Ste Aude
Yesterday's weather: Freeeeeezzzzzing. Brrrrr.
Happy Birthday to Jacqui.
Congratulations to Diana and Jeff on the birth of their baby girl.
I left the sheets and pillowcases out on the washing line last night. They are still frozen this morning, but at least I had some washing on the line today before Mrs Veranda!! I don't think that lady ever sleeps - her washing is always out first thing in the morning before we even surface. And anyway, how can two people create so much washing? We always thought that they must have a gîte or a B&B but now that we know more about them we know that there are just the two of them. And a lot of washing.
This months reading group books are Albert Camus' The Outsider' and Raymond Queneau's 'Zazie in the Metro', selected by me. We have a very complicated voting system where one person selects 4 books for the month, everyone has two votes and then there is another vote between the top two books. The group voted them both equally and as they are 'thin books' we decided to read both. We won't be discussing them until we meet in January so there's plenty of time to get through those two and also next month's book 'Never Have Your Dog Stuffed', Alan Alda's autobiography - chosen by Jon. No-one has yet volunteered to host the next meeting, which should be held in January. I think we are all sitting back and waiting for someone else to offer! I don't mind doing a summer lunch party but the idea of sitting 10 people in our kitchen would be just too cosy!
Showing posts with label neighbours. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbours. Show all posts
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Saturday, 13 October 2007
What a life!
St Géraud
Yesterday's weather: lovely and sunny (until I wanted to sit in the garden with a book when it became quite cloudy!)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO PETER, MY LITTLE BROTHER!
I wish you could share with you the peace and quiet here. broken by friendly sounds. The birds are singing away, the tourists are long gone which means the road (never particularly busy) has only the occasional car on it. I can hear the distant howling of hunters' dogs but they are very distant and all is well with the world.
The sun is shining, the butterflies are having a late surge and the garden looks lovely. We went to Gourdon this morning just to buy some paint and the early morning mist was hovering low in places with the sun burning it away. The trees are slowly changing colour and we spotted here and there, cars parked up in odd places; the owners of these cars were always spotted under the nearest group of walnut trees, bent double collecting their crops.
Later this afternoon we will hear the distant hum of chain saws as everyone is trying to get well stocked for the coming winter. The forecast for the next few days is sun, sun and more sun.
Do we miss England, work and the M25? Not a bit of it!
Yesterday's weather: lovely and sunny (until I wanted to sit in the garden with a book when it became quite cloudy!)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO PETER, MY LITTLE BROTHER!
I wish you could share with you the peace and quiet here. broken by friendly sounds. The birds are singing away, the tourists are long gone which means the road (never particularly busy) has only the occasional car on it. I can hear the distant howling of hunters' dogs but they are very distant and all is well with the world.
The sun is shining, the butterflies are having a late surge and the garden looks lovely. We went to Gourdon this morning just to buy some paint and the early morning mist was hovering low in places with the sun burning it away. The trees are slowly changing colour and we spotted here and there, cars parked up in odd places; the owners of these cars were always spotted under the nearest group of walnut trees, bent double collecting their crops.
Later this afternoon we will hear the distant hum of chain saws as everyone is trying to get well stocked for the coming winter. The forecast for the next few days is sun, sun and more sun.
Do we miss England, work and the M25? Not a bit of it!
Friday, 5 October 2007
Caught in the middle?
Ste Fleur
Yesterday's weather: warm, dull, dry.
Our neighbour Monsieur C seems to be a dour creature. I say seems to be because he has never stopped to speak to us. He lives way over the hill and is rarely home. His family are sheep farmers and the majority of the farmland is in neighbouring villages. He goes off to work with his brothers and returns home briefly a couple of times a day and late at night. He never smiles but does wave a curt 'Bonjour' if we happen to be walking along the lane.
He rarely has the same vehicle twice in one day. There are two of the obligatory white vans, a blue van of the same type, and extremely old Citroen BX with a duff exhaust which splutters up and down the hill, a 2CV occasionally and, oddly, an elderly red Porsche. We can't see which vehicle is driving up the lane until it is adjacent with our house and we have come to recognise the different engine sounds but the way we always know it is him is because he always coughs.
This cough must be pretty bad, or it is triggered by a bump in the road or something, because he always seems to cough at the same place. Because he has never stopped and is so rarely home we have only ever seen him either from a distance or through the car windscreen. The other day we were at the village service station filling up the car and he was there. He totally ignored us but we did get a good look at his face for the first time. So, that puts about 10 years on the age I thought he was but the tell tale packet of cigarettes and 5 litre flagon of wine he had just bought from the garage may well account for that. Actually, all he needed was the beret and a string of onions round his neck and you would be able to picture him as he is, a real French country chap.
We think that the reason Monsieur C doesn't talk to us is because we are friendly with Monsieur D the cattle farmer. Some years ago Monsieur C and Monsieur D fell out over some land and they haven't spoken since.
'C’est totalement gaché’ Mr D told us with some finality making cutting movements with his hands in case we hadn't understood. 'And in addition, I won a place on the village council and he was voted out'.
The local elections take place again next spring. I would imagine the campaigning will be fairly colourful but luckily for us we won't be eligible to vote so we won't get caught up in the local feud. We hope.
Yesterday's weather: warm, dull, dry.
Our neighbour Monsieur C seems to be a dour creature. I say seems to be because he has never stopped to speak to us. He lives way over the hill and is rarely home. His family are sheep farmers and the majority of the farmland is in neighbouring villages. He goes off to work with his brothers and returns home briefly a couple of times a day and late at night. He never smiles but does wave a curt 'Bonjour' if we happen to be walking along the lane.
He rarely has the same vehicle twice in one day. There are two of the obligatory white vans, a blue van of the same type, and extremely old Citroen BX with a duff exhaust which splutters up and down the hill, a 2CV occasionally and, oddly, an elderly red Porsche. We can't see which vehicle is driving up the lane until it is adjacent with our house and we have come to recognise the different engine sounds but the way we always know it is him is because he always coughs.
This cough must be pretty bad, or it is triggered by a bump in the road or something, because he always seems to cough at the same place. Because he has never stopped and is so rarely home we have only ever seen him either from a distance or through the car windscreen. The other day we were at the village service station filling up the car and he was there. He totally ignored us but we did get a good look at his face for the first time. So, that puts about 10 years on the age I thought he was but the tell tale packet of cigarettes and 5 litre flagon of wine he had just bought from the garage may well account for that. Actually, all he needed was the beret and a string of onions round his neck and you would be able to picture him as he is, a real French country chap.
We think that the reason Monsieur C doesn't talk to us is because we are friendly with Monsieur D the cattle farmer. Some years ago Monsieur C and Monsieur D fell out over some land and they haven't spoken since.
'C’est totalement gaché’ Mr D told us with some finality making cutting movements with his hands in case we hadn't understood. 'And in addition, I won a place on the village council and he was voted out'.
The local elections take place again next spring. I would imagine the campaigning will be fairly colourful but luckily for us we won't be eligible to vote so we won't get caught up in the local feud. We hope.
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Money, money, money
St Adelphe
Yesterday's weather: beautiful
Venus is still with us. I can see it shining brightly in the morning sky, just before the sun comes up. It is rising higher in the sky each day now and will soon be out of the view from our bedroom window. There will be a new moon tonight and we are heading for the equinox (there's a good word to get in Scrabble!) on 23 September - after that it's downhill all the way until Christmas.
We have been summoned to the bank this morning following a telephone call from Madame Prim our advisor. She is a very nice young lady but wants to control our money for us, we have to be firm with her. The reason we are going today is that the bank finally accept that we are resident in France as we have been here for more than 6 months. This will mean setting up a new account (so far we have had a 'non-resident' account and our old English address on our cheque book), new cheque cards and probably more fees! Unlike banking in the UK it is the norm here to pay a monthly 'management' fee to banks, it is less than 4 Euros a month, but it still galls me to have to pay it. We also have to pay an annual fee for the privilege of having debit cards. We haven't bothered with credit cards here because we don't want them to have any more of our money!
Barclays are upsetting the major French banks by offering a 10% interest on current accounts (if I have read the blurb correctly). However, looking into the possibility of changing banks, I see that their monthly fee is 15 Euros! We will stay with Madame Prim - for now anyway.
So I had better look out some smartish clothes this morning, I can't be going to the bank in my usual cut off jeans and tatty t-shirt now, can I? And I suppose I had better brush my hair too.
We had a surprise visitor yesterday afternoon. The grandfather of Swanne (and husband of Mrs Veranda, her of the flapping tea towel) appeared at our gate bearing a bunch of dahlias and a big bag of tomatoes. How very kind of him to take the trouble to come wandering across the valley bearing gifts, I thought. Jon thought that perhaps he just wanted to escape Mrs Veranda for half an hour or so. Cynical? Jon? Never ... ;-)
Yesterday's weather: beautiful
Venus is still with us. I can see it shining brightly in the morning sky, just before the sun comes up. It is rising higher in the sky each day now and will soon be out of the view from our bedroom window. There will be a new moon tonight and we are heading for the equinox (there's a good word to get in Scrabble!) on 23 September - after that it's downhill all the way until Christmas.
We have been summoned to the bank this morning following a telephone call from Madame Prim our advisor. She is a very nice young lady but wants to control our money for us, we have to be firm with her. The reason we are going today is that the bank finally accept that we are resident in France as we have been here for more than 6 months. This will mean setting up a new account (so far we have had a 'non-resident' account and our old English address on our cheque book), new cheque cards and probably more fees! Unlike banking in the UK it is the norm here to pay a monthly 'management' fee to banks, it is less than 4 Euros a month, but it still galls me to have to pay it. We also have to pay an annual fee for the privilege of having debit cards. We haven't bothered with credit cards here because we don't want them to have any more of our money!
Barclays are upsetting the major French banks by offering a 10% interest on current accounts (if I have read the blurb correctly). However, looking into the possibility of changing banks, I see that their monthly fee is 15 Euros! We will stay with Madame Prim - for now anyway.
So I had better look out some smartish clothes this morning, I can't be going to the bank in my usual cut off jeans and tatty t-shirt now, can I? And I suppose I had better brush my hair too.
We had a surprise visitor yesterday afternoon. The grandfather of Swanne (and husband of Mrs Veranda, her of the flapping tea towel) appeared at our gate bearing a bunch of dahlias and a big bag of tomatoes. How very kind of him to take the trouble to come wandering across the valley bearing gifts, I thought. Jon thought that perhaps he just wanted to escape Mrs Veranda for half an hour or so. Cynical? Jon? Never ... ;-)
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Everybody needs good neighbours
St Fiacre
Yesterday's weather: hot, rainy, sticky
When I woke up this morning both shivering and sweating I decided that I had better spend the morning in bed - so today's blog is later than normal. Sorry.
When I finally emerged for a lunch of bread and Marmite (well, a girl needs her comfort food when she's under the weather - nursery teas of dippy egg and Marmite soldiers, Cottage Pie, scrambled egg on toast, that sort of thing), a car pulled up outside. This was not what we wanted to hear. We are still waiting for Castorama to deliver the blasted floor for the chalet which was promised absolutely, finally, definitely yesterday at the absolute, definite, no doubt about it latest.... so we wanted to hear a big lorry.
Someone rang the bell that Jon conveniently fixed to the gatepost just yesterday (he must have known we'd have an unexpected visitor so soon) and I coughed and spluttered my way across to the gate, checking that I didn't have Marmite stains on the corners of my mouth - never mind the red, streaming eyes, pallid complexion - you get the picture.
There was a rather scruffy, scrawny looking lady standing by her rather scruffy, beat up car.
'Bonjour' she said and pointed in the direction of the next house on the lane. 'Is that the house that is for rent from the people over the valley?'.
I assured her that it was even though we were unaware that the present young couple are obviously on the move. She then asked me if I had any children because she wanted to know about local schools. I was actually quite flattered that she thought I looked young enough to have children of school age, especially as I probably look more like Frankinstein's younger sister today, and particularly as grandchild number one is heading for senior school in 2008. She looked somewhat confused when I said that I didn't have children but that the people opposite do and went on her way.
Half an hour later she was back, driving up the lane followed by a very noisy little motorbike. We did what all good neighbours do and loitered in the garden until they passed by on their way back down again (about 5 minutes) so that we could try and get another good look at them. We did. Oh dear.
Well you can call me a snob (yes, I admit it I AM a snob) but I don't particularly relish the thought of this scruffy pair who look like they have an IQ the same as their shoe size and their kids and their noisy car and motorbike passing by several times a day. Perhaps I'm just crotchety because I'm not feeling well. The house only ever gets let for 6 or 12 month contracts so it won't be forever. Perhaps they will be really nice people after all and I know I shouldn't judge by first appearance, it's not really like me at all.
Watch this space and I'll let you know.
Yesterday's weather: hot, rainy, sticky
When I woke up this morning both shivering and sweating I decided that I had better spend the morning in bed - so today's blog is later than normal. Sorry.
When I finally emerged for a lunch of bread and Marmite (well, a girl needs her comfort food when she's under the weather - nursery teas of dippy egg and Marmite soldiers, Cottage Pie, scrambled egg on toast, that sort of thing), a car pulled up outside. This was not what we wanted to hear. We are still waiting for Castorama to deliver the blasted floor for the chalet which was promised absolutely, finally, definitely yesterday at the absolute, definite, no doubt about it latest.... so we wanted to hear a big lorry.
Someone rang the bell that Jon conveniently fixed to the gatepost just yesterday (he must have known we'd have an unexpected visitor so soon) and I coughed and spluttered my way across to the gate, checking that I didn't have Marmite stains on the corners of my mouth - never mind the red, streaming eyes, pallid complexion - you get the picture.
There was a rather scruffy, scrawny looking lady standing by her rather scruffy, beat up car.
'Bonjour' she said and pointed in the direction of the next house on the lane. 'Is that the house that is for rent from the people over the valley?'.
I assured her that it was even though we were unaware that the present young couple are obviously on the move. She then asked me if I had any children because she wanted to know about local schools. I was actually quite flattered that she thought I looked young enough to have children of school age, especially as I probably look more like Frankinstein's younger sister today, and particularly as grandchild number one is heading for senior school in 2008. She looked somewhat confused when I said that I didn't have children but that the people opposite do and went on her way.
Half an hour later she was back, driving up the lane followed by a very noisy little motorbike. We did what all good neighbours do and loitered in the garden until they passed by on their way back down again (about 5 minutes) so that we could try and get another good look at them. We did. Oh dear.
Well you can call me a snob (yes, I admit it I AM a snob) but I don't particularly relish the thought of this scruffy pair who look like they have an IQ the same as their shoe size and their kids and their noisy car and motorbike passing by several times a day. Perhaps I'm just crotchety because I'm not feeling well. The house only ever gets let for 6 or 12 month contracts so it won't be forever. Perhaps they will be really nice people after all and I know I shouldn't judge by first appearance, it's not really like me at all.
Watch this space and I'll let you know.
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
Should I shut up?
St Augustin
Yesterday's weather: Hot and sunny
I'm sure our French neighbours think that we are mad. After all, we are surely exposing ourselves to risk, I mean, fancy not closing all our shutters as tight as possible at night! Heaven knows what sort of light might escape from the house at night, or into the house in the morning.
We can see less than a handful of other properties from our house and they are all closed tight to the outside world as soon as it gets dark. The only exception is if the household is out for the evening, which is rare. Then they will close all the shutters and leave an outside light on until they return.
We, on the other hand, have windows and shutters open wide all night on the upper floor. Downstairs we do close up the shutters in an attempt to persuade the kitten that until we are up and about, it is still regarded as night. This doesn't work. Just as soon as the sun stretches its arms and gives a yawn thinking that it might consider rousing itself in a while, the kitten gets some sort of uncontrollable urge to scratch on all the doors and yowl until one of us gets up and lets him out. The other two cats, grown up, sophisticated ladies that they are, don't really understand this behaviour at all and would be quite happy for a bit of a lie-in (like us) but as soon as the door is opened, they feel that it would be just rude not to take advantage and pop outside as well.
I love to wake up with the sun, when it is just getting the energy to pop its head over the hillside straight in through the bedroom window, that is when I am ready to wake up and head for the kitchen for my morning cuppa. (By the way, Jim @ Farnham, the UK postal service is obviously worse than we thought because I never did receive that old tea bag you sent me a couple of months ago)'
There is, of course a security aspect of closing the shutters, and we do ensure we are burglar proof when we leave the house for any length of time. Even though crime is a rarity here and a burglary would make the local newspaper it is a requirement of our household insurance that we secure the house when we leave it, so shutters are closed. Somehow though, I feel that this is an invitation to burglers. If someone suddenly decided to take to a life of crime one day, all he would need to do is look for a house where all the shutters are closed all day. Or maybe not, since that is just about every other house around here outside the summer months and all the year-round residents know which houses are closed up for the winter.
Our neighbours are true creatures of habit. We could set our watches (if we wore them, which is one of the great things about being retired) by the sound of their cars leaving and returning every day. We know when to put lunch on by the sound of our neighbour returning every day for his own lunch at 11.45. We know when it is 11.15 on a Thursday and Sunday because the bread van visits the group of houses opposite. We know when it is 7.10 am or pm because the church bells chime for 5 minutes. And lately, I know when it is getting on for 5pm because my young friends come for a walk past the house for young Swanne to play with the kitten. Sadly, they will have to go home soon and probably won't return until next summer, but I'm sure they are now itching to get back home to Swanne's Daddy who is a chef and couldn't take a summer holiday at all.
------
I was reading a blog yesterday that I knew I hadn't read in a while. At first I thought I was going mad because one posting looked familiar and then I realised that it was almost a direct lift from another blog that I do read regularly. I can't believe that anyone would want to do that from my daft ramblings, but if you are considering it, please don't or at least ask me first and give me some credit for writing it in the first place. It is just as bad as theft to plagarise someone else's writing, and if that person has been kind enough to link your blog to theirs (I noticed the link had now been deleted) it is also extremely bad manners.
Yesterday's weather: Hot and sunny
I'm sure our French neighbours think that we are mad. After all, we are surely exposing ourselves to risk, I mean, fancy not closing all our shutters as tight as possible at night! Heaven knows what sort of light might escape from the house at night, or into the house in the morning.
We can see less than a handful of other properties from our house and they are all closed tight to the outside world as soon as it gets dark. The only exception is if the household is out for the evening, which is rare. Then they will close all the shutters and leave an outside light on until they return.
We, on the other hand, have windows and shutters open wide all night on the upper floor. Downstairs we do close up the shutters in an attempt to persuade the kitten that until we are up and about, it is still regarded as night. This doesn't work. Just as soon as the sun stretches its arms and gives a yawn thinking that it might consider rousing itself in a while, the kitten gets some sort of uncontrollable urge to scratch on all the doors and yowl until one of us gets up and lets him out. The other two cats, grown up, sophisticated ladies that they are, don't really understand this behaviour at all and would be quite happy for a bit of a lie-in (like us) but as soon as the door is opened, they feel that it would be just rude not to take advantage and pop outside as well.
I love to wake up with the sun, when it is just getting the energy to pop its head over the hillside straight in through the bedroom window, that is when I am ready to wake up and head for the kitchen for my morning cuppa. (By the way, Jim @ Farnham, the UK postal service is obviously worse than we thought because I never did receive that old tea bag you sent me a couple of months ago)'
There is, of course a security aspect of closing the shutters, and we do ensure we are burglar proof when we leave the house for any length of time. Even though crime is a rarity here and a burglary would make the local newspaper it is a requirement of our household insurance that we secure the house when we leave it, so shutters are closed. Somehow though, I feel that this is an invitation to burglers. If someone suddenly decided to take to a life of crime one day, all he would need to do is look for a house where all the shutters are closed all day. Or maybe not, since that is just about every other house around here outside the summer months and all the year-round residents know which houses are closed up for the winter.
Our neighbours are true creatures of habit. We could set our watches (if we wore them, which is one of the great things about being retired) by the sound of their cars leaving and returning every day. We know when to put lunch on by the sound of our neighbour returning every day for his own lunch at 11.45. We know when it is 11.15 on a Thursday and Sunday because the bread van visits the group of houses opposite. We know when it is 7.10 am or pm because the church bells chime for 5 minutes. And lately, I know when it is getting on for 5pm because my young friends come for a walk past the house for young Swanne to play with the kitten. Sadly, they will have to go home soon and probably won't return until next summer, but I'm sure they are now itching to get back home to Swanne's Daddy who is a chef and couldn't take a summer holiday at all.
------
I was reading a blog yesterday that I knew I hadn't read in a while. At first I thought I was going mad because one posting looked familiar and then I realised that it was almost a direct lift from another blog that I do read regularly. I can't believe that anyone would want to do that from my daft ramblings, but if you are considering it, please don't or at least ask me first and give me some credit for writing it in the first place. It is just as bad as theft to plagarise someone else's writing, and if that person has been kind enough to link your blog to theirs (I noticed the link had now been deleted) it is also extremely bad manners.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
Introduction to a Swanne
Ste Marie
Yesterday's weather: hot, sticky.
For the last couple of days Figgy has had a visitor. Not many people pass by our house apart from the neighbours in their cars on their way to work or home again. If anyone is passing they are usually walkers making a circuit from the village through the woods on this hill behind us, or maybe mushroomers after some of the cepes which the locals find a delicacy and we find a challenge. So we were surprised to find a young mother and her toddler son sitting outside the gates playing with Figgy the other day.
I went to speak to them. 'Bonjour', I said. 'He's very friendly, isn't he?' 'Oh, Madame, he is too friendly' said the young mother. She went on to tell me that she had been to visit Figgy a couple of times in the last few weeks and that he had followed her and her son down to the main road. She was so worried that the cat would run onto the road that she tried to frighten him away before gathering up her little one in her arms and running home.
Home for the summer, she said, is a house opposite where she and her son are staying with her parents for the whole of August. She pointed it out and we chatted for a few minutes before she and her son went on their way.
They returned yesterday. I was hanging out the washing as they passed and I waved to them. She asked if it would bother us if they stopped to play with Figaro again, but they hadn't seen him as they passed the gate. I went to find him and they came into the garden to play for a while. She had brought with her a bag of beans and tomatoes from her parents potager with a little note inside saying that it was from our neighbours opposite, Monsieur and Madame L. In a way I was disappointed. We've always referred to her as Mrs Veranda (or Mrs Veranda-Flapper thanks to her 'own' contribution to this blog some weeks ago). Now, I have to call them by their real names. But we were also very touched that her daughter had taken the trouble to collect up a bag of what were, I must say, delicious beans and tomatoes. She stopped a while and told us about all our neighbours that we haven't yet met. They all live behind big fences and have big dogs so we haven't been bold enough to go and knock on doors.
The little boy is such a sweetie, the sort of child you want to hug to you. He loves Figgy and was amazed by the size of Misty who he followed around the garden as she tried to get away from this child that she hadn't been properly introduced to. The child's name, we were told is Swanne. We've never heard that one before but maybe he was named for his elegant long neck. We are looking forward to their next visit. Perhaps I will wander home with her to meet the Verandas in the flesh instead of by semaphore as she flaps her tea towel over the veranda after every meal.
Delivery update
I had a phone call yesterday from the people who are delivering the chalet, shed and shower. Is Madame sure that a big lorry can get up our driveway to deliver it? Yes, Madame is sure there will be no problem. No, but is Madame sure that there will be access for a big lorry? Yes, Madame is quite sure. OK, then, how do they find the house? I gave directions. Thank you. But is Madame quite sure that the lorry will be able to deliver to her house?
By this time I was beginning to think, like Terry Wogan, 'Is it me?' Yes, there will absolutely, definitely, for certain be NO PROBLEM to get a big lorry up to the house to deliver the chalet and other items. Well, if Madame is sure then they will deliver by the end of the week. This week? Yes, Madame, this week. I didn't quite hear him say normalement but I'll believe it when I see it. He is going to call me when the delivery is imminent.
It wasn't until I had put the phone down that I began to wonder what he would have done if I had said that he couldn't get a big lorry up to the house.
Yesterday's weather: hot, sticky.
For the last couple of days Figgy has had a visitor. Not many people pass by our house apart from the neighbours in their cars on their way to work or home again. If anyone is passing they are usually walkers making a circuit from the village through the woods on this hill behind us, or maybe mushroomers after some of the cepes which the locals find a delicacy and we find a challenge. So we were surprised to find a young mother and her toddler son sitting outside the gates playing with Figgy the other day.
I went to speak to them. 'Bonjour', I said. 'He's very friendly, isn't he?' 'Oh, Madame, he is too friendly' said the young mother. She went on to tell me that she had been to visit Figgy a couple of times in the last few weeks and that he had followed her and her son down to the main road. She was so worried that the cat would run onto the road that she tried to frighten him away before gathering up her little one in her arms and running home.
Home for the summer, she said, is a house opposite where she and her son are staying with her parents for the whole of August. She pointed it out and we chatted for a few minutes before she and her son went on their way.
They returned yesterday. I was hanging out the washing as they passed and I waved to them. She asked if it would bother us if they stopped to play with Figaro again, but they hadn't seen him as they passed the gate. I went to find him and they came into the garden to play for a while. She had brought with her a bag of beans and tomatoes from her parents potager with a little note inside saying that it was from our neighbours opposite, Monsieur and Madame L. In a way I was disappointed. We've always referred to her as Mrs Veranda (or Mrs Veranda-Flapper thanks to her 'own' contribution to this blog some weeks ago). Now, I have to call them by their real names. But we were also very touched that her daughter had taken the trouble to collect up a bag of what were, I must say, delicious beans and tomatoes. She stopped a while and told us about all our neighbours that we haven't yet met. They all live behind big fences and have big dogs so we haven't been bold enough to go and knock on doors.
The little boy is such a sweetie, the sort of child you want to hug to you. He loves Figgy and was amazed by the size of Misty who he followed around the garden as she tried to get away from this child that she hadn't been properly introduced to. The child's name, we were told is Swanne. We've never heard that one before but maybe he was named for his elegant long neck. We are looking forward to their next visit. Perhaps I will wander home with her to meet the Verandas in the flesh instead of by semaphore as she flaps her tea towel over the veranda after every meal.
Delivery update
I had a phone call yesterday from the people who are delivering the chalet, shed and shower. Is Madame sure that a big lorry can get up our driveway to deliver it? Yes, Madame is sure there will be no problem. No, but is Madame sure that there will be access for a big lorry? Yes, Madame is quite sure. OK, then, how do they find the house? I gave directions. Thank you. But is Madame quite sure that the lorry will be able to deliver to her house?
By this time I was beginning to think, like Terry Wogan, 'Is it me?' Yes, there will absolutely, definitely, for certain be NO PROBLEM to get a big lorry up to the house to deliver the chalet and other items. Well, if Madame is sure then they will deliver by the end of the week. This week? Yes, Madame, this week. I didn't quite hear him say normalement but I'll believe it when I see it. He is going to call me when the delivery is imminent.
It wasn't until I had put the phone down that I began to wonder what he would have done if I had said that he couldn't get a big lorry up to the house.
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