Happy Return

Well, we`re back! Back home again from our annual Christmas visit to our `other family` at Lille. We got back in on Friday after a trip of 625 kilometres, all done in one day. On the outward trip we broke our journey at Orléans, so as not to arrive too exhausted, it`s not very polite to arrive at a friend`s house and demand to go straight to bed!
  We had a fantastic time chez Cécile and Patrick; the weather was relatively mild, unusual for Lille, we  had snow last year. At least the dogs, having to spend Christmas in the car like SDF`s, were not too uncomfortable. Still, they get loads of walks. Here it is even milder I walked them yesterday without a coat on (me rather than the dogs!) The down-side has been LOADS of rain, Paris was nearly underwater when we passed on the outward voyage and it rained nearly all the way.

Oysters--see if you can spot the pearl

Coquilles St Jacques + side dish

    We are really spoilt while at Lille, there are for example two separate dinners for Cécile`s family and Patrick`s, and we get to go to both! Kim has taken to Jax`s habit of photographing her food, so here are a couple of shots... Have to admit that neither of us are brave enough to eat oysters but an alternative of ham was provided.
























Oh, yes, you live high off the hog there and my digestion is still recovering.
   While we were there, Patrick took delivery of his new computer. He was not happy with the old one, which, he said ,was acting up. He disconnected it to install the new one and it worked fine on a temporary connection, seemed to be putting out its tongue at him!  Anyway, he generously gave the old one to me, so I am now the possessor of a much more modern Apple than my present Leopard and I am hoping that Ade can sort out any problems on the new Tiger OSX 10.4.3  A suivre!
   The Peugeot ran impeccably for two trips of over 600 kilometres in spite of the rain, I`m very pleased with how it continues to run. The only down-side at the moment is that Kim has returned with a Northern France cold, so I am nursing her back to health and we had to give church a miss this morning.  And it seems that a fox has seized the opportunity of our absence to eat our two Muscovey ducks....Oh, well, that`s life...RIP Alyson and Rebecca :(


  Right, that`s all for now, going to eat a small, dry biscuit with a glass of water...

Heart of the matter

   Yesterday was, to use our Pasteur`s words, une journée particulier. I had an appointment with the specialist for a `doppler` (ulta-sound? I don`t know the English equivalent) examination of my major blood-vessels. Our Doctoresse, when arranging Kim`s normal controle visit to the Cardiologue had `suggested` that I had one too, despite being in good health. She is petite but forceful, so I cravenly agreed. The Cardiologue, while finding nothing wrong, suggested a scan of the neck arteries in view of my mother`s early decease from a stroke. So, four months later, I find myself lying on the Experts `work-bench` while he applies an extremely cold probe to my neck. You don`t feel quite so confident that all is in order at this point. What will he discover on his little screen, just out of my line of vision? He touches a button and a loud swooshing noise makes me jump--perhaps blood squeezing through the narrow gap still open? Drole de bruit, he remarks, to my alarm. C`est normale, ça? I seek reassurance Ah, oui, tout å fait normale he assures me. I settle down while he pursues his research...
   After he had finished, he showed me the pictures and discussed his findings He mentioned a very small piece of plaque on the wall of the carotid artery. Sounds alarming, but the picture showed a tube with a tiny spot, like an ice cream carton lying on the floor of a Tube tunnel, absolutely no problem to the passage of blood. He dictated a report to my doc on the spot and relieved me personally of his fee, some of which I shall get back from my assurance and the Sécu. Still, a small price to pay for peace of mind, and if there had been any problem, it would have been caught early, so something could be done in good time. We are well looked-after out here!

  Bye for now, going to celebrate my continuing good health with a cup of tea and by putting up the Christmas deccies!

Talented cats!

   Now, I have said before that we have a talented crew of animals on the Ark, but a couple of items have surfaced in the last couple of days to display this very graphically. The first concerns Mrs Noah`s new laptop.
   This shiny machine, of which she is very proud is often left open on the coffee table beside her favourite chair, as closing the lid turns it off and she often wants to retain a game or occupation on which she is working. However, one of our talented cats had seized the opportunity of doing some programming on his or her own account. Whatever mysterious input was applied, it had a most bizarre effect on the laptop-- the screen picture turned upside down! It proved far from easy to reverse the damage and we thought we were going to have to call in our favourite trouble-shooter--hello Ade! However a bit of research on Google on my machine ( Kim`s was far from easy to use in reverse!) came up with several sites offering advice on this problem and Kim was able to follow the advice of a thirteen year old expert to reverse the effect. A happy outcome to a feline crime...

    The other bit of talent was shown today by the grey kitten, Storm, who is a bit under the weather today with the cat equivalent of a streaming cold. To cheer her up, we let her share a bit of a brand-new loaf we were eating and she picked up the crust between her front paws, stood up on her haunches and nibbled it as a squirrel eats a nut. I have never seen a cat do this, we were quite impressed. No photo unfortunately but will try to get one later if she adds this trick to her permanent repertoire. It`s no good laughing, Storm!

   Bye for now going to lock up my computer!

Losing the plot?

   Following from my last Ark, which, you may remember made mention of our 38th wedding anniversary, I have been led to reflect a bit on the aging process. Kim commented on looking forward to the next 38, which caused me to reflect that we will be 116 years old if we make it, which strikes me as implausible. However, it`s not the gross length of life expectancy which concerns me but the HEALTHY life span remaining. Luckily, both Kim and I are fairly hale and hearty, even if a bit more weather-beaten than when we tied the knot. But what no one likes to mention is the fear of mental degradation.
  With cancer coming more under control of health professionals, the next great concern is the loss of memory. We know of at least two tragic cases and would hate to experience it at first-hand. I did mention to Kim some time ago that I kept forgetting names, but was comforted by her retort that I could NEVER remember them, even as a twenty-year-old! Nothing new there, then... Another comforting fact which I have read in several sources lately, is that bi-lingual people are much later in developing memory loss. The theory is that the brain gets so much healthy exercise remembering several thousand foreign words, that it is in a better position than the lesser-stressed monoglots. There, a new reason to learn your French!
  However, I did have a `senior moment` a few days ago. I was methodically processing some left-over stew into a nice soup. I ladled some of the stew into the food-processor from the casserole, spun it and then was going to tip the soup into a spare pan I had ready. However I poured it by mistake back into the casserole with the remaining stew... Not a bad error but it made me smile at my lack of attention and incidentally reminded me of this story.
  An American was telling of his father, who was a fantastically methodical man. One day, when he decided he needed a hair-cut, he visited his local barber. He entered the shop, removed his overcoat, put it on a hanger and hung it on the coat stand. He then did the same with his jacket, took off his tie, rolled it up and stowed it in his pocket. He unbuttoned his waist-coat, undid and loosened his shirt collar and took his place in the barber`s chair. The barber approached and said `Mr ---- , have you come for a hair-cut?` The father was surprised and said he had, rather crossly.  `Well, then` said the barber, `You are going to have to remove your hat` A case of not seeing the wood for the trees.

     Bye for now, going to enjoy life while I remember how!
   
 

Anyone fancy a good meal?

   

    Yesterday was our 38th wedding anniversary, and to commemorate all that (mainly) happy time, we decided to celebrate it in style with a meal out. To kill two birds with one stone, we decided also to try out the Restaurant du Canton in our next village of Longré.
  Funnily enough, although we are part of the canton of Loubillé, Longré is actually the nearer village, perhaps this is because it is over the Départment border in the Charente. The little café there closed a year ago, due I think, to a divorce and has only recently re-opened. It has been entirely refurbished by its new owners and offers a welcoming little bar area and a larger restaurant area, newly constructed under a most impressive conservatory at the rear of the bar. It is all very clean and pleasant, nice and warm, too on a rather chilly evening. The couple now running it are extremely welcoming and hospitable. They come from the Paris area.
  But what about the food, I hear you ask. Well, we were not disappointed. The menu is fairly simple, not surprising in a little establishment still in the process of building up its clientelle. Better a simple menu, than a great list of dishes not available or straight out of the microwave!.
   We started with an apero, as it was a special occasion. Kim had a Kir, and I had a white Pineau, both were excellent, and accompanied with the usual nibbles. Then came an entrée, not mentioned on the menu, which consisted of a delicious slice of quiche, with salad. After that, both Kim and I had chosen Escalope of Turkey with a Tarragon sauce. This was accompanied with delightfully light sautéd potatoes. Very tasty! Afterwards, for dessert we ate a creme brulée, which was one of the best I have ever tasted, with the creme still chilled and the caramelised brown sugar warm and crispy on the top.  We finished with a coffee in the bar area. The menu price, which includes a small carafe of wine and the coffee, was a very reasonable 12 Euros apiece. The meal was well-served on attractive square plates and the tables had proper linen cloths with a red satin runner.
  I`m sorry that I don`t have the nerve to photograph each dish, like someone we could name, you will have to take my word that it was all most attractively presented. Altogether a most enjoyable meal and we can thoroughly recommend this restaurant!
   Bye for now, all this talk of food has given me an appetite for lunch!

Autumn.

              This is the weather the shepherd shuns
              And so do I;
               When beeches drip in browns and duns
                And thresh and ply;
                And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
                 And meadow rivulets overflow,
                  And drops on gate-bars hang in a row,
                  And rooks in families homeward go,
                   And so  do I.


   Walking the dogs up the track earlier this morning, this second verse of Thomas Hardy came to mind. I too, made haste to cut the mandatory dog exercise short and return to the warm kitchen, where the wood-burner is keeping things snug and dry.
   And yet, it`s not cold and it is a magnificent sight to see the golden leaves streaming to leeward as the tall trees shed their dangerous wind-resistance. All is in order in the countryside and in due course we will be able to say ` This is the weather the Cuckoo likes` again.
  And in fact, a bit of blue sky up to windward has spread, and the sun is out again, better conditions for the afternoon, I expect!

  Bye for now, I hope your weather is being kind to you!

Vive la Différence?

 There are many advantages, and of course, some disadvantages, in living in France, and readers of this blog will have heard me enumerate them often enough. The climate, chiefly (we are sitting with the front door open to the autumn sunshine) the cheaper and of course rural life etc. There are no doubt disadvantages, though I can`t at the moment think of them... Then there are differences which may be one or the other.. One of the differences which anyone renovating a French house will encounter, is the electrical system.
  Now the British system is relatively recent and is of course different to everyone else in the world, quelle surprise!. It is built around the well known 13 amp square-pinned plug. In effect, each appliance connected to the system has its own fuse. The power can therefor be supplied by loops serving many plug sockets or lights. Each loop has its own big fuse back at the main distribution board. The advantage is that only a few wires come out of the main board. The disadvantage is a large unwieldy plug which won`t fit any other known socket on earth...
  In France, this loop system is not only not seen, it is illegal. The plugs are not fused, and look tiny to British eyes, especially the smaller ones for small, twin wired items. If the iten needs an earth, the plug is a little bigger, as you can see in the header pic. The disadvantage is that the circuits are fused back at the main board, so each socket, or say up to three, have a separate spur of wire, and the bunch of wires coming out of the main board have to be seen to be believed! Both systems work, both have their points, you pays your money and.... in fact you have no choice! It`s a draw...
   The other major system difference is the hot water supply. In Britain, the water for your shower is heated by gas or electricity straight from cold, as you use it. Advantage-- unlimited supply, available straightaway. Disadvantage, low rates of flow, especially in winter, when the mains water is very cold. You have a choice between a trickle of hot water, or a good flow of luke warm, neither very appealing! Plus, in France, the electricity supply is generally too low to run an electric shower heater, as we found out to our cost when we tried to install one.
 The alternative in France is to have your shower supplied from the hot water tank. We get all the very hot water one could desire at the shower-head. Simple, but impossible in the UK!  The reason is that Uk hot water tanks are at atmospheric pressure, while in France they are at mains pressure, by having the cold supply connected to the tank, illegal in Britain, for fear that there will be a reverse flow which might contaminate the supply. Some genius in France has suggested that a non-return valve could solve this, rocket science or what! The problem of over-pressure of the tank was solved by a small pressure-relief valve, shown in my pic to vent off a small amount of water . The result--steaming hot, copious showers, what luxury!  Vive la différence!

   Bye for now, off to enjoy a shower!

Lost in translation.

   One of the joys and one of the problems of living in France is the different language. I have heard recent ex-pats bewailing the language `problem` but I prefer to look at it as an advantage. When we first started to come to France on holidays, it always seemed more `foreign` more exotic than staying safely in anglophone G B. Now we live here full-time, I still feel a certain thrill in being able to chat to French people, without difficulty unless their accent is really bizarre or they speak really too quickly. Sure, there are hitches that can occur, such as a visit to the Tax Office or the dentist, where specialised vocabulary can be needed but you can often swot up in advance. In a larger sense, this is what we did before moving here, taking several years of evening classes to prepare our French. Now I take a pride in finding the best translation of a French sentence, we even are shared translators for our local village magazine, when the Maire expressed an interest in having his monthly column translated to reach the ten per cent of his citoyens who are English. True, you can nowadays have an instantaneous translation by computer, but this is not without its pitfalls.
  I was reminded of this some time ago, when reading a Tom Clancey novel translated from the American (that`s what it said in the aknowledgments) into French. I was doing this as a practice, having read it in English some time previously. A sentence brought me up short in my tracks. The French read `Le Général entra en hate, portant une chemise en carton`  Which I mentally translated, quite correctly, as `The General strode in, wearing a cardboard shirt.` Had his laundry overdone the starch, I wondered, or was this some French figure of speech with which I was unfamiliar... On reflection, I worked out that the French verb `porter` could mean to wear OR to carry and chemise can mean file or folder as well as cardboard. I bet Google would have given me the first version, however!
   I recently read yet another advantage of being bi-lingual. The effort and extra neurones needed by the brain to do this, provide a certain protection against developing Alzheimer`s Disease. Speakers of two languages, who are prone to the syndrome, develop it on average several years later than their monoglot  contemporaries. Perhaps I should rush off and study another language, I could live lucid for ever!

  Bye for now, going to see if I can find my old German dictionary!

Sunday trip out--L`Ile d`Oléron.

   We have been confined close to home for a week or so, both by the weather, which has been very rainy though mild, and by the fact that I have had a nasty cold for the past week. We both felt a little stale and decided to take a trip out on Sunday, even though the Météo was not very promising. As we both miss the sea, we decided to visit the Ile d`Oléron, our favourite seaside location. In the UK we lived mostly at Portsmouth or Plymouth, within easy reach of the sea. Indeed at Hooe, one of our houses you could walk to the beach in 20 minutes. Although we love living here in the countryside in France, we do occasionally need a `fix` of sea air! Even though it`s a two-hour drive!
  However, first things first, we always plan to have a MacDonalds at Marrennes before venturing onto the island, so we set the GPS to go via St Jean dAngély to add a bit of interest. The weather was showery when we set out, but fortune smiled on us and it brightened steadily towards the afternoon.
  After our meal, we headed towards the impressive bridge onto the Ile. Oléron is the second biggest offshore island of France after Corsica, and is an intriguing mixture of tourist and holiday trade and the shellfish industry. Along the shores are many tidal pools where the oysters are parked to purge them after being fished up out of the sea and the little painted wooded huts of the oyster farmers. There are also several fishing ports, very picturesque with typical single-storey cottages. There are also large quantities of holiday homes, some big secluded hotels, riding schools, all sorts of aids to having a good time in the Summer. There is even a lengthy narrow-gauge railway, which has its own fire-waggon! The St Trojan Railway also runs trains which don`t need rails!

  We like best the beach near St Trojan called Grande Plage, which is on the seaward side of the island. The beach is miles long, of golden sand and the surf crashes on it in spectacular fashion. See the header pic for a view. You approach the beach through half a mile of pine forest with frequent picnic spots and eventually arrive at a parking spot from where you walk out of the forest over the dunes to the shoreline. The wind was bracing to say the least and you could see the fine sand drifting along the surface as the dune slowly migrated inland! We had a walk along the shore admiring the surf. A school of sand yachting was teaching some young pupils how to manage their swift-sailing `boats`.

Gatseau Plage

Sea holly and `horses tails growing above the beach

  Although we loved the views, the wind was very chilling, so after half an hour we retreated to the car to warm up and drove off through the forest. We decided to visit another beach new to us, on the lee-side of the island, Gatseau plage. Although the approach was similar, through the pine forest, the beach was far more sheltered though it lacked, of course, the spectacular surf. There was a huge thallaso-therapy hotel further along, and I felt the place would be nicer to swim in in the summer, though not now!
  As it was four o`clock, we decided to head for home as it is a two hour drive and it gets dark early now. We went home direct, or fairly so, as the GPS was not aware of a length of new dual carriageway towards Royan, and thus could not advise us when to turn off it. The poor machine was under the impression we were driving across country and kept asking us to `rejoindre une route.`
  We arrived home in the dusk, tired but having vastly enjoyed our day out.









Bye for now, we`ll tell you when we next go on tour!

Turn on the Heat.

   Well it`s that time of year again, the faithful Franco- Belge wood-burner has been re-lit and won`t go out until March apart, perhaps for a few days at Christmas. It`s muttering away to itself, keeping the kitchen warm and spilling its welcome warmth into the rest of the house. It`s also heating three kettles, two large ones a neighbour gave us years ago and a new one Kim bought in England to use for making tea. The large hot-plate top surface is useful for cooking, too. I lit it three days ago and it has kept in well overnight twice now and I am re-discovering the art of getting the best from it.
  Not that lighting up is a matter of throwing a switch!  First I had to sweep the chimney with the sweeps brush and rods. Then the stove itself needed a good clear out of the soot and clinker accumulated inside it. Then I pre-heated the firebox with a hot air stripper. This sounds a bit over the top but I have found it a wise precaution, without which a reverse draught can set in, filling the kitchen or even the whole house with choking smoke. Then it`s just a case of dry kindling and a couple of fire-lighters and it was away!
  Or you could look further back, to the delivery of five steres of logs a few weeks ago and their stacking in the barn, or to more recently in the cutting of the older logs with the electric chain-saw. Slightly to my apprehension, Kim has undertaken to do this for the moment, though in fact she is probably more practiced in this than I am, she would never let me use our small Black and Decker saw in Plymouth...
   If all this seems a great deal of trouble, I suppose it is, but we both feel a strong satisfaction in heating the house in this way. It seems more French somehow, more country-life. The house feels drier and there`s a satisfying tang of woodsmoke in the air. If the time ever comes when we cannot do it, we will be very sad.
  Bye for now, going to put dinner on the stove!
 

Testing Times

   I promised in yesterday`s blog to give an account of my Driving test in my Morgan Plus Four. It was somewhat eventful as you will see.
  The first problem was that the Test was on a weekday, and my benevolent naval qualified driver was, of course, at work and not available to drive me to the Centre. What I did to get round this was to leave the canvas hood erected, together with the rather opaque side screens and drive carefully and furtively to the centre. Even though I still had the L plates displayed, a police officer would have had to peer in the low windscreen to see that there was no accompanying driver and luckily none did. Once arrived near the Test centre, I stripped the screens, hood and frames and stowed them away, vastly improving the visibility. Luckily the weather was dry!
  I went into the centre to sign in and emerged with my allocated tester, took the rudimentary sight test of reading a number-plate at 25 yards, and led the tester towards my vehicle. When we arrived at the Morgan, squatting at the kerb, the tester continued for a few paces before looking incredulously at the Mog. `Is THIS your car?` he asked. `If I had known I would have brought my coat` I apologised abjectly and we crammed ourselves inside. `Where is your qualified driver` he demanded. I explained he had to see a man about a dog, or some such story... `He should have waited` Again I apologised. Things were not going well.
   They did not improve, either. As we started off, I noticed, to my horror that the speedo had quit. The examiner noticed it too, of course, and my (true) comment that it had only just failed was somewhat sceptically viewed. The Test had started in disaster, and the only benefit was that, as I was convinced I could not possibly pass, I drove in a much more relaxed way , despite having a mouth so dry it felt like leather. As I have said, I had driven the Mog several thousand miles and was thoroughly at home in it. The Examiner may also have been impressed by my hand signals, In those far-off days, cars did not have to have indicators or trafficators and the Morgan was not so equipped.
  The driving went well and I easily answered the Highway Code questions as I was still used to absorbing and regurgitating quantities of info from my schooldays. Finally he checked his clipboard, hesitated and reluctantly said `Well, I think I`ll give you a pass.` I could have kissed the fellow! After he had walked off, leaving me to wait for my `Qualified driver` I tore off the ignoble L plates and stuffed them in a near-by hedge, before driving off in triumph `licenced to kill!` The speedo came back on line, typical, and I later found that the needle sometimes seemed to turn back too far and did not engage. I cured this by gluing a splinter of wood to the little stop... In those impoverished days garage repairs were not affordable!
  Bye for now, going to muse on the vehicles (wrecks) I have driven in my time....
 

Transport nostalgia

   It is a well-known side-effect of getting older that memories of long ago seem sharper than that of the recent past. I find that recollections of events and scenes of half a century ago are as real as they ever were. Wouldn`t it be marvellous if the brain could be made to display some of these scenes, it would be like a time machine or a gateway opening on the past....
   One of the things I recall as if it were yesterday is my first motor-car. I suppose everyone can visualise their first transport, especially if they have had to buy it themselves and not be given it by Daddy, as seems to happen nowadays. And my first car was memorable in itself, being a Morgan Plus Four in sky blue. Morgans have always been a race apart, the factory is still in production, one of the few genuinely British vehicle producers. The cars have, in fact, changed astonishingly little, remaining very similar to my 1952 Plus-Four LWK 813 (I can even recall its registration number) It was a two-seater sports car, a long, long bonnet behind a horseshoe shaped radiator reminiscent of a Bugatti, ending in a VERY low windscreen some 8 inches high  The front wheels stuck out in front of the bonnet and were covered by sweeping mudguards leading down to a running-board below the doors. Behind the low cockpit were TWO spare-wheels surrounded by a tapering bodywork. Unfortunately I don`t have a picture, people were less into photography at the time. The bodywork was of aluminium over an ash frame, Morgans are one of the only cars that can suffer from wood-rot or woodworm! The very light body was driven by a Standard Vanguard engine of 2088 cc`s an unusual capacity. That was not the only unusual feature! The gearbox, for example was situated in the cockpit under a leather-covered hump just in between the driver and passenger`s legs, which ensured a very positive gearchange!, as the short gearstick enters the gearbox direct.  It was driven by a short primary drive shaft from the engine, rather than being directly connected as are all other cars. The front suspension rather resembles a motor-cycles, being a sliding cylinder arrangement. As this requires frequent lubrication, Morgan have included a system where the driver is told to press on a button on the floor of the car next to the clutch. When this is done, the oil-pressure gauge drops a pound or two as a squirt of engine oil is administered to the suspension! Don`t do it too often, though, or the surplus streaks the front tyres.... The doors were topped by flexible perspex windows which could be, and usually were, removed as they were not as transparent as all that til I had them re-done. The hood was the usual canvas job over a tubular frame and took ages to erect, awkward in case of sudden rain. The car did have a heater, which made a whine similar to a supercharger but delivered little heat... All in all a most impractical,uncomfortable uneconomic and thoroughly glamorous machine, capable of some 110 miles per hour for those with nerves of steel. I loved it!
  There was, however, one slight snag after I had bought it;- I did not have a driving licence... I was in the process of taking driving lessons. However, I abandoned the course and determined to continue to learn in my own car. A more unsuitable vehicle for a learner driver would be difficult to imagine than a 2 litre sports car with low visibility. Luckily, I had a secret weapon. In my digs, also lived an intrepid naval lieutenant who liked nothing better at weekends than being taken on long tours in the Portsmouth area at someone else`s expense. So that is what we did. We covered several thousand miles during my apprenticeship, without any accidents, until I was ready to present myself for the dreaded Driving test at the Portsmouth centre. I will, however reserve an account of this eventful occasion for my next blog.

   Bye for now, until we meet again on Test day!

Health.. and Safety

  I have just come back from a visit to the Doctor; not, I hasten to reassure my faithful readers, because I am ill but rather because I`m not.  Let me explain.
  A couple of weeks ago when Kim was in England with Alyson, I began to feel a bit headachey in the mornings and also had a nagging pain in the lower ribs. Now, one of the side effects of Atenolol, which I take for high blood pressure is that I don`t get headaches, so this symptom seemed to me a sign that my blood pressure was creeping up. A while ago, we bought a spig or blood pressure measuring machine in case we wanted to monitor ourselves, and rather unwisely I tried this out with alarming results. Rather than worrying myself into an early grave, I visited our local Doctoress with my machine and demanded a comparative test plus a diagnosis on the rib pain. I dare not do this kind of thing when Kim is in residence as she worries even more than I do, a confirmed hypochondriac.
  Our Doc is a good sport and agreed to this bizarre suggestion. Her machine gave a more reassuring result and she said ours was reading a couple of points high. The pain was easily dismissed as a rib strain from heaving things about. A good result, still it might have been serious, even hypochondriacs get sick! In fact she said she would increase my blood pressure tablets slightly to bring the level back to normal, which has since done the trick. However, I did not escape scot-free as she said I had not had a blood test for a year and prescribed one, which was carried out last Tuesday.
  Today, a formidable report arrived through the post and after poring over it a while we decided to take it to the Doc`s for deciphering. She interpreted it, liver ok, heart ok, kidneys ok, pancreas ok,prostate within limits etc. nothing to worry about in total. She also re-took my blood-pressure which has returned to its usual excellent level. We were able to come back much reassured, and I am now hopefully certified to carry on in good health. The French system is a thorough one and reckons to catch problems early, when something can be done about them. Perhaps this is why the French have the longest life-expectancy in Europe!
  Bye for now, going to enjoy the sunshine.
 
 

Concatenations of events..

This has been an eventful couple of days among the feline side of the Ark`s passengers. Firstly, we are glad to announce the return of Lillou after an extended absence of nearly six months. Goodness knows where she goes, usually in Summer, but this time we had really given her up for lost. However, I was feeding the sheep in the dark early Sunday morning when I saw her sitting on a gatepost at the side of the field. She was fat and sassy as usual, showing no sign of any privations. I carried her back indoors where she spat at all the other animals, before settling down as if she had never left and appropriating my chair so I have to lift her up and put her on my knee each time I want to sit down. Definitely a happy surprise!

   Not so happy has been a sudden illness of our latest passenger, Storm. She had been less lively for a couple of days, sleeping nearly all the time and not raising Cain as is her wont. When she went off her food as well, we decided it was time to consult the vet. The Chef surgery was full on Monday morning, so we were redirected to Brioux, and saw Solene, who diagnosed a temperature and a bad worm infestation. After treatment, she seems to be improving slowly and we hope this will continue. Its a worry running an Ark!
  Bye for now, going to have some tea.

The way we were

I have just returned from a week in Plymouth, having gone over by ferry with the car to bring back Kim ( Mrs. Noah ) and her numerous purchases after an extended stay with our daughter Alyson. Now Plymouth is the city where I spent most of my formative years, from 11 to 18 as a teenager, and a more recent stay of 20 years or so before moving to France. You would say, then, that it is the most familiar and homely town that I know.... and yet I find now that I really don`t know it any more.  It`s not only that the streets and shops have changed in the 11 years we have been in France, but the living conditions have worsened to a surprising extent. Even the street plan has altered, with a new attempt to create a more rapid traffic flow into the town in the mornings and out in the evenings, a system unlikely to succeed, I feel. TRAFFIC, that is the one thing that renders the place unsuitable for civilised life, a huge, almost stationery double line of cars that means commuters will spend over three-quarters of an hour on a ten minute journey and no doubt waste several litres of fuel into the bargain. If there is one advantage in the move to France, it is the relative scarcety of traffic jams. I will admit they do exist, any journey near Paris will reassure you of that!  However, here in Deux Sevres, they are an endangered species, I am happy to say. Long may it so remain!

  Bye for now, off for a burn-up on the open road!

Hot water!

  For more years than I care to mention, we have had no running hot water in our kitchen sink. The large hot-water tank adjacent to our bathroom supplies as much very hot water that anyone could desire to our wash basin and shower in the bathroom. By the way, I am constantly amazed at the superiority of the French system of pressurising the tank with the cold water supply, which means your shower gives an abundant supply of very hot water if desired, rather than a trickle of warm water from the English system where the water is heated by a coil in the shower itself and has to be restricted if you want your shower hot.
    That was not to say that we washed our dishes in cold water!  No, a bowl was carried in from the bathroom and placed in the butler sink. From force of habit, this has seemed the norm, but Kim recently rebelled and demanded an improvement.
   One of the reasons for the old `system` was that our kitchen is some way from the bathroom and its water supply, so we felt to run a pipe through would waste water while we waited for the hot water to traverse the length of pipe. Kim saw in Castorama the above-pictured neat little water heater which seemed the answer to our problems. I did have some reservations but unhappily I did not voice them clearly enough and we ordered the machine. As it was listed in Castorama`s site as not available in Niort I ordered it on line from the Poitiers site.
   We had arranged for it to be installed by our neighbour Ian who is experienced in plumbing and subsequently to be connected to the electricity supply by Stewart who is an electrician, among his other skills. The plumbing work went well as can be seen but disaster struck when Stewart arrived to carry out the connection. The wretched appliance  was far too powerful to be connected to our house supply! It would have tripped the house fuse each time we used it. Stewart suggested it should be changed for the same model which drew a lesser supply.

The heater has vanished replaced by a temporary COLD tap

     I took the heater carefully off the wall cleaned it up and took it to Castorama Poitiers to change it. I had expected problems and was not disappointed!  Oh, no, said Castorama Poitiers we have nothing to do with Castorama Direct! it is a completely different organisation and you will have to deal with them direct to return the item. I also saw that they do not in fact stock the lower-powered version, probably because it wont heat the water sufficiently.
  I sent an Email to Castorama Direct who seemed curiously difficult to contact. They didn`t reply directly, but I did get an advert containing the small-print terms of supply limiting changing an order to two weeks and stipulating that the item should be in its original packing etc. It seems obvious that I stand no chance of recuperating my money.
  We decided to accept the possible waste of water (it can always be used for plant watering) and run a pipe from the hotwater tank, which Ian did very competently yesterday. Here is the completed result.
  I have learned a few lessons from this saga. First, research your projects thoroughly and dont rely on publicity.  Second, don`t expect to get any cooperation from retailers once you have parted with your money. And finally, do NOT take any notice of Castorama`s publicity that they are amateur-friendly, they are not. They could have warned me of the power problem. It`s not Castorama, c`est castoche, more a case of Castorama c`est moche!
  And by the way, if anybody has a house with a supply of more than 25 amps and wants a sink or washbasin water heater, as new, let me know....
  Bye for now, going to do the washing-up!
 

Let there be light!

   The Summer is drawing to its end, the seasons are changing and the most obvious sign is the shortening of the daylight hours at each end of the day. Where a few weeks ago I wandered out the back door at six am in full daylight, or walked the dogs for their final trot at half past eight in the evening all in daylight, now it is a very different scene.
  Running an Ark, there are numerous outside tasks that demand the use of both hands, for example walking three dogs on leads or feeding cats or sheep. It is highly inconvenient to have to use one hand to hold a torch and I have found the only answer is my `light hat`. You can admire a picture of it in use above.
  Now I am the first to admit that the ensemble appears slightly ridiculous and gives me the appearance of a coal-miner. It consists in fact of a `headlight` attached to a peaked poachers hat that I have had for a number of years to wear in cold or wet conditions. It lives on the clothes hooks near the back door and can be put on in an instant. But how convenient it is!  Wherever I choose to look the darkness vanishes, I can see to do whatever I need and I have both hands free to hold dog leads or to scoop catfood into the dishes in the open barn. I don`t think I could possibly do without it!

   Bye for now, breakfast calls!

When is free speech free?

      A lot of TV news on French TV is concerned with the riots in Muslim countries following the obscure and badly-produced American film which was uncomplimentary about the Prophet Mohammed. American Embassies were attacked by mobs and some staff were even killed, together with a number of demonstrators. Is this the fault of the film maker or of religious fury and intolerance on the part of Muslims, whose sacred faith had been denigrated?
   And this week we have had an even more flagrant meddling with this already boiling-over pot. The satirical magazine, Charlie Hebdo, a sort of French version of Private Eye, has published cartoons of the Prophet in the name of free speech showing him pushing a Jew in a wheelchair  and being photographed with naked buttocks as an analogy with the Princess` unfortunate exposure and suggesting that Jews and Muslims cannot be mentioned without serious legal or riot sanctions. Further riots directed against French interests have already started and French schools and Embassies had to be closed as a precaution on Friday. Is it right for this scurrilous rag to be able to say whatever it wants? Will they be held responsible for the damage resulting?
  I would like to describe a further instance of an insult to religion. There is a well-produced advert on French TV at the moment for beef, It shows a sort of baronial hall filled with a crowd of demons and demonesses awaiting their dinner, a nice joint of beef, done `å point`. The infernal inhabitants are shown with red faces and little horns but are non-frightening and seem to be enjoying themselves. As the joint is served, the door of the hall swings open and a figure enters, obviously depicting Jesus, dressed in white robes and followed by a crowd of winged angels and cherubs. In a moment these visitors take their place at table interspersed with the demons and a cheerful, friendly meal commences, even with kisses exchanged between the two sides. The succulent joint is shown again in close-up and the point is made that beef encourages friendship. Am I shocked at the use of our Saviour, used in an advert? Perhaps I should be and indeed I find it in poor taste. I will not, however be leading a riot before the HQ of French TV...
  Should `Free Speech` be completely unfettered? There are those who say it should be, but there are already limits. I cannot publish untrue and libellous comments about you, dear reader without fear of legal sanctions. It is illegal in France to suggest that the persecution of Jews during the war is untrue propaganda, and stirring racial or religious hatred is sanctioned legally.
  I don`t know the answer but perhaps the key lies in the word `legal` . I feel the Muslims are doing themselves no favours by illegal and threatening riots and disproportionate reactions, and indeed the leaders of the Muslims in France are trying to persuade their followers to prefer peaceful protests at the insult to their religion. Perhaps it boils down to a lack of politeness and good taste, sadly lacking in modern society.  What do you think?

Time for a change, watch this space!

  As my Facebook friends already know, a few days ago my faithful Timing wristwatch took its pension and retired and even the offer of a new battery failed to restart it. I took the opportunity of replacing it with this rather snazzy watch, vaguely reminiscent of a Rolex:  it cost me 29 Euros from Intermarché and if it does as well as  the old one I will be very pleased. That, too was from Inter and cost slightly less, yet ran accurately for four years or so.
   I made a rather laboured joke on Facebook, boasting at having saved 1500 Euros on the real thing and people seemed broadly in agreement though one lady rather wistfully remarked that there was a nice feeling about owning a good watch. However I beg to disagree, there are a lot of awkward feelings too.
  I am a somewhat frugal person (not to say mean, I hope) and I could never reconcile myself to spending a really large sum on a watch, even if I could afford it. And if by chance I did, think of the anxiety. Swimming at the lake I wouldn`t want to wear the thing in the water, yet would quail at leaving it in my discarded clothes as I do now. It would have to be left at home, but that destroys the whole point of having a timepiece! And say burglars broke in...
  Such an expensive item would have to be insured, and All-risk policies are not cheap. Plus, the Claims department do look a bit sideways at the unsupported loss of this type of item.I know I did, when working in the industry. One of our clients claimed for the loss overboard of a Phillipe Pratek watch or some such name at a couple of thousand pounds, lost overboard on a sea-fishing trip. He was curiously reluctant to declaring it to the Police, too, on the grounds it would never turn up... Possibly a scam though impossible to prove, people think that defrauding an insurance society is not a crime, but their consciences are strangely elastic. It`s theft, whichever way you look at it. I know of a most respectable person, who cheerfully admitted the `loss` of a gold necklace to raise funds when in difficulty...Very strange.
  But I digress a bit. The other point of not spending the earth on a posh watch is that modern, low cost  quarz watches work so well, keeping perfect time for months. The only real point of spending out is the famous name and the precious metal case. I am perfectly prepared to forgo both for peace of mind. After all, that is supposed to be beyond price!

  Bye for now, I see by my new watch that it`s tea-time!

The Changing of the Seasons

   `Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
    Close bosom friend of the maturing sun`
       Well, here in Deux Sevres, we haven`t seen any mists but the summer sun has done its best with the vines! The other fruit has been disappointing, due to odd weather in the spring, unseasonably mild weather in February being succeeded by a late frost that blighted many fruit trees. Still, you do what you can with what you`ve got and I`ve made lots of fruit juice and jam from these abundant bunches on our treilles. We have had the normal summer weather of the Region, hot, dry periods with little or no rain and this seems set to continue a while. I bet my Scottish Facebook friend wishes he could say the same. I congratulate myself on a grain of good sense moving to the sunshine. I am a climatic migrant!

 Still, as I said in my title, the roundabout of the seasons is slowly turning. The Rentrée is past, the children are back in school, the tourists and the campers are gone and we are in what the French call the Arriere Saison, that time between the end of the summer and the beginning of autumn.Often, at this time of year, we have sunny weather, perfect for a late holiday for those lucky souls  (like us,) who don`t have to return to the office or workshop. Some years, the summer slides almost imperceptibly into autumn, and this season itself can drag out to greet November.

  However, like all things, every boon has its down-side and the lack of any rain is bothering the farmers and gardners. Our cour and sheep-field are parched and yellow, and even well-established shrubs and trees are looking sad. However this is normal for the time of year and they will green up again with the autumn rain. In the meantime ,we can enjoy the last of the summer, perhaps take a little trip when Kim gets back from Turkey?
  And amid the feeling of the summer`s end, we do have new life springing Likethis little kitten sitting on my knee and making it very difficult to type.

   Bye for now, off to pick some more grapes!

A spot of Bricolage.

  As I mentioned in my last episode, Kim (Mrs Noah) is away visiting our daughter, Alyson, and is in fact at this very moment in the air heading for Turkey, to accompany her on a fortnight`s holiday. In the meantime I have a certain freedom to carry out a few repairs and maintenance, in between caring for the Ark`s multitude of personnel and especially the most demanding of all, the new arrival, Storm  However, it was not in fact a long-contemplated redecoration or building project which came my way on Saturday but a bit of an emergency concerning our little building on the other side of the village road. I have mentioned this anomalous possession before,  it has recently been re-roofed and we use it as a food store or larder. I had noted a bit of a problem with the door lintel, but when I went in on Saturday  for some dog-food, the lintel was sagging down to catch the door and it was evident that something would have to be done

  As you can see from the picture at the start of the blog, it is a typical Poitou outbuilding with metre-thick walls built of the handsome local limestone.The wall above the door is supported by a lintel resting on the surrounds of the door. This is obviously built in when the walls reach the height of the door during construction. If you have a nice slab of Limousin oak, this is used to `roof` the door opening. If not and you are too mean to buy expensive timber, the deficiency is filled by several pieces of tree trunk, roughly squared or left round, as was the case here. One of these logs had rotted or been attacked by woodworm and had to be replaced. The pic on the left shows the sad remains.
  As you can imagine, it is not easy to replace this support, when it is set into the wall and supporting the masonry above. What I did, was to hack the remains out of the wall at each end and clear out the socket, enlarging it a bit with a chisel. Then I cut a replacement beam from a long rafter that a neighbour had given me some years ago (NEVER throw anything away! ) I cut it some eight inches wider than the doorway. Then it was a question of inserting the squared end into one of the sockets and pushing it in until the other end could be entered into its socket. I could then centralise the beam. The two ends rest solidly on the top of the door surround and it should be nearly as strong as the original, though not so deeply set in. It is certainly stronger than the old beam, because that had rotted right away at one end and was waving in the breeze.

   All in all, quite a satisfactory bit of repair, which has left me feeling quite proud. All done with local materials at zero cost!
  Bye for now, heading for my bed..Kim is going to ring when she arrives at the Turkish hotel, which will be in the early hours!!

Storm Warning-- New Ark crew-member.

Those of you who see Facebook may have noticed that there is a new face chez nous, so I thought it was time to introduce the latest addition to our crew. Meet Storm, a male (?) kitten who has come to join the Ark`s members.
   Mark, our neighbour, brought him down to us on Tuesday, asking if we could look after him that day and overnight, as he was taking his daughter Elia to a camp at La Palmyre. He told us that Elia had found the very young kitten abandoned in bushes. Thinking that it was one of a litter of kittens being reared by his own queen, he added it to the mob and it seemed initially to be accepted, only to be found rejected again in the bushes. Apparently it was not one of hers. Elia looked after it a couple of days but was due to leave for her camp. Really it was difficult for us as I was taking Kim to Paris the next day to catch the plane, but one look at the tiny grey form convinced Kim that there was a vacancy in the Ark`s crew due to a couple of deaths and the possible disappearance of Lilloo, who hasn`t been seen for months. So we asked Mark if we could keep him, which was probably his cunning plan all along...

   We took him with us to Charles de Gaule in the large cat box with suitable kitten milk, a thing Mark had not envisaged. He even came in the airport while Kim clocked in and came back with me on my lone and long journey back home. Now I`m left holding the kitten, as it were.
  He`s not a LOT of trouble, sleeps the night without needing feeding (I was fearing a two o`clock feed ) and sits quietly on my knee or rather, on my left hand, when I am at the computer, as he likes to suckle my palm after he has had his bottle. Still it does use up a fair amount of time to care for a baby like that. However, I will have a caste-iron excuse for not having done as much DIY as expected, when Kim gets back!
 
     Bye for now, got to make up a bottle.....

The varnished truth.

  This week it has been the week of the varnishing of the kitchen. Kim is jetting off from Charles de Gaule airport on wednesday to spend some weeks with Alyson and wanted to complete the renovation before she went. She has been toiling like a forcenée to finish in time and has just succeeded. First we had to clear the kitchen of its furniture and as it is also our normal living room this was a task in itself. It has all been packed into the lounge, which looks like a furniture sale-room . She then sanded off the old vitrificateur with a hand-held electric sander and we had dust galore for several days. Once the dust had settled and been vacuumed away, it was the time to re-varnish.
   However it`s not so easy as that. Our large kitchen is at the centre of the house. The front door to the street opens off it, the stairs to the grenier and bedrooms also together with the door to the entrée and bathroom and the rear exit to the cour. If you varnish it all at once you are effectively debarred from access to these areas. A complicated plan of leaving narrow corridors had to be devised. Also, the animals had to be excluded on pain of death...The coffee machine migrated here and there also the electric kettle.

  However, all`s well that ends well and we can begin to re-colonise our smart kitchen. Kim has done a fine job and we are both very proud of the restored area!

   Bye for now, Kim has woken up and come down for coffee and to admire her work.

Oh, when the Saintes....

  As I have said before, it is often due to the visit of a friend or relative that we are driven to explore in more depth the attractions of the Region. Patrick and Cécile from Lille are with us this week, and we decided to visit Saintes.   Patrick is a lover of `vielles pierres` and Saintes has an abundance of Roman remains to satisfy anyone.
  However, before starting on the Romans, we visited the Church of St. Eutrope, site of the burial of the above-named saint.

  We were  going to have a `visite guidée` but due to heavy traffic, arrived a bit late and missed the tour. Still, we had a good poke around on our own. The church is huge and has been rebuilt and extended from time to time as such buildings are. What most struck us was that there are, in fact, two churches, one on top of the other. There is a creepy crypt underneath, which used to welcome the pilgrims making the trip to Compostelle and a much more luxurious and better lit church above, which was reserved for the monks! On the left is a shot of the crypt with the stone coffin of the Saint, only about three feet long, which seems to suggest a very modest size! However we learnt that his `chef` or head was not included and was on site in the main church above, where it enjoyed a more luxurious reliquary... I believe also that the remnants of the Saint had been gathered up and re-buried at a time well after his death by martyrdom.
  Later, we went to visit the Arcus Germanicus, the substantial  arch at the head of this blog. This edifice originally was situated at the beginning of the Roman bridge across the Charente . This was the lowest permanent bridge across the river and was the main reason for the founding of the town at this spot. When the bridge was replaced with a more modern one many years ago, the Arch was removed and rebuilt in its present position nearby.
 We also had a wander round the old town abattoir, which now houses an impressive collection of Roman stones and statuary
   After a picnic lunch in a well-kept park, which had a small collection of fowl and some goats, we went on to see the amphitheatre, one of Saintes` main attractions. This time we did not miss the start of the guided visit and the young lady showing us around was very well informed of all the facts and figures.
 The arena was built in about 50 AD profiting from a natural valley to provide support for the seats on each side. The top of the valley was filled in and the remaining end had a wall and sub-structure built to support the rows of seats. Not much of the superstructure remains but as you can see from my photo, the arena itself is almost intact and gives a good idea of its original shape. It was used for gladiatorial combats including fights with local fauna such as wolves,bears and sangliers. The most important personages had front-row seats and to stop them having a too-close view of the animals, a stone parapet with a sort of lip formed the top of the wall separating the arena from the benches. Stakes and a net were also fitted to protect the spectators.

At each end of the arena, there were entry and exit tunnels. The tunnel at the bottom of the valley was the `live` entry where the gladiators and animals would parade into the ring, At the other end was the `dead` exit where fallen competitors were dragged off to the morgue...This is the West end, perhaps the origin of the saying `He`s gone West`? Here is a pic of the gloomy exit tunnel. Strange to stand where so many unfortunates had been unceremoniously dragged out!.

After the presentation, as we made our way out of the bottom of the amphitheatre, seats were being arranged for a musical event.  There`s life in the old site yet!!!
  Bye for now, or should I say `Hail, Caesar!`

What`s in a name?

 

  Here`s a little quiz for you to ponder..What do the French towns of Pissotte, Arsy,  Ars-en-Ré and Germ have in common?  Give up?  Well, they are all town names that have evoked a snigger from our daughter Alyson, together with an absolute prohibition of our moving to any one of them. It must be admitted that Al has a sense of humour a little `low` but it must also be admitted that the French have a perverse genius for giving their towns and villages ridiculous or even rude names.
  Last night I had a look through the index of our Michelin and found an absolute plethora of rude or ridiculous names.Apart from the above examples, I found Silly (a town of idiots?), Chilly (bit nippy?) Bossey (a long argument before the Maire imposed his choice?) Miséré ( a happy town, not) Messy (tidy little place) Brain (town of know-alls) Corny (load of comics) Hinges ( swingers?) and Douzy (an Americanism?). A town which is a little liable to flood must be Dampvalley Les Coulombes, `les Canards` would have been more appropriate. There are also some names which must be ridiculous even to the French, like Hérisson (hedgehog) and Longcochon perhaps named by an explorer returned from the Pacific. However my personal favorites are Largeasse (to be avoided by anglophones with a weight problem and the rude and improbable Pissy-Poville (the O having a `roof` accent over it which I can`t reproduce on my English keyboard). Any comment I might dare to make on this last would incur the wrath of Mrs Noah.
  I wonder if house values are lower in these villes?  Certainly I would have though twice about buying there, although our own rather sad name of La Mort Limouzin did not deter us. Does any reader have any other favorite candidates?

Bye for now, coffee time!

Sunday trip to the Vienne

It has been rather hot and sticky these last few days and poor Mrs Noah has been feeling the heat. She doesn`t mind it in Turkey, she says, where she can lie about on a transat and get people to bring her drinks, but at home it stops her doing things and she feels guilty. The remnants of a strict Welsh upbringing, of course, what the modern generation would call appalling cruelty leading to permanent psychological damage and we refer to as normal bringing up... However it has cooled a bit today, with even a few light showers, so we decided on a joy-ride this afternoon.
  We like discovering new places, the trouble is they have all been discovered in the locality so  we have to go further afield. A perusal of the map revealed a little town called Exideuil-sur-Vienne, which looked promising. I like towns on a river or sea bank, and we have already tried most of the Charente-side ones. The Vienne would be a fresh river to explore. To add a spice of variety, the GPS or Satnav was set to get us there by the shortest route which always ensures an entertaining viewing of unknown by-ways.
  Unfortunately, as this was a spur of the moment decision, the camera was forgotten, so I can`t show you any pics of the town. Google will fill the breach if you`re interested. We were left with the impression of a thriving little town of some antiquity, on the banks of the Vienne river, which here was wide and swift-flowing but endowed with enormous, dangerous-looking rocks in mid-stream. Navigable it was not, except possibly by canoe.
  We had a brief look at the church, which was large but grim. It looked as if it was designed to serve as a fort. though it did have an attractive spire and a fair ring of bells. However inside the barrel-vaulted interior, it was the darkest church I have EVER seen, just two or three smallish windows whose light was further diminished by being fitted with orangey-brown stained glass! Some votive candles were available and I seriously considered buying one to see my way about..  After waiting until our eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, we were able to make out some interesting things, a huge granite font and a holy-water stoop almost as large. I noticed the stone coffin of a knight, indicated by a sword carved in the granite.
  After leaving the town, we went up the river to Confolens, and home by a more familiar route. A very enjoyable afternoon, doing what we love to do.. exploring the French countryside.

    Bye for now, tea calls!

Reports of my demise have been much exaggerated...

What I am trying to say in my title is that I have not blogged for ages, and I thought I had better try to bring my faithful fan up to date. I publish above photographic proof of my excuse for the lapse of time, the visit of Alyson and Kerri our daughter and grand-daughter respectively, which left little time for a reflective blog. Admittedly they left on Saturday, but once out of the habit it is hard to re-start. There.  Excuse over...what happened during the visit?
   Well, apart from a pleasant stay and a chance to get up-to-date with Kerri, who I have not seen for ages, one of the highlights of their stay was a trip to le Puy du Fou. This, for anyone who doesn`t know it, is a theme park a couple of hours to the north of us and is one of our favorite visits. Its theme is broadly speaking the conflicts and life in the Vendée in earlier centuries, and it has a fine re-enactment of a Viking attack in the First Century and an English raid somewhat later, foiled by Joan of Arc and by magic...The enormous granite keep which starts to turn around and a fort wall that disappears into the ground literally made my mouth fall open when I first saw them! The English raiders used to be portrayed with mouths drooling blood but they seem to have toned that down a bit... There is also a HUGE theatre whose stage fills with water through which the horses splash impressively, a full-size Roman arena in which Christians are apparently thrown to the tigers   and other shows to numerous to describe. If you haven`t been, do go, you won`t be disappointed.

  Kim`s favorite is the Bal des oiseaux phantomes, a huge display of hawks, vultures and other birds, flying free very close to the spectators.The park has its own Falconry School and several dozen birds are involved in the display, including hawks, vultures and a Secretary Bird, which eats snakes,
 and even storks . A skein of geese have even been trained to form up on a micro-light.

For the finale, a swarm of hawks descend from a balloon tethered overhead. It`s all rather  impressive.

  However, I would like to finish this blog by telling you of a scientific discovery which was NOT envisaged by the Park. Alyson`s eye was caught by a Poitou donkey grazing in an enclosure bounded by wooden railings. She went over to talk to it and stretched her hand over the fence to stroke its neck. She didn`t notice that the top rail of the fence was backed up by a thin wire, stretched between glass insulators... As her arm drooped down a bit, she received a belt from the electric fence which made her leap back, clutching her arm. But the electricity had a strange side-effect, never before remarked upon by scientists-- the bodice of her dress fell down around her waist, displaying her charms to the world, which luckily was confined to Kerri. Isn`t that  strange? Kerri found it so I am sure and giggled for some time... Al complained about the lack of warning notices, though there was a small one, in French, of course, a little way away.
   We had a lovely day apart from this incident. We had borrowed a wheel-chair for Al, as although she normally gets around well with her crutches, would find a whole day on her feet very tiring. We were pretty tired ourselves hauling it around, up hill and down dale but luckily didn`t let it run away, though the hills were steep in places. The park is very good at allowing disabled access and we had front-row seats at all attractions, thanks to Al! We got home exhausted and rather sunburnt at about ten-thirty and were not sorry to see our beds!

    Bye for now, I will try to keep up the impetus now I`ve started!