Don`t forget the Rennies, Mum!

As I was saying yesterday, you have to be a hearty eater to appreciate French hospitality at Noel!  Not that I am for a moment complaining, mind. We have eaten all sorts of tasty and exotic food at the Christmas meals over the years, for example sanglier (wild boar) and ostrich!  This year, the Christmas menu was a little more down-to-earth, but equally delicious and equally challenging for the digestion. It went like this:-

     Aperitifs Peanuts, crisps etc with very assorted drinks.
     Entrée No 1  Choice of salmon or oysters. See photo on right.
    Entrée 2 Slices of foie gras with fruit.
    Main course Chicken cooked in Vin Jaune, duchesse potatoes in white sauce, with morilles, green beans tied in little bunches
    Cheese course
    Desert   Buche and /or mince-pies
    Coffee + digestif....

 A sterling test for anyone`s digestion, especially as loads of wine was offered to accompany the various courses. Incidentally, oysters are one of the few French foods I cannot bring myself to eat. I have eaten snails(in fact we ate them during this stay) I have eaten frog`s legs, I have even eaten andouillettes though only the once, but oysters `transcend the outer confine` as Kai Lung expressed it. It`s bad enough that it looks like a watery sneeze in a sea-shell, worse that it is raw, but the crowning horror is that it is still alive!!! You put a squeeze of lemon on it and the poor thing flinches. No, oysters are way beyond my limit for things that are even vaguely edible.. Garfield the cat advised `Never eat anything that is on fire` and it`s good advice, but I have eaten Crepes Suzette all ablaze and it was far superior to those disgusting oysters!!  Luckily, not all the French are that keen and an alternative of salmon was chosen by almost half the diners.

   Our contribution to the feast was one of the cheeses, a goat`s cheese sur feuilles that some of the northerners particularly like and some mince-pies prepared by the delicate hand of Mrs Noah herself, as evidenced above.
  Well that`s enough food thoughts for today--it`s made me feel quite hungry and I`m off to find something for tea
     
     Bye for now!

A Week with the Ch`tis.

Regular readers of this blog ( I believe there are one or two) may have noticed we have been off the air for a week. This is of course due to the fact we have been enjoying our annual Christmas visit to Lille, in the extreme north-east of France to stay with our good friends Cécile and Patrick. Cécile we have known since she came to stay with us at Plymouth as a sixteen-year-old étudiante, and Patrick a few years less when she married him. In fact Kim`s first visit to France, and the start of an on-going love of the Country, was to attend their marriage. Then as now they and their family made us so welcome that we can heartily endorse the reputation of the Ch`tis, the people of the north, for friendly hospitality!

  But lets start at the beginning, the trip up. It is no small problem of logistics to transport ourselves, the three dogs and a load of presents some 630 kilometers to the north-east. When I add that this is done with our old Peugeot 106 the feat is even more remarkable. The brave little car has done a total of 356,000 kilometers, that is nearly nine times the circumference of the earth at the equator!  Still it took us up and back with no fuss at a minimum cost in diesel. It is in fact the driver and passenger who need a little more cosseting than in earlier years, so we now break our outward trip in two with a stay overnight at a Formula One hotel near Orléans. Above is a pic of Kim enjoying relaxing after the drive. We decided to eat at a MacDonalds in the evening, which we often do if we are en route. I was pleased to note that the female clientele were as sleek and svelte as French girls usually are. We stopped two years ago at a MacDonalds in Montlucon where nearly all the girls were excessively plump, most peculiar! Ever since I have checked them out...
  Splitting the trip in two enabled us to arrive mid-afternoon and to enjoy the company of our friends without excessive yawning or longing glances at the stairs leading to our beds. They have a very large and to us most luxurious house on the outskirts of Lille. Mind you, most houses appear luxurious to us as we live in a rather old-fashioned way without benefit of central-heating etc, The house needs to be large, in fact as the couple have their  two sons and one daughter still living at home, and  Cécile`s mother lives in a separate annexe.
   Christmas at Lille demands a certain fortitude-- the meals are copious and long-lasting and only those with good digestive systems should brave the course! Both Cécile`s and Patrick`s families are large and Christmas  gives an excuse for not only one but two separate banquets with more than twenty guests seated at table, an excuse eagerly accepted by the French,of course!

   Tomorrow I will continue with an account of how we ate for England!!
 
   Bye for now.
 
.
,

A Very Merry Christmas to all Ark followers!!

  I would like to send warmest Christmas greetings to everyone who has shared in the voyage of the Ark this year. It has been quite a trip, from timid beginnings and I seem to have amassed a huge heap of postings, some more memorable than others. The Ark and it`s crew and passengers are in good health now and are looking forward to the festive season (or at least the crew is, the passengers will have to take it as it comes).
   Talking of memorable, what is your earliest memory of a Christmas present? I would like to share mine with you.
  Bear in mind that I was born during the war - do I have to clarify which one now!-- in 1942. After the peace there followed a time of austerity in England when you could not just go out and buy what you wanted, even if you could afford to. My parents obviously had difficulties in obtaining toys and I received the extraordinary present I shall now describe, possibly home-made by my uncle.
   Imagine the flat-bottomed hull of a liner, shaped out of a solid log and painted green. About 18 inches long. In the centre of its deck an oblong hole had been cut at the bottom of which was attached an ordinary mouse trap. A dowell was inserted in the side of the boat at `sea-level` which, when pushed set off the mouse trap. On top of the set trap you placed a plywood deck and on top of this were placed wooden blocks representing the deck-houses with a mast and a red Cunard funnel on top.
  You must imagine then the jaunty liner sailing on its carpet sea. I could then retire to the other side of the room and roll marbles at the ship trying to strike the dowell. When I did the trap sprang, throwing all the deck-houses, mast and funnel in the air in a most satisfying way--the ship had been torpedoed!
   Thinking back, perhaps this was a bit non-U for wartime, just as well the war had finished. Perhaps my uncle `liberated` the present from the Germans or the Italians? In any case, I had hours of fun with it and its memory is even more durable  due to the painful whacks I received from setting the trap if mis-handled. Would not have passed health and safety tests nowadays!
     Still, it has left vivid memories over 60 years later, so it must rank as a highly successful gift, must it not?

    Happy Christmas to all!  Bye for now!

Jilly--Progress Report

I am very glad to report that Jilly seems to have made a complete recovery from her malaise, whatever was the cause. She has had no more symptoms since the Sunday over a week ago, and we are gradually reducing the tablets the Vet gave her. These should be definitively removed in another couple of days, when she can be pronounced fit and well. We are really pleased to have her back on top form again!

Bye for now!

A Dog`s Day.

It started the day before.  Although feeling non too festive, Kim and I went to an annual dinner of our handicrafts group. It was very pleasant, but very French, in that we spent some four hours at table and left, stuffed to the gills at after midnight. At that we were the first away, for all I know, the others are still eating! We fell into bed at one in the morning.
  During the night I kept hearing odd movements downstairs, and at four o`clock Jilly started to whine. Normally when she does this she needs to go out, it doesn`t happen often but it is better not to ignore it! I went downstairs and took the dogs into the cour but Jilly just walked round and round so I put them back in the entrée where they sleep. I noticed a damp patch near the door but thought nothing of it.
  When I came down at eight, I found Jilly lying near the door. She seemed unable to rise for a moment and had been dribbling, hence the damp patch. Then she got up and seemed normal but it soon developed that she was far from well, wobbling and falling over. I called Kim, and she soon asserted that the dog was having fits. She would suddenly convulse and lose her balance. Yet she ate her breakfast with her usual appetite.
  We decided to call the Vets, even though it was Sunday(it always is when there is a health crisis!) and Pierre, the Vet de Garde said he`d meet us at the clinic in Chef in half an hour, which meant a rapid dressing and 20 minutes drive. Jilly`s condition was the same, and when Pierre examined her, he felt she either had had a minor brain bleed or was developing epilepsy. He gave her some Phenobarbitone tablets to calm the brain, and we have a follow-up appointment on Wednesday.
  We took Jilly home, but the fits continued and worsened, so we rang Pierre again and he said to give her four more tablets, a total of seven, sufficient to knock out a horse. After a time she gradually improved, but she had given us a rare fright, we really thought she was dying.
   By mid afternoon she was more or less back to normal and went on he walk, on the lead, of course, without any more fits, and since seems to be her old self. She is still taking the tablets, until her vet visit tonight when we shall see what the Vet advises.
   She looks so normal that it is difficult for me to agree that she has suffered a stroke.  My theory, which the vet and Kim do not believe, is that she ate something the day before when she ran off during her walk as she sometimes does. When she returned her breath smelled funny as if she had eaten something rotten. Or perhaps some toadstools?  The only problem with my theory is the long delay till the symptoms appeared. Well, we shall see, the important thing is that she has now recovered. Long may it continue!!

   Bye for now.

The dreaded plague!

  Sorry to report that the personnel of the Ark are assailed by a horrid cold and are far from feeling on top line. If you have noted a lack of posts lately, I must plead incapacity. We went to a handicrafts reunion with friends last Wednesday and were given a little souvenir we could well have done without!
   Kim went down with it almost immediately and as she tends to be chesty, it affected her badly. I was congratulating myself on my greater fortitude or resistance, avoiding it for several days, but spoke too soon and developed a  sore throat etc a couple of days ago.
  The extent to which the lurgy has sapped the confidence and optimism of Kim can be judged by a little incident this morning, which I hope she will not be upset in my sharing. I was sleeping soundly towards morning, when I felt a hand on my forehead and found an anxious face peering at me from a few inches away. Kim explained that she could not hear me breathing and was checking that I was OK. It`s lucky I am a quick waker up, as I suspect the next thing I would have felt would have been a violent bang on the sternum and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation! You never know with these ex-nurses!
   We are both gradually recovering,I hope, with the aid of Humex, and I hope to be able to give better news next issue.

      Bye for now, going to blow my nose!

Stoke it up!

One of the nicer aspects of Winter is that the stove is lit. You can see on the right our wood-burning stove in all its glory. It is an old Franco-Belge with a cast-iron top cooking plate and is shown in the act of cooking a tasty dish and heating two great kettles of water. What you cannot see is that it is also keeping the kitchen warm, typically at 23degC and spreading its heat throughout the house. The smoke and waste heat rises up the stove-pipe which  you see in the photo, and then goes up the stone chimney which acts as a storage radiator.
  It`s also easy to manage, once you have got used to stoking a wood-burner. The firebox, located under a hinged plate under the frying pan takes large logs up to 30cm long. Once the fire has been lit in the Autumn we usually keep it going till the Spring. Most of the original controls have disappeared or jammed and I regulate it by the size and number of logs inserted! Last thing at night I put on the largest log it can hold which smolders until morning. When I come down, to a warm kitchen, I give the embers a good poke to clear the ash a little (not too much, a wood fire needs an ash bed) ,open the ash door at the bottom to increase the draught, and add small logs or sticks if it`s a little low. Once it is going merrily, I add larger logs and close the draught.Once a week or so, I take out the ash tray underneath and dispose of the ash, it goes well on the garden. Once a day I carry in a good armful of logs. Really,it`s as simple as that!
  However, it does have its moments, if you don`t know what you are doing. If re-lighting it from cold, it has been known to send up a column of choking smoke through the log door instead of up the chimney and it is very difficult to stop it, short of emptying a pan of water on the fire and starting again! I have learned to pre-warm the chimney with a hot-air paint-stripper...Kim used to be terrified of it and it reserved its worst behaviour for her!
  The nice thing about the cast-iron cooking surface is that it offers graduated heat. A pan or kettle  boils quickly on the left, just above the fire, and can be progressively moved right for gentler temperatures or simmering. There is room for LOTS of pans on the plate.
  The final advantage is that wood is cheaper than oil or gas and is a green fuel, beloved of conservationists. And I just like the feeling of not using irreplaceable fuels.
  I will admit it does cause dust and wood has to be bought, stocked and sawed. Everything has its downside but taken by and large, I`m glad we use wood.
    Bye for now, going to stir a tasty stew simmering on the stove!

What`s in a name?

Shakespeare tells us that `a rose by any other name would smell as sweet` and like many of the Bard`s sayings this rings true. It is also likely that if the flower was re-named the lesser stinkwort it might figure less in romantic poetry, but that`s beside the point. What is clear is that the name given does not change the basic nature of the physical object.
  I was musing on this point the other day when I recalled that a frequent change of name is resorted to by chains of retailers to try to leave behind a reputation far less fragrant than that of the rose. I always find that an organisation which is obviously less than proud of it`s current name is one to be avoided. I could quote two examples. The first is the retailer Weldom who irritated us a month ago by not only failing to supply spares for the items it sold but by indifference to the customer`s opinion in that the branch NEVER rang back as promised. When we first encountered it it was called Catena, then Terrassier. It then changed to Weldom, then to Gitem ( Je t`aime--gettit?) and recently has re-badged as Bricodom, perhaps hoping to be confused with the much bigger and better firm of Bricomarché. The branches don`t change though, and they seem to be getting a bit desperate with names changing more and more frequently. Expect an imminent closure.... Another example is the Cooperative chain (the French, not the English which is doing well under the same name as ever) It changed it`s name to Attac but not long after it has been taken over by Carrefour who have completely revamped our local shop, another kettle of fish entirely. In their case the change to a well-known national marque is likely to bear fruit.
  It goes to prove the old saying about fooling the people, doesn`t it?

     That`s all for now, bye!
 

Jottings from Mort Limouzin.

This week all sorts of things, great and small seem to have happened, so I thought I`ld write a sort of odds and ends edition to bring people up to date.
    The most serious event is the death on Wednesday of Mamy Madelaine, as she was known to us, more properly described as Mme. Madelaine Marilleau. She was the mother of our friend Samy, mother-in -law of Denise, and was 98 years old.  She has been ill for some time and was in a rest home at Les Touches de Perigné. The funeral will be on Saturday at the Salle Communale de Sonnac, her village. I am sure there will be a large turn-out of family and friends. She was a lovely old lady with a twinkling eye, and we were very fond of her. She formed a strong bond with our granddaughter, Kerri, in spite of their having no common language.
    A continuation of the story of the problems of the local Catholic church at Loubillé following the death of the Curé, Pere Ribot-- the meeting of parishioners which Kim attended on Monday as interpreter for Sarah decided that the church would be run by a committee of worshippers aided by a part- time priest shared between several parishes. A further meeting will be held to thrash out details.

   Followers of this blog will be concerned to hear that Sox has been ill for a week with his first experience of cat-flu, an illness which can be serious with cats, especially young ones. It has flu-like symptoms but is caused by a different bug to the human variety. You will be glad to hear that he is slowly recovering and has been much more his old self these last two days, though still sneezing occasionally.
   Finally, on a happier note I am pleased to be able to report that our insurance company, AXA made a most satisfactory settlement of our claim resulting from the lightning-strike which damaged our telephone and hot-water heater-tank. After the terrible service we received from Weldom when we tried to replace the damaged heating element we were pessimistic and thought the insurance would hide behind red tape and lack of a professional electrician`s report. However, they came up trumps and dealt with the matter with no fuss, even waiving the excess as we had made no claim on the policy for three years. Credit where it`s due and can recommend them!
    Well, that brings us up-to-date on a somewhat mixed bag of news, so I`ll finish now. It`s time for tea!

                       Bye for now!

My shameful secret

This morning I have decided to share with you a secret I have hesitated for years to confess. I am afraid it may lead to universal condemnation and banishment... but here goes--the fact is..I quite LIKE global warming. What`s so unpleasant about several degrees of extra warmth, less frost in the Winter, lower fuel bills, no ice on the roads, less snow....all things I can give up without excessive regret! Life is so much more pleasant as the temperature rises, sun-bathing on the beach, cool drinks under a parasol, just lead me to it. The weather here lately has been exceptionally balmy, with temperatures approaching 20 degrees and frankly I`ve been wallowing in it!
  Oh, I know I`m going to be attacked with all sorts of dire predictions. What about the hurricanes, which may become  more common, heavy rain, floods, animal extinctions, changes of landscapes as trees can`t adapt, advance of deserts, etc etc. Well I will admit that there risk to be changes, but what I am trying to say is, they are not necessarily all unpleasant.  The Spanish have a saying `May no new thing arise` new things being of their nature bad...The real problem is that we are all nostalgic and resistant to change, hankering after the good old days and clinging desperately to what we know.
   Well, like it or not, times change and we are going to have to adapt. There are many who believe that the rise in temperature is normal, a progression of the worlds climate away from the last ice-age. or is a cyclic phenomenon, which will right itself in time.  The fashion is, of course, to beat our breasts and say it is all due to human wickedness and selfishness in wanting to keep warm and have modern conditions. This may be true, of course but is also inevitable.  Even if Europe renounced all burning of fossil fuel, the emerging countries like China and India, together with the USA burn 20 times more than us and are highly unlikely to renounce their modernisation even to `save the planet`. Would YOU give up your car to help save the world? Oh, come on be truthful!  I thought not...
  In the end we are going to have to adapt to change, and it may not be so bad with a little flexibility. People living at sea-level are going to have to move to higher ground, it`s not rocket science. Irrigation or resettlement will have to solve the advance of the desert. As for Nature her self, she may be more adaptable than we think. I have read an article recently suggesting that birds adapt rapidly to warmer conditions by delaying or even cancelling their migration. Certain species move north or south as conditions change, even plants change or extend their range, abandoning untenable areas but equally colonising new ones. I saw a Little Egret, or White Heron at Plymouth, for example and can never remember seeing them north of Roscoff. Seagulls now follow the plough where crows used to predominate. We shall have to follow their example or be miserable.As the old saying goes, if you can`t avoid it, lie back and enjoy it!
 
Bye for now, I`m off to sit in the sun!

The Global Village?

An event last week has thrown into relief the problems of a small community in rural France today--the `desertification` of the Commune with the progressive loss of services. The event to which I am referring is the death of the village Curé.  The decease of the local Catholic Priest at an advanced age was scarcely unexpected but will probably lead to the effective closure of the Church. We have received a note, delivered by the commune van, of a proposed meeting of parishioners on Monday at Villemain, at 3 o`clock to discuss arrangements for cover. Without wishing to anticipate the views of the Catholic Church, I would imagine that no replacement will be available and a locum will be shared between the parishes of Loubillé, Villemain and La Bataille with a Service once a month. I`ll let you know if their is a happy surprise!
  It is fashionable to bemoan the `death` of the local community and there is a lot of truth in the feeling that the sense of local solidarity is changing. I think our village is pretty go-ahead for its size and streets ahead of its English counterparts. Its true we no longer have a village school , pub or grocery, but we have retained our bakery and local Mairie and village hall; in fact, due to the political cunning of our Maire, new buildings are in course of completion for the two latter. The spirit of togetherness still survives, and the various gatherings throughout the year, 14th July, entrecote picnic and Christmas celebration etc are well attended.
   The reliance of the locals and new inhabitants on locally organised festivities in walking distance has been diminishing year on year and this is due to increased mobility and communications, of course. We, for example, attend a Protestant Church 30 minutes away at Matha, a much more thriving and dynamic affair than the poor old Catholic local church which has been limping along for years with an aged Priest and small and aging flock.  We do our shopping at the Supermarkets of Chef Boutonne or Ruffec, both 20 minutes away by car, but far cheaper and far more choice than that offered by the local shop, which as a consequence has now closed. We talk to friends by phone and lately by Internet at great distances, for example in the South of France and in Glasgow, as easily as we used to talk to next-door neighbours. The effect on the feeling of local community is regrettable but it is nice to have the choice. And, after all, people don`t always get on with their neighbours, do they?

  That`s all for now. A la prochaine!

Strange phenomena in the English Channel

First let me set the scene.. For the last few weeks Kim has been in the UK lending a bit of moral support to our daughter, who is involved in the almost insuperable task of rearing teenage children. I would give more details but, as I have remarked before, this is a family blog and `adult` content is quite inappropriate.. She crossed to Plymouth where we lived before by taking the plane to Bristol, where Alyson picked her up.  However, the return trip was planned for me to cross via Brittany Ferries from Roscoff to Plymouth to spend a few days there myself  to carry out a few DIY jobs and to bring back `one or two` items that Kim had bought. Our car (exhibit A above ) is not a large one, in fact, not to put too fine a point on it, it is very small, a Peugeot 106. This time we had decided to take two of our dogs across and had carried out the somewhat complicated procedure for obtaining their own passports.
  So I duly arrived in Plymouth and spent a pleasant few days catching up with the changes to my home-town.  Like most wrinklies, I didn`t approve of most of them but then neither do the Plymothians, the new and expensive road system seeming to do very little to help the morning and evening traffic jams.
  However, I was somewhat concerned to find that Kim had run amok and accumulated a bedroom full of items which she proposed to repatriate to France in the long-suffering 106 as well as the dogs and us. `No way` I thought but being an experienced husband, I kept my doubts to myself. My daughter compounded the problem by adding a large wrapped Christmas present to the heap. I shook my head sadly but privately.
   The day we were to set out Kim began to pack the car, in a fine drizzle, of course, this is Plymouth after all!  The Tourist board years ago publicised the area as Sunny Devon, a blatant lie which would breach the Trades Descriptions Act nowadays, but I digress. Kim is a sorceress at packing and I use the word quite literally. Would you believe she crammed the contents of that spare room first into suitcases then into the tiny car and managed to include me and the dogs, and of course herself. I just would not have believed it possible. It is true the dogs` allocated space would have shocked the RSPCA but by dint of putting the largest case on the seat for the crossing (the dogs travel in the car) they made it without any harm.  We thus managed to return to our French home with a complete outfit of new wotsits without having to leave anything behind, well not on purpose anyway.
  A miracle that Dr Who would have understood but not me!

      That`s it Folks, Bye for now!

Nest-building

My faithful readers will recall that we had a drama involving the loss by lightning strike of our chaudiere or hot-water tank. I had to replace the whole thing in the end which in turn needed the dismantling of the cupboard that surrounded it. The new tank was of less capacity than the old one, but in the cussed nature of things, turned out to be a little stouter than the old one, which was tall and thin.
  We decided to turn the subsequent need to re-model the cupboard to advantage to add an airing cupboard above the cylinder. As Kim is spending a few weeks in the UK I was able to potter around with this and eventually produced the masterpiece you see above.  The bottom door gives access to the cylinder, the top to the new airing cupboard. Never one to buy new materials if I can avoid it, I used the tongue and groove rescued from the old enclosure, with the addition of a new door manufactured chiefly from the back of an old wardrobe.
  The next project to be tackled was the provision of a larger computer desk as Kim is coming back with a rescued Apple which may need to co-exist with her old machine for a while. She also needs more space to carry on her hobby of card-making. The top of the new unit came from the `dockyard-built` wardrobe which had also furnished the top of the original unit, the rather fetching drawer unit came from an old bedroom cupboard which also provided wood for the wider shelf needed to store our files. It makes a solid rather than elegant corner unit which you can admire above right.
  Now I am the first to admit that my bricolage is not cabinet-work and shows traces of the timber`s previous incarnation where hinges and pivots have been removed.  However it is purpose built to our requirements, re-uses old materials in an environmental way, and, best of all----- ITS FREE!!!


     Bye for now.

Cutting Edge--For love or money

Looking back on previous posts, I find I haven`t blogged for some time about my hobby of collecting pocket-knives. To revive your flagging ( or non-existent ) interest, I thought we could take a look at a couple of exotics.
    What man isn`t interested in the female form, or in money? These two knives are bound to touch a chord whatever your bent ( no double entendre intended! ) The left-hand example shows a knife in the form of a well-rounded female form in what we used to call kinky boots. Something a bit unusual to have in your pocket and perhaps not an implement to clean your nails with in church. Still, it is a practical little knife in spite of its seductive form which does supply what the French call a `bonne prise en main` This one is a re-creation of a style more known in the Thirties by Etienne Issard for Hachette collections, as is the next example, even more strange.
    Imagine a knife with two blades contained in a completely round handle, reminiscent of a coin. Might even foil the airport security X-ray, though I would not like to bet on it. Imagine the nausea if they did detect you smuggling a KNIFE onto the plane! I really feel it would be a timid pilot who would be threatened into flying me to Havana ( not a place I have any yen to see ). Again the knife is quite practical and can be freely used. Open, the two blades strangely remind one of Bugs Bunny! The form used to be known as a Louis, as the original idea was to cut a large coin in two and make a kniffe from that. It would have been very small, perhaps something to clean your nails with and M. Issard has decided to make something a bit more practical, while sticking to the same form. Two unusual knives, I think you will agree, but they add a certain charm to anyone`s collection.

   Next time I return to this subject, I will revert to showing you some of the diverse regional knives which are France`s chief claim to fame chez the enthusiast.

             Bye for now.
  
 

There ought to be a law against it!

I love living in France, and mostly I like the French people I meet, specially the country ones (Parisiens seem to be another breed). But from time to time you stub your toe against the fact that there are major cultural differences and today I want to muse about two which have come to my notice in the past couple of days.
  They do love their rules and regulations! The English are no slouches when it comes to stupid laws but are left miles behind by the French. I came across a prime example yesterday in our local free magazine the Tournesol. Did you know that up to 2005 you needed a government licence to carry a white walking stick?!  Yes it was true, there was a government department responsible for issuing this vital document and, I suppose, monitoring the sanctions in force against those people wicked enough to carry one induement. You can imagine the Gendarme stopping the poor blind person and demanding sight of his permis to carry.  Absolute madness! Who the hell would carry one if he was not blind? Whatever advantage would he enjoy? Who was the maniac who thought you needed a law and the administration involved? Luckily the French have seen the light (sorry no pun intended) and have removed from official circles the need to issue these vital permits. But did they suppress the permit itself? Of course not, they just privatised the issue to associations dealing with blind persons, so the system rolls happily on. Just one more cross to bear for people whom fate has already punished enough.
     The other French particuliarité that has been in the news recently is the strikes on the SNCF following the tragic attack by a disturbed person on a ticket inspector. He  stabbed the official when it transpired he had no ticket and was promptly arrested and is now in custody. Did I say strike? Wash my mouth out with soap and water! This is not a strike, just the railway staff using their right to withdraw their labour if a clear and imminent danger to health or safety exists. As it is not a strike, there is no question of a minimum service or 48 hours notice being required or of any stoppage of pay.
  Where is this imminent danger? The nutter has been locked up and there is no more danger to staff than there ever was. Yet every train in France was off service yesterday and all the SNCF staff were enjoying a day`s paid holiday. The English had the reputation of being strike-happy a few years ago but at least they didn`t expect to get paid for it. No wonder there is a huge subsidy on the rail. I don`t want to minimise the injuries suffered by the unfortunate inspector, but this response was completely disproportionate.
   Well, having got these moans out of my system, I`m going to have some breakfast. At leat I don`t need a permit for that!

                    Bye for now!
 

A shaggy cat story from the Ark.

Talking about funny stories, like that I mentioned yesterday, reminded me of a true life drama I heard many years ago when I was working in the Revenue at Southampton. A colleague whose other half worked in the Ford Transit factory near Southampton told me what she swore was a true tale.
    The main character was a fitter, who worked in the factory. His wife used to make up a packed lunch each day and one morning, seeking something a bit different, she opened a long-forgotten tin of salmon for his sandwiches. He duly left for work and the wife, finding she had a spoonful left, gave it to the cat for a treat.
  Later that morning she found the cat unconscious in the garden. She rushed it to the vet who diagnosed a food poisoning and prescribed an emetic which speedily revived the animal. He asked what it had eaten abnormal, and the wife said nothing except a bit of salmon...oh, my God!!
   She rang the factory, and a Tannoy announcement went out for Mr. ------- to come to Personnel at once and on no account to eat his packed lunch. TOO LATE he had snacked on a sandwich at morning tea-break!  He was rushed to Southampton General in an ambulance and luckily a speedy stomach pumping saved him from any ill-effects. The heroic cat had saved the day.
  Next morning the milkman called for his weekly money, and asked if the cat was OK. The wife said it was fine now, but enquired how the milkie knew of its problems, as he passed in the early morning normally. `Very sorry, Missus but I accidentally dropped a full bottle of milk on its head yesterday`  !!! The story was too good to keep secret and speedily did the rounds! Hope you find it amusing too.

    Bye for now.

The tournesol, our local free magazine.

Yesterday I mentioned our local free rag, so today I thought I`ld review it a bit, both to popularise it in its region and for interest`s sake for those of you who are outside its distribution area.
  We get loads of publicité  or advertising here, both delivered by the post and by an independent chap on a moped. We have never bothered to stop it and in fact like to glance through the special offers before consigning them to re-cycling. It`s good for our French if nothing else. But I always am pleased to discover among the dross the monthly mag, Le Tournesol.


  The mag does of course contain lots of adverts for local services and firms and also free ads for a fascinating selection of objects for sale.  By taking up its offers, you could provide yourself for example with a new house, wife, donkey, tractor, bed etc., etc., all that one could possibly want! But it also contains well-written article on a wide variety of subjects.
   Glancing through this month`s issue, there are articles covering the rentrée,the re-classification of the ex-planet Pluto as a dwarf (bet you didn`t know that!) a regional artist,the discovery of an ancient prehistoric skull, the rules of Rugby, (didn`t know it had any), numerology, the Isle de Bréhat, advice on keeping your sun-tan but losing your blackheads, eating, contraception, side effects in medicine, and that`s only about half! But what really endears the mag to me is that it publishes little jokes like the one I cited yesterday, some of them politically incorrect. For example, it has been pillorying the reputed daftness of blondes. E.g. a blonde before a job interview board. Interviewer, holding out hand, `Diplome`  Blonde replies `Plome...`  I am sure there`s a law against it!
  My favourite joke thus published, is one based in Corsica on a twisting mountain road. A male motorist approaching a bend is suddenly confronted with a woman driver coming round the bend on the wrong side of the road. He manages to screech to a stop, but his justifiable rage is redoubled by the woman, who winds down her window and shrieks `Cochon!!`  Stung by this adding of insult to injury, he winds down his own window and shouts`-----`( This word deleted by order of Mrs. Noah who points out this is a family blog) Fuming, he roars off round the corner, where he nearly runs into a large sow sunning itself in the road. Swinging the wheel wildly he ends up upside down in the ditch... Never does to jump to conclusions!
  There are loads more just as good (or bad) as this over the months. I urge all who receive this little mine of information not to throw it straight in the bin!

                   Bye for now!

One whole month!

Just a little `progress` report and a comment on the `service` I received from a famous chain of DIY shops. I won`t reveal the name but I shall  be going back there SELDOM!
  To set the scene, just over a month ago, a near lightning strike knocked out our phone and also our hot water heater. Axa sent us a claim form and will consider when the bills are to hand. An electrician friend established that the heating element in the boiler had been burnt out and a replacement would be needed.
  We returned to the branch where we had bought our heater and asked for a replacement element. Of course nothing could be done without full details of the serial nos etc. -- first line of defence to prevent constructive action chez a retailer! With some difficulty ( the cylinder is in a built-in cupboard) I copied all the figures on the spec. panel, and the résponsable assured me he would order the part and ring me. Nothing heard for a week, I rang to check Nothing yet, awaiting response to his order. He would phone etc Six calls later the sad monthly anniversary has arrived. You CAN keep clean using kettles of hot water, but it is neither convenient or comfortable... A final call found the chief on leave(?) but he had left a note with his deputy to say the serial nos. were insufficient did we have any others? I informed the deputy that we were tired of having no hot water and had decided to replace the entire cylinder. I then cut off his eager enquiries by saying that hell would freeze over before I bought it, or anything from SELDOM.
  It is not so much the inability to replace the missing part that galls me but the lack of urgency or even competence. If he had rung back in say a week I might well have considered replacing the unit at his shop. But I have NEVER had a call back in these circumstances, and an order for a chainsaw bar from a local branch of the same store has also been outstanding some months. I would advise all my readers to avoid these stores, who don`t seem to have heard of the words after-sales service. If you can`t decipher the name of the store from my little riddle I would be delighted to clarify,
  This lack of consideration reminds me of a funny story I read in our excellent local free magazine, `The Tournesol.`  A householder was overrun with mice. He called in the local pest-control operative who arranged the loan of a cat for a period. The cat did the trick, in no time there was not a mouse to be seen. The householder was so pleased he asked to keep the cat and this was agreed for a price. A few weeks later the mice were as bad as ever and he called the pest control chap.  `Well, you see, M`sieur, it`s the cat.... Now he`s on the permanent staff....   Enough said?

    I feel better now. Bye for now.

Cévennes holiday

Before I leave the subject of our recent holiday in the Cévennes region ( Don`t want to bore you to death ) let me add the two impressions that struck me most forcibly. The first is the form of the hills. Though very high, up to 1200 metres, they were much more rounded than the peaks in the Pyrenees near Argelès to which we are more accustomed. They reminded me more of Dartmoor on a more heroic scale, with no peaks as such, just occasional outcrops of rock protruding from the wooded hills.

The second impression is the mania of the inhabitants to erect their houses on the most unsuitable sites imaginable. Not for them a house in the valley next to a main road ( well some did of course ) But some stiff-necked former inhabitants decided to vie with each other to find sites on the tallest rock around Like this pic below. Others built their town at the bottom of a hole in the ground a kilometre in depth, as at Navacelles (see pic on the left ) with access by two frighteningly steep roads winding down the sides of the abyss. I have to admit the result is highly picturesque, but the mind boggles at the effort involved. Just think of the effort required to carry up materials or to dig out the corniches for the access roads!
Perhaps the explanation lies in the fact that there just isn`t much flat land to be had, and that land is more urgently required for farming.

 In any event, the result is a landscape most pleasing to the eye, without the benefit of any town planning or architects` drawings!

   Bye for now, time for breakfast.

Cirque de Navacelles

Another stunning site we visited not too far from our Martian base was the Cirque de Navacelles. Here the little river Vis, over many millions of years has cut a canyon a thousand feet deep into the limestone causse. Not content with this, it has eroded a circular meander, then cut across the neck of this to leave a huge basin with a hump of rock in the middle  of an ox-bow lake. This latter has dried up eons ago to leave a circle of fertile ground at the bottom of the Cirque, the only cultivable land for miles around. A little town has grown up in the bowl, the only access to which is by two narrow roads making a terrifying descent or ascent to and from  the rim of the bowl. A very impressive place to visit if you`ve a good head for heights and are not scared to drive in mountain road conditions. In fact we followed two intrepid camping cars out of the depths and marvelled at their bravery, I wouldn`t have fancied driving such a vehicle on the tight hairpins leading up to the summit level. Bravery or foolhardiness who could say!  Still they escaped without damage, so must have known what they were about.

      It`s bed time so bye for now!

La Couvertoirade and the Gorge de la Dourbie

Once installed in our borrowed house on Mars and recovered from the rigours of the journey from Deux Sèvres, we were ready to explore the various attractions of the region. These were present in some profusion but we chose two for a day trip, the fortified town of La Couvertoirade and the Gorge of the Dourbie.

  La Couvertoirade is a restored fortified cité occupied by the Knights Templars and their successors the Hospitaliers from the second half of the XIIth century. As the region was somewhat turbulent with the hundred years war against the English and later the wars of Religion, the Knights created a walled inner city where the inhabitants of the surrounding larger town could seek shelter during an attack. The walled inner cité has been well restored and must look today as it did in the Middle Ages, though I expect more sanitary! There are two large fortified gates with towers either side. The narrow streets are lined with little houses all still occupied and the ground floor stables and sheep sheds have been largely taken over by little tourist-trade workshops and shops, with several restaurants. The church is worth a visit, very simple and small, perched on a craggy rock. Although based of course on the tourist industry, they do not seem to have descended to fleecing their customers and the only payment you have to make is a reasonable 3 Euros for the car park, though there are many opportunities of spending your  money if you feel inclined! There was an ancient cemetery outside the church and a modern one outside the walls, locked, I am glad to say, proving that the commercants do draw the line somewhere in entertaining their clients.

   After this interesting visit and a picnic lunch we returned to Mars via  Millau and the Dourbie Gorge. This latter was a very impressive canyon scoure out of the limestone rocks of the area by a little river. It is deep and creepy with the road running along the bottom and villages hanging on the sides from place to place.

   After a brief detour provided by the GPS which adopted a route 10 kilometers shorter but several thousand feet higher, we were glad to return to our Martian house for tea.

 I will tell you later on of our further adventures in the region. I`ll bet you can scarcely wait!

  Bye for now.
   

Mars; a bit of history

The little village of Mars, where we spent our holiday. is very small, though it does boast its own Mairie and salle de fetes. It had just 31 inhabitants in 1968 though the number had increased to 174 at the last census. It seems a thriving and go-ahead little burgh but unusually has no places of worship, either protestant or Catholic. I think I can cast some light on the above info.
  If you leave the village centre and take the mountain road leading steeply upward via some hairpin bends, you pass two other hamlets, Le Puech and Le Truel. Continuing on, you arrive at the desolate Col de Moussolé at 830 metres of elevation.
  There you will see a sad memorial to man`s inhumanity to man. A lonely column commemorates the fate of a group of Protestant worshipers, whose only crime was to be at a church service. A bit of history follows.

     In the early 1700`s Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes, which gave a limited freedom of worship. This enabled a severe repression of all religions apart from Catholicism, and the King`s Dragoons were involved in brutally suppressing the local Protestants. To allow them to worship as they wished, local Protestants held open-air services in wild and desolate places, such as this Col. In April 1742 such a group was surprised by the Dragoons, due to an informer. Refusing forcible reconversion to Catholicism, the men were sent to the galleys as galley slaves, and the women sent to the notorious prison called the Tour de Constance at Aigues Mortes. Here are pictures of the memorial and the ancient dolmen around which the service was being held. If you look closely, you can see a modern Protestant peering around looking for Dragoons...
   A lonelier place could scarcely be imagined, they must surely have thought themselves in security. However, the local Protestant group caught up with the informer and invited him to dig his own grave....
    How lucky we are to live in more liberal times.
    In my next blog I hope to cover a more cheerful outing.

  Bye for now!
  

Holiday on Mars.

  I expect the more quick-witted of my readers will have worked out that we did not pass our week`s holiday on the planet pictured to the right, but in the village with the same name situated in the Gard near Le Vigan and Nîmes. That is not to say that we didn`t spend an out-of-this-world time. The little village of Mars is absolutely charming and I can thoroughly recommend a stay there to anyone who likes peaceful, mountain scenery. The houses straggle up the mountain valleys from about 300 metres to some 800 metres of elevation, and it`s not for people who like walking on the flat!

We were very lucky in that a friend had lent us her old family home to spend a week. The only problem was that she was very vague about the address or how to find the house. All we knew was that it was in Mars and that it had a terrace.
We had to pick up the keys from a café in a village in the valley. This was a problem in itself as the sat-nav tried to take us, not to the main road passing below where the cafe is, but to the village centre, served by a mule track, blocked in turn by a crane lorry loading tiles onto a roof. Below is a pic taken from a distance of the surroundings! We managed to turn round on a table cloth and found the cafe in the valley with the aid of the artisans on the crane-lorry. We then had the keys, still no address but continued hopefully to Mars. We tried the keys in a couple of likely looking doors with no result, (perhaps luckily!) We then did what we should have done earlier and asked the Maire. He was helpful, and we found that the house was not in Mars at all, but in a little satelite village forming part of the commune.
At last we were able to locate the missing house at the top of a flight of stone steps. Our keys opened a front door leading off the terrace and we were in, We had a bed for the night! It had been a long day and I reflected at times that it would have been almost easier to reach the red planet...

  Still, it was worth the effort. The house was charming though slightly primitive, a bit like ours at Mort Limouzin, I suppose. It seemed like the family had got married, moved away but left the family home fully furnished and equipped as if they had popped out for the day. The weather was hot and dry all week, and we soon got used to sitting on the terrace for all our meals. I am an early riser and to see the dawn breaking over the valley with all Mars spread out below was a daily delight.

In my next blog, I`ll tell you about some of the fascinating and dramatic places we visited from our new base. Don`t go away, watch this space!

  Bye for now.

Red planet, little green men...

Well, we`re safely back. Those of you who wait impatiently for the latest edition of the Ark(  both of you ) will have noticed we have been on holiday for the last week. I thought it best not to publicise on line in advance. But now we`re back I can let the world know the momentous news--- our holiday destination was none other than Mars!
  Yes indeed the Ark has undertaken a trip that all others have feared and have pioneered the advent of interplanetary tourism. We have spent the last week sampling the delights and new sensations that this unique destination can provide.
  Now I realise that you may find this difficult to believe and you may even go so far as to accuse me of deliberate untruths. You may well say that the trip to Mars takes some eight months at the speeds that space-craft can attain. However the engines of the Ark, working on a new principle, have reduced the transit time to a matter of hours. If NASA would like to write a request on the back of a suitably large cheque, I will gladly tell them how they can save millions.
   But no, I assure you that what I have said is the exact and literal truth.  Still dubious?  Well I will provide photographic evidence of my bona fides.

Here, for example is a typical Martian sunrise.

The type of rock formations often seen on the Red Planet

  And finally, Mrs. Noah  in front of the entry-sign of the Martian settlement. Look into my eyes, would I tell a lie?


 Well, no time for more now. I`ll tell you more soon about our truly out of this world holidays!


    Bye for now!

The lazy cook`s handbook

As the title suggests, the fact is I`m lazy. I tend to simplify jobs so that they take the least time possible,or even avoid them altogether. It`s not so much laziness as such, I tell myself, but efficiency, yes that`s it job efficiency.... no, says Mrs Noah, it`s just laziness pure and simple. well, perhaps.
  As to cooking, I admire the Mrs Beeton type of cook, beautifully organised, long recipe, list of exotic ingredients all to hand, peel this, marinate that for three days.... Wonderful, I can read those cookbooks for ever. See the sparkling results, all laid out on bone china plates, coolis dribbled about in artful patterns, well it`s art, how can you bear to eat it?
  I prefer the one pot type of cooking. I don`t have a list of ingredients, or if I am following a recipe I never have to hand the suggested items and I have to omit and substitute unauthorised substances. I avoid dishes needing long or fiddly preparation. One result is that the resultant meal is unlikely to be repeated, which avoids culinary boredom. The downside is that if by pure chance I do produce an especially tasty dish, I am unable to repeat it. Oh, well, a famous American jazz musician was unable to write music. When a horrified admirer asked why he did not write down his pieces so they could be repeated he said you don`t ask a blackbird `How did that go, again?`
  These thoughts were prompted (I won`t say inspired) by the fact I am making jelly out of our grapes to last us the winter. The black, Baccou variety of our treill vne along the out-building makes a particularly tasty and colourful jelly, which has been much admired. The correct recipe calls for selected grapes in precise quantities, carefully plucked from their stalks, to be simmered with a measured amount of water, strained and filtered, the juice of a fresh lemon added, warmed caster sugar slowly stirred in,and the resultant formula boiled for hours and hours, testing for a set on a cold plate till the wretched stuff sets or you get bored and put it into jars willy nilly or throw it away. The runny jam you eat later is politically correct, however. I remember that Kim and I boiled a small batch of jam in this way years ago before I became so efficient (lazy). No set for ages and ages. At length the maiden cried`Enough, enough, it`s solidified` And by George it had! It had turned into toffee when all the liquid had been driven off and we had to put it on a tray not into jars as it would never have come out again. It was tasty toffee however...
  No, here is how you make grape jelly with maximum efficiency. Take a big bowl of grapes in bunches. Leave the stalks on. Put them in a large pan. Add a bit of water. Simmer with lid on for a few minutes. Squidge with the potato masher to break up the grape skins. Strain through an old muslin net curtain to obtain a lemonade bottleful of juice. Add a sachet of Vitpris mixed with two spoons of sugar and boil for three minutes. Add one and a half kilos of sugar, any sugar, not warmed. boil for another three minutes. Put into old jam jars sterilised in the oven and put on lids boiled in water. It`s simple,it takes half an hour and it WORKS.
Why make life complicated. Save your time to smell the roses.

     Off to lie down in my hammock. Bye for now!

Normal or average?

 This year has been really strange as regards the weather. In the Spring we had early hot weather more like July, with almost no rain. The grass went brown in our cour as it usually does later in the summer and everyone was talking of the secheresse or drought. Temperatures were up to 10 degrees over the normal, or average for that time of year.
  Then the summer arrived, when it is normal in Deux Sevres for the days to be hot and dry. What happened this year?  We had cooler temperatures, up to ten degrees under the average and frequent rain showers. The cour has gone back to green, the sheep have more grass than they can eat and nobody is talking drought anymore. I have to mow the cour and strim the orchard weekly, unheard of here after June.

 The point I am trying to make is that this year will go down in statistical records as being an AVERAGE year!  Taken on average the temperatures will approximate to the normal for the Spring and Summer, the rainfall likewise. All this without for a moment being a NORMAL year. An American once said that `there are lies, damn lies and statistics` and never was a truer word spoken.
  What this weather pattern proves in the argument over global warming or cooling is for wiser heads than mine to ponder. Perhaps the only lesson one can draw is that things will average out in the end if you wait long enough!

               Bye for now!