Surprise

My four American clients turned up mid-afternoon. There were three elderlys and one daughter-in-law, a replacement for the party leader's husband who slipped on ice in New York a month ago and is still convalescing his damaged ankle ligaments. There is still no escape from the consequences of the weather it seems - still, good news for the daughter-in-law who gets an unexpected trip to Europe.

As is the norm with our cousins from the New World, they immediately asked lots of questions, before they had even got themselves in the door. "How old is this place?, Where can I park the car?, How does the ticket machine work?, How did you manage to arrange to live here and keep your wife in London?" (that from the one male in the party - in a slow sardonic New York drawl) - followed by "Yous muss be some sorta genius, we gotta tork".

They are in fact all very charming - just very blunt in the way Americans are about everything. Indeed they have been extremely complimentary about the apartments and also about dinner this evening.

The original plan had been to send them out to a restaurant tonight and cook for them tomorrow, but at this time of year a lot of the restaurants are closed for a break and our standard fallback, L'Ecurie, is closed on a Wednesday - so I switched nights and cooked for them this evening.

It was another successful 42rvh dinner and all six of them went off happy and replete. Yes, six of them. At 7pm I was asked if dinner could be extended to two more people as two friends had turned up unexpectedly! It seems that two Italian friends, who knew that they were passing through Carcassonne, decided to drive over from Italy to surprise them.

How sweet, we all like a nice surprise - well, everyone except the chef, me, who had an hour to turn five into seven, when that hour was already planned out to the last second. It wasn't quite 'loaves and fishes' but there was a certain amount of scrabbling around behind the scenes and all was a lot more frantic that intended. The problem was that five 'confit de canard' and five 'fondant de chocolat' are not seven of either or anything. I'd never have coped with five thousand.

It didn't help that at the same time as I learned of the extra dinner guests, Brigitte, the bringer of bad news, rang the doorbell to ask if I had a boat because the basement was flooded. Ah, French humour translated into English - just not funny.

There has been an ongoing problem with a leak in the basement for a couple of months, which I first spotted before Christmas and had pointed out that it needed urgent attention because a water leak is not good news - it gets everywhere eventually and whilst it didn't seem serious to begin with it would only get worse if not dealt with.

It wasn't my water pipe and it wasn't hers, so there was a certain lack of urgency I guess - the owner of the pipe in question lives in Paris - so did they care? - well not really it seems.

Plumbers eventually arrived to dig up the floor and trace the leak and somehow they have made it ten times worse than it was before, so that now there is a pool of water throughout half the basement, including one of my cellars, fortunately just the one with all the old building material.

Nothing I could do about it this evening - I had a dinner crisis to sort out - but tomorrow's plans now include a bit of a salvage operation and clean up.

It all keeps me busy and definitely on my toes - otherwise my feet would get wet.

Getting on

It was a Monday chores day today. I cleaned out both apartments and made them ready for Wednesday's new guests and ran two sets of laundry through the washing machine (oh goody - ironing tomorrow) and went to the supermarket to re-stock on cleaning and kitchen essentials.

There is nothing like the same amount of hard marketing going on here in the supermarkets as there is in the UK, where every aisle has, so called, massive discounts and two for one offers. There are special offers to be had but they are the same as they were last year and the year before - nothing appears to have changed - whereas in the UK all the stores are falling over themselves to try and keep you spending in a much more exaggerated way than I have ever seen before.

Things have changed though. It is now much more expensive to shop in France, even for basics, than it was four years ago when we first moved here. I notice it particularly in 'Les Halles' and in the weekly market - it's very easy these days to burn through €100 on meat, fruit and vegetables. So, sadly, the fancy olives and the 'fritons' and the expensive serrano ham are no longer everyday or even weekly purchases.

Part of the change is obviously due to the collapse of sterling against the euro but it can't all be explained by that. Petrol for example is now more expensive in France than the UK, when for years it was the other way round, even allowing for the exchange rate.

Makes you wonder if the French dream is dying for us Brits - the Sunday Times would certainly have you believe so with weekly articles about people selling up and moving back. I don't think so - just as the UK supermarket offers aren't all they claim to be, so the journalistic doom about the end of opportunity abroad is also overly dramaticised.

If you are ready for the change of pace and looking forward to a better quality of life then the dream is still there - if your income is the same and the cost of living is the same then the weather is definitely better.

It was a lovely day today again - cold but bright blue skies - I even had the roof down on the car as I went to the supermarket this afternoon.

Driving was no problem but walking has been a bit awkward this afternoon. I have done something to my right knee whilst on all fours this morning cleaning bathroom and kitchen floors - god, it hurts. I'm sure it will sort itself out but frankly, it's no fun getting older is it?

Too cold

Debrah's few stolen days here have flown by and this afternoon she headed back to London again, without either of us having a firm flight booking and therefore not knowing when we will see each other again - a very unsatisfactory state of affairs.

Both sets of weekend guests also departed today so I am back to being here on my own. It won't be for long though - I have a party of four Americans arriving for two nights in midweek, a couple coming next weekend for three days and someone coming to spend a week cooking with me, which is very exciting.

Debrah and I spent a good part of the last few days working out the schedule for him and what I am going to show him, which will include market shopping and wine tasting as well as cooking. I am really looking forward to it.

The market produce is just beginning to show signs of spring with some early asparagus, artichokes, strawberries and broad beans making an appearance yesterday. It is still a bit too early for local produce and most of this stuff appeared to have been shipped across from North Africa - still, it will give me more options for showing cooking techniques next week even if the produce isn't yet the best.

One thing that was lacking in the market yesterday was eggs. We only came across one stall who had any and they had come from the Aveyron, which in the highly departmentalised nature of France means they were foreign and imported. They were very good though.

One woman, presumably after seeing the egg cartons on top of my shopping bag, chased me past a couple of stalls to stop me and ask where I had managed to buy them as she couldn't find any. Is it just too cold for the poor hens or being French, have they gone on strike or are they all knackered after a year of laying and having a well earned holiday? It would be nice to think of them all sat on a deckchair somewhere hot recharging their batteries - except that our local hens are undoubtedly free range.

It is still very cold though and even though the sun has shone for the last couple of days, the snow is still lying on top of the Montagne Noire and the wind is bitter, all of which won't be doing anything good for my electricity bill as the radiators do their best to heat our four metre ceiling spaces.

Enough now, it's time for spring, surely.

A bit of a rant

I know I'm British but even I get a bit tired of talking about the weather all the time - but what else is there to discuss at the moment. Having got back to the UK I was inundated with warnings and forecasts and news reports of stormy weather and torrential rain and more snow and flooding, of another storm warning in France, this time in the North, and the horrendous firestorms in Australia.

Being without a television in France it got me wondering as to whether the weather was indeed much more extreme than it ever was or whether it is the multitude of TV and radio channels and news outlets and the dramatic nature of their reporting in this day and age that makes it appear as though it is more extreme than ever as they all try to outdo each other with the impact of their coverage.

In truth, the only story really worth all the dramatic coverage was the terrible loss of life in the state of Victoria in Australia, especially as it appears that some of the fires had been started deliberately - that was both tragic and disgusting in equal measure. If the culprits can be, without doubt, positively identified then maybe a good old fashioned burning at the stake is what they deserve so that they will understand what they did to so many innocent people - but it isn't the solution as we all know, because someone would have to set fire to them and they would have to live with that for the rest of their life and the pain would just continue. It was tragic, nonetheless.

Whereas in Britain - it's winter, where it rains and it snows and it's cold - please stop making out that it's something out of the ordinary and just get on with it.

I had a busy couple of days in the UK - the usual mixture of helping Debrah out with some stuff and doing a few things for myself.

I got the car serviced and sorted out the MOT and managed to knock a couple of hundred quid off the insurance renewal, just by getting other quotes and phoning up the insurance company and asking them what they were going to do about it.

"They are all bastards", said Debrah - I quite agree, but you have to deal with the bastards because it's illegal to drive around without insurance. It's clear they were over-charging us and hoping we would just renew without thinking because .. well, because we couldn't be bothered to ask probably. But I did ask, and without argument they reduced the quote by a third - it's outrageous that they should even deign to ask for the original quote which is why the insurers should be lined up next to the bankers, just behind the arsonists, in line for the stake.

Apart from the problem of the ongoing guilt, my ultimate solution would also see the destruction of all the remaining trees and therefore the environment - so obviously I haven't thought that through very well. It's tricky this whole politics thing isn't it. I don't envy Mr Obama his new position at all but then we've got a one-eyed Scottish idiot in the UK and a hyperactive Hungarian dwarf in France so nothing to shout about over here in Europe either.

On a positive note I did manage to get a very acceptable haircut for the grand sum of £12 which I consider to be very reasonable compared to the cost of the congestion charge in London - the haircut will last me two months and for the same money I could have driven into the centre of London for precisely one and half days. (I know they are two totally uncomparable things but the point is one is much better value than the other - right!)

I also went for an eye test and found to my surprise that I have the eyes of a forty year old. It's a surprise because I will reach my half century later this year, so either someone gave me some new eyes when I was ten years old or my own ones have lasted exceptionally well. It's also a surprise because I have been finding it increasingly difficult to read stuff recently and especially in poor light or that really tiny print that my wife always insists upon using when she designs anything.

So, apparently my eyes are pretty good for an old buffer like me and they still function in unison which means I can get away with over the counter glasses - and my optician told me all this with a smile on his face, without trying to sell me anything and just asked me come back for another test in 18 months or so.

Insurers and bankers could learn a thing or two about that sort of approach - but don't get me started on that again.

Later than expected

It was a strange week. The cancelled flight on Monday threw all our plans out of the window. I had a list of things that I wanted to get done in London and I couldn't do them from France - so it was also frustrating.

I did quite a bit of work on my French accounts which was a good thing and we had two lovely lunches sat in the sunshine in the square and Chris and Patrick came over for supper on Wednesday evening - but actually we were a bit sad that we had missed all the snow in London.

We were a little bit apprehensive this morning that we would suffer the same fate again. There were reports of more overnight snow and the runway at Stansted was closed for a while - but the Ryanair website wasn't showing a cancellation so we shut up shop and headed to the airport.

Unsurprisingly, there was a delay - in fact the plane hadn't even left London - so we sat about in the sunshine and listened to the French rugby supporters singing their drinking songs as they too waited for the much delayed Dublin flight that would take them to the Six Nations match in Ireland.

Two hours late but at least the London flight came in first and finally we have arrived back home.

No go to London

Once we had seen the bad weather forecast for the UK last evening, we were prepared for the inevitable cancellation of our flight today - and so it proved.

Of course we had to go through the motions of packing our bags and getting ready to close up the apartment. Until the flight was officially cancelled we couldn't re-schedule and still had to turn up at the airport on time and the official cancellation didn't happen until just after the scheduled departure time from Stansted.

As soon as I saw the cancellation notice on the website I jumped into the car and dashed up to the airport. I was given the option of Girona on Wednesday, Perpignan on Thursday or Carcassonne on Friday - the Wednesday flight having already been filled. I only got the Friday flight because two seats became available as I was waiting in line at the ticket desk, otherwise it would have been Sunday before we could have got back.

At least it is no hassle and no extra cost to stay a few extra days because we have our own apartment and fortunately Debrah did not have a hectic week of work planned in London. Poor Christian will be living on kebabs for another few days but he'll survive I'm sure.

Tickets sorted, water turned back on, shutters re-opened - there was nothing for it but to wander down to the square for a 'bavette frites' lunch in the sunshine at Felix.

As Brigitte said when she heard - 'Quelle chance'. What luck indeed.

A corner of a foreign field

The torrential rain was being blown by the wind directly into the windscreen and, consequently, visibility was next to zero, no matter how hard the wipers were working on my behalf. It was pitch black along the unlit roads of the Minervois. The headlights of the few oncoming cars gave me an indication of the route ahead but their glare made it even more likely that we would end up in the ditch on our right hand side after misjudging one of the bends and undulations.

It was with some relief that we arrived at Puicheric safely and after parking we dashed across the road under the feeble cover of my small black London umbrella and into the warmth and shelter of their vignerons house.

What a filthy night it was to be out and about. The last time we had seen Jo it had taken her an hour and a half to get home along snow covered and icy roads - there seems to be something about our meetings and bad weather!

David and Jo Cowderoy are winemakers and British to the core and had invited us over for some supper. Their winemakers house was warm and cosy and full of dogs and children. It was as if we were in the kitchen and dining room of an English country farmhouse, which felt slightly odd here in the Languedoc but at the same time was comforting and reassuring.

Their two border collies were as lovable as any farmhouse dogs and, as always, their owners were oblivious to their misbehaviour and misdemeanours - one purposefully 'goosed' Debrah within two minutes of our arrival and their hangdog looks when sent from the dining room would have melted anyone's heart.

And their teenage daughters and their friends were, like, very amiable and, like, very shy as girls of that age are and, like, reminded me of my own daughters a few years ago before they, like, suddenly became young adults. I probably didn't get that right but anyone with teenage daughters would like totally understand what I mean.

We had a delightful evening sat around their dining table, in front of a warming log fire, sampling their range of wines - chardonnay, sauvignon, carignan, mourvedre and late harvest - as well as a delicious supper.

It was a top night out and thankfully the rain had stopped by the time we drove home.