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End of the Season

We've been back in BOA a month now and totally absorbed in sorting things out in and for the house. All of which has had to take priority, but has meant no time for blogging, photography etc.  However yesterday morning I managed at last to get out early and got some shots in and some editing done. Then got the blog underway, loads of music stuff done and finally French conversation. All in all, a satisfying day. 

Us 'no longer working' types clearly have the opportunity to influence what we do as well as when do it, even though things still don't always work out as planned. I  appreciate that 'no longer working' is a mouthful to say, but I really loathe the word 'retired'.  It's stupid.  What exactly does it mean?  And as for being shy and retiring. Ha! I tried that one on some long-time pals when I was having a pathetic moment, a while back, after several glasses of wine. Shy and retiring? Me? They all just burst out laughing. No mileage in that idea. I've never been retiring or shy either in thought, word or deed. So I don't see why I should start now.

One good thing is that our book problem has been resolved. Ex- Libris, our local bookshop, has taken quite a few. Friends are taking some others. Another friend, Dickie, is having all my German paperbacks by Heinrich Böll (H.B.) who she actually met on one occasion.  I just love his writing. I've held on to my favourite book of his - Group Portrait with A Lady. Just couldn't part with it. I found out about H.B., purely by chance while on holiday in Canada and the States, back in '86. My knowledge of German Literature at this time was quite limited. but Helen an Israeli from Tel Aviv, who we met while travelling through the Canadian Rockies phase, told me about him. Helen and I became pen pals, which lasted for about twelve years until she died. Hers was an extraordinary story and a precious friendship, from which I learnt so much. As to the remainder of our books . . .well we're quite happy with them. Most will go into storage while some will come with us to France.

Took delivery of a sack yesterday afternoon, when Bradford on Avon Community Agriculture Co-operative came by to deliver some vegetables. The link is straight to their website. Worth a look. BOCA is a new food initiative, which supplies local residents with 'affordable seasonal fruit and vegetables'. It all looks so delicious. This is the first time we've been able to buy/support. We've always been away. Really pleased with the quality and the quantity. Just hope it can keep going.

The Kindle's been working over time. Just finished The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton.
An intriguing chain of events that begin in London during WW2 and finish in the present. The story development is so well-handled and you only get an idea of where it's going to land right at the very end. Now started The Lewis Man by Peter May. A superb thriller, which had to get published in France where it won an award, after being turned down by  English publishers. It's set in the Outer Hebrides. I'm definitely an Ian Rankin/Rebus fan, the same way as I'm a Le Carré/Smiley fan. Addicted is probably a better description. Anyway Peter May as enticed me away to a new landscape and a new and equally gnarled detective character. I'm really on a roll with reading at the moment. Neither of these books I've wanted to put down. Remember one time on my way into work on the London Underground with a Richard Harris novel stuffed in my bag. Sat down (that was a surprise!) and started reading. Managed to overshoot my station by three stops. Got off. Crossed over to the other platform, got back on the tube, started reading and overshot in the other direction. I put the book away!



Good weekends all!!

Busy week

I have been wondering whether I really can write a blog called Tales from BOA, or if I should just stick to Tales from Cravant. After all we're only going to be here for two months.  Geographically Tales from BOA  would be accurate. But then I thought perhaps two blogs would cause the very confusion I was trying to avoid, as well as being a bit over the top and probably unsustainable. In any case the idea before I left France had been to write a blog in French. But that would mean I'd need a third blog address. Then even I'd be confused. French bits no doubt would start creeping into the English blog and English bits into the French blog. Worse still I could run out of ideas, in any language. Then what? noideasforablog.blogspot.com? So for sanity's sake I'm sticking to one blog, Tales from Cravant, which until 2 January 2013 will cover stuff from Bradford on Avon. As to the French blog - we'll I'll see.

We've had a great first week back. Seen lots of friends. Taken loads of photos, mostly macro. Yesterday morning there was a farewell coffee and cake 'gathering', about twenty of us, at the Fat Fowl for friends Moira and Anthony who are moving to Skye. They leave on Tuesday. Last night we went to Jenny and Rob's joint 60th ceilidh birthday party at their village hall in Holt. Such fun. Got absolutely hysterical at one point. Crying with laughter as everything went hopelessly wrong. I was aching everywhere. This morning, we've been absorbing the Beeb fiasco, and catching up with the papers etc. Also got some bread made, more cutting back done in our garden and made a start on our books. So we've not been idle.


The books are a real problem. Only a few can come to France and we don't want loads of them in storage. But at the same time, when we move back, we want books in the house. So it's complicated. Mike and I are as bad as each other. As you pull them off the shelves the books start weaving their magic, and you have to sit down and read at them. Before you know it - another hour has gone by.  Books are precious friends!  So I'm forcing myself to be rational: how many times have I read this book? What can I remember about it? What did I really like about it. Am I truly going to read it again? I started going through them one by one, which in itself takes a long time. There are some books I must have read at least a dozen times and I know that at some point I'll need my fix and will read them yet again. Some of them I've read every year for as long as I can remember, but only as winter kicks in and Christmas gets nearer. Regressive and at least for me, gems, such as  A Christmas Carol and The Wind in the Willows. The really tricky books are those that I've only read once, but which made such a lasting first impression, that I've not as yet been able to read them a second time. They've been sitting on our book shelves for a few years, offering visual reminders of amazing reads:  Marguerite Duras - La Douleur, Heinrich Böll - Group Portrait of A Lady, The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov, Joseph Heller - Catch-22.  These and a few others I either read straight through in one sitting or over a couple of days. Since then I only have to look at each cover and wham. There's still a powerful response.

Anyway we've not done too badly. There are three large boxes sorted out. One of them contains those books I'm 'joined at the hip with'. The others, books we've both agreed can be sacrificed. Then it's a question of where they go?  No point selling fiction on Amazon. Our local book shop that keeps a second-hand section, looks very overwhelmed. Charity shops probably. Of course amid all this book soul-searching and book angst, what did I do. I bought another book. 

One of the local groups in BOA - the Art Association organises various events throughout the year. I'd booked a place in advance for one which took place last week, just after we got back.  A talk by Persephone Books. Persephone is a small team of two with a turnover of trainees to help, who re-publish neglected fiction and non-fiction by women, for women and about women. I've been on their mailing list for a while. The first book of theirs that I read was written by Winifred Watson in 1938 - Miss Pettigrew Lives for a day. Wonderful writing. Couldn't put it down. Read it in a day. Anyway the talk was held at the Fat Fowl, and came with tea and cakes. Couldn't resist a collection of short stories, available at a special price of £10 and which I have just started to read. The books are available through Amazon and some also on Kindle. So if you've not heard of them, suggest you take a look.
Well worth it.


 













 

Stuffing a national treasure

Well we're back in BOA. Got in early hours of yesterday morning having driven through torrential rain on our side of the channel. Seemed to be a lot of customs activity checking lorries going through. Can only assume there was an alert on. Crossing was a bit up and down, literally, but having taken something in advance, we were fine. Port traffic meant we  disembarked about 30 minutes late. Very busy, but customs checks were moving along. We got in at about 12.30pm. Not too bad. Our friend John had got some milk and bread in for us and as always had sorted through our mail in his usual meticulous fashion. Only this time he'd had four months worth to deal with. Nonetheless it was all laid out, Bic style in  'her' and 'his'piles.  Mike discovered he had a tax rebate - three figures - so useful. And I discovered I was now eligible to register to receive my pension. Got to bed around 2am. Up at 8am. Ploughed through the paperwork. Online pension registration didn't seem to be working, so I phoned the 'special' number and had a very nice lady take my details. Then she asked if I was considering delaying receiving my pension in order to get a better deal or lump sum or something. Politely, I explained to her I had already had an 18 month delay from my 60th birthday before receiving my stately dues, because of changes to the system, and suggested that perhaps I should automatically receive 'the better deal'. Strangely she laughed! Finally all was correctly registered and we parted company on the best of terms. So as of 6 Jan 2013 I officially become an OAP.  What more could a girl want.
By lunchtime we were asleep.  Got going again in time for me to start my first advanced French conversation group at The Dandylion pub. Mike's starting his group next week. Called 'French Upstairs' I got there for 6pm had about an hour with two others. Gérard who leads it is a very nice guy. Apparently there's usually five or six people, but most were away this week. Then afterwards I shot off round to a near neighbours to meet up with Mike and some others for dinner. Great evening, lovely food. We left around midnight. 

This morning of course we were both wide-awake at 7am. It was only a matter of time before fatigue kicked in. I'd made arrangements to meet some friends for coffee. On the way I went to buy some vegetables from the lady grocer in The Shambles in the centre of BOA.The street really doesn't look that different today, from the photo here.  Anyway I asked for two big flat mushrooms. Or so I thought. She stared at me and asked if I'd meant to say that. 'What did I say then?'. 'You asked for two big flat tomatoes'.  I'd already managed earlier this morning to write out our Sainsburys shopping list in French. 
Now I've just decided to eat some Quaker Apply and Blueberry Porridge oats, which is the only thing I use the microwave for. And of course it has overflowed all over inside and  down the side of the bowl. What was left of my porridge was delicious. I'm approaching equipment with care for the rest of the day.

My hazy gloom however was only momentary. Let's try this out. What does
Get stuffed mean. I can think of a few interpretations. To get stuffed, as in eating too much. Why don't you get stuffed? - the unpolite version of to please mind you're own business and go away. Researching further, there are various websites telling you where
to get stuffed crust pizzas. There is a cookery programme called the Get Stuffed Cookery Show, an ITV late-night show offering apparently 'unpretentious recipes for the totally clueless'. Tring Festival has a Get Stuffed Comedy club. And of course there's www.thegetstuffed.co.uk. an old established company dealing with all aspects of taxidermy. 
The next thing I researched was the meaning of A National Treasure. Stephen Fry is often referred to as a national treasure (N.T.). Sir Winston Churchill was described by Queen as an N.T. in 1952. David Attenborough is regarded as another one. A more official definition of a national treasure is an artefact, institution, or public figure regarded as being 'emblematic of a nation’s cultural heritage or identity'. No surprises there.

So it was very interesting this morning to read about Albert at the Foreign Office.
I want to keep this in perspective. Here in the UK, like everywhere else, we're in dire economic straits. Drastic action required we're told. Which is why this government of ours is cutting everything back it can gets its paws on. We know it. We feel it. William Hague our Foreign Secretary views deep cuts to public spending as 'essential to the future of the country'. That must be why he's signed a £10,000 bill on behalf of us taxpayers to have Albert the Anaconda who has hung in the F.O.library for 120 years, re-stuffed. Albert was last stuffed about fifty years ago.  A spokesman for the F.O. stated "we will not scale back in our dedication to preserve this historic national treasure". The work was carried out by a specialist team from the Natural History Museum. Shame none of us are going to see it.