Life In 79

February isn't the best time of year to see the Deux-Sèvres at its finest, but that was when my brother and father flew into town. The weather was terrible, everything was shut but luckily we all love an excuse to drink and eat to excess and have a good laugh or 'craic' as my brother kept calling it (he has recently gained Irish citizenship).  Dad has a dicky knee and can't walk too far as well as bladder issues, so with these factors in mind an itinerary of events had been crafted. I informed him that France was the place to be if you had to relieve yourself at the side of the road...positively encouraged. He was like an old Tom cat piddling his way around 79.  The itinerary went something like: Monday evening - big slap-up meal on arrival, Tuesday - we head south culminating in a big slap-up meal in Niort, Wednesday - head north culminating in a big slap-up meal in Thouars, Thursday - play it by ear, maybe Saumur, maybe La Rochelle, but a big slap-up meal. Friday (dep...

“We're going to the truffle market” Anna, my wife, stated. These were not usually the words I wanted to hear on a Saturday morning after a week's work. I am a creature of comfort and enjoy nothing more than sitting on my backside watching telly; the thought of having to engage with the outside word fills me with dread. But, it was January...freezing outside and in. However many logs we chucked into the log burner the house didn't seem to warm up; I could see my breath when I entered the kitchen and had more layers than a lasagne. So the thought of driving around in the car with the heater on maximum did appeal somewhat.   The market was in Availles-Thouarsais (a small village near Airvault). From quite a way off the country roads seemed busy for a Saturday morning and the line of traffic was just going the one way. Everyone was heading to truffle town.   On our arrival I asked Anna if we could drive about a bit longer, she declined my offer. “Well if I'm good at the tru...

“Where are we meeting them?”... “The Eiffel Tower.”...“Well that shouldn't be too difficult to find.” We were in Paris for a pre Christmas 'Hoorah' with our son and his wife.   Our hotel had informed us that morning, 'due to technical problems', we were being moved to one of their sister hotels, which barely made it onto the map. But we were staying positive. Even after the taxi driver had had a go at us for not being able to pay with cash we were staying positive...even after discovering our room didn't have tea and coffee making facilities we were staying positive (nothing like a glass of tepid water first thing in the morning). We hadn't seen Murray and Emma since they announced they are having a baby in early June. We are going to become grandparents! Grandpa and Granny!   The parents-to-be were venturing up to the second floor of the tower, and as I get queasy changing a light bulb we were to meet them when they came down.   After the first of several e...

I was awoken by a stirring under the duvet. At first I thought it was Anna, my wife, getting fresh. I then remembered she had shipped out to the spare room earlier that night. There it was again...pulling the cover back I saw a mouse running hither and thither across the bed. Eek!   As I readied myself for work: sandwich in bag, jacket on, car keys, phone, wallet ...I sat down to put my boots on...foot in...hang on? ...felt like there was something stuck in my boot...shake, shake...you guessed it, out plops a sizeable rodent. Eek eek! This has got to stop!   Our first ferrel cat would bring woodland creatures into the house, 'play' with them, then eat them (apart from voles). We thought our second ferrel cat was not into this hunter/gatherer behaviour. How wrong we were. She must have come of age as now brings in two or three mice daily, plays with them, then naffs off for a snooze. Leaving the mouse to scuttle off to some corner of the house. As I shuffle to the bathroom in t...

“We're going camping” Anna, my wife, announced one evening. She had been rootling in a cupboard and found our old family tent. So we were off to the Île de Ré for a night under the stars. The cat looked very confused as we lined up three meals for her in our absence. She seemed to think we had introduced a buffet system for her dining pleasure. Before we got in the car on Saturday morning she was well into Sunday morning's pouch.   When we rocked up to the campsite on the outskirts of Saint-Martin-de-Ré we were surprised to see how camping amenities had progressed since we last camped twenty years ago. Every pitch was ten metres square (hedged on three sides for privacy), had its own electricity point, light and water source. Ooh! There were washrooms, a shop and a café. This was nothing like the cow field in Cromer where we used to go; staggering, in darkness, to the one loo (serving 200 people) on the other side of the field... trying not to trip on a neighbour's guy rope...

Not only was the summer of 2023 a bumper year for tomatoes and blackberries at chez Shaw, but we have had a never ending supply of friends and family visiting. Happy memories abound even though the waistline, like the cost of living, has increased exponentially and we don't know when it will stabilise.   It was like a Chinese laundry at times, with all the washing hanging on the line; the bottle bank took a pounding as did the scum line around the top of the swimming pool, from all the suntan lotion.   It is one of the great pleasures of living in France, 'making memories' (as everyone seems to say these days) with family and friends, who we have enjoyed spending time with.   As children we went on several Canvas Holidays in Normandy/Brittany. Piling into the car, a hodgepodge of suitcases strapped dangerously to the roof rack with an elasticated octopus. We would take it in turns to go in the boot of our estate car, not a seat belt in sight, sliding about with rest of th...

We sat on the terrace drinking wine, stuffing crisps in our faces and marvelling at the thunder and lightening, and wondering if, like   Jean de Florette , the storm would pass us by without a drop of rain falling. How wrong we were...the heavens opened and hailstones the size of marbles started pelting down.   Anna, my wife, realised she had left the roof of her car down and disappeared into the night shrieking. Her screams emanated from the darkness as her little head (she has to buy hats for children of 4-6 years of age), was peppered from above. The next day as we assessed the damage I felt a sense of loss seeing all the roses and potted geraniums, which had been looking glorious in a riot of colour, decimated to stalks and shredded leaves. The vegetable patch, whose content I had nurtured from seed looked as if someone had strafed it with a machine gun. And the water lily resembled a Swiss cheese.   Still, it was a dramatic opening to my brother's visit. He was with ...