Noel '20

The local Mairie always lays on a grand Christmas lunch for the geriatrics of the hamlet and surrounding area. But not this year. Cancelled, due to the dreaded Covid plague. Instead, local councilors distributed Christmas goody hampers to the old folks, us included. These consisted of Limousin region delicacies such as jam, cake, sweets, paté de campagne, foie gras and a small bouteille de Bordeaux rouge (not Limousin region!), presumably financed by the French government - merci bien. And our hamper came with a special table decoration apparently hand-made by another councilor. Much appreciated. Merci encore. Wouldn't get that back in Blighty.

Despite this Covid plague we managed to do a fair bit of Christmas shopping. Grub mainly. And booze, of course. Raided Lidl at Egletons and the supermarchés at Felletin and Aubusson. They weren't too crowded and people wore masques which was reassuring. Went to five, no six, supermarchés in search of a bottle of Bailey's. Needed to buy this as a present for neighbour Isabelle who had insisted we visit on Christmas Eve for a nosh-up with hubby Christian and mum Janette. We'd turned down quite a few of her recent invites to pop round through fear of catching the plague - Isabelle doesn't seem to take it very seriously, possibly because she thinks she's protected by taking vitamin pills. Anyway, the Bailey's search drew a blank so we bought her champagne, Christian a cheeky St. Emilion and Janette a box of choccy bics because they always get us a present. But not this year. So they looked a bit embarrassed about this non reciprocation. No worries, the grub was much appreciated, even though we ate late. Geo reckons that's normal in France on Chrissy Eve. Staggered back home at about eleven. Sleeting. Cold. Hamish pleased to see us back. Excitedly sniffed my trews where Pearl (Isabelle's little bitch) and Zen (Isabelle's big bitch) had deposited scent.

Christmas Day dawned with a blanket of snow. Made Geo shriek with joy when she looked out the window. Weather forecast said a big chill and stormy wind was about to hit. Geo, bless, bought in a load of logs. Had two fires on the go. Kitchen and upstairs. Chicken in oven. Then prep spuds, sprouts, carrots, bread sauce etc. Ate at around three or four. Walker's mince pies with cream and ice cream in front of the Queen's speech. Excellent not having to go out visiting or having people round (we never have people round, especially at Christmas). Can't remember what was on telly while gently passing wind, slobbing on the settee. Bliss.

It's now the 28th. Still chilly. Still snowing. Another two months of this weather could be serious. Ah well, ç'est la vie. Roll on spring.

Nothing much

I've just been reminded that I haven't bloggeaued for ages - nearly three months to be almost exact. No reason. Well, maybe a few, which could include laziness, the covid plague and the fact that nothing much has happened recently, apart from autumnal dogwalks and the occasional trip to the local supermarché to stock up on essentials such as vin rouge and crisps; both of which are frowned upon by my lettuce, haricots vert and mozarella-loving partner Georgie. 

Hmm, now I come to think about it, there's been a few things happening in our backwoods hamlet. Deaths, mainly. Recently Didier dropped dead quite unexpectedly. He was a youngster, about mid-50ish, quite fit, didn't smoke or booze to excess, a bit rotund and red-faced, but a proper country lad. Anyways, a neighbour who was the last person to see Didier alive said the lad seemed fine when he said "bon soirée" as Didier stepped inside his maison to, presumably, prepare his supper. Apparently Didier then collapsed indoors for no apparent reason. Maybe a heart attack. Maybe not. This was about a month ago. Not the sort of thing to blog about, but when nothing much happens, maybe it is. All the locals were shocked and very surprised by his passing. As, I said, he didn't seem ill. Not one bit. Hence the shock. 

His funeral was quite an occasion. Church was full. Standing room outside. Mayor burst into tears while giving his speech at the wake in the Mairie. Poor old Didier. Well, relatively young Didier. He will be remembered as the son of the hamlet who took care of the church, kept the bells working, tractored the veg patches, helped out with all the local 'do's' and was always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed help. He'll be sorely missed.

A few other hamleters have sadly passed away too. Catwoman's hubby died some time ago and, more recently, neighbour Alain, hubby of Colette. Didier's elderly mum is currently in hospital and apparently wants to go home to die, but she can't go home cos now Didier's gone there's no-one to take care of her. So that's two more houses currently empty. And the old man who lived in the little rented house in front of Isabelle's seems to have moved on, so that's a third empty house. That leaves about ten or eleven still occupied, mostly by elderly peeps. 

Youngsters seem to steer clear of the old hamlets, much preferring modern boxes on the edge of town. Fair enough, makes sense. I presume it's the same throughout France (and maybe Britain too) - small villages dying and towns expanding. But..., with fewer neighbours, the threat of covid is reduced. Trouble is, it just takes one visitor - a son, daughter or family member from a town or city - to decimate a hamlet's elders by innocently introducing the dreaded plague. 

Anyways..., enough of all that. On a brighter note I'll dig out some recent photos which I rather like. Might be a bit boring for loadsa peeps, but what the hell, ç'est la vie.

Alan Rickman

Years back, when I was a student at the Royal College of Art, one of my classmates decided to leave the course a year before graduating because he had some some daft idea of becoming an actor. Naturally, I told him he should stay on for the final year, get his degree, then have a crack at this acting lark and if it didn't work out he'd still be qualified as a designer. But no, he wouldn't have it so he left. Then I heard he'd somehow fiddled his way into RADA. A couple of years later I saw him on telly playing Obadiah Slope in The Barchester Chronicles. Didn't think much of it but best of luck sunshine, looks like you've achieved your ambition and become an small-time actor. Hope it works out. Follow your dream. Maybe one day you'll become a star. Or maybe not. Who knows.

  

Parasite

Went to Aubusson yesterday for a blood test. Have to do that before my regular three-monthly check ups at the doctor's. When he gets the test results he gives us an in-depth report on my physical condition and then prescribes medication to put right whatever's going wrong. Anyways, I don't particularly like going for a blood test as it involves being stabbed by a needle and drained of blood. I call them my Dracula visits. Which reminds me, I was attacked by an aggresive, slimy, vicious and extremely spiteful hirudinea (if you don't know what it is, look it up) a few decades back. Slithering pondlife. Scarred for life.

 

74

We should now be slobbing around on Formentera but, due to this Covid-19 plague, we ain't. We cancelled the jolly holiday jaunt after news of nearby Ibiza and its airport (the airport wot we would pass through twice in order to get to and from Formentera) being invaded by loadsa young Brits who couldn't give a monkey's about contacting this killer disease and the possibility of infecting others. Maybe we'll get there again next year. Or maybe not. Who knows. 

Anyways..., as a birthday outing we headed yesterday for a lakeside restaurant just south of Sardent which is just south of Gueret. Messaged the owners (British, apparently) via Facebook the day before asking if the restaurant would be open. They answered 'yes'. Arrived there at 1pm. Shut. Closed. Fermé. Bugger. Won't be going there again. What is wrong with these people?

Plan 'B'. Georgie's suggestion. Lake Vassivière. Arrived there at around 2pm. Sauntered into a Bistro at 2.05. Five minutes late for a lunch snack. Had a small beer. Figured we were at the north end of the big lake so we should head for the east side as that was the side nearest our direction home. Found a simple sort of lakeside restaurant on the way that seemed to be open. Asked if lunch would be possible. 'Oui, no problem'. Shared a pizza and peach melba with Geo and a few wasps, plus a glass of rosé and a coffee. Not bad for €20. Then headed down the lane towards the lake, not really expecting to find anything special. But, big surprise, there was a sandy beach, nay, two or three sandy beaches, plus a café/bar, enough smiley people but not too many, a kiddies' swimming area plus a grown ups' with an attendant lifeguard, and a welcome air of being on a French holiday with sunshine. Didn't have a swim but may do in the next week or two if the sunny weather holds up.

Corréze cottage

Bought a wreck of a cottage back in 2013(?) in a tiny hamlet down in the Corréze region. Made sense at the time, but old age, Brexit, poverty and a million other issues have meant it doesn't really make sense any more. And besides, the roof desperately needs renovating as it probably won't survive another winter. So, we contacted a roofing chum of the chap who cuts the grass (the cottage is a couple of hours' drive away so we're really fortunate to have a local man who's willing to keep an eye on the triffid growths in our absence). Arranged to meet the roofer last Monday at 6pm.

Had a very pleasant afternoon drive there, stopping off at Egletons Lidl to stock up on essentials such as vin rosé, vin blanc and vin rouge plus some other stuff. Being elderly and afraid of death we wore our face masks and so did most of the other shoppers, young 'uns included. Interestingly, when I nipped down the local mini Carrefour supermarché in Felletin yesterday, I was the only one in there wearing a mask. Ah well, better safe than sorry. So, shopping done, we headed for the cottage well ahead of schedule. To kill a bit of time we detoured, on Georgie's suggestion, to the nearby touristy village of Gimel-les-Cascades. It's a pretty little village perched on the side of a steep ravine and is famous (apparently) for its waterfalls. Unfortunately, due to my inability to walk far and lack of vacant parking spaces, we didn't get to see the watery bits, but we did drive down the tiny lane to the bottom and back up again without running over any of the ambling tourists who seemed oblivious to the imminent danger of a vehicle being driven by bad-tempered geriatric who was convinced that this deviation to a tourist hot-spot was not a good idea.

Having escaped Gimel-les-Cascades we stopped off at a nearby lake which appeared to have what looked like a café. Maybe it was shut due to this Covid-19, or coronavirus, or whatever it's called. No, it appeared to be open as there were a couple of gents at a table. But, there was a 'no dogs' sign, so Georgie waited at the lakeside with Hamish while I ventured inside to consult the management. No problem, small dogs okay. So we had a pleasant Orangina each and I had a small black coffee too. Looked up the café/restaurant on the internet when we returned home and it turns out to be quite a gem. Look it up - Bistrot de Ruffaud, Saint-Priest-de-Gimel.

Next stop, the cottage. Breathed a sigh of relief that the roof still hadn't collapsed after yet another winter of rain and snow. But, when we opened the front door, part of the interior ceiling had been holed by water from upstairs. Leaky roof. Where was the roofer? 6pm came and went. Still no roofer. Maybe he's not coming. Panic ye not, just as I was about to suggest we pack up and return home, the roofer turns up. He went inside to survey the problem with Georgie. I stayed outside with Hamish. Georgie said "you know that sharp intake of breath that builders do when they see the size of the task they've been asked to quote on, well, this chap did a few yelps instead". Be interesting to see what he quotes for - I suspect a new roof, rather than a touch-up job.

Anyways, we hit the homeward trail at about 6.45pm and enjoyed a sunny evening gallop over the Plateau Millevaches, a glorious bit of French countryside (look it up). Stopped off near home for a dogwalk and arrived home at about 9.30ish. Still light. That's what I like about summer. Sat outside with a cheeky little rosé as swallows swooped overhead. Good stuff.

      

Flowery stuff

When we first came here the garden was a jungle. Now it's not. All due to Georgie's hard work and know-how. It really is wonderful. Nowt to do with me. Though I have been known to mow the lawn occasionally. And water a few blooms. Anyways, I have loads of snaps of flowery stuff and I've only just realised that I haven't loaded any on this bloggeau for ages. So I'll do it now.