Floods of tears

The Osme breaks its banks

I really don`t know what has ailed the weather here. In February it was dry and mild, so that summer shrubs started to bloom. Then we had a cold snap that killed off some of the unwary plants. Now we have had a most unaccustomed period of rain after a very dry winter. Now rain is not that rare here but it tends to have a heavy downpour  then forget about it for the day. But these last two weeks it has scarcely stopped, and the rivers and streams are getting unable to cope.
   On Sunday, we went for a drive to see how the rivers were faring. Our first stop was to see the River Couture at Couture d`Argenson. Now this river, which crosses under the road just short of the village is really a large stream , but only in winter. In the late spring or even before it stops flowing, and its bed fills with grass. You dont see it running again until the winter rains have fallen for some time. This year after the dry winter, it had already dried up and we were surprised to see it had recommenced and was running strongly.

The Charante at Rejallant.

   We continued on towards Ruffec to the village of Longré, where the river Osme or Aume crosses the road. And, by George it was nearly doing so, because it had burst its banks and was invading the surrounding fields. If it wasn`t for some flood-relief culverts it would have been crossing the tarmac. See picture above.

Another three inches and you will have to paddle

  Wondering we continued to the leisure area at Rejallant.  In summer this is a shallow area with little footbridges crossing the area below the weir and linking several little islets. These bridges which normally are 5 feet over the stream are now almost level with the water and the restaurant, which is being renovated, would be in trouble if it wasn`t for the weir.
  Normally you can cross to the other bank of the Charent here, but it would be too dangerous and there is another reason, which I`ll tell you about in my next blog.
  I realy hope we`ll have a respite from the rain now, but the medium Météo is not hopeful. I am seriously considering swapping my virtual Ark for a real one!

   Bye for now, going to find my new wellies!

Update and D I Y/ Bricolage.

If you live in in an old property in France and are not comfortably off, it is indispensable to do some of your own DIY work. Painting and decoration spring to mind but there are many other tasks that the skilled, or just poverty-stricken householder tries to undertake with more or less success.
  In France, DIY is known as bricolage, and there is a considerable industry dedicated to supplying the needs of the bricoleur. The term is not exactly complimentary, in fact. The phrase `Quest-ce-que tu bricole la?` translates as `What are you mucking about with now?` or even less polite words... Nevertheless, the rural French have always done their own repairs and created their own solutions to problems using local materials, anything rather than spend hard-earned money.
  For example, look at the `machine` on the right. The problem--to sharpen blades, either of knives or garden implements; the solution was to adapt an old bicycle wheel, a belt made of braided string, a pulley made of an old cotton-reel and a small grind-stone borrowed from goodness-knows where. The result is a rotary grinder needing no electricity, just a `volunteer` to turn the handle unless you are not ambidextrous. And if you don`t have a child of the correct age to do that, no doubt a DIY solution exists for that, too!
  A further example I found when cutting up scrap wood for the stove. This broken `machine` was thrown in the back of one of our batiments. It consists of a piece of plank provided with four legs, only one of which remains. This forms a stool ,on which the user sits astride. With his foot he can press a lever under the stool which connects to a wooden mechanism formed most ingeniously from a single piece of right- angled wood. This action closes a sort of vise to hold the piece of wood that the operator is shaping. A sort of prehistoric Black and Decker Workmate? I don`t know what it was used for, possibly shaping wooden wheel- spokes?
   These reflections were prompted by Kim`s laptop, which illustrates perfectly the bricolage which we continue in the same tradition as the rural French geniuses who produced the machines above. The laptop has a checkered history. It belonged to Alyson, who was in the habit of using it while sitting on the floor. Her son Aaron, galloping clumsily by, dealt it a kick which detached the screen from the keyboard, breaking the hinge. The insurers found it beyond repair and replaced it with a new one and Al gave the pieces to me to play with. I succeeded in re-attaching the lid stealing screws from elsewhere in the machine and sort of spreading them about.. Somewhat to my surprise the laptop worked, though the hinge will never be the same. Kim, who is even less fastidious than me in DIY matters has recently strengthened the hinge with copious use of black sticky tape... Unfortunately, an attempt to `clean` the keyboard with a cup of coffee two days ago,seemed to have dealt this Lazarus-like object the long-overdue coup-de-grace. Despite prompt turning upside-down and applications of kitchen towel, an ominous warning light appeared and the thing quit. Advise from Ade, our local expert to take out the battery and dry for twenty-four hours didn`t seem to work at first, but to Kim`s delight, the laptop has gradually recovered and now seems to be working as before! Another triumph of bricolage!!

   Bye for now, going to bricoler a cup of coffee.

When is an ex-pat not an ex-pat.

Firstly, let me apologise for a three-week gap in writing. I find from time to time I suffer from a sort of bloggers block, when I can`t think of anything interesting or topical to say. I hope you haven`t all given up on me.
  Well, what has happened while I have been off the air?  Let me see....  Kim has suffered from a problem with her knee (not the stainless steel one) which became so painful she gave in and visited the Doctoress. She advised an X-ray, which is scheduled shortly and prescribed anti-inflammatories. Kim was afraid, of course, that another replacement knee was needed, but there are signs that it may be less serious. We shall see what the X-ray reveals; å suivre..
  On a more cheerful note, we have agreed that our new neighbours, Monique and Christian. can give us French cuisine lessons, which has resulted in a shared gourmet meal each Tuesday. YUMMM... I might give you a few hints as to how we got on later.
  As hinted in my photo the weather has been foul, cold and wet, very unusual and disappointing for France. Still, that will no doubt change soon. If not I shall be measuring up for a real Ark.
   But I was writing about ex-pats. It`s not a term I like, I do not think of myself under this label. A few days ago Jaqui, in her excellent and far more reliable blog The  French Village Diaries, spoke of her life as an ex-pat.  Myself I don`t feel that I am exiled from the land of my birth. Although we have decided to live here full time, it is only a case of a house removal, as one might choose, as we did, to move from Portsmouth to Plymouth. I didn`t think of myself as an ex-Portsmuthian then, , nor did I seek out and frequent others who might have made a similar move. I am me, and where I choose to lay my head is not all that significant. Luckily we are both fairly fluent in French so the language is not a problem. We have spent several happy afternoons chatting to Monique and Christian as easily as we chatted to our English neighbours Liz and Philip on Saturday, when we drove them back to Poitiers to catch the train. It was amusing this morning, when our friend Clive called, to realise that we had chosen to talk in French, although all three of us were born British. Clive is officially French, having taken out French nationality 30 years ago. He has spoken French so long that he is happier in that language than his own! I suppose these hints suggest that much of the `ex-pat` mentality is allied to the language problem.
  Still, whatever makes you happy is good, I suppose. I shall continue to think of myself as European by choice and English by birth.
 

     Bye for now, going to make us a cup of tea and an aperitif...
 
 

Definitions of Paradise.

Our house from the street

During a Facebook discussion, I mentioned to Maureen Meller, a fellow duck-keeper, that our new ducks were laying in the wheel-arches of various derelict cars, rather than in their enclosure. I found I had given her the impression that we were living in an enormous car-breaker`s yard! Hastening to disabuse her, at least partially, I shall post a selection of shots to bring out the rustic charm of our Poitou-Charentais home and yet admit to an element of truth in her remark.
  In fact, our little estate is a little rough around the edges and is not kept up like an English garden. Maureen, for example mentioned that she hoses down her ducks` droppings, which made us laugh. If the ducks have the run of half an acre or so, there is no need to take these measures!

The shared rear courtyard

We would certainly use a LOT of water if we followed our animals and birds round like this!
  We love our little corner of Paradise, even though we will reluctantly admit that to an outsider it looks a little rough.

Sheep in the outer cour

  When we first visited this region, we found that, to our English eyes the houses looked, well, neglected. Paintwork was fading or blistered. Plaster needed a coat of white-wash or was frankly flaking. We found, at length, that the southern householder is not bothered by these trifles and has better things to spend his hard-earned cash on, such as food, wine etc. Besides, a too- prosperous exterior might attract thieves. This actually seems to be the case in our village, where a pharmacian neighbour, whose house is attractive and well-cared for has recently been burgled, while his scruffy neighbours, us included,  have been ignored.

  However I promised to tell of how, in fact, Maureen`s gibe was justified. Our next-door neighbour has kindly allowed us to open a gap in the hedge of our sheep-field into his field alongside. this is a mutually beneficial arrangement-- our sheep can get new grazing and his field is cut for free. However, when one has several barns and outhouses and half an acre of ground there is no earthly reason to dispose of anything which might be useful in the next century or so. Adrian has thus kept all the cars he has ever had in his long motoring life and stowed them in hedges etc. Our ducks, following the sheep, have used these shelters as nest boxes, rather than lay in their own enclosure. You can see the finished effect here!

    Right, must go now. Got to find a recipe using LOTS of eggs...

Update on a Superhero.

I thought I would do an update on one of our later Ark passengers, Hero pictured above. You will note first that he is a very handsome young cat , of a particularly pretty, creamy ginger. The next thing you will remark is that he has one eye part closed as if in a salacious wink. This is not due to some innate rudeness, but does indeed date back to the circumstances of his birth.
   Almost exactly two years ago, we heard a piteous mewing from the disused hen-hoyle at the bottom of the village street. Further investigation revealed a tiny, cream-coloured form, howling its hunger and distress. When I picked it up I saw that it was a very young kitten, abandoned by its mother and in the last stages of starvation. That we could do something about, we always keep powdered `lait maternisé`and a small feeding bottle but the real shock dawned when I saw its face. Where the eyes should be were two black, crusty growths, like a horror film monster. It was obvious that the poor thing was blind.
  This was beyond our competence and I suggested to Kim that I should do the merciful thing and knock it on the head but of course she would hear nothing of it. `No, we`ll feed it and take it to the Vet` she said. `  If he says it`s hopeless, at least it can be put down gently`  So that is what we did.
   The vet`s practice at Chef Boutonne are used to having to work miracles on moribund life forms and Pierre said that in fact things were not as hopeless as had been feared. The black growths were in fact pus leaking from its infected eyes which had not yet opened. I suppose, lacking a mother`s care they had become dirty. The kitten was reasonably strong and once the black crust had been peeled off the eyes looked more hopeful. Antibiotics were injected, pills prescribed and advice on aftercare given. The only problem was that we were leaving shortly to go first to Lille, then on to the Pyrrenees! A huge syringe was prepared for continuing medication and the kitten had perforce to come with us in a large cat-box.
    He was a HUGE success everywhere we took him. Having known no other life he didn`t mind traveling in the car. He stayed in two Formule 1 hotels and was much feted at Lille, although Cécile was less than enthusiastic when she was pushed into giving his injections. She is a nurse and well used to injecting humans but came over all nervous at giving jabs to such a tiny creature!
    He was calm, took his bottle with no fuss and was clean from the outset, even when his eyes were not open to see his litter tray. He well deserved the name of `Hero` which Kim gave him for his courage in overcoming his early ordeal. In the colonie de vacances at Aucun in the mountains there was a queue to cuddle him. I think he was probably glad to get back to peaceful Mort Limouzin.
   His eyes, unfortunately had suffered damage from the infection and he always has one half shut, not always the same one. I believe he cannot use both at once but uses whichever gives the best view in the prevailing light level. It does not worry him at all.

  Nowadays he has grown into a playful and affectionate cat, a real success story! And, as you can see a most handsome fellow!

   Bye for now, it`s bedtime. Even heroes must sleep!

The outstretched hand.

  A curious incident occurred the other day when we were driving into Chef to do some shopping. We saw a car with English plates, stopped next to a lay-by with the driver flagging us down. Naturally we stopped but it was soon apparent that the driver was not English. He wasn`t French either by his accent, I should judge him to be Roumanian. He said he had a problem with diesel. We offered him a lift to Chef, the nearest pump, but he said that was not the problem, he wanted money to buy it! When we refused he said his poor wife and child were suffering in the car etc. We said we were sorry but we could not help and drove on.
  You may feel we were hard-hearted but we have been the target of several of these scams from the Roumanian immigrants, and now refuse to encourage them. They enjoy a not undeserved reputation in France as a nation of beggars or worse and we have personally found this to be apt.
   Our first experience was years ago when we were here on holiday. A woman knocked at the door ostensibly selling posies and asked for help in paying her medical bill, she had no health cover and needed an op. We gave her the equivalent of a fiver, not an ungenerous donation. She at once protested that this was quite insufficient, she needed fifty!  We almost had to physically throw her out. Ten seconds later her friend knocked on the same errand. We had donor fatigue and she got nothing.
   Another incident I have already described on this blog was the windscreen cleaning scam. Stopped at traffic lights, a woman squirted soapy water on the screen, squeegied it off and held out her hand. Although I had indicated I did not need her service I handed over two Euros. Not enough was the cry, and another `cleaner` started hammering on the other window. The lights having changed I locked the doors and drove off.
   The common denominator with these two incidents is the extraordinary thanklessness and even aggressiveness of these beggars. I have little doubt the diesel beggar would have been difficult to dislodge if we had been the slightest bit helpful. I suppose there is no harm in asking but these folk do not accept a refusal or even a contribution graciously. They are a disgrace to the panhandlers` union!
  We thought of reporting him at Chef Gendarmerie (where had he got the car, I wonder? ) but it was closed as usual so we let it go.  Leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, though...

    Bye for now, going to beg a cup of tea from Kim!