It's getting hard

Peter, who has more illnesses than your local hospital, hasn't showed for tennis for some time, so Milton his partner, who, obviously tired of getting beaten, turned up with a ringer, René, this morning. It only took me two minutes to see that he could play so I whispered to William that we would have a fight on our hands and so it proved. We just managed to edge the first set 7-5 and were down 3-0 in the second before we got our act together. Game by game we pulled them back until we just won the second set 7-5 again. When René gets his eye in (he hasn't played for a couple of years) it will get even tougher. Should be fun.

***

We have finally got tired of the house filling with smoke every time we light a fire so we went in search of wood burning stoves this afternoon. They're not cheap but we found one we liked at Cheminees Decors du Sud. However, they can't instal until the end of next January when winter will virtually be over. Bum!

Your place or mine

According to the UN, France is the 10th best place in the world to live. First place goes to Iceland. I'll stick with tenth!

***

I have to congratulate the enterprising hooker who has recently purchased a big white van, fitted out with curtains, and who parks in a lay-by just outside Nîmes. You'd recognise the van because it is a) the only one ever there and b) it has party balloons on the nearside door handle. She has plied her trade from this lay-by for several years in a car and I have always wondered, amongst other things, where she, and her companions, went to do the deed. I wonder no more. She deserves an award for her enterprise. Anyone want to give her one? (Sorry I couldn't resist it!).

Guillon Whisky

Did you know that they make whisky in France? We were in Intermarché this afternoon and there it was, a French made single malt from the 'mountains of Reims'. This 'Grand Cru du Whisky' (note the Scottish spelling), Guillon Whiskey, from 51150 Louvois, is 43% vol. I'm no whisky expert but it seemed ok.

Name that road

Ah ha, it worked. The goose wandered out into the front garden this morning, allowing me to shut the gate behind it and keep it out of the pool area. What a mess it left behind (or rather, left its behind). The pool cover was covered in shit which, when I clean it off, I need to be careful not to sluice into the water below. Charming! Armed with a couple of brooms we shepherded our unwelcome visitor back into the village and safety. Safety from me because I have never eaten goose but more importantly from the dogs who came back from kennels this afternoon.

***

I've been inundated with suggestions about English motorway road names (well three actually and all from Nigel who lives near Stansted).

M11 - L'escape-route au Stansted Airport
M20 - Le Rat-run à La Manche
M25 - L'autoroute de Merde

Goose step

Good heavens, I'm celebrating a little milestone today because this is my 1000th journal entry. Thank you all for reading my scribblings. You know who you are!

***

We left H&E after breakfast this morning replete with their fabulous hospitality. Never have so few eaten so much and drunk so well. Thanks to you both.

***

A few days ago, before we left for Agen, we found a goose in the pool area and when we got back this afternoon it was still there. Goodness knows what it's been eating. It was sitting comfortably on the pool cover, gently undulating up and down as if it was sitting in water. We might have one dumb goose here! Anyway, we know where it normally lives, just a few doors away, so we'll try and get it back home tomorrow. It must have flown in because it had no direct access so I opened a gate to see if it would walk out. Strange what you have to do sometimes.

Ferme de Ramon

We made our annual pilgrimage to Ferme de Ramon in Aiguillon at lunch time. This is a duck farm and this is its open weekend. During the weekend they open up a big barn and add additional marquees where you can buy lots of local goodies like Armagnac, Champagne, Sauternes and cheese and also sit down to a duck fest. The barn is packed with people, mostly French and lots gets eaten and drunk. After our slap up feast we wandered round the stalls and shop buying some goodies for Christmas. This is what I wrote at this time last year. It still holds good.

Duras

After a delicious dinner last night of pheasant and some of H's Premier Grand Crus Claret (I've absolutely no idea what the poor people were eating), we waddled off this morning to explore the hinterland. The destination was Duras and in particular lunch at Dom Camillo, place Marguerite 0553 83 76 00, followed by a trip around Chateau de Duras. If you're hungry, Dom Camillo is the place to be. I was still stuffed from last night, and settled on an a cep filled omelette as a snack. When it arrived I nearly fell off my chair, it was a monster, it must have contained at least four eggs and a cup full of ceps. I was very nearly defeated, but sheer greed got me through. A good effort and highly recommended. I hope my doctor doesn't read this stuff, because I keep telling her that I eat like a sparrow (she only has to look at you to know you're lying, you idiot - Ed). Anyway, re-stuffed we all set off around the castle. What an interesting place but more to the point there was so much to see that by the time we'd finished I was hungry again. Just kidding! It was a fascinating place to visit and is well worth the effort. You won't be disappointed.

Aquitaine

This morning we quickly re-packed and headed off to the west of France, over towards Agen, to see friends H & E. This has become an annual pilgrimage that we look forward to. H & E are very generous hosts and we love to explore the countryside with them. Before we hit the motorway, we popped into Chateau des Hospitalier (above) for some of their lovely oak aged Merlot. Why we don't visit here more often is a mystery because they make lovely wine. Anyway, back to the motorways. The A9, which took us towards our turnoff at Narbonne, has the usual plethora of extra Brussels imposed E numbers, but is also called the Languedocienne. Tom Tom also told me that we were heading for L'autoroute des deux mers (joining the Atlantic and the Med) and this made me think that the French and Italians, who both give their motorways appropriate nice sounding names, have the right idea. This then made me think (shouldn't you be concentrating more on your driving? - Ed) what I would call the English M1. The best that I could come up with was the Route d'Ilkley Moor Bah Tat (a very English joke I'm afraid). What about the rest? A prize for the best ideas!

Sorry, got to go, I'm typing this on a French keyboard and it's making head hurt.

Joe Cocker 2 and a bit of Marseille

JC put on his usual fantastic performance last night. He obviously appeals to a very wide age range and they went wild as he knocked out all the old favourites. Goodness knows how long he can keep it up. He's older than me and, having sung in a band in my youth, I know how draining it can be. At times you'd have though he was ready for a coronary, but good on you JC, thank you, an excellent show.

Marseille isn't at all what I'd imagined but as Jan said, "What did you expect?" In the end I can best describe it as similar to Naples. If you've never been to Naples that's not much help but thinking about it it sort of makes sense. Both towns are huge ports on the Mediterranean with a very cosmopolitan mix of people. Both towns have heavy traffic (in Naples they drive beyond belief crazy) but both towns are attractive, you have to be careful with your belongings and they have an inescapable buzz. This morning we were both tired and our culture meters were running at nearly 100% so we didn't do much. Lunch was at L'Hippocampe, 14 Quai du Port, 0491 90 88 38 and very good it was too. Jan was keen to eat Bouillabaise which she described as fish soup with pieces of fish in it. I said, "Well, what did you expect?" We'll go back, spend a bit more time and explore.

Joe Cocker 1

I wonder if we qualify as groupies? Having last seen him in July in Carcassonne, we set off this afternoon to see Joe Cocker in concert in Marseilles. Neither of us has ever visited France's second city, mainly as a result of our friend Chris W getting mugged there one time. Funny how these things can put you off. But accompanied by my beloved bodyguard, (you just don't mess with Jan when she's pissed off) off we went.


I'd always realised that I had special powers. Psychic would best describe it (surely you mean psycho? - Ed). I have no idea what prompted me, but only two times in the last five years have I set the car's cruise control at the speed limit on the road into Nimes, and both times there has been a police speed check. How spooky is that?


Look I know I've written about this before, but on the autoroute to Marseille Tom Tom advised us that we were heading for the A7/E714/E80. It really makes me mad to think that there is a department of highly paid bureaucrats in Brussels re-numbering all the roads. Can anyone tell me why? The road has a number and it most certainly doesn't need another one let alone two. What's going on? Why doesn't someone stop this lunacy? Imagine this.


"Well what did you do today at the office Daddy?"


"Listen son its a bit too difficult to explain but let's just say that that I got tired of calling the Autoroute du Soleil the A7 so I gave it two new numbers to confuse the hell out of all those stupid motorists. That and I filled out my expenses which as you can probably imagine takes a long time to do."


"Thanks Daddy, will you read me a bedtime story?"

Winter maintenance

It was blowing a gale this morning. The morning that I had belatedly decided to cover the pool. Yes, I know I should have done it a month ago but something minor had prevented me from doing it until now. This morning I was ready. The wind was unbelievably strong but the good news was that it was blowing from the south and was quite warm. The bad news however was that it blew new leaves in as fast as we could fish them out.

We had four pairs of hands this time (Bryan and Gill came round to help) so it was relatively simple. I remember last year when there were just two of us and at one point one end of the cover dropped into the water and and started to sink. It was the devils own job to hold the cover proud of the water to let the new water drain away. Still we got it fixed easily this time and I've learnt my lesson.

It has just occurred to me that Bryan is a spitting image for Joe Cocker and Bryan has even been stopped in restaurants and asked for his autograph. I don't know who to feel more sorry for, Bryan or Joe Cocker. Anyway, this links nicely with tomorrow's expedition to Marseilles. Guess who we're going to see in concert?

Wave like a queen

Have you ever tried doing the queen wave? We were watching original footage of the queens wedding on the news in bed this morning and we were trying to imitate her wave (see what puerile imbeciles we are). It was a good laugh and I thought I'd got it, but Jan was hopeless. I tried to tell her that it's all in the wrist, but would she listen? I reckon it disqualifies her as a pretender to the throne. She said that she thought that I was an old queen anyway. Charming.

Finally got stuck into the Pate de Pezenas today. Mnnnn, not sure, and I understand why Jacqui doesn't like them. My guess would be that they're the forerunner of our present day mince pies. Ours had a subtle lamb taste but with a strong sweet taste of oranges. An unusual combination and anyone that's tried one mutters politely, but nobody raves. If you closed your eyes and thought of England you could imagine a mince pie. I mentioned this to Jan but would she listen?

Pézenas

That was an interesting day. We had to leave home at the ungodly hour of 08.30 because, along with 24 others, we joined a conducted tour of Pézenas. When younger I always considered conducted tours were for old fogies and now that I've joined that venerable band, I think they're a good idea. Whilst I can't say that the tour was wildly exciting, it was certainly interesting and we were shown courtyards, fabulous staircases (above) and gardens that we wouldn't have otherwise seen. Sunday morning is an excellent time to visit a town centre because there aren't too many people around and it's easier to move and stop as a group. Lunch at the Hotel Moliere was good.

At dinner with friends in the village last night we mentioned the trip to Pézenas and Christiane waxed lyrical about a speciality from the town called Petite Pâte de Pezenas. I promised to bring her some back and at the end of the tour we were shown where to buy them. They are supposedly made from a recipe left in the town by Clive of India. They consist of a mixture of mutton, suet, sugar and lemon peel in a pastry case. It was Sunday lunchtime and the town was shut but we found a patisserie that was open. Job done.

When we got back, Max managed to scale a two metre fence to get out of the garden. Oh to be young and in love again. Bloody dog!

Again, please

Poor old Max. He and Minnie sleep in the study and we have to pass through the study when we get up in the morning. It was just after 06.00, still dark outside and there he was, sitting and alert. He'd opened the door into the house, and was waiting for his breakfast and his first 'outing' of the day.

Just like a bloke, he had sex yesterday, realised/remembered how nice it was and woke up early hoping for another session. Jan, on the other hand, had other ideas. I was instructed to feed him on the lead, walk him round the garden (in the freezing cold) and bring him straight back in. I heard Jan mutter, "You're not going around to see that old slapper again," and, in order to distract him, Jan gave them both a cuddly toy to play with. That diversion worked for about ten minutes until Max remembered what all the fuss was about. He strutted around the house whining, resting his head on the settee arm like he does when he wants something, and expecting to be let out. When I think about it the similarities with the human species are amazing.