is rendered almost impossible when there isn’t even a whiff of a teabag in the air. This morning Matt awoke me at some ludicrous hour to say that the electricity wasn’t working and to ask if the bill had been paid. In an semi unconscious state I obviously felt guilty enough to get up and shuffle through the toppling tower of unpaid demands currently residing on the ‘office’ desk only to find, to both our amazements, that it wasn’t due for another two days. Then I vaguely remembered a letter which came a few days ago saying that the EDF were upgrading the lines in the village and that the supply would be interrupted for a few hours.. Obviously I hadn’t bothered to look when it was happening but I’m guessing that today was it.
So up I was at 8am with no cup of tea, no internet, no radio (how many more things can someone do without), only to discover not only one cow in the garden, but two, chomping away at my prize horticultural specimens (sic).
Matt left for work saying that he’d pop into Danny’s to tell him about his escapees and I waited for about half an hour before I noticed one of them making merry with the magnolia, decided that enough was enough and let the dog out to round them up. It was a tactic I’d wanted to avoid but there are limits and anyway his bark is very much worse than his bite – unless you’re a stuffed toy and then it’s a different story. They were duly barked into a corner at the bottom of the garden where, to my amazement, they both very delicately managed to squeeze themselves fore legs first through the middle section of a barbed wire fence, like a brace of bovine Baryshnikovs.
I thought that that would be it by way of excitement for the day but there was more to come - in the form of a electric fly swat gifted to me by Donald, to replace the one that Matt broke. Never has a killing implement been so necessary as on this evening of equatorial temperatures, when the flies seem to come out of nowhere but as I type I can hear the first distant rolls of thunder, so hopefully tomorrow the temperatures will have dropped and they will have disappeared of their own accord to wherever it is they take their furry annoying little legs and we can all get some peace.

5pm - I’m taking a break from hoeing weeds to do this – as usual trying to fit it in before Alfie gets back from work. He’s been helping to finish off crepiing the new house at Pageas and as they all started at 7am this morning and didn’t stop for lunch until late was probably hoping to have been home by now as it’s absolutely boiling out there today.
Yesterday the weather wasn’t so good, it was cloudy, quite chilly and sporadically spitting but we decided to venture to Brantome to go canoeing nevertheless as we’d half planned it already. We took a picnic with us, but in the true spirit of one of our bargain basement retro styled holidays decided that we couldn’t wait until we arrived and ate it in the car…..which helped to pass the time.
When we arrived it was to better weather and that wasn’t the only good news. The canoes were for a max of 3 people so it meant that I had to forsake that particular treat and was free to wander around the town and the antique fair that was on there instead. For the first time in years the prices seemed affordable but that’s probably something (or everything) to do with the fact that I had the grand total of 2€ in my pocket – which is just as well as I would definitely have taken advantage of Matt’s not being there to rush me out of any hasty decisions.
Anyway the canoe cost 13€ for 3 people for an hour and as the river encircles the town like a moat is a great way of enjoying the sights. It also meant that, for the first 5 minutes anyway, I could follow their progress and take photos from the various bridges – exhibits below. One particular scenario that I was hoping to capture and succeeded in doing was taken at the weir where everyone without exception becomes stranded. We’ve been to Brantome before and have seen it happen to others but at the time thought that those occasions were one offs. Not so following this visit. The trick is apparently to pick up speed on the approach but even those doing that couldn’t get over it without a lot of rocking/standing up/ having to get out into the water and push properly before quickly jumping in before the canoe disappears with the kids in it. In fact there seem to be many vantage points, whether restaurants or bridges, by which the weir wranglers can be viewed in comfort. We stood and watched these four unrelated but similarly stranded canoes and their various strategies for getting down onto the other side for quite a while. Some American tourists next to us actually whooped when a single woman with small child eventually managed to get the thing free by standing up and walking to the front of the canoe in a highly dangerous manoeuvre. But normally things aren’t that vocal.
Anyway now Matt is suggesting the 4 hour mini-randonee and finding a proper place to picnic next time and now that I’ve seen that the water isn’t much deeper than my pockets I’m up for it. All I need to do now is put in a bit of rocking practice and a trip to Bricomarché to buy a piece of rope for a worse case scenario situation.