Having had to stay in France to ensure some work deadlines were met, it feels as if we sneaked a few extra days in the sun while England sank under a torrent of rain. As a consequence we missed Rosa and David's wedding in the Lake District and I am still feeling very guilty about that but there is nothing I can do about it now. I hope they understand and look forward to welcoming them here for an on-the-house special break in the Languedoc.
The extra days didn't change the need to get our Renault back to the UK, so late on Friday evening we set off to drive the length of France overnight. It was a good plan in most respects - the roads heading north were mostly empty whilst the southbound lanes were full (the French holidays started at the weekend), there were no traffic jams around Paris and we arrived back in the UK early on a Saturday morning with no weekday rush hour traffic to contend with - as a result we were home by 9,30am. The downside as before is arriving feeling slightly out of body, awake but not aware, in motion but acting on autopilot, seeing everything at a distance. For Debrah this meant getting into bed and staying there for the rest of the day - quite right. Unfortunately for me it meant a couple of hours sleep before going into the office for a handover with Giovanna, the company MD, who was departing on her summer break early the next morning.
At least I had a quiet Sunday reading the papers, watching meaningless sport on the TV, cooking food and drinking wine - it's good to get a proper UK weekend into my life now and again - although this being summer there was no football on the telly and this being Britain there was no live cricket on the telly unless you have paid vast amounts of money to Rupert Murdoch for the privilege which I am still not prepared to do - so touring cars and rugby league it was - better than nothing, better than horse racing or athletics or big brother which were the other alternatives.
The point being that if I can't watch footie and cricket in the UK, I may as well be in France where I can't ever watch cricket and the standard of football is, well, modest, by comparison (not that it stops me watching it of course).
So on Monday morning I made the journey back here to France through Stansted Airport where, at the time of year when they have the most customers passing through the airport because of holidays they have the least number of security/scanning lines in operation thereby causing massive queues and maximum anxiety amongst travellers. Good effort BAA - which management school did you guys go to - obviously not one of the better ones which would have told you that more customers need more staff, not the opposite as you seem to suppose.
After three weeks of visitors and, most importantly, after three weeks of being here with Debrah, the appartment feels very big and empty without her. Don't get me wrong, I love it here. Today the weather was just as the last day of July should be in the Languedoc - it was cloudless and windless and very very hot. The market was full of the usual array of sweet smelling melons and peaches and fresh herbs and green beans and tomatoes. But Debrah wasn't by my side as I walked around the stalls. I acknowledged a 'bonjour' from the man who is always there selling fresh eggs and goats cheese even though today I bought nothing from him. I got the same happy welcoming smile and greeting as I always do from the young lady with the best melons in the market. Even so, it wasn't quite right - come back to France soon, honey - it's so much better here with you than without you.
Last night was the last night of the July festival with, supposedly, a concert by a group called Superbus, who have sold a surprising number of records (what an old fashioned term that is) and whom I was quite looking forward to seeing. Alas, on account of a lack of voice/sore throat the concert was called off at the last minute. The cynics (aka my friend Daniel who I bumped into whilst staring at the empty stage) suggested that having very recently had a number one hit in France and this being an unpaid festival the group had pulled out on account of not being able to get into their boots anymore. Who knows? - presumably they weren't available for comment as they couldn't speak - but apparently a new date is being arranged.
All of which meant I ended up spending the evening in the Place Carnot with Daniel and his lovely wife Cecile and their two charming childern and later on, Daniel's parents who had been up to the final concert of the official festival held in the Cite and performed by Joe Cocker - not for me which is why I wasn't there. Daniel and Cecile are a lovely couple, but are also one of those parnerships where roles have been reversed in this modern world - she is French and has a very successful career that involves quite a lot of travelling - he is English and has given up his job in favour of her and now looks after the kids at home. I suspect Debrah might be a bit cross about that but when she meets them, soon I hope, she will realise what lovely people they are.
In my last post I touched on the difficulties of understanding the locals - something which still taxes my very Parisian neighbour. Today I had a phonecall from somebody at the delivery company for our new double door American style super-dooper massive fridge (we bought it last week when it was offer of the week "affaire du semaine' and a good €400 less than list price - what a bargain). Well, I could hardly understand a word this guy said to me on account of his extremely strong accent. I asked him to speak slowly. I asked him to repeat himself please. I apologised and told him I was English and didn't speak the language well. This seemed to strike a chord because he said "Ce n'est pas grave" in a very matter of fact deeply accented way. Blimey - a Frenchman who thinks it's not a serious problem that I don't speak the language very well is indeed a man to deal with - and eventually I got the words 'demain matin' or in local dialect ' dermanurr matanurr' or in English tomorrow morning. Good -new fridge arrives tomorrow - fantastiqurr!
That's about it for today - except that there is a bit of a music competition going on in the street at the moment, brought about by the lovely weather, resulting in an open window as opposed to a closed shutter policy. My North African neighbours up the street have given up a bit early with the rap music - they turned it off of their own accord which suggests they are actually some well brought up boys who don't want to disturb their neighbours or certainly don't want anyone to tell their dad about it! The ladies directly across the street have been playing full on belt it out theatre music - phantom of the opera, striesand etc - did anyone say lesbian?, and the young lad with the karaoke machine seems to have a different entourage each night murdering a succession of unknown French hits and the occassional barely recognisable UK or US number one - it was never a classic but 'Don't go breaking my heart' will never be the same again.
Monday, 30 July 2007
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Brigitte
Sometime over last weekend I bumped into our French neighbour, Brigitte, who lives above us on the second floor. She has always been very friendly and helpful since I first came down here two years ago and she also speaks a good deal of English. We (Debrah and me) have had the occassional get-together with her but hadn't done so for quite a while - so I asked her if she would like to take an aperitif with us sometime this week. The date was set for this evening and she would come with her 'friend' Michel.
Brigitte is a divorcee who doesn't have a kind word to say about her ex-husband, who runs a pharmacy just across the river Aude at the base of the Cite. She has two children, a boy and a girl, much the same age as my own. Her friend, Michel, appears to be the new man on the scene although that is mostly supposition - he owns a couple of holiday appartments and fancies himself as something of a wine expert. The only previous time we met he was trying to blind me with the French myth about wine which he assumed I knew nothing about until I gave him a full description of the French word 'terrior' in French which not only shut him up but probably pissed him off as well.
I am obviously not the only one to piss him off because Brigitte turned up this evening without Michel - they had had a difference of opinion and he had stomped off in a strop and no doubt taken his ball with him. Brigitte didn't seem to care and in her best philosophical franglais announced that "tomorrow eeez anudder day" I get the impression that she has had more than enough of the French male attitude, and probably any male attitude.
Mind you, when I informed Debrah that I had invited them for drinks she was less than enthusiastic if not downright grumpy about the whole thing. She has been a bit grumpy this week because she has had a lot of work to do and not all of it that interesting and the date of our imminent departure is looming, despite having snatched a few extra days. So there was a lot of "you invited them, you sort some food out" followed, this evening, by "why have you done it like that?" and "the sausages aren't piled up the right shape" type comments.
As ever, in the end, all was lovely and all had a very enjoyable evening. Brigitte was on good gossippy form and her and Debrah sipped peach bellinis and smoked fags and laughed a lot while decourously adorning the sofa.
Brigitte explained, that as a Parisienne originally, she found it very difficult to understand the local accent and dialect, and sometimes found it difficult to make herself understood. Good grief! - what chance do us poor Brits have when the French can't understand each other - well, at least I can say "Desolee, je suis Anglais" and get away with it as a foreigner. Brigitte doesn't have that excuse and is probably recognised as a Parisienne divorcee of a good local pillar of the community - no chance really. In fact, nobody from anywhere north of mid-France has stood any sort of chance of being accepted down here after Simon de Montford and the Crusade army had marched all the place in the 12th century slaughtering the Cathars and anyone else who got in their way and nicking their land all in the name of God and Catholicism. There is an 800 year old grudge which shows no sign of abating - I'm convinced that I am more accepted here than anyone from the Ile de France.
So we talked about property prices and the state of the building and the lack of action from the managing agents and what we were going to do about it, and we gossipped about neighbours old and new, and we talked about the new British Prime Minister and the new French President, and our children, and the weather of course, and Carcassonne and the market and the history of the building and so on and so on.
Talking of ex-neighbours as we were - it appears that the so called very respected surgeon that sold the property to us might not have been quite as respectable after all. This appartment wasn't his main residence - oh no - it was kept for 'special' entertaining. There was so much eyebrow raising and side of the nose tapping going on from Brigitte as she explained this that you couldn't help but conclude that our esteemed former owner kept the place as a 'shag pad' - what a short balding moustachioed dark horse he turns out to be! I have seen him once or twice walking up the road casting an eye up to the windows - I always thought he was wondering what we had done to the place but he was probably just reminiscing about some prior conquest.
One great advantage of talking with Brigitte is that she helps me to speak French because she is happy to correct me and help me say what I want to say in the right way, and because she also speaks good English I find it easier to understand where I have gone wrong. At the same time we help her with her English which is very good but not perfect or fluent. 'C'est une nouvelle entente cordialle'
The other thing that Debrah and Brigitte have in common is that they are both tequila monsters. Brigitte recounted her Bastille Day experience this year which included beaucoup de tequila and not remembering anything about the fireworks at all - I think Michel had a bit of a strop that night too. He should lighten up - that's my advice - the ladies on the tequila is a special special thing to be loved and appreciated. I look forward to getting them both in the tequila mood at the same time - that will probably be an exceptional evening . Salut.
Brigitte is a divorcee who doesn't have a kind word to say about her ex-husband, who runs a pharmacy just across the river Aude at the base of the Cite. She has two children, a boy and a girl, much the same age as my own. Her friend, Michel, appears to be the new man on the scene although that is mostly supposition - he owns a couple of holiday appartments and fancies himself as something of a wine expert. The only previous time we met he was trying to blind me with the French myth about wine which he assumed I knew nothing about until I gave him a full description of the French word 'terrior' in French which not only shut him up but probably pissed him off as well.
I am obviously not the only one to piss him off because Brigitte turned up this evening without Michel - they had had a difference of opinion and he had stomped off in a strop and no doubt taken his ball with him. Brigitte didn't seem to care and in her best philosophical franglais announced that "tomorrow eeez anudder day" I get the impression that she has had more than enough of the French male attitude, and probably any male attitude.
Mind you, when I informed Debrah that I had invited them for drinks she was less than enthusiastic if not downright grumpy about the whole thing. She has been a bit grumpy this week because she has had a lot of work to do and not all of it that interesting and the date of our imminent departure is looming, despite having snatched a few extra days. So there was a lot of "you invited them, you sort some food out" followed, this evening, by "why have you done it like that?" and "the sausages aren't piled up the right shape" type comments.
As ever, in the end, all was lovely and all had a very enjoyable evening. Brigitte was on good gossippy form and her and Debrah sipped peach bellinis and smoked fags and laughed a lot while decourously adorning the sofa.
Brigitte explained, that as a Parisienne originally, she found it very difficult to understand the local accent and dialect, and sometimes found it difficult to make herself understood. Good grief! - what chance do us poor Brits have when the French can't understand each other - well, at least I can say "Desolee, je suis Anglais" and get away with it as a foreigner. Brigitte doesn't have that excuse and is probably recognised as a Parisienne divorcee of a good local pillar of the community - no chance really. In fact, nobody from anywhere north of mid-France has stood any sort of chance of being accepted down here after Simon de Montford and the Crusade army had marched all the place in the 12th century slaughtering the Cathars and anyone else who got in their way and nicking their land all in the name of God and Catholicism. There is an 800 year old grudge which shows no sign of abating - I'm convinced that I am more accepted here than anyone from the Ile de France.
So we talked about property prices and the state of the building and the lack of action from the managing agents and what we were going to do about it, and we gossipped about neighbours old and new, and we talked about the new British Prime Minister and the new French President, and our children, and the weather of course, and Carcassonne and the market and the history of the building and so on and so on.
Talking of ex-neighbours as we were - it appears that the so called very respected surgeon that sold the property to us might not have been quite as respectable after all. This appartment wasn't his main residence - oh no - it was kept for 'special' entertaining. There was so much eyebrow raising and side of the nose tapping going on from Brigitte as she explained this that you couldn't help but conclude that our esteemed former owner kept the place as a 'shag pad' - what a short balding moustachioed dark horse he turns out to be! I have seen him once or twice walking up the road casting an eye up to the windows - I always thought he was wondering what we had done to the place but he was probably just reminiscing about some prior conquest.
One great advantage of talking with Brigitte is that she helps me to speak French because she is happy to correct me and help me say what I want to say in the right way, and because she also speaks good English I find it easier to understand where I have gone wrong. At the same time we help her with her English which is very good but not perfect or fluent. 'C'est une nouvelle entente cordialle'
The other thing that Debrah and Brigitte have in common is that they are both tequila monsters. Brigitte recounted her Bastille Day experience this year which included beaucoup de tequila and not remembering anything about the fireworks at all - I think Michel had a bit of a strop that night too. He should lighten up - that's my advice - the ladies on the tequila is a special special thing to be loved and appreciated. I look forward to getting them both in the tequila mood at the same time - that will probably be an exceptional evening . Salut.
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Weather and work
The ongoing summer of mad weather continues. Watching the internet reports of flooding in the UK is pretty scary as are the equally disturbing reports of 40 degree temperatures in south eastern europe, which makes me think that we have got off pretty lightly down here in the Languedoc. That's not to say that the weather here has been normal or expected but it has at least not been extreme in any way.
It has still been a bit of a shock for the locals who have been donning cardigans and coats and moaning about how cold it is for the time of year. It is all relative, of course. It hasn't been the weather that usually accompanies a Languedoc July and I suspect a lot of people taking their two weeks holiday here will have been disappointed. The wind has blown and the clouds have come and gone and come and gone and the showers have swept through on the back of the strong wind which seems to swing from east to west on a daily basis - when normally this would be a month of unbroken blue skies and 30 plus degree temperatures. Well, today we got just that - a clear blue sky from dawn to dusk, no wind and a fabulous Carcassonne summer's day.
Our extra stolen days in France are great, partly because they feel a bit naughty (even though they are certainly not) and also because we both seem to be able to get through so much more work and still have time for lunch and each other, which we wouldn't be able to do working miles apart in London. So for the last three days we have both been staring at our computer screens and manning our phones and yet enjoying coffee together in the morning, lunch together either at home, or as today just down in the square. We work the same if not longer hours but have more time together. We get everything done we need to achieve as long as the technology is working. How smug do we sound? The only thing we can't do is face to face interaction which can be a problem from time to time - I guess we will have to return to the big city at some point.
In the meantime, the decision to stay a few extra days was a good one. We both had work deadlines that wouldn't have been met if we had taken out 24 hours to drive back to the UK and we have had some good time together after spending many weeks apart earlier in the year. Isn't that nice? - well yes it is actually.
It has still been a bit of a shock for the locals who have been donning cardigans and coats and moaning about how cold it is for the time of year. It is all relative, of course. It hasn't been the weather that usually accompanies a Languedoc July and I suspect a lot of people taking their two weeks holiday here will have been disappointed. The wind has blown and the clouds have come and gone and come and gone and the showers have swept through on the back of the strong wind which seems to swing from east to west on a daily basis - when normally this would be a month of unbroken blue skies and 30 plus degree temperatures. Well, today we got just that - a clear blue sky from dawn to dusk, no wind and a fabulous Carcassonne summer's day.
Our extra stolen days in France are great, partly because they feel a bit naughty (even though they are certainly not) and also because we both seem to be able to get through so much more work and still have time for lunch and each other, which we wouldn't be able to do working miles apart in London. So for the last three days we have both been staring at our computer screens and manning our phones and yet enjoying coffee together in the morning, lunch together either at home, or as today just down in the square. We work the same if not longer hours but have more time together. We get everything done we need to achieve as long as the technology is working. How smug do we sound? The only thing we can't do is face to face interaction which can be a problem from time to time - I guess we will have to return to the big city at some point.
In the meantime, the decision to stay a few extra days was a good one. We both had work deadlines that wouldn't have been met if we had taken out 24 hours to drive back to the UK and we have had some good time together after spending many weeks apart earlier in the year. Isn't that nice? - well yes it is actually.
Monday, 23 July 2007
Us Time
After the mad rush to complete the appartment and then looking after five guests for a few days, it was really very good to just spend some time with Debrah here in France, something we haven't had much opportunity to do since we bought the place over two and a half years ago. It was a bit odd not to be cooking another meal for someone or jollying everyone along or sanding and painting walls - it was so odd that it took us a little while to relax and enjoy it.
Not that we have in fact been left on our own entirely. Our lovely Irish neighbour and his new lady friend took us out for dinner last Thursday evening. He has bought himself a car to leave down here and I helped him out by talking to Christine, the lady that runs the beauty salon on the ground floor and who owns the other parking spot in the courtyard, about him being able to rent her parking spot as she is currently not using it on account of having a small child and needing a very large 4x4 to drive her around in which, if you ask me, is a bit London rather than the usual French way - but what the hell do I know - just when I think I am beginning to get a grasp on stuff the exception to the rule comes along - much like 'O' level French language classes. Anyway, I facilitated an agreement between them and cash changed hands (not with me) and we got a very nice dinner - he has even left me the spare key for his car in case I need to move it, which is either very trustworthy or very foolish!
On Friday I bumped into Patrick, whose terrace we had visited to watch the fireworks on Bastille Day, which gave me a chance to invite him back and thank him properly for his hospitality over a few glasses of red wine - in fact he came back on Saturday to exchange phone numbers and write down the details of the wine we had drunk so that he could get some for himself. Between picking Debrah's brains about interior design and mine about wine I feel that we have more than repaid him and made a new friend in the process.
On Sunday, the greatest cycle race in the world came through Carcassonne for the second year running, or should that be cycling, and I thought I might wander up the road, literally it was two minutes walk away, and watch it swoop past. However, Debrah felt that, to give it it's full title, 'The f****** Tour de France, is that still going on?' might not actually be all that I was making it out to be and decided that we would have lunch with our lovely friends Nick and Chris at a location about an hour and a half away at the precise time that 'Le Tour' passed through town. Actually, to be fair to Debrah it was the right decision. Straining your neck to watch 170 skinny drugged up men clad in dayglo lycra for precisely 30 seconds as they flash past your vantage point or sitting in the sunshine for a couple of hours over a leisurely lunch with excellent company and a pleasant drive through the beautiful Minervois with the roof down on the Audi - no competition really - but still!
And today we met a very nice American guy called Ken, who used to be a policeman in California but now lives with his French wife over here and works as a handyman. We asked him round to have a chat about the work that still needs doing and whether he thought he could help and to see if we thought he'd be suitable - and we think he'll do very well and that he was an interesting and good bloke - so he's coming back in a couple of weeks time to discuss things further.
On Saturday evening we had one of those lovely impromptu evenings together involving good food and much laughing and lots to drink and dancing and just the two of us. As ever with these things it had started out quite innoccuously but then Debrah selected an excellent bottle of wine to go with our 'confit de canard' supper, which in itself was not an issue, but after a couple of glasses of wine there are only two ways for Debrah to go - it's either pyjamas at 9.30pm and an early night or hard spirits and dancing - I call it the 'stick or twist' moment. When Debrah got up from the dining table and reached for the bottle of Tequila in the drinks cupboard behind her I knew that we were twisting. Sadly, the spirit cupboard is not that well endowed, so it was a good job that I know where to go to get hold of fags and booze late on a Saturday night - strangely it's not that different from the UK - there is a shop run by an Asian couple from somewhere in France's colonial past, that is open on Sundays and late nights (when the rest of France is closed) and sells the bits and pieces that you didn't think about when you were doing your sensible shopping at the market earlier in the day. It's not perfect of course, and they didn't have any tequila but they did have vodka alcopops and fancy french lady cigarettes and as we were out we dropped into the Makhila bar for a couple of drinks before heading home for more husband and wife jollity and lots of singalong music and dancing.
I wouldn't want you to get the idea that it's all frivolity and 'laissez-faire' though. Oh no. In-between all the aforementioned the reality of the work still to do in France and the work still not done for London has been very front of mind. So Friday included a trip to Ikea in Toulouse for furniture and lights and general stuff and every day since the last of our visitors went home has included much staring at computer screens as we both catch up with work and address deadlines that have either been brought forward or are just looming. After all, doing the London stuff to the best of our ability allows us to do the Carcassonne life - it's that simple.
Not that we have in fact been left on our own entirely. Our lovely Irish neighbour and his new lady friend took us out for dinner last Thursday evening. He has bought himself a car to leave down here and I helped him out by talking to Christine, the lady that runs the beauty salon on the ground floor and who owns the other parking spot in the courtyard, about him being able to rent her parking spot as she is currently not using it on account of having a small child and needing a very large 4x4 to drive her around in which, if you ask me, is a bit London rather than the usual French way - but what the hell do I know - just when I think I am beginning to get a grasp on stuff the exception to the rule comes along - much like 'O' level French language classes. Anyway, I facilitated an agreement between them and cash changed hands (not with me) and we got a very nice dinner - he has even left me the spare key for his car in case I need to move it, which is either very trustworthy or very foolish!
On Friday I bumped into Patrick, whose terrace we had visited to watch the fireworks on Bastille Day, which gave me a chance to invite him back and thank him properly for his hospitality over a few glasses of red wine - in fact he came back on Saturday to exchange phone numbers and write down the details of the wine we had drunk so that he could get some for himself. Between picking Debrah's brains about interior design and mine about wine I feel that we have more than repaid him and made a new friend in the process.
On Sunday, the greatest cycle race in the world came through Carcassonne for the second year running, or should that be cycling, and I thought I might wander up the road, literally it was two minutes walk away, and watch it swoop past. However, Debrah felt that, to give it it's full title, 'The f****** Tour de France, is that still going on?' might not actually be all that I was making it out to be and decided that we would have lunch with our lovely friends Nick and Chris at a location about an hour and a half away at the precise time that 'Le Tour' passed through town. Actually, to be fair to Debrah it was the right decision. Straining your neck to watch 170 skinny drugged up men clad in dayglo lycra for precisely 30 seconds as they flash past your vantage point or sitting in the sunshine for a couple of hours over a leisurely lunch with excellent company and a pleasant drive through the beautiful Minervois with the roof down on the Audi - no competition really - but still!
And today we met a very nice American guy called Ken, who used to be a policeman in California but now lives with his French wife over here and works as a handyman. We asked him round to have a chat about the work that still needs doing and whether he thought he could help and to see if we thought he'd be suitable - and we think he'll do very well and that he was an interesting and good bloke - so he's coming back in a couple of weeks time to discuss things further.
On Saturday evening we had one of those lovely impromptu evenings together involving good food and much laughing and lots to drink and dancing and just the two of us. As ever with these things it had started out quite innoccuously but then Debrah selected an excellent bottle of wine to go with our 'confit de canard' supper, which in itself was not an issue, but after a couple of glasses of wine there are only two ways for Debrah to go - it's either pyjamas at 9.30pm and an early night or hard spirits and dancing - I call it the 'stick or twist' moment. When Debrah got up from the dining table and reached for the bottle of Tequila in the drinks cupboard behind her I knew that we were twisting. Sadly, the spirit cupboard is not that well endowed, so it was a good job that I know where to go to get hold of fags and booze late on a Saturday night - strangely it's not that different from the UK - there is a shop run by an Asian couple from somewhere in France's colonial past, that is open on Sundays and late nights (when the rest of France is closed) and sells the bits and pieces that you didn't think about when you were doing your sensible shopping at the market earlier in the day. It's not perfect of course, and they didn't have any tequila but they did have vodka alcopops and fancy french lady cigarettes and as we were out we dropped into the Makhila bar for a couple of drinks before heading home for more husband and wife jollity and lots of singalong music and dancing.
I wouldn't want you to get the idea that it's all frivolity and 'laissez-faire' though. Oh no. In-between all the aforementioned the reality of the work still to do in France and the work still not done for London has been very front of mind. So Friday included a trip to Ikea in Toulouse for furniture and lights and general stuff and every day since the last of our visitors went home has included much staring at computer screens as we both catch up with work and address deadlines that have either been brought forward or are just looming. After all, doing the London stuff to the best of our ability allows us to do the Carcassonne life - it's that simple.
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Friends and family
I returned to Carcassonne last Friday morning to find a very tired and stressed Debrah, a very tired and moaning Christian, two newly arrived and slightly bemused daughters, a departed genius (went back to London on the flight I arrived on) and a fabulous looking appartment. There was still time for a couple of more hours of manic cleaning and organising and room dressing before our weekend guests arrived on the late afternoon flight from London.
Of course, the beds had not been delivered. They had called on Thursday morning stating a delivery time of Monday afternoon - i.e. just after our guests had gone home. Debrah pleaded in her best French - "C'est tres important" - to get them delivered on Friday but was met with a stoic "Desolee, Non" response from an unmoved delivery company. Life throws up these ironies with regularity and I guess there was nothing to do but accept it and laugh about it, which we just about managed to do through gritted teeth and much cursing of the French 'laissez-faire' attitude which makes this place so good to live in and so terribly frustrating at the same time.
At least the beds did arrive on Monday afternoon and are now installed in spare room and appartment. However, it meant that someone had to sleep on the sofa cushions for a couple of nights and my girls gratefully accepted the inevitable for which I thank them profusely.
So, on Friday afternoon at 5pm we had a houseful of people and for the first time in nearly six months we put down all tools and stopped the renovation work and started the entertaining the visitors work, which I think is probably even more tiring and time consuming. I better get used to it though if I am to do this for a living.
For our guests, Ed and Lucy, this was a first trip to Carcassonne and also they were pretty much doing the weekend breaks that we plan to offer - so guinea pigs they were for the whole experience and also as the first guests to use the appartment. There are obvious things that we need to finish in there but their feedback on using the place was very valuable. What was also good to hear was their view that Carcassonne is a great weekend away from London.
They did come for a good weekend though as it was Bastille Day, one of the biggest days of the year here because of the massive firework display set over the Cite. As is was also a Saturday, they were able to take in the full-on market experience in the morning, with live bands strolling the streets, a local producers market in the afternoon with food and wine tasting, the fireworks from the balcony of an Irish friend's newly acquired appartment on the banks of the River Aude directly opposite the Cite and the late night rave in the town square which went on until 2am. Debrah is always very disparaging about the contacts that I have made here but without them I would not have met Patrick and we would have been forced to find a spot in the massed ranks of the crowd lining the riverbank.
On Sunday we took them up the Cite to explore it's narrow streets first hand and later in the afternoon they went off for a cycle ride along the towpaths of the Canal du Midi - so they really did do the full Carcassonne experience including dinner out under the stars one evening and my confit de canard supper and a lot of local wine consumption. I hope everyone enjoys Carcassonne as much as Ed and Lucy did.
The weather was still being a bit moody over the weekend - couldn't decide what it was doing - but finally the skies cleared and today promised to be hot and sunny. The river beckoned and in terribly English fashion we packed a picnic and our swimming costumes and towels and inadequate sun protection! We also reverted to the Audi cabriolet instead of the London Renault which had been blocking it in for the past two weeks - may as well maximise sun exposure.
River swimming is one of our new favourite things - no chlorine as in a pool and no salt as in the sea - mind you, there are fishes and Debrah finds that a bit disturbing. She manages most of the time but every now and again is completely freaked by them and it's all I can do to stop her yelling out "Everybody out of the water - there are fishes in there" whilst flailing away towards the bank. I think the kids had a good time and we all returned slightly glowing and tired from the sun and fresh air and exercise - I can't remember when we last had what was in effect a family day out and I guess it will be a while before we do another one - so I will just have to cling to the wonderful memory of this one.
Of course, the beds had not been delivered. They had called on Thursday morning stating a delivery time of Monday afternoon - i.e. just after our guests had gone home. Debrah pleaded in her best French - "C'est tres important" - to get them delivered on Friday but was met with a stoic "Desolee, Non" response from an unmoved delivery company. Life throws up these ironies with regularity and I guess there was nothing to do but accept it and laugh about it, which we just about managed to do through gritted teeth and much cursing of the French 'laissez-faire' attitude which makes this place so good to live in and so terribly frustrating at the same time.
At least the beds did arrive on Monday afternoon and are now installed in spare room and appartment. However, it meant that someone had to sleep on the sofa cushions for a couple of nights and my girls gratefully accepted the inevitable for which I thank them profusely.
So, on Friday afternoon at 5pm we had a houseful of people and for the first time in nearly six months we put down all tools and stopped the renovation work and started the entertaining the visitors work, which I think is probably even more tiring and time consuming. I better get used to it though if I am to do this for a living.
For our guests, Ed and Lucy, this was a first trip to Carcassonne and also they were pretty much doing the weekend breaks that we plan to offer - so guinea pigs they were for the whole experience and also as the first guests to use the appartment. There are obvious things that we need to finish in there but their feedback on using the place was very valuable. What was also good to hear was their view that Carcassonne is a great weekend away from London.
They did come for a good weekend though as it was Bastille Day, one of the biggest days of the year here because of the massive firework display set over the Cite. As is was also a Saturday, they were able to take in the full-on market experience in the morning, with live bands strolling the streets, a local producers market in the afternoon with food and wine tasting, the fireworks from the balcony of an Irish friend's newly acquired appartment on the banks of the River Aude directly opposite the Cite and the late night rave in the town square which went on until 2am. Debrah is always very disparaging about the contacts that I have made here but without them I would not have met Patrick and we would have been forced to find a spot in the massed ranks of the crowd lining the riverbank.
On Sunday we took them up the Cite to explore it's narrow streets first hand and later in the afternoon they went off for a cycle ride along the towpaths of the Canal du Midi - so they really did do the full Carcassonne experience including dinner out under the stars one evening and my confit de canard supper and a lot of local wine consumption. I hope everyone enjoys Carcassonne as much as Ed and Lucy did.
The weather was still being a bit moody over the weekend - couldn't decide what it was doing - but finally the skies cleared and today promised to be hot and sunny. The river beckoned and in terribly English fashion we packed a picnic and our swimming costumes and towels and inadequate sun protection! We also reverted to the Audi cabriolet instead of the London Renault which had been blocking it in for the past two weeks - may as well maximise sun exposure.
River swimming is one of our new favourite things - no chlorine as in a pool and no salt as in the sea - mind you, there are fishes and Debrah finds that a bit disturbing. She manages most of the time but every now and again is completely freaked by them and it's all I can do to stop her yelling out "Everybody out of the water - there are fishes in there" whilst flailing away towards the bank. I think the kids had a good time and we all returned slightly glowing and tired from the sun and fresh air and exercise - I can't remember when we last had what was in effect a family day out and I guess it will be a while before we do another one - so I will just have to cling to the wonderful memory of this one.
Tuesday, 10 July 2007
Balance
I am back in London for a couple of days work. The intensity of the renovation work over the last five days has left me little time to address my London job, which isn't good because I need to balance my time between the two. The imminence of BD-1 meant working all hours on the apartment and feeling too tired for anything else - amply demonstrated by me falling fast asleep as soon as the plane home took off, and I never sleep on planes! So for the next two days I have to forget all about the renovation and the weekend visitors to come.
I said it was going to be a paintathon and it was. We painted from dawn til dusk, but even so we have only had time for one coat of paint in most places and two are needed. It will get done but not in time for this weekend.
Something else that won't get done in time for this weekend is the delivery of two beds that were ordered in late May that we still don't have a delivery date for. So much for the two to three weeks quoted on the website, which turns out to mean twenty working days, but only after the payment has been authorised which took three weeks to begin with after it took them two minutes to take the money off my credit card. No matter how many emails or telephone calls - no matter how much the service centre agrees that it has taken too long - they will arrive when they arrive. It is the French way.
We have all been so focussed on getting the apartment finished that the start of the festival and the arrival of the first figs of the summer virtually passed us by. The festival started on Saturday and will run throughout July with better known acts up in the Cite and free music in the squares of the bastide. Basically, tiredness, cool weather and some uninspiring folk and blues put us off for now - hopefully it will get better. As for the figs, well maybe they will get better as well because so far they have just been ok rather than spectacular - another consequence of the weather maybe.
Listen to me, moaning about the quality of the fresh figs. How my life has changed over the last two years - for the better, mostly I think - now I just have to get the balance right.
I said it was going to be a paintathon and it was. We painted from dawn til dusk, but even so we have only had time for one coat of paint in most places and two are needed. It will get done but not in time for this weekend.
Something else that won't get done in time for this weekend is the delivery of two beds that were ordered in late May that we still don't have a delivery date for. So much for the two to three weeks quoted on the website, which turns out to mean twenty working days, but only after the payment has been authorised which took three weeks to begin with after it took them two minutes to take the money off my credit card. No matter how many emails or telephone calls - no matter how much the service centre agrees that it has taken too long - they will arrive when they arrive. It is the French way.
We have all been so focussed on getting the apartment finished that the start of the festival and the arrival of the first figs of the summer virtually passed us by. The festival started on Saturday and will run throughout July with better known acts up in the Cite and free music in the squares of the bastide. Basically, tiredness, cool weather and some uninspiring folk and blues put us off for now - hopefully it will get better. As for the figs, well maybe they will get better as well because so far they have just been ok rather than spectacular - another consequence of the weather maybe.
Listen to me, moaning about the quality of the fresh figs. How my life has changed over the last two years - for the better, mostly I think - now I just have to get the balance right.
Thursday, 5 July 2007
Painting shock
BD-1 minus 8 and we finally managed to get the paint pots, brushes and rollers out and into action. "It's very exciting" said Debrah. I'm not sure the prospect of an intense paintathon over the next week is my idea of exciting and judging by the amount of tiredness and wrist aching complaints this evening I suspect the excitement has subsided somewhat.
But paint we did, all of us - well not 'the genius' because he doesn't do painting - but me and Debrah and Christian. Putting on the first coat of paint always makes an amazing difference to the look of a room - even if it is just undercoat or the first coat on the woodwork - suddenly after weeks of plastering and sanding hell it feels like the home stretch. Of course, as you are happily slapping the paint on you come across bits that could have done with a bit more plaster or a bit more sanding and you think "the genius won't be happy with that" and then you think "I don't bloody care what he thinks - I've had enough - this needs to be finished and when it's painted and done nobody will ever see the bits that aren't perfect because it's an eighteenth century building with a million and one flaws which give the place it's fabulous and unique character" - or words to that effect punctuated with a few choice blasphemies.
You will no doubt gather from that comment that there is a certain amount of frustration in the house. Deadlines from us and estimated completions from him have come and gone and come and gone - was it ever so with builders, no matter how talented or knowledgeable. If you want a job doing on time you just have to do it yourself - and so it was that Debrah and I were still painting away long after 'the genius' had gone to sit in the bath and relax.
Mind you, he had given himself a bit of a shock during the afternoon - quite literally - whilst wiring in an extractor unit in the ceiling above the shower he had managed to earth himself from the shower head to the wire cutters that were attached to the live wire that he was cutting. He never turns the power off for simple wiring jobs because he knows what he is doing - errr right. I was up on top of the scaffolding in the main room and Christian was down below but plugged into his ipod - we heard a very unusual noise that sounded to me a bit like a dog growling at someone - but neither of us could place it - Christian plugged in and a bit vague about it and I couldn't be bothered to come down from the scaffold to investigate because it would be too much effort just to look out of the window at a dog. So it was we both ignored the sound of 'the genius' electrocuting himself - I think he was a bit miffed about the fact that no-one came to see if he was alright - but actually neither of us had any idea what had happened. Sorry mate!
But paint we did, all of us - well not 'the genius' because he doesn't do painting - but me and Debrah and Christian. Putting on the first coat of paint always makes an amazing difference to the look of a room - even if it is just undercoat or the first coat on the woodwork - suddenly after weeks of plastering and sanding hell it feels like the home stretch. Of course, as you are happily slapping the paint on you come across bits that could have done with a bit more plaster or a bit more sanding and you think "the genius won't be happy with that" and then you think "I don't bloody care what he thinks - I've had enough - this needs to be finished and when it's painted and done nobody will ever see the bits that aren't perfect because it's an eighteenth century building with a million and one flaws which give the place it's fabulous and unique character" - or words to that effect punctuated with a few choice blasphemies.
You will no doubt gather from that comment that there is a certain amount of frustration in the house. Deadlines from us and estimated completions from him have come and gone and come and gone - was it ever so with builders, no matter how talented or knowledgeable. If you want a job doing on time you just have to do it yourself - and so it was that Debrah and I were still painting away long after 'the genius' had gone to sit in the bath and relax.
Mind you, he had given himself a bit of a shock during the afternoon - quite literally - whilst wiring in an extractor unit in the ceiling above the shower he had managed to earth himself from the shower head to the wire cutters that were attached to the live wire that he was cutting. He never turns the power off for simple wiring jobs because he knows what he is doing - errr right. I was up on top of the scaffolding in the main room and Christian was down below but plugged into his ipod - we heard a very unusual noise that sounded to me a bit like a dog growling at someone - but neither of us could place it - Christian plugged in and a bit vague about it and I couldn't be bothered to come down from the scaffold to investigate because it would be too much effort just to look out of the window at a dog. So it was we both ignored the sound of 'the genius' electrocuting himself - I think he was a bit miffed about the fact that no-one came to see if he was alright - but actually neither of us had any idea what had happened. Sorry mate!
Wednesday, 4 July 2007
Family ties
Nine full working days, including the weekend, to go before the guests arrive. Debrah, as a result of her sensible sleeping the previous day, was awake bright and early and raring to get on with things. I, on the other hand, was a bit sluggish but still managed to drag my arse out of bed well before our fellow workers. So it was that Debrah and I were sat merrily chatting and planning around the kitchen table when both Ed and 'the genius' emerged from thier respective pits.
Today was to be Ed's last day of this stint of work. He is going to return for two weeks in August so look out for more news later. He has been invaluable for the last couple of weeks and BD-1 would be a distant dream without his input. Mind you, heart and willingness in the right place as it is, he was the messiest worker I have ever come across and he has the most, let us say, unusual aroma. I really can't tell you what Debrah said about his bathroom and toilet when she ventured in to clean it! I am not being unkind - just saying it how it is.
Ed's last job was to help me lay the seagrass floor in the spare room - one of those annoying jobs that has been hanging around for weeks since the spare room was 'finished' - except it wasn't finished because the floor hadn't been laid because of the national seagrass shortage and the shower curtain not put up because the shower curtain material was in London until yesterday and so on.
So thank you Ed, for all your hard work over the last two and a half weeks, and hello Christian, Debrah's son and therefore my stepson. Christian arrived on the afternoon flight from London. He is currently studying hard for his art A level and had us bring his paints out here in the car for him to use whilst he is here for a couple of weeks. He may not get much chance to use his own paints because their is plenty of painting of the ceiling and wall variety to do first, which he is fully aware of and happy to help with - bless him.
I get on with Christian better now than I have done for years - it is not easy being a stepson or a stepfather. Sadly, our relationship, whether it is going well or not always brings me into conflict with Debrah. So it was that this evening a jaunty little trip to the Place Carnot for a post dinner stroll and 'digestif' ended with me and Debrah not talking. Whatever the subject, the result always seems to be the same - Christian and I enjoy a little jousting, discussion, debate (argument some might say) but then forget about it as quickly as it started - Debrah always thinks I am picking on Christian for no reason and I always think Debrah defends Christian whether he is right or wrong. I guess it will ever be - 'C'est la vie' as they say in this part of the world.
Today was to be Ed's last day of this stint of work. He is going to return for two weeks in August so look out for more news later. He has been invaluable for the last couple of weeks and BD-1 would be a distant dream without his input. Mind you, heart and willingness in the right place as it is, he was the messiest worker I have ever come across and he has the most, let us say, unusual aroma. I really can't tell you what Debrah said about his bathroom and toilet when she ventured in to clean it! I am not being unkind - just saying it how it is.
Ed's last job was to help me lay the seagrass floor in the spare room - one of those annoying jobs that has been hanging around for weeks since the spare room was 'finished' - except it wasn't finished because the floor hadn't been laid because of the national seagrass shortage and the shower curtain not put up because the shower curtain material was in London until yesterday and so on.
So thank you Ed, for all your hard work over the last two and a half weeks, and hello Christian, Debrah's son and therefore my stepson. Christian arrived on the afternoon flight from London. He is currently studying hard for his art A level and had us bring his paints out here in the car for him to use whilst he is here for a couple of weeks. He may not get much chance to use his own paints because their is plenty of painting of the ceiling and wall variety to do first, which he is fully aware of and happy to help with - bless him.
I get on with Christian better now than I have done for years - it is not easy being a stepson or a stepfather. Sadly, our relationship, whether it is going well or not always brings me into conflict with Debrah. So it was that this evening a jaunty little trip to the Place Carnot for a post dinner stroll and 'digestif' ended with me and Debrah not talking. Whatever the subject, the result always seems to be the same - Christian and I enjoy a little jousting, discussion, debate (argument some might say) but then forget about it as quickly as it started - Debrah always thinks I am picking on Christian for no reason and I always think Debrah defends Christian whether he is right or wrong. I guess it will ever be - 'C'est la vie' as they say in this part of the world.
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
Delirious
I spent the weekend in London and then returned today with my wife in our English Renault packed with stuff that we couldn't bring out here on the plane. It is amazing how much a straightforward and innocuous sentence such as that can conceal.
I returned to London on Friday afternoon, two days later than originally planned, which meant that my weekend was going to be considerably busier than I'd hoped. There was the usual last minute drama before I left. When we opened the tub of pre-mixed tile grout there was hardly any left and a kitchen floor and wall and a shower and bathroom floor to grout. I had spent several days last Autumn mixing different quantities of anthracite and sienna tile grout powder to get the perfect match for the dark brown ceramic tiles which are such a complete nightmare to cut but which look fantastic when finally in place. It couldn't wait until I came back if BD-1 was to be achieved, so less than an hour before my flight we were chasing around the DIY stores of Carcassonne hoping and praying that this weeks nationwide shortage wasn't tile grout in anthacite and sienna. It wasn't, I'm glad to say.
If only the journey home had gone as smoothly as that. The plane from London arrived late so that our take-off slot was missed and an hours delay ensued until air traffic control could get us back up into the crowded skies over Europe. The Stansted Express train service was similarly fouled up after an earlier problem, which meant that my normal four hour trip became a six hour one. Every now and again it is bound to happen - it's not a disaster but it is a pain.
When I arrived in England it was pouring with rain. I had read the reports of the flooding and dreadful weather conditions so was not surprised. In addition two car bombs had been found in London and someone was shortly to drive a burning jeep into the doors of Glasgow airport - events for me which make me nostalgic about the IRA 1980's. Isn't that just crazy? A terrorist is trying to bring carnage to the London I live in today and all it does for me is make me recall a previous life some twenty years earlier with the fondness of nostalgia. No fear. No panic. No concern.
This was amply demonstrated on my Saturday night in London spent at a new private members club, on the edge of the City of London, which was packed to the rafters with people unconcerned about terrorists. Of course, everyone was soaking wet because it was belting down with rain so that groups huddled under any available cover on the rooftop bar but stayed on the rooftop - getting wet in mid summer in England is as normal as ignoring a terrorist threat. So we drank vodka martinis by the heated rooftop pool and played pool in the heated downstairs bar - what a top London night out.
On the Sunday after the Saturday night before, we tried very hard to pack everything that we wanted to take to France into our Renault Laguna Estate - but try as we might it wouldn't all fit and the stress of it all just made our heads ache even more!
As a result of my later return to the UK, I had to work most of Saturday and Monday too. Monday was supposed to be a day of a few final adjustments and taking it easy before an overnight drive down to Carcassonne. Instead, the second closing of the second round of funding took place for the company for whom I work, which is very good, but meant I only had an hour once back home to sort myself out and get in the car.
This is the first time that we have tried an overnight drive, which would only work with two drivers taking it turns, one driving whilst the other slept. The principle is fine; the practice is pretty arduous. It is 700 miles and 11 hours from London to Carcassonne and doing it through the night after all day at work proved to be an interesting experience. Actually, it was a good trip - the car ran like a dream, if a little sluggish up the hills due to the weight being carried - Paris and everywhere else was a doddle because the roads were pretty empty - the excellent 'cafe noir' available at all French service stations gave the next driver a sufficient wake up call for their 100km stint. That was about the limit of each spell behind the wheel before the tiredness started to kick in again. The incessant rain was a problem too - you know how it is, dark, rainy, bright headlights, tired - not a good combination. South of Limoges the rain stopped just as the dawn was breaking and by the time we reached Toulouse the sun was out and a lovely Languedoc day was unfolding - let's hope that's a good sign for the rest of our stay this month.
We arrived at roughly 10.00am, not quite knowing whether to go straight to bed or to get stuck into the mountain of work that still needs doing. In the end it was a bit of both. I had to deal with the unexpected 'can't mix by hand the floor screed with the fibreglass strengthener' emergency by arranging the hire of a 'petit bettonniere' (small cement mixer) for a day and the purchase of at least the same again in sand and cement as I had already bought. My wife, Debrah (I'm so fed up of typing 'my wife') veered between sleeping like the dead and cleaning like someone who had taken speed tablets - which was probably a good solution as she got some much needed sleep and did loads of work - whereas I plodded on at a slower and slower pace and probably not very efficiently until I got a second, or maybe third, wind which kicked in late evening and allowed me to describe all this to you all. Goodnight.
I returned to London on Friday afternoon, two days later than originally planned, which meant that my weekend was going to be considerably busier than I'd hoped. There was the usual last minute drama before I left. When we opened the tub of pre-mixed tile grout there was hardly any left and a kitchen floor and wall and a shower and bathroom floor to grout. I had spent several days last Autumn mixing different quantities of anthracite and sienna tile grout powder to get the perfect match for the dark brown ceramic tiles which are such a complete nightmare to cut but which look fantastic when finally in place. It couldn't wait until I came back if BD-1 was to be achieved, so less than an hour before my flight we were chasing around the DIY stores of Carcassonne hoping and praying that this weeks nationwide shortage wasn't tile grout in anthacite and sienna. It wasn't, I'm glad to say.
If only the journey home had gone as smoothly as that. The plane from London arrived late so that our take-off slot was missed and an hours delay ensued until air traffic control could get us back up into the crowded skies over Europe. The Stansted Express train service was similarly fouled up after an earlier problem, which meant that my normal four hour trip became a six hour one. Every now and again it is bound to happen - it's not a disaster but it is a pain.
When I arrived in England it was pouring with rain. I had read the reports of the flooding and dreadful weather conditions so was not surprised. In addition two car bombs had been found in London and someone was shortly to drive a burning jeep into the doors of Glasgow airport - events for me which make me nostalgic about the IRA 1980's. Isn't that just crazy? A terrorist is trying to bring carnage to the London I live in today and all it does for me is make me recall a previous life some twenty years earlier with the fondness of nostalgia. No fear. No panic. No concern.
This was amply demonstrated on my Saturday night in London spent at a new private members club, on the edge of the City of London, which was packed to the rafters with people unconcerned about terrorists. Of course, everyone was soaking wet because it was belting down with rain so that groups huddled under any available cover on the rooftop bar but stayed on the rooftop - getting wet in mid summer in England is as normal as ignoring a terrorist threat. So we drank vodka martinis by the heated rooftop pool and played pool in the heated downstairs bar - what a top London night out.
On the Sunday after the Saturday night before, we tried very hard to pack everything that we wanted to take to France into our Renault Laguna Estate - but try as we might it wouldn't all fit and the stress of it all just made our heads ache even more!
As a result of my later return to the UK, I had to work most of Saturday and Monday too. Monday was supposed to be a day of a few final adjustments and taking it easy before an overnight drive down to Carcassonne. Instead, the second closing of the second round of funding took place for the company for whom I work, which is very good, but meant I only had an hour once back home to sort myself out and get in the car.
This is the first time that we have tried an overnight drive, which would only work with two drivers taking it turns, one driving whilst the other slept. The principle is fine; the practice is pretty arduous. It is 700 miles and 11 hours from London to Carcassonne and doing it through the night after all day at work proved to be an interesting experience. Actually, it was a good trip - the car ran like a dream, if a little sluggish up the hills due to the weight being carried - Paris and everywhere else was a doddle because the roads were pretty empty - the excellent 'cafe noir' available at all French service stations gave the next driver a sufficient wake up call for their 100km stint. That was about the limit of each spell behind the wheel before the tiredness started to kick in again. The incessant rain was a problem too - you know how it is, dark, rainy, bright headlights, tired - not a good combination. South of Limoges the rain stopped just as the dawn was breaking and by the time we reached Toulouse the sun was out and a lovely Languedoc day was unfolding - let's hope that's a good sign for the rest of our stay this month.
We arrived at roughly 10.00am, not quite knowing whether to go straight to bed or to get stuck into the mountain of work that still needs doing. In the end it was a bit of both. I had to deal with the unexpected 'can't mix by hand the floor screed with the fibreglass strengthener' emergency by arranging the hire of a 'petit bettonniere' (small cement mixer) for a day and the purchase of at least the same again in sand and cement as I had already bought. My wife, Debrah (I'm so fed up of typing 'my wife') veered between sleeping like the dead and cleaning like someone who had taken speed tablets - which was probably a good solution as she got some much needed sleep and did loads of work - whereas I plodded on at a slower and slower pace and probably not very efficiently until I got a second, or maybe third, wind which kicked in late evening and allowed me to describe all this to you all. Goodnight.
Sunday, 1 July 2007
The Doctor
With Ed staying on for a few more days and me delaying my return to London, the build was definitely back on track for completion in time for the arrival of our visitors on the day before Bastille Day on the fourteenth of July (now known as Bastille Day minus one or 'BD-1')
What a ridiculous thing to assume. What utter nonsense. No sooner had that thought passed through my head than the cordless drill packed up. It is perhaps the most versatile and therefore most useful tool in my new collection of power tools that I can't actually use very well but it's loss would be disastrous and expensive.
Just as I was becoming resigned to another €150 bill, 'the genius, who for the purposes of today's report will be called 'the doctor', stepped into the breach. He may be an annoying bastard in many ways but there is no doubting his building expertise - hence his nickname and praise where it is due. This was a new side to his talent not previously seen. He may have been powerless to do anything about the family heirloom hammer and scraper but he wasn't going to give up on the cordless drill without a fight. After all, whilst I am just the apprentice, he is the master of the use of the drill and he and it had built much to be proud of, together.
And so it was that the fairly innocuous comment "Peter, can you get me that can of WD40 from the kitchen cupboard", led onto my own real life episode of Casualty. 'The doctor' had laid out his tools on an improvised chipboard table resting on a work horse. He was sat on the old painted black stool (the one my wife had tried to throw out several times over the years - the sulky teenager and me wouldn't let her - and thank God given it's vital role in this operation) gently lowering the stricken drill into the centre of the makeshift operating table.
With time in short supply until BD-1 every second counted. 'The doctor', with swift but sensitive hands, quickly removed the outer casing and checked all the vital organs one by one.
Bearings - moving freely.
Motor - no sign of burnout.
Electrical connections - all intact.
Trigger - jammed!
'The doctor' snatched the WD40 from my hands as I returned from the kitchen and immediately administered the required dosage directly to the affected component. Now the moment of truth. Carefully he worked the ointment around the joints. Then, having checked that the battery was charged, he gently squeezed the trigger. A slight hesistation and then 'wwhhirrrr'. A firmer squeeze led to a more feisty response. Relief all round - the drill was saved to build again.
'The doctor' had done his job and with a modest dismissal of his efforts he resumed his role as 'the genius', resurrected drill in hand.
What a ridiculous thing to assume. What utter nonsense. No sooner had that thought passed through my head than the cordless drill packed up. It is perhaps the most versatile and therefore most useful tool in my new collection of power tools that I can't actually use very well but it's loss would be disastrous and expensive.
Just as I was becoming resigned to another €150 bill, 'the genius, who for the purposes of today's report will be called 'the doctor', stepped into the breach. He may be an annoying bastard in many ways but there is no doubting his building expertise - hence his nickname and praise where it is due. This was a new side to his talent not previously seen. He may have been powerless to do anything about the family heirloom hammer and scraper but he wasn't going to give up on the cordless drill without a fight. After all, whilst I am just the apprentice, he is the master of the use of the drill and he and it had built much to be proud of, together.
And so it was that the fairly innocuous comment "Peter, can you get me that can of WD40 from the kitchen cupboard", led onto my own real life episode of Casualty. 'The doctor' had laid out his tools on an improvised chipboard table resting on a work horse. He was sat on the old painted black stool (the one my wife had tried to throw out several times over the years - the sulky teenager and me wouldn't let her - and thank God given it's vital role in this operation) gently lowering the stricken drill into the centre of the makeshift operating table.
With time in short supply until BD-1 every second counted. 'The doctor', with swift but sensitive hands, quickly removed the outer casing and checked all the vital organs one by one.
Bearings - moving freely.
Motor - no sign of burnout.
Electrical connections - all intact.
Trigger - jammed!
'The doctor' snatched the WD40 from my hands as I returned from the kitchen and immediately administered the required dosage directly to the affected component. Now the moment of truth. Carefully he worked the ointment around the joints. Then, having checked that the battery was charged, he gently squeezed the trigger. A slight hesistation and then 'wwhhirrrr'. A firmer squeeze led to a more feisty response. Relief all round - the drill was saved to build again.
'The doctor' had done his job and with a modest dismissal of his efforts he resumed his role as 'the genius', resurrected drill in hand.
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