Never wake a sleepwalker

3 September 2016

Back in harness, G on Monday; me on Tuesday. And it's hard to be enthusiastic. Sydney is making a big effort - Spring has sprung, there are cherry trees in blossom between home and the station, the sunshine is streaming in and the daytime temperatures have risen significantly since we left. It's perfect café weather. And yet.

And yet, I find myself dreaming of my garden on the other side of the world. And I could swear there was a bag of Maltesers in the door of the fridge. Oh - wrong fridge.

The carte grise of the car arrived after three working days, I kid you not. So we are now the proud registered owners of a wee French car. And what a great little car she is proving to be. We found out from the insurance company (since there are no markings to indicate) that she is a Privilege, which means there are all sorts of little extras and G spent several hours getting acquainted. By that I mean, sitting in the driver's seat, car stationary in the driveway, fiddling with all the controls and gadgets. I may even have a photo and if pressed, could do a reasonable impression of a David Attenborough voice-over: "Modern camera techniques and infinite patience award us with a very rare sighting indeed: the male of the species spends long hours investigating and trialling car controls, while the female...."

Another coat of stain on the shed did absolutely nothing to improve its looks. Clearly the wood had been pretreated, and now it simply repels and rejects anything that might be applied. Unfortunately, it looks as if a mad impressionist painter has had a go at it - streaks and slops and alternating pale and dark patches belie the skill and perseverence of yours truly. Ah well, I am reassured by everyone that it will weather in and at least I know - I know - it has some protection against the rain and sun, even if the look of the thing is like nails on a chalkboard for me. Told you I was a princess.

Daughter C and I also stained and protected the hayricks with the same chêne ancien stuff and after only one coat they have come up beautifully. I have left them propped against the walls, but one day we'll maybe hang them up. They make a great conversation starter, as in 'D'you know what those are for?'

There is pleasure to be had in desultory conversation and a simple task 

Slothful friend and rain chain (with cups) in the foreground

Ooh look, the sloth stirreth from his slumberth!

During our last week the heat was intense and old friend and three-day visitor C had to abandon the dépendance for the relative cool of the tent under the walnut tree, while daughter C became reacquainted with the sofa and her Dad's snoring prowess.

During the day, we indulged in desultory conversation while going about our various pursuits: friend C working on his ant empire, daughter C on job applications, G on fixing the hole behind the downstairs toilet, and me painting, planting, and finding joy in the smallest of domestic duties. Taking the compost down to the rusty drum beneath the fig tree; washing a few dishes; picking meadow flowers for the vases in the dép. and toilet niche; preparing a salad with blood-red, bursting-with-flavour-but-not-pretty coeur de boeuf tomatoes...It's all a pleasure when you're happy to be alive.

New shed doubling as a handy saw-horse

Ain't he clever?

Old iron detail from on old door hinge found in the dépendance

Meadow loosely demarcated to show curious passers-by that we do, indeed, mean for it to be there

I know, it's a tough gig - the porch is the place for almost every meal

Tuesday evening we headed for Le Saillant, to the weekly night market that takes place in July and August. We're almost blasé now. We know, now, that parking in the village is a matter of find a spot - any spot - and be assertive. To hell with road rules, common sense and being considerate. Park the car and quickly move away, following the trundling clusters of people all making their way towards the   the Inner Circle of producers of fine food. We know to waste no time staking our claim to one of the trestle tables, many of them distorted by the weather, that are laid out in rows - there must be hundreds of them in total. We lay our cloth down, put out some brought-from-home nibbles, wine glasses (Please, plastic? You must be joking!)...and then we hit the stalls to avoid the later queues.

We indulge in a slow meander around, choosing one, two, three cheeses (as friend C says, there can  never be too much cheese)  - a Tomme de brebis, a couple of crémeux (aux herbes de Provence; au paprika), perhaps a little  reblochon - a couple of (pour ce soir) coeur de boeuf tomatoes, a pain de la campagne, une barquette fraises ou framboises, a bottle of locally-produced Chant d'Ardoise vin rouge (or rosé)...and that's just for starters.

By the time we settle down to sharing our spoils, the place is beginning to jump - family groups everywhere, setting up their own picnic tables, splitting up into hunting/gathering parties - the music has begun and the blustering heat is starting to lose its grip, thanks to sun-filter poplars standing tall nearby. There's no hurry now; our hunger now is merely for new taste sensations, and the wine is starting to take its soporific effect. C'est la belle vie. Life is good.

But then, what else is there to eat? There's fresh meat, (to be cooked over the communal half 40-gallon drum BBQs set up one one side), moules, crêpes, or, our favourite, whole truite avec sauce, barbecued right in front of you and served unceremoniously on a plastic plate. That, with a handful of crisp frites, or a hunk of crusty bread and a salad. Now we're talking.

By now, the music is beginning to dominate, and, let me tell you, it's not on your playlist. There's a lot of line dancing going on, the noise levels are rising, and it's well into the second verse of...

Picnic time for Teddy Bears

The little Teddy Bears are having

A lovely time today.

Watch them, catch them unawares,

And see them picnic on their holiday.

See them gaily dance about.

They love to play and shout,

They never have any care;

At six o'clock their Mommies and Daddies

Will take them home to bed,

Because they're tired little Teddy Bears

Every Teddy Bear who's been good

Is sure of a treat today.

There's lots of marvelous things to eat

And wonderful games to play.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrvkHAxnjzI

Old friends

...except it's nearly ten o'clock, and the sun has just set, when these tired teddy bears, seams straining,  wend their weary way home for a last cup of green tea and a spot of stargazing.

Early morning walk and a stop to say hello to the locals :)

On Wednesday, friend C was whisked away to Pompadour in an unusual and probably-too-late bid for Hosts of the Year. There we gawped at the stunning chateau (from beyond the moat, not far from the carpark, in fact, being too cheap to pay the entrance fee) and the hippodrome, before rounding off the extravaganza with a cleansing...crème. Very nice it was, too.

If you look carefully, you can just make out the Chateau

St Robert location shot

Then it was a countdown to Time To Head to the Station, to drop friend C and collect daughter's boyfriend A. No trip to the station or airport would be complete without a scenic detour via the déchetterie, however, which can be relied upon to give a nice white-knuckle edge to an otherwise dull experience. Happily, we arrived in time to get C on the train (OK, so we did have to jump from a moving car and run along the platform yelling our goodbyes) - that's the main thing. And A 's train was late, so again we looked like Cool and Cucumber when he arrived. And Gooseberry.

Cute-as-a-button and very handy - an old sewing tidy

The last two days went by in a blur of last-minute tiny ooh-I-could-just jobs. I covered the rockery with weed mat, with a little help from C and A who brought rocks with only the odd little grumble about heat and holidays and Do we really need more? G collected the dishwasher (compact) and installed it under the sink (it's fab), and we had our by-now-customary penultimate day in Brive, shopping for little gifts, stocking up on Decathlon T-shirts, enjoying a coffee in a baking pavement cafe... all the while backing away from the edge of the abyss of the impending journey and return to reality.

Which brings me to my point. Home is where the heart is. Just saying.