Numbers can be a Nuisance

 Warning!    the writer of this piece (yes,Me!) admits to being poor with numbers...it started with a 'misadventure' when I was 15 (or so) years old and in an all girls Grammar School.   We had wooden desks with lids...the maths teacher was a woman in her late forties...She had a very powerful voice ( needed for a class of 40 girls!) and liked to use it.

That day our lives were being made miserable by 'fractions'...worse than whole numbers....She picked up her desk lid, looked at us and boomed ...'The Golden Rule of Fractions.....' thumping emphasis from her desk top...My brain shut down, has never recovered... 

The reason for reverting to this painful episode is because the formerly intelligent French postal service also recently got besotted by numbers, each post box (please note the emphasis) has its own four digit number.  Your post is not delivered to 'you' but to 'your name' on a box with a certain number....

I have not dared to enquire about the origin of the four numbers.....some say it is to do with nearest cross roads (in kms), others suggest it refers to the nearest point of usuable water, there is also the (paranoid?) supposition that it has to do with the nearest police station - or hospital....One fantasist of my acquaitance says it is in preparation for deliveries by drone...

Under the old system for very rural areas your postal address was your name, followed by the name of the land area in/on which your house was built, then the name and postal code of your nearest Mairie - the main admin point. But then.....then it was highly likely, if not inevitable, that the post delivery person would be related to those receiving the post...

And now...who receives anything on paper anymore?  Only those of us who refuse to give our email addresses to all and sundry...

Where have all the walnuts gone?

•  So where have all the walnuts gone?    There was I, basket on arm, nettle proof plastic shoes on feet, mobile phones securely in safe places on my person, not quite striding but certainly walking firmly through the ankle high grass. Yes, of course I had my trusty stick with me... I use it to behead dandelions and thistles, also to lift up odd piles of what I can only describe as 'stuff'...to see what is going on.
• The fields have not been mown this year, nor grazed so the grass was moderately high except for the tracks left by the wood-bearing trucks...I had asked for some more firewood to be cut this year because it takes an expletive-deleted length of time to dry sufficiently to be used in the cooker or the sitting room fireplace.
• I cannot even blame the squirrels...we have the proper RED ones here - because they all seem to have gone on holiday somewhere else..
• Local wisdom says 'it was just a bad year' ...which is not very helpful.  But I do worry now about my ideas for planting more walnuts.   I shall need a good weather forecaster first....

Are the northerners hoarding winter?

Well, are the Northern countries hoarding the winter weather storms?  Certainly down here in the French Dordogne (possibly France's most densely wooded county) the leaves are still firmly on the trees and the tree fruit is not ripening.  Is this a dispute between two sets of 'gods'...one that sponsors the cold with some darkness, the other that sponsors the light with very brief, not quite rainy episodes?

As a consequence I am left with a vegetable garden overburdened with tomato plants of various varieties, none of which ripen.  My experience indicates that a fried, or grilled unripe tomato is NOT worth eating.    Unfortunately it is not much better as salad.  Local St Astier (in France!!) overheard gossip suggests what I have to do is to:

put unripe tomatoes in a wicker basket, add apples and bananas, cover with tea-cloth and leave outside in the sun light...

On verra....

The last orchid of 2024....

A splendid discovery during my last stroll in the damp fields....

 ..........spiranthe d'ete!!

This I saw only a few days ago - probably the 22nd September - pushing up through the coarse remaining uneaten grass of summer..

It was my orchid expert friend Stephanie Do-Re-Go Lima...with a name like that what else could she be but an expert in something rare..

Fortunately Stephanie did live at La Chaise for some years during which she worked very hard on her knowledge of wild orchids.   Fortunately for Stephanie, the La Chaise fields have always been well endowed by orchids, even when we had heavy footed sheep grazing the land.   When a local farmer was permitted to take hay from the fields Stephanie immediately armed herself with piquets and netting to surround the orchid patches.    It was a great success.   All the orchids continue to flourish as appropriate times at La Chaise.

The oak that spits, the rook that walks...

Does one ever get used to 'strange' things when in the deepest country side?  Not in my experience....

So, going up the drive from the house to the road, ignore the left-hand side vegetable garden - which is still mostly tomatoes - but look up at the great oak.  It will be looking right back at you...then make a spitting noise and - if you look down, you will see an acorn at your feet...Even when I go up the drive in the car (because I am going food shopping) it will spit and I hear a faint ping.    If I am luck the ping will be the acorn bouncing off the car's hood and will leave little or no trace of its passing...

The other curious thing that has struck in the past few days....there is a large rook that WALKS on the road....I meet this rook when I am leaving the village bakerie and general store.   Obviously no one wants to run over any animal on the road but most animals seem to have the common sense NOT to cross the road when something mechanical is in the offing - do the animals KNOW that a 'human' is in control of the tin machine?   Are they perhaps confused by the new fact that the majority of these machines are shiny white?  I am sorry that I do not have a picture of the rook - but I am a hopeless photographer...

All the fun with trees...even when sick...

 It's the trees that were sick - not me though I did have a few queasy moments as they were rolled into their man-designated places then levered into trailers for delivery to vans....

The trees were - I was told - a mixture of beech and oak and all had some infection under their skins or in their roots.   Beech and oak is most often used for furniture with oak being very popular for flooring...

And this is what the site looked like before 'men' got round to pushing and pulling it towards the tractor with its trailer....pls note the 'helpful' (???) cheroot in one of the worker's mouths...

The happy new owner of this wood is apparently going to use it as roof beams in various cabins that he has/is going to have built....

Waste not, want not - especially in deepest countryside. hth Very sadly I cannot remember whether these trees were a natural part of La Chaise estate when we bought it near half a century ago...or whether my beloved (late) husband planted them, along with all the other tree plantations he launched.

The tomatoes of despair

The tomatoes of despair

Rolling across my wooden kitchen table,

Just stopped by an outstretched arm,

Tomatoes, tomatoes everywhere…..

In a plastic bowl with lukewarm water,

Dirt comes off with its hidden riders

Ants, small maggots…a brave snail..

Rinse in a fine gauge sieve

Under a running cold tap

remove the sink plug…

Pour on boiling water to loosen the skin

Remove it - then split the clean berry,

Remove pips with a steel spoon

Bubbling and burping in a large steel pan,

Must not stir for they still spit,

Never miss the human skin…

Stir with your best steel spoon

Add crushed spices - stir some more -

Remove spices with a sterilised steel filter

Now for those glass jars on a small tray

Previously carefully cleaned with boiling water

Will be three quarters filled by a steel spoon..

Screw on the sterlized tin lids -

Then, in theory, your chutney

Is safe for later use…

Where has our summer gone?

So where has our summer gone?    Has it gone to the Scandinavians who normally come to the Dordogne for their summer.   A sketchy memory of a newspaper report - perhaps in The Economist - saying that the Scandis were having their hottest summer ever...

Anyway, here I am sitting at my desk as the rain dribbles outside - today it is 15 centigrade according to the temperature device on the door window - a flattened tin frog.  The children are safely at school, grumbling over their books and the canteen food, parents damply returning from the school run are faced with another chore:   the terrorist tomatoes are in a basket on the door step.

For some unknown (to me) reason the cool summer seems to have immensely pleased the tomatoes...I say 'terrorist' because I pass the box every time I enter or leave the house and I can almost hear ' do something, bottle me, crush me into soup....Do Something.'

The immediate answer is a glass of Viognier and a search through ancient cook books - books, you know - those things made of paper..for recipes...and the answer is CHUTNEY. 

Tomato chutney is unknown to the locals..they are going to be very surprised ...and I shall be very tired for chutney making involves several pans, skilled hands and - most of all - Patience.

Rain, Rain !! Come NOW!!

 Today - the 29th of August I am desperately hoping for rain.  The national meteo service has promised it, with warnings.  

When I got out of bed early this morning (0800) and looked over the back garden I was quite shocked.  The extensive lawn looked rust coloured, brown rust, dead.  The large leaves of the maple had all fallen and covered the grass. So I decided to provoke the rain gods as much as I can.  

 To start with I there is a bright red bathroom mat conspicuously near the rose bush ring.   And it seems that a cushion has fallen off one of the outdoor chairs...also it would appear that I have foolishly left a loaf of bread outside. 

 All this scene setting has been hanging around for nearly three hours to very little effect.  Is it possible I am going to have to sacrifice an expensive pair of leather shoes?

 As I was slowly pushing my breakfast muesli around in its bowl  - it had to be softened by the yogurt - a face loomed in the kitchen window.  It was a very tall man, hat on head, long thin cheroot between lips - and blue eyes to die for...In other words it was my Dutch workman who is only supposed to come three days a week.  Today was not one of his days.

He wandered into the kitchen and reached for the tea - caddy....his black tea cup and saucer have a permanent place on my kitchen table...and made his cup of tea. Yes, yes, he feels very much at home in my kitchen.

Why today, I asked (after he had had his first sip of tea)..not expecting any very serious answer.  Well, apparently his Wednesday employer was out of cash. So he decided to come to La Chaise to do some of his allotted work a day early.

My reason for giving only three days a week employment to skilled workers is simple:   I am 80 years old, not sure how much longer I shall be a work giver and - should I suddenly cease - they may have lost contacts with possible other employers,  leaving them financially stranded for a period.  Also, to be honest, I need time off from workmen...

However, there is an awful lot of work to be done to maintain La Chaise - a 30 hectare estate of mixed woodland and pasture. So I need not only carpenters but also wood -cutters, fence fixers  - the wild boar from the woods wreaks havoc on the fences. The deer eat the new growth.. Fortunately some of my wood-cutters are also hunters in their spare time - 

Over the years I have got to know most of their families, some from birth.  There is a possessiveness in their attitude to their work for La Chaise (note I do not say 'me'!) and they all have opinions, frequently expressed, on how what should be done on the land and in its woods.

I could hardly be said to be 'the owner' of La Chaise - I just manage it as best as my friends can to the benefit of all of us.

A very clever French solution.....clients take charge

 As someone whose social, intellectual and commercial life - in short, whose very life, is based on and in the local cafe -  I worry each summer that the cafe will shut for a while.     French workers have an inalienable right to a summer holiday it would seem - so how to replace those who give the cafe its unique ambiance?   You have to admire the waiter's skill while - with a drinks laden tray on the open left hand the right hand deftly uncorks a bottle, pops a can, unscrews a water bottle.

  So last Wednesday I took my usual place, opened my copy  of Liberation,  unfolded my copy of the New York Times waited for my wine and water to arrive...One of the regular clients walked to my table - put down my glass of wine, then - not very deftly - opened my bottle of Perrier. Startled, I looked up - said thank you....then looked around...Another one of the regular clients was serving another table....  I put down my glass of wine, put my head in my hands...the question...???Do I  tip the servers, if yes, how much????

After the hay - we hope for rain...

 The last of the hay  bales have just rolled out of the La Chaise fields. They were bigger - and rougher - than ever, the tractor drivers just as cross as ever...and - of course - I had to interfere.   Remember I AM THE PROPRIETOR.....So I firmly stood in the way of a laden tractor coming through the gates, he gave in first...thanfully!!  My crossness was based on their clumsiness - those very large, heavy laden machines can easily damage fence and gate posts.  However my problem in scolding is that I am not paying them to clear the fields - any more than that they are paying for the hay...Diminutive Old Lady did win the day....one tractor stopped!

Once again I am musing on the possibility of putting grazing animals in the fields....only I am afraid of horses (and they are too heavy for my soil), not very keen on cows who are curious as well as heavy, they like to come up and visit....I have no fondness for goats which have very definite characters...as well as smell...which brings me back to sheep...of whom I have quite fond memories... But I am now well into my 80th year ....so all this is unnecessary speculation..

When a Rose loves an Oak

This is what you get when an oak and a rose are too close together.    I am not sure what to do...should I prune the roses so that fewer but larger are visible....or should I prune the oak to make it seem longer and stronger?   The answer is obvious:    Leave Them Be....Let Them Grow as They will... OK, agreed 

An uncomfortable collection of pears

 

There is only one pear tree in my front garden - but it bears three different types of pear - why I can only speculate.  Was there really only room for one additional fruit tree?  Why was it put in the vegetable garden rather than the orchard across the pathway?. There there are peach trees, plum trees, one mulberry - which may not survive much longer.

How am I going to work out which pears will ripen when...since they are all on different exposures some will have more sun that others.   As to my getting a ladder propped agains the tree - forget it. One can just about see the trunk...

Nagging at the back of my mind is the thought that once I had a device that looked like a net on a long bamboo pole which was eqipped with a cutting device to separate fruit from branch - one at a time!!  But then, in the very near future I will have been at La Chaise for half a century...I am trying NOT to frighten myself with this notion....just accept that many, many things will have disappeared...

Ah well!   What is that 'they' say about patience?   Apparently it is a virtue not, seemingly, one that I possess.

RAIN, RAIN....please come NOW - we need you, all creation needs you.

 Oh, YES!!! t

Today was another day it did not rain...and it looks as though tomorrow will be the same as today....There is a childhood song that is currently haunting my mind...it begins something like....'Rain, rain, go away, come back another day...' But there seems to be no opposite version that I can think of...

And, yes, the grass is as high as an elephant's eye....pollen still floats up from the grass and down from trees to annoy hay fever sufferers (me) everywhere.  

Our grass is now actually beginning to droop as if with heat exhaustian.  The plums on the wild plum tree are not swelling - the fruits on the cultivated trees are small and scabbed....cherries barely cover their pits with flesh....some leaves are wondering whether to just drop off now - or to wait for a little gust of wind to decide for them..

The flat temperature frog stuck to the terrace door...the outside of the terrace door ...only just manages to get to 20 C.....the real frogs who normally infest the valley pond have gone to look for water elsewhere.The valley pond is formed by drainage water from the road above gradually oozing through the clay of our sloping fields.. There will be no frogspawn for passing herons this summer - but herons may get advance knowledge and go another way..

The only sacrifice I can think of making - in hopes that rain will come - is to leave my heaviest, newly washed bath towels, on the grass to dry.   We shall see in the morning - but hope to hear from rain in the night.

Diplomacy in a Dordogne cafe - or 'why the French are so civilised'

 There I was in my habitual cafe in St Astier...newspapers on the table, glass of best white wine and a large glass for the sparkling water...The cafe was only moderately crowded, everybody very polite....I do like the way that smokers apologise to non-smokers when about to light up..Today a man with one of those 'vape' things actually leaned over to ask me, to make sure I had seen what he was waving...Of course I said 'do go ahead'..

My reasoning is simple:  smoke keeps away flies, mosquitos, wasps and other flying nuisances.  Often I mention this reasoning to the smoker...smiles all round, everybody friendly.

Today there was an extra dimension to this civility.. I had ordered myself a second large glass of best dry white....and then worried...after all I did have to drive back...The pub does not offer crisps or any other alcohol related nibbles....

Someone kindly offered to look after my things whilst I popped across the road to a general store...which was very kind.   Only, unfortunately, I have a historical dispute with the owner of that store, so mostly avoid going in there and said so....Today I was feeling particularly rancorous as I remembered my grievance...

A short tubby man on the next table tut-tutted - queried 'plain crisps?' I said yes ....off he went across the road and came back with a packet of crisps for me.   I proffered a fiver to pay for them, he gave me change.

I don't thnk we exchanged more than 20 words in the whole procedure..

Mice time in the Dordogne...

Just as I was bending over to get something out of the fridge a mouse slid out from underneath - and I mean 'slid'....her* claws did not scrabble on the floor, her progress was very slow.

A sigh from me as I retrieved the dustpan and brush, caught the mouse in the pan, kept it down with the brush and went for the front door....You try opening a stiff front door with the wrong hand and the other hand with brush trying very hard not to let the mouse go...Anyway, I succeeded and got my burdens as far as the gate into the woods - which I kicked open with my slippered feet...yes, ouch...

Then I disposed of the mouse in a clump of nettles,brambles,ferns and other odd woodland plants.  It was far from being the first mouse I had disposed of this way...in fact probably the fifth...

Yes, I had put mouse poison in the kitchen drawers - empty kitchen drawers I will emphasise..and, yes, I had seen some dead mice in the woodshed...

But I was wondering:   do mice not communicate with each other?  Communication as birds are supposed to do in their songs...Surely some must have lived to see that 99.9 pct of the stuff in my kitchen cupboards and drawers was either in tins or glass bottles with lids...No dying squeaks - ''keep out of there, it's dangerous'..

If there is no further mouse invasion in the coming week I shall assume all have gone elsewhere - perhaps staying in the woods and living off old nuts, not quite composed greens and peelings...

After that time lapse, duly protected by hygienic throw away gloves...(yes, I know - plastic but...washing fabric ones in a machine would not be good either ) we shall have to clean out the wooden drawers, probably with bleach...and wash any polishing or washing up cloths that had survived the invasion..

* why did I assume it was a female?  Anyway I did not check...

Orchid joy!!

 Oh the joy!!   Stephanie and I found another orchid at La Chaise!  This one is pretty rare, unscented (obvs!) and not long for life...It is called the 'Bee Orchid'....for obvious reasons.  The question is:  will many bees be sufficiently conned into 'fertilising' this flower?  And why did whoever/whatever.. make life and its continuation so complicated?

Time for 'food from the wild.'

Would you believe it?   There is an upside to the pollen season....it reminds you to go and search for your 'Food from the Wild' cookery book which has a terrible winter habit of hiding...I have had to buy the Ian Burrows copy again...

No it has not been borrowed by my cleaning lady - she only reads French (reasonable as she is French and we are in France) and disapproves strongly of anything that has not grown under control of green fingers...

My two favourites from the book are the recipes for rosehip syrup - which has more vitamin C than orange juice - which I had to give up drinking because it gave me the shakes worse than real coffee - and elder flower cordial - which is a very pleasant, light drink and (I am told but have not tested) is a very pleasant addition to a G&T..

Of corse there are downsides...for the rosehip syrup the 'hips' have to come from wild roses, those on your garden prize winners will not do. They are hard to find and harder to pick - leather gloves and pocket secateurs are recommended.  

The downside of the elder flower is its pollen, plenteous and easily blown on the wind.  A nose covering mask is recommended for those with pollen allergy problems.

Extracting the essence from the hips will take time, patience and good straining clothes, a wide copper jam making pan would be good for the elder flowers..

The rest you will have to look up for yourselves....but don't forget to sterlise your re-used jam jars and their new (!) lids.

The usefulness of forgetfulness

As I was wandering around the house, looking for something, I suddenly had a brainwave!!  It stopped me right in my tracks, halfway up the stairs - a very dangerous place to stop and think.

Wanting what I have forgotten to bring to my desk makes me get OUT of my chair!!  Then I have to think where this item might actually be - which means crossing several rooms -  sometimes even going upstairs.

Forgetfulness in the aged is nature's way of compelling them to take exercise!!  The thought of 'going for a walk' is usually confined to fine weather days and often done reluctantly. But searching for something you think you need at that moment makes you forget to think of the wandering as exercise!  And yet - there you are, moving, standing, sometimes even stretching to look over, or under - whatever, a chair, a table...

A slight downside...if you pass through the kitchen in your wanderings perhaps you should discipline yourself NOT to STOP for another cup of coffee or tea - and certainly not for a glass of something...

Spring things - a little late..

 What I would really like to write about is the wonderful actions of the baby deer that has decided to live in the woods.....right next to the swimming pool. No, don't jump to conclusions - it has NOT jumped into the pool - it just jumps onto the pool cover to cross the pool.  However endearing the sight, you can well imagine my worries - suppose it shits - or pees - on the pool cover, a cover which is already laden with wet leaves - ach,  stop right there!

More encouragingly the cherries are beginning to ripen.  They are very small - despite all the rain we had recently they do not seem to swell.  If I remember correctly they are 'morello' cherries and morellos are not for eating but for cooking - actually turning into cherry liqueur.  Yes, I have done this - some years ago - but do not propose to repeat for reasons I do not need to spell...So the lucky birds will have them all.

And here they are - still yellow, not yet covered in birdshit - but there is much agressive bird noise when I get anywhere near the trees...

The first orchid has just arrived...

 It is with such joy that I greeted the first orchid of 2024.....may there be many more!   We at La Chaise are very spoiled for orchids - which occasionally spoils things for those who have to work our fields because as soon as located the plants are protected by pickets and sometimes fencing...all of which gets in the way of hay-making.   So far, so good, because so wet and hay-making is sometime off.. This orchid was in luck because it was on our lawn and so can be danced round with a small mower.....It will probably be another few weeks before further orchids show themselves - I roughly remember where to go and have sensibly kept a pair of knee high wellies.  Wish me luck.

The Hen is off the egg - at last

 Maybe the White Hen suspects that her lonely splendour is about to be invaded...Yes, in two days time, if all goes well, she will be joined by two other hens...Perhaps she is still nervous about the unexpected, unexplained disappearance of her Golden companion. A heavy gate clicked, a dog briefly barked ...after which the Golden was gone.

Oddly enough one noticed later that a few things had also strangely disappeared, random gardening equipment - shears, small pruners, marker pegs - things like that, all clobber under the small, open sided shed roof...

I discussed this sad event with some local friends - the manager of the hardware store, the dry cleaning lady, the newspaper vendor - all said 'how extraordinary' and then proffered the name of some people who visit the Dordogne at this time of year.   Part of me wants to concur with this solution, part of me says ' hold it...no group think...another explanation might be equally valid..But there were no passing buzzards who have been known to fly down over a chicken and then up and away, chicken in beak.  But this would leave a trail of feathers, as would seizure by a passing fox..and I have found no golden feathers anywhere.

Did we have a cockerel I could have entertained the explanation that she was brooding somewhere in the bushes.   But I visited all the usual spots, even used my imagination and went further into the woods...

If she is still alive somewhere, Friday's arrival of newcomers might just provoke her to rejoin us ...on verra

how to light a fire....uh - oh!!

 Right!  so this is the story of 'how to light a fire'  when you only have 3 matches, a few  commercial fire lighters, one candle and a bottle of colza oil  (courtesy of Ukraine)

Good! so first lucky you go to collect some vine prunings that have been given by a kind neighbour.   Vine prunings are very thin twigs, very breakable and very, very flammable... These, using your pruning shears, you cut into short lengths...and pile at the back of the fireplace.

Then you go and check what you have - providentially - soaking in your jar of Ukrainine oil...I say 'providentially' but perhaps I should refer to 'foresight'.. This jar, a former sterilising jar, has been filled with Ukraine's best oil into which you have put some long slivers of wood which are soaking up the oil - in other words,  home made fire lighters...

These long slivers of oily wood are then wrapped in a couple of sheets of the local newspaper with the possible addition - if you have any left - of one of the small commercial fire lighter squares per wrapping.   Wrap very tightly, place at an angle over the vine prunings, facing towards the back of the fireplace, tips touching where they rest on the cast iron back of the fireplace.  If you are feeling uncertain - sprinkle a little more colza oil on the paper wrappings.

Then, breathe deeply, light number one match and use it to light the candle - your only fire resource once the matches are finished. Use the lit candle..to light the paper wrapping of your fire starters.  Make sure the candle does NOT go out - you only have two matches left!

It was my lucky evening - I was left with two matches...

An overburdened tree...

 This is a three pear tree....Odd you may think, definitely different.  The idea, apparently, was that the then owner of our orchard either did not have enough space for three trees - or was just feeling mean.   Any how this tree does need much attention when being pruned or generally tidied - who knows you might accidentally cut away of the pear varieties...

The three different pears appear (sorry about that) at slightly different times, mostly days apart.  Some of the pears will ripen on the branch, these are usually the cooking pears, large and white and - sorry again - tasteless..For the other two varieties the orchard watcher has to be very aware.   They are small, dark skinned and seem to drop after the slightest breeze..I have never managed to collect sufficient to make anything with them for the slightest delay at collecting them and they are covered in ants, sometimes wasps - the latter are quite aggressive about their fruit rights.. 

Obviously what I need to do is to find myself a fruit tree expert but where to start? The Dordogne rather specialises in apples and grapes..  I think I shall start in the hardware store - then in our small multi-services shop in town - probably the best is to launch  the question into the air next time I am in the local cafe...

Wish me - wish US!! luck.

White ghosts on wheels - in the Dordogne

 My nerves are now on full alert when driving, a new and uncomfortable experience.   It does not matter whether I turn left out of the gate to descend to Tocane St Apre ....or right in order to get to St Astier.  Both are long winding, twisting roads which - fortunately - have been broadened in recent years.  Crossly I sometimes put this down to my forthcoming forth score of years, due at the end of this month.

Then sometimes self blame gets going:    I should not have taken that second cup of coffee - a known over stimulant - but I drink decaf so that should have no effect.  Ditto the glass of wine - leave time for that to be absorbed by whatever I am eating.

After self-blame comes the other popular culprit - the local roads authority and its constant mending, fiddling, obstructing parts of the road.  The roads themselves are not exactly flat - not possible on hill sides! 

As I was rehearsing all these factors coming up from St Astier one morning I was obliged to draw over to the ditch side of the road as three small cars insisted on overtaking me at excessive speed. 

This shock to my attention suddenly made me see the reason  - I think - for my problem:   all three cars were WHITE, SHINY WHITE!!

It was as though a procession of automobile ghosts had gone by.  Over the following days I noticed more and more white vehicles going in all directions.   Then I saw a shiny white petrol tanker go past...no, I thought that really cannot be possible - but it was. I saw it twice, once followed by a white builder's van carrying sand. And, to cop it all....by a cement mixer on wheels...one of those very long bodied vans on which there is a churning, slurping, egg shaped recipient.

Fortunately I have a clever son who explained:   white metal paint is cheaper than any other....

Beware AI entanglements...!!

Through my own stupidity - my dislike of crowded, noisy places - such as airport luggage recovery spaces - I managed to leave Merignac without my laptop, my tablet - and my deaf aids plus their fancy cleaning stuff.   This happened because of the security systems - all the above equipment had been scanned at Gatwick, passed and put into a separate black bag - rather than back into my usual travelling trolley..

At the exit I saw my daughter waiting - so just rushed off to meet her, pulling the trolley behind me, not thinking at all about the 'black bag'.

It was not until I unpacked at home that I realised what I was missing...panic stations.

But my very computer competent daughter was able to snaffle the French grandsons play computer - a sturdy Hewlett Packard - and get it working reasonably well.   It did have some 'etats d'ame'  and refuse to cooperate at times - the keyboard would jam, for example. So I was able, more or less, to keep up with my essential admin matters - but not much creative 'stuff'.

Eventually I got fed up, demanded advice from my also computer competent son in London as well as my c.c. daughter in France.  Their consensus opinion is that I should purchase a 'Cromebook'.  The daughter tried to order one on the ever useful Amazon site - and the first snag came up.    In France 'Cromebooks' could only be bought with 'azerty' keyboards...I learned to type on the classic English 'querty' keyboard - essential for someone whose handwriting was illegible...

So we ordered one via the UK and it duly arrived in the most amazing

packing ever seen - three boxes, one inside the other...how many trees I asked myself...But shut up as soon as I got to work with and on it.

Communication with the UK and other places outside the Dordogne was soon flourishing.   I felt on top of all my admin chores..and even had a little look at my 'creative' writing.

However, reality soon showed its ugly face.    My London accountant sent me xxxx pages of tax declaration to study - and a final page to sign and return.  So I dutifully read, noted where I had to sign and tried to download the one page I needed...Only by this time the Crome system had cleverly spotted that it was in France....so it tried to download that one page to a French system of 'fischiers'...which of course I did not have...

In the end I had to download the whole document - sign the single page, scan that page, save it and then send it.  I dread what is going to happen when I start to edit/rewrite/ generally fiddle with my creative text...

And now Stephanie has confessed SHE put the internet on in French...I wait to hear why but she is feeling rather queezy at the moment!!!

Here comes the cold..

This morning the first cold of 2024 arrived ....approppriatly on the 13th day of January.   It was a pretty cold, mostly a light, nearly transparent mist that did not lift until well after lunch time - most un French, it might have stopped many people from going out to lunch, especially if they had to drive anywhere.   But even so there was quite a lot of fast traffic going past La Chaise which lies on the top of a hill midway between two market towns - Tocane St Apre and St Astier....both of them in river valleys, Dronne and Isle respectively - they join up later.

One very splendid surprise:   I subscribe to the local newspaper whose publishers guaranteed to deliver it by one o clock every day and so far this has been true.  It is usually the simple yellow post office van that brings it. An unkindness in me makes me wonder whether the postie does not have to hide somewhere to make the time come true. Occasionally, when I have nothing better to do, I wander up to the road and the post box a few minutes before 13.00 to see if I can see the yellow postal van lurking down the Tocane part of the road.  I never have seen anything - but then there is a little hamlet called Chantepoule just down the road, perhaps a friendly resident offers a warm coffee. 

Sometimes  when I get warning of the van's possible arrival I wander quite aimlessly up the path to the post box and manage to greet the postman, congratulate him on his timely arrival.  The usual postman, an elderly man with a Santa Claus beard, goes slightly pink and sometimes we shake hands as I thank him.

However, today's mist did delay the delivery but it was compensated in the most splendid way.   Just around 13.30 I heard the rush of an engine coming up from the St Astier side .....a yellow and white van drew up, turned in a circle to face back to St Astier, a young man got out - and put the weekend edition of my newspaper in the box.   I could not get there quick enough to shake hands and thank....but I did notice it was not the usual yellow all over post van - it was yellow and white, the colouring of the post office's extra fast and secure delivery service - Colissimo.

How's that for service?

As always mist softens

Great Jumping Chestnuts...

 So a few days ago, TDH* Martin - who is now fully responsible for woodland management, not least new planting - but that will be another story ---

Well Martin set off with his trusty chain saw to deal with a copse of three skinny chestnut trees. 'Deal with' is of course a euphism for 'cut down'...He cleared the land around the trees, dead branches, excess fallen leaves and a surprising amount of chestnuts on the ground....anyone would think we did not have wild boar who normally hover up such delicious treats, especially once they have cleared all the acorns...but..passons...

Martin settled himself comfortably on his knees, started his chain aw and cut the recommended V near the base of the tree - making sure it would fall well away from him.  He says the tree wobbled, its head waved and it moved from its cut root....only to establish itself firmly into the soggy soil a few inches from its rooting place.   Martin swears the tree did not look at him with scorn - but it felt like that...

So Martin re-starts his chain saw, cuts another perfect V at the new base of the young chestnut and waited for it to fall exactly where he - Martin - had planned it should fall.  The chestnut shudders, wobbles, the head shakes.....and it planted itself again a few inches further into the soggy soil.  If young chestnut trees could grin, Martin swears it would have grinned at him.

Now Martin swears he was not cross with the tree, it was just that he had other trees to attend to, other things to do...So once again he cut the perfect V just above ground level on the chestnut's slender trunk. 

This time the tree conceded and fell to the ground as pre-ordained. But this leaves me with nagging problems:   should I burn the wood of an animate tree in my indoor fire places, should I sell it to someone else, without telling the story...perhaps as the wood dries its soul will drift into another tree...Not a happy thought. 

Later I heard that Stephanie (a girl) had got cross and lassoed the trees, then pulled so they would fall..

*= Tall, dark,handsome