Better late than never

I was aware during the night that the wind had picked up a bit - as in it was blowing a gale. I went out quite early to pick up some provisions for dinner and noticed immediately that it was about ten degrees colder than yesterday and another ten degrees colder if you stood in the wind. A car went past covered in snow - clearly it had been cold up in the hills. I ran around town and scooted back home as quick as I could.

On my way back in I checked my post box. It has become a habit of mine to open my post box, situated in the archway underneath the apartments, every time I pass it even though it is usually empty or just full of the local advertising papers, special offers (pork bargains) or local mayoral election manifestos. But today was special because today I received a Christmas card.!

Debrah and I stopped sending Christmas cards on ethical grounds many many years ago and slowly we have stopped receiving them as well, either because other people have taken a similar stance in response to ours or because they have adopted the 'I'm not sending them one if they don't send us one' approach. Either way it means we don't receive many Christmas cards. So it was with great joy and pleasure that I opened our third, and hopefully last, card relating to last Christmas.

It was from Debrah's mum and was correctly addressed and had a stamp on it and everything - so God knows where it has been for the last two months or so - following yonder star no doubt. It had an air mail sticker on it but I could have walked from Kent and still got here quicker. Oh well, in the name of diplomacy and the good old entente cordiale, let's just put it down to the fact that the postal systems in England and France could both be a bit more efficient, without laying blame anywhere.

As ever, from my mother-in-law, the card is very amusing but slightly mad.

Speaking French

I have been having French lessons in a bid to finally try and raise my game here in every day communication. It caused a bit of a stir with Debrah when she saw the names Amelie and Ann dotted all over my diary - but they just happen to be the names of my French teachers. Next month I will try and meet some local girls whose names begin with the letter B !.

Amelie is a qualified teacher and I am paying her for proper lessons. She is very good and is very structured in her teaching. Somehow she speaks in a way that I can understand, and if I can't, she instinctively knows and rephrases what she has said. She is very clear and very precise and very patient and when I am with her I feel as if I can speak French. She has explained the difficult differences in the usage of 'tu' and vous' and also when to use 'savoir' and when to use 'connaitre' and has tested me on the past tense and future tense and tells me that I know it but just need to practice it. 'C'est tres facile pour elle de dire'.

Ann is a friend with whom I have a timeshare agreement - that is to say, we spend half an hour just talking in French and she corrects and helps me and half an hour talking in English and I correct and help her. This has been a less than successful arrangement so far because every time I arrange to meet her something comes up to do with the Apartments or my London job to cut short our arrangement. I suspect she will fire me soon for non-performance, especially as I am going back to London at the end of this week for eight days so won't be able to help her with her English for a while. I hope not, because although she is a little serious, she is a good counterpoint to Amelie's approach because it is less formal and more everyday.

If only it were that easy! Oh No - I live in a region that has a very strong local accent. In fact, this part of France has only really spoken French, as we know it in England, for the past 150 years - prior to that the whole of the south of France spoke Occitan, which is nearer to Catalan than it is to French. In fact French was the language of Northern France, the Capucins, William the Conqueror, Charlemagne etc and has only recently been spoken here in the south and is still regarded with some suspicion in many quarters.

So, when the Parisian born chef was here this past weekend, he told me, that on at least two occasions, he had been blatantly ignored to the point of profound rudeness by local traders who immediately recognised him as being Parisian because of his accent - despite him having lived in London for fifteen years. He went into a shop and asked for something, in fluent French, and they ignored him for five minutes before getting round to begrudgingly serving him. Whatever happened 1000 years ago with the Cathars and despite the fact that tax laws are made in Paris, the centre of government and, therefore, hostility - that is still rude behaviour to the extreme.

My upstairs neighbour - Brigitte (you see I already know a 'B') - is also originally from Paris and admits that she was unable to understand the local accent when she first arrived here.

Apparently, it is the same as only ever having heard the Queen's English and suddenly finding yourself in Newcastle or Liverpool. Alors! What chance do I have of being able to speak fluent French, when my own inability, the local dialect, the local prejudice and my own friends are conspiring against me. This evening my friend Pierre called, incognito, asking in very rapid French if I had availability for 3 weeks in July. I was taken in absolutely and failed the test completely - I just floundered - so much for my improved language skills.

Cooking for a Chef

We are up and running. Paying guests have been and gone. I hadn't really realised how nervous I have been about the whole thing. I have been so concerned about getting everything right and making sure that nothing was overlooked or forgotten that I have found it impossible to sit down and write the blog. But tonight I am in a state of rare contentment and happiness, so here I am.

On Sunday morning I was about as nervous as I can ever remember because on Sunday evening I was cooking the included dinner in my guests weekend package. Debrah had been unable to get out this weekend and was in London and one of our guests was a top London restaurant chef - the real deal, classically trained and 15 years experience in Michelin starred restaurants. Oh my God - talk about a test of my home developed cooking skills.

Every possible scenario was constantly going through my head. I doubted my own ability - I knew I'd cooked the dinner plenty of times but decided today was the day it would go wrong. I decided that he might just be non-comital and nice and polite about it but then I reasoned he was French and born in Paris and was more likely to say "I cannot eet zis sheet".

The situation was made more nerve-wracking by the events of Saturday. He said he was going to the market to buy food to cook for his girlfriend that evening. Now the Apartment has a mini-kitchen with a small fridge and two electric hobs but I had never envisaged real cooking taking place there - so I offered him the use of my kitchen and in return he invited me to dinner! This was both an unexpected bonus and a rod for my own back. On the one hand, a paying guest had bought food and wine and was cooking for me in my own home and he was a classically trained chef whom I could watch and ask questions of and be his assistant for the evening. I watched the effortless ease with which he dealt with filleting red mullet and trimming up lamb chops and artichokes. On the other hand, I had to follow this display the next day.

I am glad to say that my kitchen lacked for nothing that he needed. He had even asked for an oyster knife earlier in the day because he had bought oysters for lunch. It seemed to me that they were having an enjoyable stay, which was naturally really pleasing - they seemed relaxed and happy and in love - all of which augured well.

And indeed we had a great Saturday evening, eating his beautifully prepared and presented food and drinking nice wine and chatting about all things good and life in general. When Debrah found out, she was absolutely gutted that she wasn't here this weekend - she so hates missing out on anything and this was missing out big time. He gave us scallops and red mullet and boudin noir to start and lamb chops and brochettes of lambs liver and sweetbreads on a bed of spinach and asparagus for main and a glazed pear with a pistachio and coriander creme fraiche dressing for dessert. It was all delicious, but to be honest, I didn't think the dessert worked as a dish - who the hell do I think I am!

On Sunday, they went out to explore La Cite and I fretted. I tried to take my mind off things by going out for a drive but the car threw a wobbly too and wouldn't start, so I went out on my bike which just made me hot, sweaty and tired. Bolton lost at home to Liverpool which pissed me off and two hours before I needed to, I was prepped and ready to go and couldn't wait to get on with it.

In the end it all went very well but I didn't really relax all evening which meant I probably drank a glass of wine or two too many. Two things stood out - the words 'beautifully cooked' about the asparagus starter and the fact that he finished his chocolate pudding in record time - and this a man who apparently doesn't eat dessert apart from his search for the prefect lemon tart. In between it all he gave me a tip about pulling the lower bone out of a leg of duck confit, and some hints on cooking the potatoes or even a suggestion that it would go really well with lentils - all of which at the time I took as being unhappiness with my food but on reflection, and in view of his comments today, was I think him trying to help me because he had had a good time. Hurrah - what a relief - let the paranoia go!

Most importantly of all, they seemed to have had a really enjoyable stay and will, I think, go back to London as ambassadors for our little place here. Apparently she shed a few tears this morning because she didn't want to go home and he gave me a classic french handshake, hug and kiss on both cheeks when he said goodbye after I dropped them at the airport.

Despite feeling under pressure, which probably isn't a bad thing, the whole weekend couldn't have gone much better - the conviviality was something that we always had in our minds to create because ultimately that's what makes weekends away memorable. Here's hoping it continues in the same vein.

Much to do

So much to say but, as per normal over the last couple of weeks, so little time to sit down and say it. Take this evening for instance - I have just finished building two Ikea drawer units that are destined for the bedroom in the studio. I could have waited until tomorrow but I just can't stop myself these days - if there is a job that needs doing then I better get on with it.

I remember the days in London when I'd get home from a day in the office and pour a glass of wine and just sit in front of the telly all night. How my life has changed - can't seem to sit still for a minute - and even though I did watch some football on French TV this evening, I just had to go and build those drawer units right away. What am I trying to say? - not sure really - maybe that my priorities have changed.

We had our first paying guests last weekend which was a bit scary beforehand and very exciting at the same time. I think it all went very well. They wrote a lovely comment in our brand new visitors book and sent me a very lovely email afterwards thanking us for everything - so I think they had a good time.

Of course, we are seeking to offer perfection which we know we haven't achieved yet - hence the ongoing feeling that there is always something else to be done. Nothing wrong with that as long as we keep it in perspective. If all our guests have a lovely time then we are still staying ahead of their needs which is the idea from our point of view.

Blah blah blah - have just re-read what I've written and what a load of bland nonsense that is. So - my head is still full of snot from the the cold that I picked up in London last week and which I can't seem to shake off. I've been working all hours as per first para so haven't really given it a chance to sort itself out and, of course, I breathed germs all over our first guests - they have probably retired to their beds by now, cursing, and planning to sue me.

Well, maybe not - life isn't actually a set of extremes - just feels like that sometimes. I do have a cold but it's just a cold. Our guests did have a good time. I have had lots to do but I am enjoying my new life. We have more visitors this weekend but they are friends and I am really looking forward to seeing them.

Life could be better in many ways but it could be a lot worse too. I'll take where I am for now.

Moving out of the kitchen

I am loving my new office space. I thought I would always end up back in the kitchen with computers and cables and paperwork getting in the way of eating. But no. It is great to walk out of the office and leave the computer there and have an empty kitchen table to sit down and eat at or sit around to talk without computer distractions. I hope it lasts. I hope the Mac doesn't start creeping back into the kitchen.

I realised this today on two occasions. Firstly my neighbour from upstairs, Brigitte, came and had lunch with me and it was good not to have to clear all the crap away before being able to set the table and sit down to eat. Secondly, my good friends David and Pierre came in for a nightcap this evening on their way home and again we could sit down around the kitchen table without any of the clearing up or tidying away that has become the norm over the past year or so.

In fact, both sets of visitors were in awe of our fabulous office space. Both sets of visitors were in awe of the entire apartment and both sets of visitors expressed the view that perhaps we aren't charging enough for our weekend rentals or our daily rate. Brigitte knew what the place looked like before and she thinks the difference is enormous - she asked if the previous owner, M D'Arzac, had seen the renovations because she thought he would be astounded. My very good friends, despite my elaborate descriptions of the place to them, were totally blown away by it when they saw it first hand.

They all may be right. I have lived here now for the best part of a year and a half, on and off, and, probably, take the space and the grandeur a little bit for granted. When someone sees it for the first time I guess it is pretty impressive. I hope that when the first visitors start coming and taking back the news first hand of the beautiful, fabulous, opulent suites available for rent in Carcassonne, the news will spread - I certainly hope so.

Problems

What a frustrating day it has been. I've spent pretty much all day trying to solve my blocked kitchen sink drama or trying to make an inadequate amount of cash keep a business running in London. Happily I seem to have finally solved the first issue, the second may be beyond me.

I leapt out of bed early, determined to solve the sink problem and then get on with the other jobs that still need doing before the first guests arrive in less than two weeks time - eek. At 6 pm this afternoon the sink would still not drain properly and another day had gone by. I was feeling very down about life.

I made two trips to Tridome today (at least the car started without having to whip the battery out and give it a charge which is always a bonus). I thought my Tridome visiting days were over but it seems that I will always be making a little DIY trip every now and again. First off I bought a pipe cleaning tool (a sort of long spring that you push down the pipe to try and clear the blockage) and a bottle of caustic soda (approach number two being to dissolve the blockage).

I took out the trap from under the sink and shoved the coil at least two metres down the pipe - no obstruction and no gunge coming back out. The only thing that happened was that I burnt my fingers and wrist on left over caustic soda from yesterday's attempts to clear the blockage. I decided to put the whole thing back together and try more soda, only I couldn't stop the system from leaking because one of the washers had become a bit mangled - and of course, in all the left over plumbing bits from a year and half of construction there weren't going to be any washers of the right shape or size - so back to Tridome I went.

The sun shone very brightly and warm and the mountains glistened with their snowy peaks and even that didn't cheer me up.

Back home again, I finally got the pipework back together again with no leaking - half a day gone and progress so far - zilch.

This afternoon I poured the second bottle of soda down the sink and then, on the very wise advice of Debrah, as much bleach as I could get my hands on. In fact I poured bleach down every available entrance to the same waste system - toilet, sink and shower/bath - so much so that the whole apartment smelled like a hospital. Finally in the late afternoon, I made one last tired effort with the plunger over the sink waste - first time, nothing - second time, nothing - one last go and hey presto - a gurgling of air and a disappearing of bleachy water - hallelujah!

Another confirmed booking this evening should have made me feel good - but actually I just feel tired and am going straight to bed.

Tomorrow will all be about cash flow rather than water flow - actually it will be about non-cash flow just as today was about non-water flow. Here's hoping for another late afternoon solution to a problem.

Getting there

Debrah's weekend visit disappeared in a flurry of socialising/networking and sorting/box clearing. The poor thing never seems to get a break at the moment and, of course, the weather turned a bit changeable just as she arrived and looks to be settling back down again just as she's returned to rainy London.

On Friday evening we finally got out to Simon and Juliet's place at Mailhac and were introduced to their friends Peter and Sally, who have run a hotel barge for several years but are now embarking on a new venture in a similar field to us. All useful contacts and business exchange opportunities a plenty, but more importantly, just really good to meet interesting people down here with whom we can have a really good dinner party - how terribly seventies does that sound? - have finally turned into my parents.

Today we met Jamie and Greca, who run the Languedoc Roussillon version of the French Entree website. They came for lunch but we subsequently realised that Debrah's flight was an hour and a quarter earlier than we thought when we made the arrangement, so it was all a bit rushed. Still, good business contacts and nice people too who could well become more socialising type chums who know lots of other interesting people here and in the region.

In between times we managed to empty or move every single last one of the boxes that were still in the dining room to be, which is now thankfully very nearly empty, after 18 months of operating as a builders yard and general storeroom - mind you the walls have taken a bit of a bashing and a final paint touch-up is needed. It would all be a lot less frustrating if the furniture order from Ikea would just arrive, but that is proving as difficult to arrange as it ever was and looks like it may be another last minute, skin of the teeth situation just before the first guests arrive.

Yes, we have guests arriving in two weeks time and we have a whole load of others following on behind them. Today has seen no less than two bookings and four further enquiries including our first potential honeymooners and the latest enquiry just moments ago as I was typing this very paragraph.

All of which makes the fact that the kitchen sink is blocked up very very very frustrating. It showed signs of backing up this morning, after working perfectly well last night. This afternoon I tried the plunger - I tried opening up the U-bend under the sink and I tried some caustic soda crystals designed for the task. The result is that while, this morning, the water drained away but slower than it should, it now won't drain away at all!! It seems that my attempts to clear the problem have made it worse, which shows what a genius I am at DIY - Chris, where are you when I need you?

I guess I need to be able to cope with the unexpected - so I am not going to panic. In fact I am going to go to bed and look at it afresh in the morning when I'm sure a solution will present itself.