Perfect weather if you are either a) a duck or b) a plant

27 April 2014

Friday at the barn was spent planting and digging and planting some more. There'd been a deluge in the night, so the nursery-raised shrubs that we'd planted the day before were looking perky, if a trifle baffled. The rain held off all morning, which was convenient, but the ground itself was muddy and difficult to work. After all the plants were in, we wrestled with long strips of weed mat, which turned into sails in the wind. At last we managed to get it pinned down with metal staples and old wooden beams that had been stripped out of the barn (not for this express purpose, you understand). The effect is suitably rustic, but more important than that, it will hopefully serve to mark the edge of the 'civilised world' when the grass grows back around the new plants and the over-zealous neighbour or roads department people approach with their tractors.

We put in several hours of work before we had to get cleaned up and head for the airport to collect G's aunt, who was to be our first official visitor.

The local airport is smart and new and, well, tiny. I have a suspicion that the woman at the check-in desk also serves the coffee and pressions in the combined arrivals/departures café. And wasn't it also her on the runway with the ping-pong bats, guiding a plane towards the terminal building?

We had a very busy but fun weekend, sharing with our guest the delights of the barn, the local villages, the market, the local Troc (emporium of second-hand everything), and consuming unhealthy quantities of good food and vin rouge by the glass. Yesterday, we were chilled through to our marrows as we'd spent hours standing around on the bare concrete floor of the barn in our stockinged feet, discussing details and schedules with Tom, so we repaired to our local Bar Tabac dreaming of a restorative cup of tea and, perhaps, an omelette piperade.

Omelette piperade

The owner (who is now on nodding terms with us) seemed reluctant to make omelettes - piperade or plain - instead suggesting quite forcefully his special of the day. Soon we were tucking into generous bowls of duck/haricot bean/potato/carrot/onion stew, served with chunks of crispy baguette. Talk about restorative.

But the pièce de résistance of the weekend was Sunday lunch in a very understated restaurant (a warm and welcoming refuge from driving rain and a chilly wind): we chose parmentier de confit de canard et patates douces. Very, very delicious.

Parmentier de confit de canard et patates douces

Clearly we are bad news for ducks.

This coming week looks as follows:
Monday - meet with Chas to discuss the plumbing; make a start on varnishing the stairs; finish planting
Tuesday - meet with Phil to discuss snags; Phil to hang the bathroom door; finish varnishing stairs
Wednesday - Tom to paint downstairs floor
Thursday (la fête du premier mai public holiday) - paint shutters
Friday - paint shutters; attend to dépendance (pack away tools etc. tidy, support walls with strapping and possibly waterproof with bâche); bid neighbours au revoir
Saturday - check out from chez Feral; hand back hire car; catch train to Paris

Des produits locaux

24 April 2014


Forgot to mention in the last post that Vero and Erik gave us their own homemade pork paté, which they made during the winter and which they are storing in vacuum-sealed jars in the cave under their house. On the way home after our lunch with them, we stopped in to see Gregg and Laurie, and were given an antique London gin bottle filled with a type of 'Eau de vie' (like a very young Calvados) made from the apples and pears that Gregg had collected from our trees last autumn. He'd planned (with our permission) to give them to their pigs, but the porkers saw none of the fruit. Instead, Gregg fermented it for some months, and then paid a fellow who travels around and runs a still from the back of his van in various carparks(!) to distill the concoction. It's not for the faint-hearted: at about 55% proof, it has a kick like a mule, but it has a rather naive appley-dappley aftertaste.

After muttering darkly about not achieving with a capital A, I have to admit that we have been on fire these last few days. We are now the proud owners of a shower head, a kitchen sink, and a handbasin for upstairs. Sounds easy, I know, but we have been operating between three separate locations: the studio where we are staying, the barn, and the 2 industrial estates where the big megastores are situated. So, a lot of driving around, and trying to accommodate the 12-2pm dejeuner shut-down makes for interesting logistics.

As I mentioned in my last post, we spent ages in a plant nursery (GammVert) choosing evergreen shrubs that would form a good, informal hedge around the border of the property. Our idea is to screen the road, which passes below the barn, without compromising the view. Picture G standing with tape measure held aloft as I assessed the height from various vantage points: terrace (sitting), terrace (standing), kitchen window, French doors...and then the whole process repeated with me holding tape measure this time.

In placing the plants on the boundary, we have to take into account the neighbours' advice - so freely and often given ;) - that the roads maintenance department tractor will simply decapitate any plants that are deemed too close to the road. Apparently that's what happened to our doomed lavender plants last year...So we are advised to keep them 2m in from the road edge and 4m in from the edge at the intersection. Seems crazy, but I guess if Madame was prepared to leave her sitting room and hobble painfully on her two canes across the road just to remind us yesterday, then it might be worth taking seriously.

Yesterday, after our customary picnic (baguette, chêvre, mandarins, yaourt) on the terrace under the apple tree, we began to dig and plant as if the hounds of hell themselves were at our heels. The sun was shining, we were in shorts and t-shirts, and it was very hot but satisfying work. We worked all afternoon, until the weather changed and we were blinking through cold rain and our buckets of water (filled at shoulder height from a hose through the shower room window) seemed superfluous.

By then, it was dinner time, and we had neither anything planned or prepared nor the energy to cook, so we took our filthy hobbit feet and weary limbs home and after a welcome shower, found a place to get a pizza á emporter.

Needless to say, when they talk about a 3-cheese pizza here, it's emmental, mozarella and our beloved chêvre. Yuuuhhhm, as Mark would say.

The joy of jet lag

22 April 2014

Easter weekend slid by in a blur of alternating daytime fatigue and nocturnal wakefulness. It was interesting for us that the French work on Good Friday and Easter Saturday, shops are closed on Sunday (though markets are unaffected) and it's business as usual on Easter Monday. So, not much of a long weekend hereabouts, then. We woke on Easter Sunday to a concerto of church bells, which was lovely; in fact, being so close to the church, the first thing I hear each morning is church bells and doves.

Over the weekend, we spent some time sampling the delights of various shops - looking for a hand basin to suit upstairs (the one we chose last summer being out of production now), researching budget kitchen options (nil), and stocking the little fridge in our studio accommodation ready for our customary daily picnic.

On Sunday we wandered round the local market and bought fruit, cabecou (chêvre) and olive oil soap before heading off for lunch with our estate-agent-now-friend Vero, her husband Erik, and their daughter Camille. We lost count of the courses - an incredible meal  - and what fun we had. Then back home via the barn and tea with our new (English) neighbours.

The weather has been changeable: heavy marching rain clouds and bursts of sunshine; chilly nights but pleasant days. We've been glad of the shelter in the barn, which, though empty and of course still unheated, nevertheless provides a secure, dry base through the windows of which to watch the weather in the valley below.

The kitchen saga has run its course. We have decided after all to stick to plan A and use the cupboard with the stainless steel surface that we found at Troc last summer. It isn't a brilliant fit, so it's not going to be efficient or sophisticated, but we like it, and we will cobble together other bits and pieces as we find (or can afford) them. The kitchen business is a licence to print money. That's all I'm saying.

This afternoon, with a huge bank of storm clouds building overhead, we had fun at the local plant nursery, choosing various hedging plants that will help screen us from the road below. We had the brilliant idea of spreading weed mat in the car to protect it :) Who needs a camion, when a brand-new VW Polo hire car will do? You can see from the photos that the storm cleared and we had a warm afternoon.

Note also the bare limbs of the walnut tree, which, according to Jean-Marie, is more and more sluggish in response to Spring each year, a sure sign of age.By contrast, the self-seeded walnut tree which emerges on the road side of the dépendance (and which will one day destroy it), is already in leaf...

Back at the barn, we unpacked the plants and then spent the next hour or so chatting with one neighbour or another as they wandered past on their daily constitutional. I use the term 'chatting' loosely, you understand. They seem, to a (wo)man, enthusiastic about the barn. But I find every last one of them almost impossible to understand (their local accents and my fragile French a killer combination), so if their opinion is unfavourable, I remain in blissful ignorance!

Tomorrow, we'll start planting - very exciting. Until the inevitable arm-numbing 'Ting!' as the bêche hits the ardoise slate lurking just below the surface, that is.

We have yet to start painting the shutters - perhaps next week?

Very good Friday

19 April 2014

As G and I drove towards the barn yesterday, I thought I would burst with anticipation. The countryside is in full Spring glory - trees in leaf, buttercups and clover in the fields, birds swooping and sweetly tweeting, bees busy in the hedgerows.  Suddenly, there she was, standing steadfast, high on the hill.

We stepped over the threshold together, into the quiet space and slowly began to make her acquaintance.  Photos are all well and good, but they fail to convey atmosphere. The chunkiness of the stair treads and poles; the height of the ceilings; the light streaming in (even on an overcast day, as it was yesterday); the textures of wood and stone and plaster; the extraordinary view... It was unbelievable, after all this time, to be able to wander about and examine everything at leisure, and alone.

The engineered oak flooring has been laid upstairs, and it is a great choice. The boards look aged and almost as if they've been there for ever. We really like the rustic effect. Apparently Tom et al. were on hands and knees before our arrival, cleaning the floor (with a mixture of oil and white spirit) in anxious anticipation of our inspection!

I especially like the 'nibbled' edges of the boards, which are about 18 cm wide.

Stair and balustrade detail 

Tom's cupboard, which will lie alongside the bath. The red and blue pipes sticking out of the wall are for the hand basin (L) and radiator (R), respectively; the pipes sticking out of the floor are supply and drainage for the bath.

 The floor is still slightly oily, so we had to be careful not to track oily footprints on the still brut stairs. I made a particularly fetching pair of theatre bootees from rags. Orders taken.

Jean-Marie (son of neighbour) had been busy and had mown the grass around the barn, so it felt very welcoming for our arrival. The apple trees are in bloom, even - I should say especially - the St Germain closest to the barn which I fear has been traumatised by the grading and levelling of the terrasse. Perhaps we will get away with it, after all.

Our cream EDF meter box is visible on the roadside, on the perimeter of the property.

The shower room still has a way to go. The waterproof Wedi board (which Charles will tile) is yet to come, so that corner is unfinished. Happily, the room does not feel like a lift shaft, despite the high ceiling.

The cubby hole above the mass of pipes behind the toilet. The idea is that there will be a manifold and two shut-off taps here, one so we can drain the pipe to the outside tap, and one so that we can shut off the water when we are away. Brian and Tom together wanted to surprise us with a little light fixture set in the roof of the cubby, to show off its secret interior depths. Brian was quite disappointed when we discovered it on our own!

No, not a Miro. A Chas. (For the hotwater tank and basin, though G and I must look shorter than we are, as those basin pipes look remarkably low.)

We have quite a bit to do over the next few days: we want to do another coat of paint on the shutters; choose a hand basin for upstairs and a shower head for downstairs; measure up the kitchenette and perhaps find a kitchen sink...

Today we spent time in the hardware shop, gathering brushes, drop sheets, gloves etc for the painting, and it occurred to me: it's an awfully long way to go to get a Bunnings fix!

Paint, upstairs flooring and bath

10 April 2014

The Farrow & Ball paint arrived at Tom's on Tuesday without a hiccup. Phew.

Charles has been in touch several times in the last couple of days, describing his limited success in finding the sanitaryware we chose last summer - some of it is out of stock or discontinued - and so we will have to hit the mega stores in Brive on Good Friday (not a holiday in France) or Easter Saturday, to find replacements.  Ah well.

We gather that this week, the placement of the bath and basin water supply/drainage upstairs becomes critical, since the flooring is going down as I type. There have been some last-minute adjustments to the guesstimates that we were working from, since now at least Charles and Tom have the advantage of being able to stand in the room and see the space available. G and I had spent a comical evening many weeks ago now, trying to mock-up the relationship between the bath (of unknown height) and the sloping ceiling such that getting in and out of the bath would be possible without cowering. Picture us  - one holding the tape measure at an angle in mid-air;  the other climbing fully clothed in and out and in and out and in and out of the bath, trying to demonstrate a spectrum of bath user-friendliness. A bit like having to work out two unknown angles of a triangle knowing only that you must. And that you really hate geometry.

But I digress.

The very best of upstairs downstairs - Update # 18

4 April 2014

Phil has been busy at the barn, and this morning's photos show his handiwork.  What do you think? We think: WOW! That's one handsome set of stairs right there: stairs with attitude; robust and unapologetic. Industrial. Perfect.

See that lateral limon (stringer)? Isn't it gorgeous?

The treads and limon are all in oak...

End of Day #1...

... and end of Day # 2.

To quote Phil: " Nearly there, just the top two treads, handrail and bits and bats to finish, hope you like it."

We don't like it, Phil; we love it.

Stairs and plumbing update and paint logistics

3 April 2014

The blacksmith had all the metalwork ready for collection on Monday, so the stairs are going in this week. I'm looking forward to seeing them in situ, after all the designing and cogitating over months and months...

Chas says that he has begun receiving the sanitaryware, and is expecting the rest soon. He has yet to order the stove.

Paint for the downstairs concrete floor has been top-of-mind this week. G ad I have chosen a colour - Farrow's Cream # 67 - which gets good reviews on the Farrow & Ball website, and is not unlike the colour of our laundry floor here in Sydney. A warm, buttery colour with a dash of honey, which should be good even on the dreariest of days, and lovely at night under artificial light.

Having chosen the colour, we thought hey hey, just hit the online shopping tab and it'll be a breeze. Well, it was easy enough, but unfortunately the French prices were almost double the UK prices, with delivery to France on top of that. G was galvanised into action and found a very handy company (http://www.sterlingshopping.co.uk) that has a depot in the UK and delivers stuff to depots all round France. They would be able to deliver to Thiviers for GBP15 - not bad at all. But, in the end, my dishonesty won the day and I simply rang the company and gave them my UK address - G's aunt's address ;) - and voila! Farrow's Cream at UK prices.

The paint will now be delivered to Tom's home next week, and now all we have to do is hold thumbs that someone will be home to receive it.