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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!!
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.
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.
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| Teazle Heads |
It's always a strange, mixed set of feelings as we get set to go back to the UK. We've friends over there who we are really looking forward to seeing and spending time with. Bradford on Avon has a very special feel about it at Christmas and New Year. If the weather is good, preferably a bright, crisp day, with a splattering of snow, BOA transports you into the traditional Christmas card scene of another century, with the narrow streets and old bridge and buildings. Bath is absolutely glorious as well, leading into the festive season, with the Christmas market and concerts. But somehow or other France has captured our hearts and minds and it's a wrench to return, even though this time we know we must, to sort things out for our move. There are some friends who over the next few months in the UK we must say 'bye' to, as we won't see them again unless at some stage they come to visit in France. Technology of course makes keeping in touch so easy. For the first few years after we've moved, we are allowed to spend fifteen days each year in the UK. We have an annual commitment in London which is important to get to. But apart from that we don't in the first year, what to use our allocation in one hit, in case something urgent crops up that we have to return for. It affects your residency status. In all likelihood we'll travel over to London next June, by train.
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| Cravant vines in autumn |
The way things have worked out, we're going back earlier than we usually do. In fact this time last year, we were taking the ferry out to France, rather than back to the UK as we are this year. Autumn has yet to fully develop as far as all the colours are concerned. We know what it can look like here, so have a clear picture in our heads of the Cravant panorama in all its glory. It's a stunning view.
Getting ready to go back is always quite a performance. The week before, you're packing things up, tidying things away, getting wine orders together and this time Christmas presents as well, all of which is mixed up with a hectic social life. There's been something happening with local friends every day since last Thursday - great fun, and today we're meeting some more friends for lunch at L'Auberge. One way or another it's a whirl of activity. And it's the same when we get back to the UK. One piece of news that we weren't wanting to get concerns a wine producer here Fabrice Gasnier. We met him for the first time on the rando round Cravant at the beginning of September and have bought wine from him a couple of times since. Lovely guy and family. We'd been trying to make contact with him, as friends in BOA who had stayed with us and tasted his wines, had specifically asked if we could bring some of his wine back for them, for Christmas and New Year. So since last Thursday we've been attempting to make contact by phone and going round on the off chance we might catch up with him. But not a sign and calls weren't returned which is most unusual. Anyway last night, we heard he'd had a very bad accident, which involved him falling from a high enough point directly on to a concrete floor on his back. Various injuries as you can imagine, including a punctured lung. Wine producing is a delicious business from our point of view as customers. But it's a tough business and at times it is also a dangerous business.
Our first night back in BOA, we've had a lovely invitation to dinner from friends who live about five minutes away. Other friends are going as well, who are also moving away. They leave for Skye on November 13. Just before dinner I'm going to my first weekly French conversation group. Really didn't want be back in the UK and not chat in French. Fortunately there is a weekly group led by Frenchman Gérard, which restarts the day we get back. So the timing is perfect. Mike is joining one of his other groups. During the day we will have attacked a four month pile of mail. We have a wonderful friend John who looks after the house for us. He is meticulous in his organising of our post. Firstly into his and her piles and then in date order of arrival. Also he gets rid of all the junk mail! He's so good about doing it. Sunday night we're out to a jazz gig that a friend of ours is involved with.
Monday we're round to dinner with our friends Sue and Dave, although the Origami Chef will have been at work over the weekend with a few apéro dishes to take along. Then we're all going to a big firework party. Or maybe it's the other way round.
The following week we're into a run of appointments. Dentist, hairdresser - that means me going to Jim. Will be lovely to see him and the rest of the gang. There's a whole tranche of birthdays on the 9th and 10th of November and joint 60th birthday party. After all that, we're getting on with getting sorted.
So for the next few days, I'm blogging of. Then over to Tales from BOA.
Go well!!
Well it was only a matter of time. I will freely admit I've never read any Chick Lit. I do know what it is! Anything that deals with the issues of modern womanhood, which I regard myself as still being part of, in a frequently humorous and lighthearted fashion, I should perhaps have made time for. After all I thoroughly enjoyed the film version of Bridget Jones's diary. It was hilarious. What's more the author Helen Fielding is an English graduate from Oxford. So that must surely mean decent writing!
However it's all quite irrelevant. Been overtaken by events. Because what we now have is Bic Lit, which I'm assuming is more or less the same as Chick Lit only more girly, more relevant to the modern woman, more humorous and more lighthearted, because it's written with those pretty pastel coloured pens. And of course Bic Lit is much better value. Made for the female hand, Bic Lit authors can hold their pens for a greater length of time. Not as exhausting as having to write with those nasty, heavy male pens. Which means that with the added bonus of the smoother writing action of the Bic lit pen, there'll be more words committed to paper, so the books will be longer. Isn't that a lovely!
Bic Lit looks different as well. Gone are the days of boring old black on white. The secret yearning of the 'gentler sex' to use materials that compliment their ultra-femininity has been realised. For the first time ever, Bic Lit authors will be writing on that lovely pink, scented paper. There's a clear strategy at work here. The pens have been specially designed for this application. Just think of it. An aromatic waft with every page turned. Finding Bic Lit in bookshops will be a doddle. All you need do is follow your nose. It is going to revolutionise the reading experience. I wonder how the Kindle will respond to the nasal challenge? After all, these days book and kindle version are part of the regular marketing mix.
What I am looking forward to are the Bic Lit awards or the Bic-er awards. Not sure when the first one will take place or where. Will it be in London? Of course! At The Gherkin.With its uncanny resemblance to the cap shape of the Bic pen, the awards have found their natural home. There'll have to be a bit of rebranding of course. But all The Her-bic would need is a special lighting effect with a sequenced colour change across the entire Bic for Her range, and London will have added an orgasbic visual experience to the city's skyline. Life's a bic really. There's poor old Sir Norman Baron Foster of Bic Bank - sorry Thames Bank - thinking he's designed an iconic architectural form for Londoners, when all the time he's been working for the Bic marketing department.
Presumably the Bic-er awards will get similar tv coverage to the Booker? Who'll be hosting it? Mariella Frostrup perhaps. Don't think it would be up Germaine Greer's street. But you never know. What about Miranda Sawyer? Patsy and Edwina?
As much as I love him, I don't think it could be or should be Stephen Fry.
Hm.
Got it!
What about Ellen Degeneres?
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| The Origami Chef |
Food in France is very important. It's not just something you eat. The essentialness of eating and cooking is deeply embedded in the national psyche. So every culinary experience, wherever and whenever it takes place, has to be good. And the expectation here is that it will be. Therefore every time we 'entertain', it's always carefully planned. Sounds like a lot of work, but it isn't. We keep things simple and use quality produce from our local market. I do the regular catering, as tomorrow when we have a French friend for lunch. Although Marie-Michèle is bringing the ingredients for the dessert - Pain Perdu, which Mike adores and I don't know how to make. So she's making it here with me helping. Whenever we go to Cravant's L'Auberge for lunch, they no longer ask what Mike wants for dessert. He is known as 'Monsieur Pain Perdu'.
Mike is a reluctant cook, although he's actually very good at it. The few times I have been really unwell he has come up with something simple but delicious. But he very clearly sees himself as the 'emergency' chef. He doesn't enjoy doing it. So I look after the daily stuff.
However Mike has found his niche within the culinary world.
Most of our friends and children either side of the channel know that the taller Shearing is into origami. Fascinated by it in fact. Quite a few homes have a Shearing fold or two, perched on a book case. Fortunately this fascination with things small, which clearly includes me, has been extended to include food, in particular small more fiddly savouries, which are the format for un apéro or un apéro dinatoire - as we had here last night with some neighbours.
We began with baby tomatoes, which he stuffed with egg, anchovy and olives with pimento. There were little tartelettes with various rillette fillings - fish and meat. Blinis with smoked salmon, crème fraîche and 'mock' caviar. Miniature courgette tartelettes - no pastry just courgette baked in a particular way - so it's a very light mixture. Quails eggs with celery salt. Manchego cheese with membrillo, which is a quince paste and finally my sole contribution, which were individual miniature pavlovas with fresh orange. Started off with fizzy, red wines during and a dessert wine, which as you'd expect were sourced locally. I have to say it was all quite delicious. He'd prepared everything, made all the tartelette cases etc. I was really proud of him.
So as The Origami Chef's newly appointed manager we have unexpectedly and half-seriously, hit on a brand name for our particular range of savoury bouchée. Perhaps we should do something with the idea.Would be rather exciting.
Every time I get an idea together for a blog at the moment, something distracts me and sends me off on a completely different track. I think it's all part of my generally distracted demeanor, as I finish getting ready for a visit to the UK next week. One half of me is in France and the other half in England. It's always like this just before we go back. I'll be pleased when it stops. I end up putting things in the wrong place.
So what caused the distraction this time? Well there a several things .To begin with a posting on Facebook from The Daily Mail by Michael Shearing entitled, I lost my phone inside a cow! It's an article about mobile phone insurance claims. The title comes from a claim by a farmer who was trying to help a cow give birth and was using the light on his phone, to do what he needed to do. Without being too graphic, the farmer managed during the process, apparently, to drop the phone inside the cow. I just hope there weren't any calls or text messages! This reminded of a list of hilarious car insurance claims I've got somewhere in the BOA house. They make wonderful reading. . . 'I was parking my car and a tree suddenly jumped out at me and made me swerve into the other vehicle'. I've had the list for ages and never used it. Now's my chance. Watch this space. Then there was the late night news round-up on Southern TV when I was down in Sussex with Mike one time, which included a report about a man who had been arrested one evening, after knocking down a cow while on his pedal bike. And then running over it! How? The cow survived but had an interesting kink! This story remains a complete mystery.
Then I remembered my own mobile phone moments, all of which happened while I was still working in the theatre. I'd phoned one of my technicians from my mobile on his mobile, not knowing that he'd given his phone to an actor to rehearse with. So I managed to phone up in the middle of a rehearsal at the most perfect moment by all accounts, which had the cast in hysterics and they had to stop. Another time I was on tour in Scotland, in a restaurant with the company on what was now our night off. I'd gone to the loo - a modernised block of six metallic cubicles which after I'd arrived, were all occupied. My mobile phone went off. It was so loud, that all the little metal boxes resounded with laughter, as I tried to discuss in a whisper, details of a company call my boss wanted the following day, over breakfast. I could only imagine what it must have sounded like, me whispering 'I'm on the loo and everyone's listening'. The incident at the Barbican was the worst. Me of all people! After a hefty day of rehearsals I had gone to see a show and had forgotten to switch my mobile off. No phonecalls, but the battery was low, and so of course in the middle of the action, it started bleeping. I couldn't get at it either until the interval as my bag had got wedged right under the seat with my coat in front of it. Never did it again mind you!
Then came a Ellen Generes clip, again on Facebook, which a uni pal of mine Debbie posted. I'm not saying any more. Just have a look at it if you've got a minute.
What I wanted to blog about is a French magazine I'm reading which has a whole series of features about French cinema. As I mentioned in an earlier blog we go to the cinema regularly in Chinon and thoroughly enjoy the mix of mainstream and art house movies. So reading a bit more about the history of French cinema has been really interesting.
So finally I am at the point where I was going to start. Although after all the earlier stuff, I'm not sure this really fits in. Anyway I found a really interesting article about the brothers Auguste et Louis Lumière who are credited with the development of film as a mass medium, using the camera-projector called a 'cinématograph 1' They were born 150 years ago on the 19th of October 1862. Their first public film showing was on the 28th December in Paris,1895. Entitled 'Workers leaving the factory' the film started at 7pm and ran for 50 seconds, in front of 33 people. The you tube link is a bit sticky. One of their other famous pieces is called L'Arroseur arrosé which runs for about 44 seconds. The affect on audiences to see moving images must have been quite astounding. The same when sound in movies arrived. For me such a moment was watching a man land on the moon - live broadcast. Quite amazing and something I'll never forget. Back to the Lumière brothers - their house and studio in Lyon is now a cinema and museum and attracts renowned cinéastes (film directors) from all over the world for talks, lectures etc.
A couple of brilliant inventors.
