Life In 79

Anna wants a new dishwasher. I’d rather wash-up by hand, I like washing by hand, it’s simple. A dishwasher is something else to break down, then there’s the loading and the unloading, the food that always sticks; the washing tablet that fails to come out of its little door. Part of the reason we moved to France was for a simpler, more laid back life. A sort of Catherine Cookson existence, working in the field during the day, eating a chunk of cheese and bread from a piece of gingham cloth. In the evening we’d sit around the fire, I’d be quaffing wine from a pewter tankard and Anna would be doing some needle point, or singing. On Sundays we’d go for a picnic in our hay wain or help our French neighbours erect a barn. After a day of tilling the earth did Jean de Florette start unloading the dishwasher? No! After being caught in the rain, when it eventually arrived, did he tumble-dry his jerkin? No! When he wanted to know the weather, did he reach for his iPad or boot up his computer? No,...

I t is nearly a year since Anna and Stephen Shaw upped sticks, moved to France and took over the running of ‘The Deux-Sèvres Monthly’ magazine. Never having done anything like this before, it was less of a learning curve, more of a vertical line. But what had they been doing before they decided to shake their lives up like so many before them? This is their story. “ Where are you from?”  Asked Anna the young Aberdonian drama student. “ Oh you won’t have heard of it. I’m from a small town near Watford called Rickmansworth”.  Replied Stephen, another young drama student. “ I worked as a nanny in Rickmansworth, before coming to drama school. It was the worst year of my life.” And so it was the two drama students first met. Little did they know, thirty three years, two children, several houses and one ageing Labrador later, they would be moving to rural France to start the next chapter of their life. After graduating from Mountview Theatre School in Crouch End, North London with d...

It was yet another Bank Holiday in France and we were discussing how beautifully clear the roads were compared to the UK. We were on our way to the Île de Ré for the day. We had visited La Rochelle many times (with a long list of friends and relatives) and seen the promised land in the distant, but had never travelled that extra 2.9km over the bridge linking the two. As a family we had always been intrigued by the notion of the donkeys in pyjamas, who inhabited the 30km by 5km wide island and although we had a long list of reasons for the trip, secretly we wanted to see a donkey in PJs.   “The larger than average breed of donkey was used to work the land, particularly the salt marshes. To protect them from mosquito and other bug bites, their owners made them special 'leggings”. Proir to the trip I had done some limited research and was nonchalantly throwing facts and figures into the conversation, for example   “Île de Ré was originally an archipelago consisting of three islan...

We said goodbye to central heating and comprehensive insulation when we moved to rural France permanently in March, we now have to rely on log burners. Okay it’s December...but it’s not really cold. Anna has become obsessed with the log burners at either end of our house. She is like Casey Jones on the footplate stoking the engine, or both engines in our case. As I look out of the window, I watch her going back and forth with barrow-loads of wood. We are going to get through our winter supply of logs within a fortnight! Being Scottish you would have thought she would be used to a chill wind. The log burners have replaced the remote control for living room-based disagreements. “It’s a bit nippy in here” she‘ll say “I’ll just pop another log in”. I plead with her not to, the dog has passed out. The log burner in the lounge is a sizable beast and when it gets going it cranks out some serious heat...like the fires of Mordor it rages. When I look through the glass I can see Shadrach, Meshac...

All of us have a special place, where we can ruminate on life and all it throws at us. We have a bench by a pond (not the most beautiful pond as it leaks, is half empty and covered in duckweed), where we have a cup or glass of something, stare into the muddy depths and drift in our thoughts. Across the water spans a rotten wooden bridge, like something out of ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’. It has only ever been crossed by the dog and drunken revellers. The pond is home to an amazing array of frogs and toads, which like to sun themselves at the edge of the butyl liner. Whenever we pass there is a moment of surprise when 50 to 60 frogs hurl themselves through the air into the water, in the most spectacular display of synchronised diving. They even throw themselves off the rickety bridge. In the same way the Japanese rake gravel in their zen gardens, Anna scoops the duckweed from the surface in long, sweeping movements. Ommm! In particular in this month of commemoration it is imp...

September has been a month of visitors, some planned, some not. Our friends were over from the UK and we were sitting around the breakfast table, I was frying eggs, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something pop out from behind a cupboard, run along the skirting board and disappear behind the fridge, I shrieked like a small child, as my hand tightened around the spatula.  Just as I had recovered my composure the intruder popped out again, heading towards the open back door, but at the last minute diverted into the cupboard where we keep all the dog food. After a thorough search of the cupboard, breakfast was resumed. Ten minutes later a loud munching started coming from the direction of the cupboard... That evening as our invited guests were readying for bed two frelons, several moths and those things that look like eyebrows had to be ejected from their room. My friend, who has Hyacinth Bucket tendencies, was in a state of shock. All part and parcel of living in rural France....

Last month Anna returned to the UK for a week so I was left, for the first time, in rural France, alone!   The mind is a devious thing. The sounds in the night, the shadows in the corner of the room. I reverted to childhood, checking under beds and in cupboards to make sure no one was lurking; started having prolonged conversations with the dog - madness was just around the corner! Then Anna returned and normality resumed.  Despite the lack of rain the vegetable garden has been in full flow this month so we have been ‘eating the rainbow’ as the vegetarians say. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays we have courgette soup, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays squash soup and on Sundays we ring the changes and have squash and courgette soup.   Apologies for the picture but we couldn’t resist. On the recommendation of one of our contributors we visited the amazing Château de Brézé, near Montreuil-Bellay. It was an amazing place and well worth a visit. Anyway, enough of my prattlin...