Life In 79

After our first child was born, my wife, Anna, said 'never again'...two years later, out popped number two. The memory is short. So it was with our latest camping trip. We perused our road atlas and La Tranche-sur-Mer was our agreed destination.   The campsite was booked, tent and inflatable mattress lobbed into the back of the Dacia, the cat's rotating feeder filled and we were off ...to the seaside.   I thought our last campsite was plush, this one was even plusher with swimming pool complex, café, boulangerie, gym ...there was even entertainment laid on in the shape of Clown Camembert (the French do love a clown), all for 28€. It was such glorious weather we decided to only erect the internal section of our tent, allowing for air to circulate as well as a view of the night sky through the netting. Beautiful. La Tranche-sur-Mer is north of La Rochelle and the golden sandy beaches give a panoramic view of the Ile de Ré. The town itself is quite nice but does have a touch o...

No sooner was the child born than Anna, my wife, was booked on to the first Ryanair flight back to the UK.   Our granddaughter had been born two and a half weeks early, which threw our plans out of the window. I was working and could wait a fortnight to meet Ari, 7lb 7oz (Ari as in R.E., not Ari as in 'Arry [Redknapp]). Anna couldn't wait to get her hands on new-born flesh so was flying over immediately, staying in a Travelodge for three nights (supporting the new parents, when needed), flying back to Poitiers, having a week to recover and then driving back to the UK (I don't fly), with me, as originally planned. Apart from being jaundiced, having a lump on her head and being tongue-tied (all now resolved) the baby was perfect in every way, Anna reported back after her initial visit. I had run through various scenarios in my head of the first meeting with my granddaughter; I would be handed the child, raise her to the heavens (like Simba in the Lion King or Kunta Kinte in R...

I was up a ladder doing a spot of painting in the picturesque town of Gourgé. It was one of the many bank holidays in May, and the one day of the month it didn't rain. I was on a relatively busy road, for France; a car would pass every ten minutes, as well as a constant stream of cyclists who were following the river Thouet bike trail, which got me thinking.   Back at the compound I announced to Anna, my wife, the plan for us to cycle from Parthenay to Thouars, at which I saw her rolling her eyes. To be fair to her I do have a tendency to come up with ludicrously ambitious (often expensive) plans which, when reality sinks in, become scaled down dramatically. My ability to underachieve has always filled me with a sense of pride (for my O levels I got straight Cs across the board). Our bikes had not been ridden for two years, so I hauled them from the shed, blasted all the bat poo off them with my trusty Karcher, pumped the tyres up and oiled the rusty chain with some chainsaw oil. A...

Anna, my wife, has left me. I am alone...alone in a draughty French farm house in the middle of nowhere, in the frozen north of the Deux-Sèvres (which most people who live outside Deux-Sèvres haven't heard of... 'Du Sevs' they say 'where's that?'... 'An hour's drive west of Poitiers' I reply... 'Where's Poitiers?' they retort... 'We're an hour's drive east of La Rochelle' say I... 'La Rochelle?' they counter...'We're about halfway down France!' ). Not wanting to over dramatise my solitude, I have the cat for company (although conversations are a bit one sided) and I pass the long evenings with extra pop and crisps enjoying The Repair Shop, which I'm not usually allowed to watch (being Scottish Anna struggles with the sentimentality of the programme, whereas I weep with every reveal). She is in the UK helping her mother (who is having an uber-bunion removed) as well as attending the baby shower of ou...

“Désolée, he no longer works here.” “Well, could I have an appointment with another dentist there?” “Désolée, there are no vacancies,” said the dental receptionist in Loudun. Well that was a kick in the teeth. Anna, my wife, amongst her other ailments had been experiencing a distant pain in her jaw.  For the next few months she tried in vain to find a dental practice that would take her on their books.   We would resort to driving around towns in the greater Deux-Sèvres district looking for dental practices. When we did find one, like a lot of things in France, it would be shut and not contactable through telephone or email.Things were getting desperate.   I am blessed with a fine set of gnashers, but Anna, being Scottish, has consumed far too much Irn-Bru and Cranachan in her life, with the result that when enjoying a wasabi coated nut one Friday night, an audible crunch was heard and a large fragment of molar fell out.   DIY dentistry was considered; I have some ve...

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...