It's that dandelion time of year

They've suddenly exploded. Dandelions. Millions of them. All over the place. Turned distant fields from emerald to lime green. Get in closer and you see the yellow. Bright yellow. Made even brighter by the sunshine. People rave about sunflowers in France but I reckon the dandelions are just as impressive. Really spectacular. It's a great time of year to go walking.

Went out yesterday and took a few snaps. Then noticed some other wild flowers. Don't know what they are. The yellow ones look like cowslips of some kind. Probably quite rare but common as muck around these parts. And the little purple one looks like some form of miniature orchid. But I'm no gardener so I wouldn't know. Then snapped a few flowery things in the garden. Irises, tulips and apple blossom.

Some of the shots looked a bit flat so I beefed them up in this 'photoshop' programme that came with the camera. All very experimental and the sort of thing proper photographers frown upon. But I think it's rather fun.

Poo

For months now, perhaps even years, I've noticed that when I have shower, wash the dishes or pull the chain in the loo, the waste water doesn't disappear as speedily as it did when we first moved here. Not being on mains drainage (few people are in the French countryside), we rely on a septic tank (or 'fosse septique' as it's known out here) to deal with our effluent. We apparently have one somewhere out front, so a neighbour told us, but I've never known exactly where. There are no drain covers anywhere to be seen. However, there's a line of fast-growing grass going down the front garden which indicates where a drain-off pipe is probably routed. Out of sight, out of mind. I've never properly investigated the system because it's always seemed to work... 'til about a month ago. That was when Georgie and I (last time she was out here) noticed a patch of really soggy ground just below the bank in the front garden. Dug it up a bit and discovered a cracked drain cover, out of which water gushed when using an indoor tap, or shower, or loo, or whatever. Tank was obviously full and not draining away. Or maybe the antiquated 'fosse' had collapsed underground. Next day, Georgie returned to London and I was left with the problem. Since then, for a month now, I've been putting sink water into a bucket and chucking it out the front. Haven't had a shower or bath, been pee-ing round the woodshed and have only used the loo when absolutely necessary. Left to my own devices, I could probably exist forever like this. But Georgie couldn't. And she's due over soon. So something had to be done.

As always, I imagined the worst. Thinking we'd need a completely new system that met the exacting standards recently introduced by the French government, I scoured the internet and eventually tracked down a relatively local fosse septique installer. Asked them to come round, look at the problem and suggest a solution. Very nice lady turned up and advised that the best course of action would be to fit a new fosse at a cost of around 4000 euros (about 3750 quid). Hmm, pricey. Or maybe not. Maybe that's the going rate. Might be worth it if we're going to stay her forever but, as we still don't know what our life plans are, maybe it's not worth doing. There again, if we're going to sell up in the relatively near future, a new fosse might increase the house's value by more than the cost of installation. Or maybe not. All very confusing.

Then I thought, right... if a new fosse is necessary, I'd better get the old one emptied, otherwise sewage will be strewn all over the place when the diggers start digging. So, once again, I scoured the internet for a local (Creuse region) septic tank emptying company. Couldn't find any apart from a couple miles away beyond Gueret. Then tried the Correze region. Found one in Ussel, about thirty miles away. Gave 'em a ring. Explained the problem to a very helpful lady who didn't speak a word of English (my old French teacher at school would have been mightily impressed at how my French, although far from perfect, has improved since I failed my 'O' level French - outlining a sewage problem is a demanding test of one's ability to parlez-vous francais, I can tell toi). Very helpful lady said she'd send someone around next Monday.

Sewage wagon duly arrived. About an hour earlier, I'd dug out more wet earth from around the cracked drain cover in preparation for their visit. Briefly explained the problem to the man and his assistant and they set to work by removing the cover, emptying the contents and then shoving a 'blaster' hose up each of the three pipes in the newly revealed 'junction' box. Their fine efforts cleared the blockages and resulted in more smelly liquids (and rocks and stones) being transferred to their wagon. Then they explained the exact position of the fosse (just by the apple tree about ten feet from the front door and about eight feet down - no wonder I couldn't find an inspection cover) and the reason for three pipes in the junction box - one from the fosse (loos), one from the waterways (sinks, shower, bath and washing machine) and one (it may divide into three) which drains away down the garden. All very enlightening. Job done, they set off on their merry way.

Since then, the loos seem to flush more efficiently and, so far, there's no further overflow from the cracked drain cover over the junction box. Joy. And yesterday I had my first bath in ages and did a load of smelly washing. Am still putting dishwater in buckets though. Seems rather a good habit. Saves money when watering the plants. Talking of saving money, maybe we won't have to shell out on a new fosse after all.

Sunny Saturday

Hot and sunny with clear blue skies all last week. Trouble was, I stayed indoors most of the time editing and re-writing bits of my book. And when I wasn't doing that, I busied myself trying to figure out the questions (in French) on the form that Honda France had sent me in order for them to verify that my imported Honda motorcycle is in standard trim. The questions were mainly about part numbers. Sounds easy. However, trying to read a tiny number on, for example, an indicator lens is an almost impossible task even with the aid of specs and a torch.

Finished the book and Honda questionnaire on Friday. Posted the questionnaire on Saturday morning at Felletin then drove into Aubusson to drop off my garage rent cheque. Nice and sunny so I thought I'd visit the market (Saturday is market day in Aubusson). Bought a melon, some tangerines and a couple of punnets of strawberries from Isabelle's stall then retired for a coffee and a fag (had two of each) at my fave caff by the roundabout at the end of the main street. Good place to just sit (in the shade of a parasol) and watch the world go by. Sat there for about half an hour then headed back to the car which was parked up the hill near the old ruined castle.

By now it was about 12.30 and heading towards the hottest part of the day (hottest day of the year so far according to Christian - about 27 degrees apparently). Shoved the goodies in the car then decided to have a walk up to the old castle and check out the views. On one side, looking through trees with white-painted trunks (there must be a reason for this paint sploshing but I haven't a clue what it is) I could see people packing up their market stalls and heading off for lunch. On the other side, there was an almost sheer drop down to the river (ooh, vertigo). Yet, somehow, houses have been built into the hillside. And, even more surprisingly, some of these houses have little stepped gardens. Noticed one house had a mini garden in its guttering. Rather impressive (see photo).

Nipped home, had a spot of lunch (pate and gherkins on fresh bread) then realised it was Grand National day. Placed a couple of bets via the internet (didn't win) then watched the first two Aintree races. Was preparing to watch the main race but thought it would be a criminal waste of perfect motorcycling weather. So I switched the telly off, got kitted up, dragged the bike out of the shed and roared off towards Ussel - the Felletin to Ussel road is a biker's dream. Hit Ussel, turned around and headed home via the back lanes. Got lost but kept the late afternoon sun to my left so I knew I was heading vaguely north. Dropped into a forested valley and crossed a river bridge. Looked interesting so I doubled back for a closer look. There was a sign by the bridge which informed that this stretch of river is kayak territory. Massive boulders everywhere. All very pretty but no way would I paddle a canoe thing through those rocks. Suicidal.

Eventually picked up the main road and turned left. Took it easy through La Cortine (there always seem to be traffic cops there) but then gave it some serious welly on the sweeping downhill bends and fast curves towards Felletin. Had a funny feeling the weather was going to change tomorrow (Sunday) so this might be my last spin for quite some time (my three-month insurance expires soon and they won't renew it until the bike's officially registered in France - a process that could take months and months due to a combination of French bureaucracy and Honda's somewhat less than enthusiastic attitude towards imports). Arrived home, put the bike away (for maybe ages) and cut the lawn.

Sure enough, today (Sunday) dawned cloudy and chillyish. Really glad I grabbed that sunny biking opportunity when I did. Now, what's for tea? Hmm, strawberries and cream.

(Click pics to enlarge... and I've just discovered if you click again on the enlarged pic it comes up even bigger - I'm very slow about these things.)

Peace and quiet

I shall now attempt the impossible - the uploading (or is it downloading?) of a short movie thingie...
(Press the little black triangle to start.)

Blooms

A few flowery things in le jardin...

Down in the valley

For this evening's walk (Friday) we drove down the valley, parked up, then ambled along the forest path which runs parallel to the stream. Our side of the valley was in shade while t'other side had the sun. Looking out across the valley stream I suddenly noticed that the small pine forest that lined one side of the downhill path from the hamlet had been felled. Stripped tree-trunks glowed orange in the evening sun, littering the open hillside where there was once a dark green blanket of trees. Very soon they'll be stacked, loaded onto lorries, then driven off to one of the local woodyards where they'll await their final destination. Then the cycle begins again with the planting of saplings about a foot high, all set out in rows. The landscape round these parts is constantly changing. Used to bother me at first but now it doesn't. The forests are in safe and expert hands.

Crossed the stream at the little bridge (where Jock had a paddle and drink) then headed up the path for a closer look at the felled trees. Couldn't get far though due to trunks blocking our way. Wee Jockie was stumped (excuse pun) but Sprocket just jumped from log to log like a mountain goat. Never known a dog like him for agility. And all the while there was a wonderful aroma of freshly cut pine.

Curiosity satisfied, we then turned around and headed back. Then, as usual, just when we were approaching the end of the walk, Sprocket detoured left into the field where he chases rats in the banks of the stream. Forget the rodents, it's a really tranquil spot with a lovely view along the valley. At the edge of the stream the ground was smothered in blue flowers. Don't know what they are but they're definitely not bluebells (having said that, they're probably part of the same family - hah, what do I know!). Pottered around there for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet of a warm, spring evening while Jockie had another well-earned drink from the stream (long walk, short legs - gets tiring for the old fella) with Sprocket nowhere to be seen. Minutes later he appeared out of nowhere and we headed back to the dogwagon and drove home. Then the dogs got stuck into a Friday night treat of chicken and rice while I had the same but done as a curry. Marvellous. (Click pics to enlarge.)

Shrinking violet

Been a bit lazy on the bloggeauing front lately. Had a few weeks when nothing much happened (apart from the weather and dogwalking, and I'm sure my reader/s out there is/are bored rigid with all that kinda stuff), followed by a week when Georgie popped over. As my main reason for writing this drivel is to keep her informed of what's going on, there's not much point in scribing stuff when she's out here. Besides that, as I often think when I haven't blogged for a bit, it seems daft to expose one's own private little world to the scrutiny of a global audience who may not have the slightest interest in what one gets up to. Mind you, by 'global audience' I probably mean a couple of old chums who very kindly 'pop in' to check how I'm getting on from time to time. I really haven't a clue who (if anyone) reads this stuff. Which is why it's always most encouraging when someone is kind enough to leave a message. Makes all the effort worthwhile (well, almost). And I'm sure it's the same for all us bloggeauers.

So..., what's new? Well, I think last time I bloggeaued I was toying with the idea of buying a Mercedes Benz 190 as a replacement for my old Golf GTi. Glad to say I'm now the proud owner of said vehicle. (Click photos to enlarge.)

It really is a belter: a 1991 model with a 1.8 litre petrol engine (twin chain cam, not single) that's only done 60,000 miles (if my maths is correct, that averages only 3,000 miles per year) by two previous owners, and all for the very reasonable price of 2,600 euros (about 2,300 quid?). No service history unfortunately, but the chap I bought it from (an elderly farmer who kept it as his 'second' car) assured me it had always been properly serviced. Being somewhat cynical, one of the first things I did was to drop it off at my local mechanic's for a checkover and replacement of plugs and air filter plus an oil change. Mechanic said the plugs and air filter were new so didn't need replacing, and the oil and filter looked newish but he changed them anyway. Apparently my cynicism regarding servicing had been misplaced. Reassuringly, the mechanic said the underside was in superb condition with not a sign of rust or corrosion anywhere. I'm left with the impression that many people in France (and perhaps the UK too) are unloading cars that don't fall into the 'economy' class due to recent hikes in petrol prices - out here a litre of 95 octane costs between 1.50 and 1.75 euros (that's about 1.40 to 1.50 quidish) depending where you buy (1.52 euros at our local supermarshay, spelt rong on poipose 'cos I dunno where these stupid accents are, - maybe 1.80 or more on motorways). Having said that, I was somewhat surprised yesterday when I did 150 miles (drove Georgie to Limoges airport) on a quarter tankful (according to the fuel gauge) which works out at about 50mpg (not exactly an accurate assessment but, nevertheless, looks promising). A lot to be said for cruising at 60mph (French limit on ordinary roads), in top gear, with a light throttle foot, on open roads with hardly any traffic.

Anyways..., back to Georgie's visit. Picked her up from Limoges airport a week ago last Saturday (the 12th?) at about 9.15am (French time) after the poor wee thing had endured a night of wandering around Stansted airport (she worked late so was unable to grab a couch) in order to catch an early morning flight (6am ish, UK time). Had a morning stroll around Limoges (bit dull and rainy) searching for a dressing gown (my old one was a shadow of its former self - huge holes in the elbows etc.), looking in shoe shops (what is it with girls and shoes?), grabbing a coffee (sat outside, under a canopy, so I could have a quick fag - windy and rainy) and caught up on news. Then drove home via the supermarshay. Still drizzly.

Stayed dull and drizzly for most of the week, which was a bit of a shame. However, Georgie, being a keen gardener, saw this as an ideal opportunity to do a bit of weeding, pruning, digging and planting. Dragged her away from her labours a couple of times - once to visit Aubusson to whip the battery out of my garaged and slumbering camper, and once to whizz down to Beaulieu to check if the barn had collapsed and to see if the ruined cottage had disappeared under brambles.

Luckily the barn seemed to be holding up, although we noticed a bit more movement over a door archway, and the brambles definitely need attention soon before they really let rip in spring. Shall have to go down there again p.d.q. armed to the teeth with chainsaw, axe, cutters and, possibly, weed killer. Trouble is, it's about 75 miles away. That's a total of four hours' driving. Which doesn't leave long for actual work. Then there's the question of whether to take the dogs or not. Without them, I could have a three day session down there staying in a cheap hotel. With them, I have to get back each day. Other things I have to do are to arrange short meetings (or phone chats) with the mayor and the road digger man just to inform them that we haven't forgotten about the barn and to find out if we still have permission to go ahead with whatever, should we decide to do so. Then, of course, there's costings. Ooh, too much to think about.

Barn visit done, we then nipped into Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne for a quick wander round and a coffee. Out of season, Beaulieu seems a lot less 'poncy' and so, perhaps for the first time, Georgie seemed to warm to the place, which I found rather encouraging. Add that to the fact that she didn't seem to be totally against the barn (she isn't totally for it either) and maybe there's a glimmer of hope that its purchase wasn't entirely bonkeurs (pretty close though). The only problem is... we're skint. Still, c'est la vie. The dream (or is it nightmare?) continues.

Typically, on her last day the weather improved. Bright sunshine and a clear blue sky. Spent most of the day in the garden again, transplanting a few bushes and chucking a thorny one out (big trubs with big roots). Then I decided to dig up a damp spot that we thought might be a drain off point of the fosse septique (cesspit). Discovered what appears to be a hole in the top of the tank or inspection box thingy. Water (grey?) draining straight out. Shoved a tile on the hole and replaced the damp earth. Now have to get a specialist in. Asked Christian if he knows anyone. Said he'll give it some thought. Disastrous as this leak may be, it could mean we'll soon discover the exact whereabouts of the mysterious (and, no doubt, antiquated) fosse septique that the neighbours have assured us exists somewhere out front (no sign of any inspection covers or ventilation shafts).

Finished off the afternoon with a leisurely dogwalk up the cemetery run. Showed Georgie the violets and periwinkles that I'd discovered up there. She seemed rather impressed. Then spotted a pink primrose. Didn't have my camera so Georgie took some shots. Then ambled up to the hillside field across the valley from our hamlet. Sun low, directly to the west at this time of year. Spring equinox, or whatever it's called.

Went up there again, late yesterday afternoon, after I'd returned from seeing off Georgie at Limoges airport. This time with my camera. Another wonderfully sunny evening. Walked the same route. Sad not having the full team there. Just me and the dogs. Stood and looked across the valley as we had done the day before. At that moment, looking north, way beyond the hamlet, somewhere over the horizon, I suddenly thought of Georgie sitting in a coach, on the outskirts of London, maybe stuck in a rush-hour traffic jam. And here I am with not a car in sight, standing in the shadow of a circling hawk, lazily cadging a lift on whatever you call those warm, rising winds (ah, 'thermals'). Felt very guilty.

Went home and knocked up cabbage, mash and a pork chop. Georgie rang about halfway through to say she'd arrived safely. She'll be out again in a month. By which time I have to plant a blackberry bush and a raspberry that she didn't quite manage to get around to. And I have to make sure all the things she did manage to plant get watered and don't die. Big responsibility. Especially for someone who hasn't a clue about gardening. Ah well, better get digging.