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| Forest scene - Cravant |
We feel really comfortable living in France. Every time we go back our local connections with people and place move on, and in all sorts of interesting ways. Mike now leads an English conversation once a month for one of our Anglo/French groups - L'Écrin. He's not the only one doing it. English conversations and French conversations each take place once a week, on a Monday morning (French) and Thursday morning (English). There are six individuals, English and French, who regularly lead sessions and some others who are more occasional. Mike seems to be a natural at it and he thoroughly enjoys it. A couple of weeks back for a French conversation we discussed 'Superstitions' and for an English conversation we discussed 'Idioms using animals'. After each conversation we have lunch together, that everyone brings with them, and we continue talking together in either French or English, depending on which day of the week it is.
Mike is also an origami enthusiast.
There are quite a few households scattered across the UK and France that have been recipients of various origami animals and decorations. Many a small child has been entertained by a paper folding session with Mike. Many an adult has received a birthday present or Christmas something or other, delivered in an exquisite multi-coloured paper box and been left wondering quite how it's been put together.
So it was rather fun for Mike to lead an origami workshop one afternoon at L'Ecrin just before we left for the UK. There were seventeen people, all French, some of whom spoke English, with ages ranging from about seven up to say late 60s. It went really well, starting at 2pm and finishing around 4.30pm. Something simple to start with - an airplane - so that everyone got used to folding accurately. Then when all the planes were ready, there was a massive plane launch from one end of the room, and a shower of white went flying through the air. It was a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, during which each person made seven different items, ending up with quite a tricky bird design, with flapping wings. Now there are some more sessions in the pipeline for when Mike gets back.
We also decided to get involved with the L'Ecrin Book Club which is quite a challenge - reading French literature and then discussing it - and the Café Philo discussions, which take place once a month in French, around a philosophical subject. We've been to two of each so far. It's really been a case of taking a deep breath and diving in. Fascinating. Also a thoroughly enjoyable experience; a great way to learn more of the language and culture and as always, our French friends are very encouraging and helpful. Can't ask for more.
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| Sunny evening at Cravant |
A useful little phrase and a particularly annoying little phrase especially, yesterday. The drive between our place in France and BOA is do-able in one day, but is a bit of a trek. Yesterday took sixteen hours rather than twelve to thirteen. The French end went really well. The crossing itself was terrific. But about forty minutes late departing. There weren't that many people on board. Some fabulous accents from some of the lorry drivers, we think Basque or close to the Spanish border. The sound was heavily Spanish, but once we'd tuned into it, we could hear it was French. Dinner was excellent and we arrived around 9.45pm. It took an age getting off the boat and another hour getting out of the port. But finally we were on our way.
All went well until about an hour and a half later when we got to Salisbury and were stopped by the police. None of our back lights were working. From Salisbury to BOA there are big chunks of the route which are completely unlit and understandably they didn't want anyone going into the back of us. Neither did we. A really friendly couple of police officers, who escorted us to a nearby supermarket with a Shell garage just off our route the A36, then we phoned the AA. The AA man was fab, but had to come from Basingstoke! He'd got delayed with the job there, so was an hour getting to us. Thank goodness for mobiles. We were texted with updates so we knew what was going on. Another really lovely guy and like a ferret up a drain pipe in his determination to get to the problem. Electrics seemed to be the culprit. He worked on the car for an hour. Got everything up and running except for one of the side lights. But it meant we were road worthy and able to continue our journey home. You rather these things didn't happen, but everyone was incredibly efficient and very considerate towards us. Fortunately Mike already had the car booked in for an early service this morning. But given we didn't actually get home till nearly 3.30am, we're both feeling a bit jaded getting up for a comparatively early start at 8.15. Never mind. Safe and sound. Thanks Salisbury police. Thanks AA. And no I didn't take any photos!
Having got in we found our good friend John, who lives nearby in BOA and who had been dropping by the house while we were away to sort out the post, had also very kindly got some bread in for us. So this morning has got off to a reasonable start with coffee and toast. Mike has disappeared off to the Honda garage, the sun has gone in in BOA, I'm typing my blog and trying to get enthusiastic about walking into town for the market.
Two hours later we're both back at the house. Thanks to the AA man the garage only had dodgy light bulbs to deal with. But also spotted the front tyres were looking a bit tired, so they got sorted out too. I'm back from the centre of town having done the shopping. And I've just opened my latest camera lens - a second hand one as everything is else, which saves a fortune and comes fully checked from a specialist in the UK for Canon and Nikon cameras. This time it's a wide angle lens which is specifically for landscape and architecture. It looks fab. Going into Bath tomorrow for hair cut - I currently do a very good impersonation of a yak - and to meet some French friends who have a place in Bath for lunch. If it's a decent day I'll take the camera along and will try it out. One more lens to find if I can and then I am well and truly set up. Macro/middle range zoom/wide angle lenses. Don't need anything else. Yeah!
Back tomorrow.
We're just about to set off for the UK - our last time as permanent residents. The move has been in the pipeline for a little while. But even so it's hard to believe that in just seven weeks we'll be based in France. There are a few things to do! This past week we've been surrounded by paperwork. Six different forms. It feels complicated because it's the first time we've done a move like this. But with our French specialist's advice beside us, with all the do's and don'ts, what and when, who and how etc., it's all been relatively straightforward she says grabbing the nearest wooden object, which for once is not my head.
If the day stays like it is now, we're in for a lovely drive and crossing. We've been lucky recently weather-wise. Brilliant sunshine and come the afternoon, the light quality has been perfect. Late afternoon is one of my favourite times of the day for taking photographs. Like so many other places, we've had more than our fair share of the wet stuff. Flooding is a regular annual event where we are, so everyone expects it and is prepared for it. But it's higher than we've seen before. There have been some wonderful textures, light and reflection against a very steely grey sky. I've been having a great time taking photographs, but for everyone working the land it's not been easy. We thought as did our neighbours, that we'd seen the last of the rain. The levels started going down, mud and grass started to appear. Mud and I are not natural friends. I seem to get it everywhere, but the views have been irresistible.
Then one morning on our way into Chinon for the market, the water was back again and this time higher still. All the roads near to the Vienne were flooded and impassable and have really only opened up again in the last day or so. As you'd expect the land is very sticky and gooey. Bradford on Avon has its own flooding problems. Not sure how many times the centre of town has been caught by it in the last twelve months. But I think there's three floodings, which have made life for some shopkeepers, very difficult. There have been a few blogs where I mention the height of the river, which can change so quickly with the tides.
Anyway . . .after a bit of a pause in my blogging, there's loads to write about. This visit has been particularly good and our involvement here as moved on for us very interesting ways. But for the moment, it's back on the road. Part 2 tomorrow.
You learn something every day. The seed for the latest rumination started in fact some years back. I was involved with a local arts centre and at various times, had discussions with a West Indian contact at the Community Relations Council, who despaired at the way Black history was being taught, recorded and discussed, as well as the lack of information in local libraries.
Multi-cultural British history started a long time ago.Some of which I learnt about at school, in my history classes from my charismatic teacher, Miss Overton. But there were many other elements that I didn't find out about until much later, including some very recent discoveries. One of which is that Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar had a foreign crew of 1400 from 25 nations, of which a third were black. How many years have I walked by and around Trafalgar Square and not noticed the black face on one of the plaques?
Mr Gove's attempts to remove Mary Seacole has stirred up a flood of criticism, but also useful website details and interesting re-postings. There's one on you tube called Nelson's Black Sailors. It's short but riveting stuff:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWnrc5BGGf8www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWnrc5BGGf8.
History came up for discussion at one of our Anglo/French groups yesterday, over lunch. Where does a country's history actually begin? There are so many different types of histories. Our multicultural history would start I suppose with the Angles. But conventionally apparently, recorded history starts in AD 43 with the Roman Invasion. What about the Domesday Book - our earliest public record, or the Magna Carta. Given that the M.C. set us on the track to constitutional law, perhaps that should be the point when British history as we know it, began. Back at school one of my A-levels was Social History and another Economic History. The list of histories is extensive.
Someone said yesterday that the majority of Americans feel they don't have a history. Is this true? There a multiple histories in the States, including that of rampant European colonialism. Maybe it's the time of the War of Independence where American History could be said to begin. We've an American couple who've joined the Anglo-French group recently. It would be interesting to hear what they think.
This is not a strictly accurate title for the subject. What it should be is, doing a Dawn French doing a Geraldine Granger (Vicar of Dibley). For those of you who have watched every episode of the VoD.,which includes me - I'm also the proud possessor of the DVDs - you will I'm sure remember the one where there is a water shortage and G.G. has to lick, sorry, decides to lick her plates clean, as a means of avoiding using the limited water supply.
I have decided to lick my ice cream bowl with the same degree of enthusiasm. So what if there's a chocolatey moustache, chocolatey pistache crunch round the corners of the mouth, or a light brown smudge tainted with pistache on end of my nose. Who cares! I am Ice-Cream Woman! The one difference between us gals (beside the lack of frontal baps on my part) is that Miss G.G. didn't have to endure the look of disapproval from the other side of the table! Decadent plate licking? I don't understand. Our water supply has been cut off while urgent maintenance is undertaken in our road between 8am and 5pm. I filled up jugs, containers, pans etc. So purely as a means of additional support, controlled plate licking of ice cream bowl would seem to be a small but practical contribution. I'm thinking, if it's alright for Geraldine Granger why not for Madam at no 3 rue des vignes!!
Anyway regardless of what Monsieur thinks, he's just devoured the last of the aromatic pistachio Viennetta, which no doubt for ice-cream purists means 'slumming it', but I don't care. It was GRRRRREAT!
I've never been a great fan of desserts. I do eat them, especially when friends have kindly invited us to dinner and have gone to the trouble of making something. I'm not even a chocolate fan, except when it comes to maltesers and cadburys chocolate flakes. Even then I can make a flake last for a couple of days and an average size bag of maltesers last for a week. I remember being in a play where I had to mime eating a box of maltesers. That is until the last night, when I found someone had emptied a bag into my box as a parting gift. It's very sad I know but I have always preferred savoury things to sweet things.
Ice cream however is another matter. My passion for ice cream (I don't eat it every day however) started when we were still living in Harrow. Up until then I'd been an ordinary and occasional 'cornet with flake' girl. But there was a restaurant in North Harrow that had for a dessert, home-made meringue nests with home-made ice cream. Whenever we went there I always had that. Heavenly. Then I discovered a recipe for Champagne Charlie - a glorious concoction topped off with ground amarettos, which became a Christmas special in our house. I should also mention the hazelnut ice cream cake - beyond description (sound effect of a sigh).
By now commercial brands were picking up in quality, such as Häagen Daaz; Green and Black's. But it was Walls Carte D'or which started the alarm bells, when I discovered that their delicious coconut ice cream available at any supermarket in France, was not available in the UK.
My ongoing and enthusiastic market research, has revealed a disturbing feature of the British ice-cream supply. On our island we only see about a third of the flavours available, pretty much across the brands. Yesterday in Leclerc I just happened to be passing by the ice cream section. Taking the Viennetta range as an example, how many flavours do we get/see in the UK. Four? Five? I lost count here after the tenth. Aromatic pistachio. Mmmm. There's still a bit left in the freezer. Us Brits., simply don't know what we're missing. Sometimes you can find these flavours in a deli or a special outlet that has it's own special price to go with. But generally speaking we seem to have a significantly more limited range of flavours available. And that, in this world of free markets, is a great shame!
Some of our neighbours are out in the road with their children having a snowball fight. We had a good dollop of snow during the night, so probably - hopefully - a snowman will appear before too long.
Is the snowman one of the few remaining male preserves? As much as I believe in female equality it's difficult to get excited about a snow-woman. To start with it's more difficult to say. I can hear the shrieks 'let's build a snowman!' 'we want a snowman!' But it doesn't sound so good when it's 'let's build a snow-woman!' 'We want a snow-woman!' Or is it just a question of what I'm used to.
Our first snow landed a few days ago. Not heavily, so children in the village school were able to play outside, their shrieks of excitement wafting across the gardens. It's a great sound. Sound is a major feature of the village's personality. And like everything else, it's seasonal. At the moment there isn't a lot, except for occasional voices and cars. But as the year rolls out, along come the tractors and the vans, the cocks and chickens start up, accompanied by the bleating of the goats. Then of course we have the hunting dogs that live higher up on the other side of village. Eventually the hunting horn rehearsals begin and the road parties. Life follows the mood of the season. Winter time everyone hibernates, spring we start to thaw out and summer we're in full throttle. In the Autumn things start to wind down a bit and then we're back full circle into winter quiet.
Even so there's a lot going on. Yesterday we went into Chinon to meet friends for a coffee. Came back home. Afternoon we went into Chinon to meet another friend for tea. Then straight after we went to the cinema to see Renoir. Met another friend there. Really interesting film which we didn't know much about, other than obviously it concerned Pierre Auguste-Renoir or so we thought. It is largely based on fact. There was far more to it of course. Visually stunning and with the tonal qualities of a Renoir painting, we were introduced to the reality of an old man's life as he fights his personal battle with extreme and painful rhumatoid arthritis. Renoir continued with difficulty to paint, surrounded by a household of women who look after him - all of whom at some time have modeled for him. Renoir by now was a widower, physically frail and largely confined to a wheelchair. A young girl arrives to model for him, eventually becoming his muse. Then his son, Jean Renoir, who later married the muse and became a film director. But in this story Jean is a young man who having survived, returns from the terrible war in northern France, to the otherworldly life on the Renoir estate in southern France. Here everyone is oblivious of the physical cost. The film presents a sharp contrast between Renoir's sumptuous female forms and the ugly realism of wounded human forms. Terrific film which deserves at least a second viewing.
