I don't believe it

What an extraordinary day!

On Saturday I was sat outside Cafe Saillan enjoying some lunch, some wine, some chat with friends and 20 degree heat from a cloudless blue sky. I have the beginnings of a suntan to prove it.

Today, it has snowed incessantly from first light until 6.30pm this evening and dumped a good six inches of the stuff right here in the centre of town. The strong wind meant that the snow was drifting and is considerably deeper in places. I can only imagine what it must be like up in the Haut-Vallee and the Corbieres hills.

The snow warnings were around whilst we soaked up that magical South of France sunshine, one of the main reasons we live here, but you never really believe that it's going to be as bad as predicted - just covering themselves surely.

When I first got up it didn't look that bad - a smattering of snow and just a few flakes falling. A false dawn. It didn't stop snowing though and it was very sticky stuff. I ventured out to the pharmacy and felt like a snowman when I got back.

My departing guests left early on a train for Toulouse. My arriving guests were flying into Toulouse from Hamburg and driving down to Carcassonne. As the hours went by and the snow continued to relentlessly pile up and I had heard nothing from them, I wondered if they would arrive at all. When I heard that the A61 autoroute was blocked I feared the worst.

But sometime after 4pm the doorbell sounded and a very slightly shocked mother and daughter, here to practice French (no point looking at me then), stumbled in from the snow wearing inappropriate shoes. Poor things. It had taken them three to four hours for a journey that should take an hour and a half at most.

There was no point them trying to explore the town or walk up to the castle (I later ventured out to survey the scene - when I got to the old bridge I couldn't even see the Cité for the snow still swirling around in the air) so I persuaded them to take a bunch of dvd's and snuggle up in the safe and warm of their suite for the evening.

Earlier, I had noticed that the tree in the courtyard was looking in a more stressful state as the day developed with the weight of the snow pulling down the branches dangerously low to the ground. Whilst preparing my supper this evening, I heard an almightly crack and swooshing sound and knew what had happened. I rushed to the bedroom window to find a huge branch had come down onto the courtyard, neatly resting next to my snow laden car. I will have to deal with that tomorrow - I just hope the other branches manage to hang on in there.

At least it has now stopped snowing and indeed there are signs that some of the snow is melting. It had better get on with it - I am not sure that I could cope with yet another flight cancellation on Wednesday.

It's definitely cancelled

Travel, snow, travel, snow, travel, snow - that has been the theme of the Christmas and New Year period. I know I wasn't the only one affected but this is my blog, so my experience is what matters.

Christian was due to fly back to London last Wednesday, before heading back to Falmouth at the weekend. As the snow started coming down again in the UK in buckets we were glued to our computer screens trying to understand whether his flight was going to come or not.

My past experience of the Ryanair website is that it is notoriously slow to update so I switched to the BAA Stansted Airport website which seemed to be giving real time information. Christian's flight was due in at 2.15 and at about midday it was shown as cancelled on the BAA site. We decided to jump in the car and get to the airport to rearrange his flight before the majority of the passengers had arrived. Airport visit number one.

The lady at the information desk said that it wasn't cancelled. I said that it was. She went off to telephone Ryanair and came back with that classic French shrug. It is not yet cancelled she said so we couldn't yet transfer the flight - and with that she and all other staff disappeared.

What to do? Believing the cancellation imminent we chose to hang about and grab some lunch in the airport restaurant. It has never been a good experience and it was no different this time - rude staff and very average food. We regularly popped back downstairs to be met with no staff and nothing on the so called information screen.

Then out of the blue there was an announcement for Stansted passengers to check in their bags. I went to investigate and was told that the outbound flight had indeed been cancelled but that they were arranging for another plane. Okay. I dashed back home with Christian, collected his stuff, took him back to the airport, said our goodbyes and headed home. Airport visit number two.

Debrah and I were going to visit our mates at Chateau Rigaud for a few days on our way back to London and so had our own packing to do and closing up of 42rvh for the next six weeks or so. We had been home no longer than 15 minutes when Christian called - the flight had just been cancelled after getting everyone's hopes up and checking them all in through security - how cruel was that. I went back to collect a thoroughly morose and despondent Christian who seemed to think that the world had just ended. Airport visit number three.

Again the question - What to do? Rebook for Carcassonne and leave him behind, rebook for somewhere else and drop him off or take him with us to Bordeaux and then London? The thought of a twelve hour car journey seemed to tip Christian over the edge altogether - the most absurb overreaction I have ever seen - frankly I didn't relish the prospect if he was going to continue to be that miserable for the next three days - but with no idea when an airport might open again in the UK we had no option. Thankfully the stress (!) of it all had tired him out and he slept all the way to Bordeaux and awoke in a jollier mood.

On Thursday morning we explored all options in both France and the UK and found a flight from Bergerac to Southampton, which seemed to be open and operating. Goodbyes once more and I drove him to Bergerac with about an hour to spare before the flight and showed him where to check-in. As I left I hoped I wouldn't see him for another two months - when he's back from college - you know what I mean. Airport visit number four.

If we hadn't been able to get him away we would have driven back to London on the Friday, but the plane came and he went and arrived safely in Southampton and then London by train. And relax - it's always great to see Anna and Aib and we had a nice lunch out in a deserted St Emilion and talked about plans and dreams for the future whilst sampling a few local wines.

A breakfast time start was planned for Saturday. As I pulled back the curtains I looked out upon the glorious lawns of Chateau Rigaud covered in an inch of pristine white snow. Bugger. We ventured out but the roads were well slippy and 20 mph was the top speed attained - that combined with the forecasts from Northern France and the UK was enough for us to change our travel plans once again. We stayed another night.

With Debrah due back at work on Monday morning we could delay no longer. We left and 12 hours later we arrived - in London - hurrah. The roads were pretty much clear all the way and finally it all went to plan.

I think we might just stay put for a while.

Getting Christmassy

I have been trawling through my numerous cookbooks looking for Christmas inspiration and have only succeeded in confusing myself enormously. I must have earmarked about 200 different recipes to try but have still not decided on what to cook for our Christmas dinner - which this year will just be the two of us hiding at home, eating, drinking and watching movies!

My short trip out here neatly bisects the Saturday market and I will also head back to London before the Foire au Gras this weekend. The Tuesday market was a bit of a disappointment with very few stallholders braving the freezing weather and not much on offer in the meat and fish market either - I guess they are all saving up for next weeks stampede.

It was so cold that when I came back in my face was tingling for a good 15 minutes. I decided that I needed a hat of some sort so went back to town later and went completely overboard on a (fake) fur lined hat that comes right down over my ears - so much better - I have even taken to wearing it indoors but have drawn the line at keeping it on in bed.

The first Christmas cards arrived today - my Mum and Dad are always quick off the mark and spelled Debrah's name correctly for the first time in about 10 years - there was a card from Domaine Gayda, no doubt hoping I will continue to send guests their way next year - and finally one from the Anglican church in Limoux listing all the times of the Christmas services. I have never been there and I don't know how they got my name and address but top marks for effort in reminding us all what the forthcoming celebrations are really all about.

A completely unrelated celebration was the first anniversary of the opening of The Celt pub. It was the usual mix of Irish folk music, various games in which worthless prizes could be won and slightly too much alcohol. I came home, eventually, with the same amount of money that I started the night with because all the drinks, for me anyway, were on the house - which was nice.

A dull head and the chilly air would have kept me in bed this morning but I had arranged to meet Cecile for a coffee at ten.

This afternoon I went to look at another pile of stones in need of much loving care - this pile was near Moux which is about halfway between Carcassonne and Narbonne. It dates back to the 13th century but is now just four walls overgrown with ivy - no roof, no floor, no doors or windows. There is about 5000sqm of land with some syrah vines that could produce about 3000 litres of wine - but the aspect is wrong and the nearby railway and main road are the things that weren't shown or mentioned on the details. It's probably not for us.

There was plenty of snow on the Alairic mountains and the Montagne Noire and I presume on the Pyrenees too, but it was too cloudy to see that far. As it normally is, the weather was a bit better as I headed east towards the sea and I even saw some sunshine after the unrelenting grey cloud and cold wind of Carcassonne for the last three days.

Swine flu or H1N1 or 'la grippe' finally appears to have arrived in the town too since I was last here. Tom from the bar has had it and Louis, Cecile's son, was off school for a bit and two schools have been closed for ten days or so because of the number of cases. Vaccination seems to be progressing here as it is in the UK - just all keep out of my way please - the last thing I want is a holiday illness.

Peter Potatoes

Several years ago Sandra lived with us in London for a few months before she moved back to Stockholm - now she is more than repaying the favour by letting us live in her apartment in Stockholm, whilst she stays with Mats.

Staying in an apartment is so much better than staying in a hotel room - especially one as lovely as this. It has authentic period features (probably 1920's) - parquet flooring in the living room and painted wood floors elsewhere. It makes our London apartment seem really small, even though it is only marginally bigger - the layout and use of space sees to that.

This evening, partly because of Sandra's time with us in London, I found myself cooking a traditional English roast dinner for our hosts - rack of lamb with roast potatoes (Peter potatoes apparently) sprouts, cabbage, parsnips and a freshly made mint sauce. Bizarrely, cooking dinner myself and then settling down on the sofa with Debrah after Sandra and Mats have left only adds to the perception of us being in our apartment, rather than the other way around.

The forecast snow finally arrived late this afternoon - reminding us that we are still in the Swedish winter, but strangely enough it just adds to the feeling that we are looking out onto a New York scene - weird.

We awoke this morning to the sun rising above a tranquil and springlike Baltic Sea and we will go to bed looking out onto a snowy wet dark winter scene - what a long and strange day it has been

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.

Let it snow, let it snow

When we awoke yesterday morning it was snowing - not a little bit of drizzly sleet but proper, big, slow falling, settling when they landed snowflakes. In no time at all the top of the cars were covered.

Two hours later it was still snowing steadily from a leaden grey sky, the road was slushly, the rooftops were white and Carcassonne had turned into a winter wonderland.

Sadly, the snow turned to rain in the afternoon and the magic slowly disappeared.

It was cold and damp and we didn't really feel like going out. We were also all still full and jaded from Christmas day so decided to postpone the wine tasting with the clients by 24 hours and watch a dvd together instead - it was an excellent decision.

We took a bit of time to get going today as well - I was up to sort breakfast and even Christian was up before 10.00am which is something of a miracle, but we were all a bit half-hearted at the market and a bit lethargic for the rest of the afternoon - well all except Christian, who knocked out another couple of lovely paintings in no time at all in a hastily put together studio in the hallway of the office space - they'll look great on the apartment walls.

I had a night off from cooking. Debrah did the majority, so that whilst I sat and spouted off about wine to our clients, Debrah brought a succession of fabulously tasty morsels to the table that complimented each of the wines we were tasting - which worked really well.

It's all over now - everything except the glasses has been washed up - time for bed.

Driving home for Christmas

That's a relief - getting back to Carcassonne unscathed - at one point I didn't think I was going to get past Calais!

I have been in London for a week and for most of the time I was ill - nothing more I don't think than a nasty cold but I could have done without it - and so could Debrah who is sadly showing signs of coming down with it just as I am beginning to feel better.

I went back to London to see (infect) Debrah, to sort some UK finances (only partly successful so far) and to drive the Renault down to Carcassonne full of accumulated purchases that have been getting in the way in our small London apartment and a few special purchases ahead of our first Christmas and New Year with guests.

So, that's why I was up and out at 4.00am this morning to catch the 6.05am channel tunnel train. I reached Folkestone without incident, bought a coffee and a bacon sarnie and joined the end of the queue for my train - I was the last car onto the upper deck, but only just.

After the, by now, routine security checks, I started the car up again and it immediately revved up to 3000rpm and stuck there - I blipped the throttle to try and free it (before remembering that the days of sticky throttle cables are long gone as it is all controlled by electronics now). I moved off slowly, engine roaring away and then realised I couldn't go any faster than about 15mph in any gear and the dashboard panel was now telling me I had a fuel injection fault.

I was desperately trying to decide what to do. I had a car stuffed to the gills with all sorts and couldn't work out if it was better to break down in the UK or in France, although I was now technically in France because I had gone through passport control - so did that already negate my UK breakdown cover? My mind was racing as fast as the engine and by now I was at the back of the queue at the top the ramp leading down to the train. I turned the engine off and restarted in the hope it might just sort itself out - it's electronics, it's just IT, so re-boot it.

It didn't work - so trying not to draw any attention to myself - I crept onto the train, switched off and spent the 30 minutes so-called relaxing journey time fretting about what to do at the other end if the problem persisted.

Thirty minutes later, as the car in front pulled away, I nervously pushed the starter button and, in the words of Leonard Cohen. Jeff Buckley and Alexandra Burke, to name but three - hallelujah. I was so grateful that I spoke lovely words of encouragement to the car all the way down the 700 miles across France - bonkers I know, but that was actually just the beginning of a stressful day's driving.

France was foggy - I don't mean bits of it, I mean all of it - well all of it until I got to the Languedoc - 600 miles of it. Mile after mile of greyness punctuated by dazzling bright red and white/yellow fog lights and no sense of perspective or distance and road signs glimpsed at the last minute as they loom up out of the gloom. It is two hours since I got back and I still feel totally wired from the effort of concentration all day.

It was freezing point or below for the whole journey too with bits of drizzle here and there to help visibility and then, when I got to the Massif Central, there was the snow! Just a bit to begin with but then later it was clear that a good foot of the stuff had fallen, which meant at least two foot banks of snow on the hard shoulder where the snowploughs had pushed it off the road - and a very good job they had done too - the road was pretty much clear but the Megane on it's side in the middle of the road (it looked as if it had clipped the snow bank and flipped) reminded me to take it easy.

Judging ones pace is the key in conditions like that - too slow and I wouldn't have got here until midnight and would run the risk of someone ploughing into the back of me - too fast and well anything could happen.

It was very wintry, beautiful and Christmassy (as far as I could see into the gloom). Trees were bent over with the weight of snow - a veritable winter wonderland - they should have built one of those closed down 'Lapland' parks near Clermont Ferrand instead of in Hampshire - except the French aren't stupid enough to waste their money on such nonsense.

Miraculously, the fog lifted for 10 kilometres either side of the fabulous Millau bridge and gave me a great view of it - what a fantastic piece of engineering - shame the light was beginning to fade as I got there - it was one of those days really