More wine tasting

After a picnic lunch at Elie's in Sommieres today, with James and Pauline, it was off for a little wine tasting over in Pic Saint Loup.

This was instigated after drinking a wonderful bottle of Domaine de L'Hortus (Grand Cuvee 2007) last night. I'm talking a seriously good red here, the best I've had in a long time. So we set off trying to find something nice at one of the other vineyards that we hadn't yet visited.

First was Ermitage du Pic Saint Loup above St Mathieu de Treviers followed by Chateau de Lancyre. Interestingly, I wasn't massively enamoured by the reds, not that they weren't good they just didn't ring my bell, but I loved both their top end whites.

From Ermitage it was a Roussanne, Clairette, Marsanne, Grenache mix and in the case of Lancyre a lovely Roussanne Marsanne mix. Both excellent and highly recommended.

And, before you start complaining, just remember that all this information is for free.

Thank you

Wow, you are such nice people. Thank you so much for all your kind messages of support.

Rest In Peace

It's been a very difficult few days for my son James and his wife Pauline. Their first child, Constantin, was born prematurely this week and he lived for less than a day.

Rest in peace little one.

Red, red wine

One of the enduring activities in our village, and no doubt thousands of others throughout France, is the annual open air get together, under some disguise or other, where the villagers come out and party.

We were eating dinner outside on the kitchen terrace last night and the live entertainment, for the first of such events this year, over at the village hall about half a kilometre away, kicked off. Normally we attend these events but we have my son James staying with us at the moment and, as he doesn't eat meat, decided to give the event a miss. To the French around here, when you mention the word vegetarian, they look at you in disbelief and then say 'but he does eat chicken?'

Anyway, despite the distance, the band were very good. We listened to very good reproductions of classic 60s hits all in perfect English. We could have been at home (you were! - Ed). God knows how loud it must have been at the stage.

J may be vegetarian but he does like a drink (not so much a chip off the block, more like a drop out of the bucket - Ed) so we decided to open a box of Spanish wine that had been very kindly given to us by friends in Barcelona. I know the friend 'knows his stuff', so was looking forward to finding a little treasure trove. It was. Jan had made spaghetti putanesca so we were looking for a nice red and we found one. Star of the show was a Bodega Los Astrales 2005 from Ribera del Duero. A big, very meaty (sorry James), very well made, red, that was just excellent.

Padre Pio

Knowing the area quite well because it is only 30 minutes from Foggia, where my mother comes from, and in particular the veneration given by the locals to Padre Pio (or Saint Pio to give him his more recent name) I have a problem with them digging him up and then putting his body on display. If I understand correctly, what you can see is a mask and not his actual face. You might as well be looking at a wax effigy. This is nothing other than gruesome. What's the point?
The last time we were there, in San Giovanni Rotondo, I couldn't wait to get out of the place. I drove my mum there because she wanted to make a pilgrimage, fair enough, but when I saw the hundreds of stalls selling cheap, tawdry, tourist tat, it made me feel very, very angry. (Sort of Jesus in the temple? - Ed)

The visit however was not without a very spooky side. By way of background, I had a Catholic upbringing, was taught by Jesuits, but I am not at all religious. I also never stop to pick up hitch-hikers. Leaving San Giovanni, we were turning a corner to drive down the mountain side when I saw a grey haired old lady wearing typical black mourning dress, grey crinkly stockings and struggling to carry two large bags containing water bottles, with additional bottles under her arms. I would have struggled with it, never mind her. She wasn't asking for a lift but she obviously needed help. In the blink of an eye I asked Jan if we should stop and before she had time to answer I pulled over and asked the lady if she needed a hand.

She climbed in the back and sat silently whilst I attempted to put her at ease. I chatted to her in my less than perfect Italian and by way of explanation told her why we were there and why we spoke imperfect Italian.

She responded by saying that she lived at the foot of the hill, that her well had run dry and that she needed to get some water for cooking and cleaning. I felt sorry for her and inside was glad that I could help. She also said that she had visited England once and how much she liked it. I thought that it was a strange comment because she looked so impoverished and you would never have guessed that she would have travelled abroad.

In order to keep the conversation going I asked where in England she visited and she replied that she worked for a short time in the north of the country. I asked where and she said Harrogate, my home town. Laughing at the coincidence I asked where she worked and she replied in the maternity ward, at the general hospital. I asked when and she replied between March and April 1976.

I have never been so spooked in all my life. The hair, quite literally, stood up on the back of my neck.

My son James was born on 3rd April 1976 at Harrogate General Hospital.

She was there at that time and in some way she would have contributed to his birth. By some massive twist of fate I was able to say thank you.

A small world

Before taking J&P to the airport we had to pop into Nîmes to pick up translations of some of their documents. This would then finalize the paperwork for the wedding. Did you know that you could get a Certificate of Non Impediment (to confirm that you are single) from the Registrars in England? This was one of the documents that had to be translated, but why it isn't issued in several languages, or more to the point, the languages of the countries that require it, beats me. Anyway, what was interesting was that the French lady translator lived near Harrogate, for 14 years, where James was born. How weird.

***

Having finally tired of family and parties, we did nothing but slump for the rest of the day, and I was particularly happy because I got to watch the German Grand Prix and an exciting final to the golf at the British Open. Bliss.

Keep your eyes on the road!

In your wildest dreams would you think that a woman could be thrown off a bus because her cleavage was distracting the driver. Well, look here. I wonder how many men click the link on the bottom right?

***

James and Pauline arrived today to finalise things for their wedding in September. That means that muggins here will be very busy driving here there and everywhere sorting out knives and forks, blood tests, refrigerated lorries and other mind boggling minutiae. Mind you, a nice lunch at Le Ciel de Nîmes is planned for tomorrow, so it's not all bad.

***

Bryan, who I don't think is Welsh, sent me this under the heading "Never forget you are Welsh."

A farmer was out on his Welsh hillside tending his flock one day, when he saw a man drinking with a cupped hand from the stream which ran down from one of his fields. Realising the danger, he shouted over to the man,

"Paid a yfed y dwr! Mae'n ych-y-fi!" (Don't drink the water. It's disgusting!)

The man at the stream lifted his head and put a cupped hand to his ear, shrugged his shoulders at the farmer, and carried on drinking. Realising the man at the stream couldn't hear him, the farmer moved closer.

"Paid a yfed! Dwr ych-y-fi! Defaid yn cachu yn y dwr!" (Don't drink. Water's disgusting. Sheep crap in the water.)

Still the walker couldn't hear the farmer. So finally the farmer walked right up to the man at the stream and once again said,

"Dwr yn ych-y-fi! Paid a'i yfed!". (Water's disgusting. Don't drink it!)

" I'm dreadfully sorry my good man, I couldn't understand a word you said dear boy! Can't you speak English???" said the man at the stream in a fine English accent.

"Oh I see" said the farmer. "I was just saying, that if you use both hands you can get more in..."

I need to lie down

Two major shocks within 12 hours, but happily I survived them both. First, my son James called last night at midnight. Now I don't know about you but phone calls at midnight are not usually good news. Either someone is in trouble and they need help or someone is drunk and they need a smack in the mouth. It was the former. James had been talking to my mother on the phone, they got cut off and James feared that something had happened to her. Needless to say we both tried to call her back but the call diverted straight to the BT answering service indicating that the phone was 'off the hook'. To cut a long story short we managed to get hold of her at 10.30 local this morning and explained that we had been fearing the worst. Don't you just hate it when people say, "Sorreeeee," in that whiny way, indicating that they don't really mean it?

***

The second shock came this morning. There I was reading this and stumbled across a description of making 'spaghetti alla carbonara' with peas. Well, I nearly fell off my perch and banged my head. What an awful mistake As any fule no the ingredients for a carbonara sauce contains only eggs, parmesan and pancetta. What's the world coming to? Get a grip woman, and you a trainer as well. Goodness knows what information you fed those poor mutts?

A sick machine

Jan's computer has been playing up for several weeks and, despite my best endeavours, I haven't been able to fix it. It's a strange problem inasmuch as she can access some web pages and not others and she can receive emails but not send. I've tried all the obvious things but finally asked this nice man who has just opened in Quissac, to investigate. He spent an hour trying various things (a lot of which I had tried, which made me feel better) but couldn't sort it out. He took the box away, presumably to hit it with a hammer, and said he'd report back. We'll see.

***

It's my son James' birthday today. Happy birthday son!

I need meat!

James and Pauline left at lunch time having spent a feverish few days sorting things out for their wedding here in September. They have decided to hold a reception for all their guests on the terrace of the Carre D'Art in Nimes on the Friday evening and then have their wedding reception here on the terrace on the Saturday. It all looks good, with the exception that they only want about 120, of the 170 guests that they have invited, to actually turn up. There's a moral there somewhere! Anyway, the upside of their departure is that I get a break from eating bloody fish and vegetables. All I wanted was a big chunk of meat. So, what did Jan cook for dinner? Kedgeree! Not quite what you would call 'finger on the pulse!'

***

I braced myself to watch England play Andorra tonight. The last match against Israel was not good to watch and I'm getting close to giving up on them. There was nothing about tonight's performance that gives much hope for the future. The manager, McClaren, defended his group of millionaire wunderkinds as they laboured to beat what was nothing better than a pub team. In fact the group of Andorran part-timers (they only have TWO full-time professional players) outplayed the English team quite comfortably at times. What hope then when they meet a very good side, like my beloved Italy (you fink - Ed).

Sanglier

We're going to eat sanglier, wild boar. We had an old (well new actually) oven to get rid of because Jan didn't like it. We had offered it to Claudie, a lady in the village, for her new house (an old empty hotel with 400 m2 on the ground floor) in Aveyron, which she had purchased with her brother for 49000 euros. Whilst it was an exceptional price for such a large property with a lot of land, it is right on top of the Massive Central and it gets very, very cold up there in winter. Anyway, her hunter hubby, Jean Pierre, who famously got shot in his ass once, came to fetch the oven this morning and he said that they killed three sanglier yesterday, two on the hill opposite us and one elsewhere. By way of thank you they turned up with a carrier bag of sanglier meat. Claudie's first instruction was put it in the freezer for a minimum of 5 days to kill all the bugs. Great, sounds very appetising! Now all Jan has to do is figure out how to cook it. Probably with a lot of disinfectant. I can't wait.

***

James and Pauline returned to England this afternoon and we're sorry to see them go. They both enjoy this part of the world and their enthusiasm for the lifestyle and countryside is refreshing. Max and Min got lots of walks as well, so I guess they will miss them too.

Wet and Dry

What a dramatic change in the weather this morning. At least I got the chance to survey the damage and make some repairs. The water in the garage was not reducing very quickly so it was just as well that we bought a wet and dry vac yesterday. These machines are great (it doesn't take much to keep you happy! - Ed.). The vac has a 29 litres capacity and by the time I'd finished I reckon that it had removed the best part of 80 litres of water. No wonder it wasn't evaporating very quickly. I bet you find it difficult to contain your excitement at seeing the picture of our new vac above.

***

James, Pauline, William, Christine, Jan and I (strange but out of the five previous very English Christian names, one person is German and two are French) ate at Mas de Roux last night. And, whilst we are into statistics, five of us had the same fish and yours truly had a slab of meat. I should be able to read something into that? (Yeah, have you written your will? - Ed.)

A marriage made in France

During tennis this morning William mentioned that he had also been invited to a mushroom hunt with Vincent yesterday. I told him that if I'd known that he was going I'd have gone too and proceeded to tell him why I refused. He thought that this was very funny and admitted that he couldn't understand Vincent either. Next time we will both go.

***

Whilst we were both in Decathlon picking up our newly serviced bikes, James (my No 1 son) rang this afternoon to tell me that he was now engaged to Pauline (Powlina - the German pronunciation)) and that they planned to get married next year. He further asked if we minded if they got married in France with a reception at our place. This was very unexpected but we were both absolutely delighted. Call me old fashioned, but I do like to see the next generation getting married rather than just living together. Anyway, we've held big parties before and a wedding is no different (except there are more fights!) so it will be fun.