I’ve just had to put a fire on, at 5.30pm, as it’s starting to get a bit chilly. Hopefully the cold won’t be affecting Matt’s game of golf which is currently underway in St Junien. Actually I’m not sure if I’m supposed to mention that guilty pleasure but as someone who has been painting, varnishing a floor, waxing a table and making a coq au vin all afternoon whilst my other half is elsewhere playing with his balls I think it’s alright – isn’t it?
That’s two of the Dig-It team down today as Dave ‘Butch’ Butcher has been off for the last week with a pulled muscle. Laurent and Mark soldier on alone putting Sue Poole’s pool together in the form of polystyrene lego blocks.

I know this is dull but another hour this morning was spent talking to someone at Neuf who was trying to tell us how to re-establish our phone line – which keeps going off. The up shot is that they are going to send a new box, which is fine and well but means that I have to send the old one back by Colissimo at huge expense, or go and buy a pair of shoes and use the box which would probably be a cheaper option…and if you think it’s not you haven’t seen the shoe shops around these parts.
Etienne’s last pair of shoes were ‘Patrick’ ones ( which I remember as a brand of football shoes so falsely imagined would be sturdy) lasted all of 10 days before the sole fell off irreparably – and believe me the tube of neoprene was out twice. I think part of the problem is that he has developed a penchant for chav’s shoes with soles slightly thinner than a minute steak– which is fine for standing on street corners eating chips but not for much else.

I was listening to an article on the radio yesterday ( apropos of phone lines) when a woman was saying that on occasions the ring tone of the 09 numbers, or whatever they are nowadays, are actually recorded so that when you think you’re not paying for the call before being connected you actually are. Undoubtedly the brainwave of the evil Duncan Ballantyne.

Well for obvious reasons this blog is one of apology.

First an apology for the offering (I hesitate to give it a name) of Friday evening. This is what happens after a couple of glasses of cheap rosé which obviously shares a similar chemical composition to that of Ecstasy. Pass the sandals man….I’m goin’ West coast…
Consequently I’ve told Matt that if he catches me again glass in hand making a break for the keyboard to either go for a dead leg or full on rugby tackle. Painful but necessary. I wouldn’t mind but I read it to him as I was doing it and he said it was fine which means that either 1. He’s a few flagons away from a hippie commune too or 2. He doesn’t listen to a word I say. Erm I wonder….?

Secondly, apologies to Neil for my blog the other night, which in itself was an apology to his of the night before. Atleast I think it’s an apology - although it wasn’t supposed to be as vitriolic as it sounded on second reading. I hadn’t even had a drink when I did that one but for some reason thought it was hilarious and quickly got quite giddy on realising that I didn’t actually have to think of anything to write but just go through the boring details of a day with o’clock at the end of everything……really is that what was going on!
Anyway someone who read it the day after, thought that it sounded stroppy so…sorry Neil if it did, it wasn’t meant to and I will stop with my trowel next time you’re on scaffolding doing the barn wall. ….what’s that you say?….it’s done now. Maybe then some light gardening…have small fork will travel!

A noticeable lack of appearance on the blog pages from Alan last night but that’s because they came over yesterday and either couldn’t be arsed or their internet isn’t working. Given his 103% commitment to blogging in the past I imagine that it could only be the latter. I wonder what we’ll be talking about when we meet up later in the week?

We had a marginal success on Saturday morning when the estate agent came over with potential customers to ours at Bousseroux ( I mention the name so that I can make a link to the details on the homepage. I say that with a confidence which I don’t feel having quite forgotten how to do it already) They were looking (the visitors) to start a gite business and really this would have been perfect for them but they thought it too big and decided to go for a house with barn to convert in the end….now all they’ve got to do is find someone to actually do it. Not that I’m bitter atal. Still c’est la vie and all that. They were the first people round since we took the place off the market in the spring so that we could complete the middle barn( to make it unsellably big) and were lovely and very complimentary so it could have been worse, and as I think I’ve said before on more than one occasion it gets the house tidied. Actually I’ve decided, that I’m not as messy as I thought, having watched Wife Swap last night. She really did take the biscuit - although unfortunately forgot to sweep up the crumbs.

aber, ja das ist so gut…..my main activity this week has been building a step outside the front door (see below) it has only taken me four years to get round to it but I have been spurred on by the presence of Moraig’s brother plastering the landing like a demon. The song, you see, and the title, you see are a clever play thus on the word ’step’ - clever eh! or clever o’clock as I like to say, or indeed say o’clock….. or perhaps bollocks to it o’clock.

In fact I have just realised, not for the first time that I am talking bollocks - Chesty Morgan and Watermelon Rose are mentioned in the song below not the one above….what a twat (me not Tom Waits) Please note the especially fine West Side Story pastiche at about 4 1/2 minutes.

Today was glorious so we drove to Royan and left dog feeding and piss enabling duties to Helen and Debbie - which was sucessful to a greater or lesser extent. €13 spectacular in a Royan restaurant (lardon salad, steak in a pepper sauce and chips, chocolate ice cream and pear sorbet in case you’re wondering) The rosé having taken effect, we hied it to a beach pronto and snoozed - see picture of beached whale below.

After a small blind wine tasting last evening it transpires that Moraig’s brother prefers the 1 litre for €1.20 plastic wine style drink to the €4.80 bottle of Fitou - hallelujah, truly a man after my own heart…never sacrifice quantity for quality, that’s what it will say on my grave, that and ‘never knowingly underarm’

….I hear the sound of a plastic container as I write so I’m off…..

This, then, is Friday night.
We’ve done the whole aperatif thing again tonight…which wasn’t supposed to happen as we have an estate agent and people coming round to look at the house at some ridiculously early time tomorrow but hey….life goes on and some people you just can’t live without. That’s about all that matters really.

Apologies to Neil for not stopping to knock up some mortar instead of speeding past yesterday but I’d just dropped Louis off in Oradour at football o’clock and then had had to go and pick up the computer at computer fixed o’clock and was in the process of rushing back to try and tidy the bit of the house not undergoing decoration at what a mess o’clock before the estate agent came round 10 mins later at let’s get this house sold o’clock.
Then it was off again to pick up Louis at is that the time already o’clock, bringing him back for I’m starving, can you make some crepes – that’ll be right! o’clock, taking Etienne to the footie in Champsac at drop Etienne off at football o’clock, then going back to finish painting the bedroom at second coat of paint o’clock.
Having a cup of tea o’clock was ruined by an unexpected call from the accountant at I need this list of stuff …. like yesterday! o’clock , so I became involved in the old sport of I know where to find the relevant bits of paper at I’m more organised than you think o’clock, getting tea ready at what’s in the fridge o’clock, going back to pick Etienne up at how did it get to be that time again o’clock, feeding the kids at but I don’t like tagliatelli - tough you’re eating it- o’clock, doing homework at …doh! o’clock, kids in bath at but mum I’ll miss the Wonder years o’clock, back downstairs to cook food for me and Matt at what happened to the non-stick bit of this pan o’clock, back up to put the bedroom back together after painting at no really I can manage, you just sit there and look at how Birmingham City are doing for the fifth time today o’clock before going to bed finally at I’ve got a storming headache and there’s fuck all on tv o’clock. Still atleast there was time to lie back and relish the fact that there hadn’t been a what the hell am I going to write about tonight in the blog o’clock.
I’ll go and put the trowel in the car boot though so that I’m ready for community spirit o’clock next time I’m passing.

You know blogging is getting tough when you spend ten minutes writing and re-writing the title. I still haven’t come up with anything relevant let alone witty or interesting as we tend to like our strap lines to be so without further ado I shall continue titleless.

Firstly I must offer abject apologies for my omission last week which I know left ten of readers (counting just my family) dissapointed. There is, unfortunately, no hilariously funny or embarrasing reason for this,we just plain forgot.

Anyway, this week we have been surprised by Gaffer, our sitting hen who chose to sit on anothers egg while her eight went cold. Contrary to most opinions, mine included, five of hers hatched on Sunday morning despite her negligence. She is looking very pleased with herself and mum and chicks are all doing well.

Since I last blogged I have been continuing with the construction of our French windows which are now all assembled and are ready to go except for the glue and dowels. This week we have been repairing stonework on the gable end of the house and with some respectable degree of success too. Previously our barn was a very effective wind tunnel owing to the gaping holes around the timber purlins and the roof rafters but now the gale blows no more and all is quiet in our rafters. Its very dark in the barn now as we clearly underestimated the amount of light which used to pass through the same holes.

I often talk about the community spirit which has been nurtured amongst a small network of ex pats around here and it has been illustrated again today with Marcus, Dennis and Jane all helping out with the repairing of said gable end. As we beavered enthusiastically at the task in hand I was spattered in the face by a sloppy mix of mortar which inevitably made its way into my eye. I have to say it smarted somewhat and, as I grappled with agony, I was slightly dissapointed to see, out of one eye,  Helen speeding past my teetering scaffold tower, causing me to wobble a shade more than normal, and clearly having no intention to enter into this community spirit thingy.  Having spent many years living with a stone mason, knocking up lime mortar must be a stroll in the park for Helen, but she wisely chose to sail past and turn a blind eye to community spirit.

We have had a bumper crop of apples again this autumn but we have decided not to convert this into gallons of cider as we now know how much extra work this creates. Consequently there are apples laying everywhere waiting for stewing, jamming, chutneying or preserving in some other fashion. I made some very nice blackberry and apple jam last week….good grief, Im getting sad…I used to be a party animal you know!

So the next time I blog will be on the eve of my departure to the UK for three weeks. (Watch out all you donner kebabs) I’m mentally preparing myself to be constricted by time again. Its absolutely fabulous to be free to get up when you want, be it six am or ten (it really isnt six am very often) and not be beholden by the clock but I’d better get used to the sound of my alarm screeching at unearthly o clock. In fact, I’d better get used to knowing what day of the week it is. We do tend to get in the habit here of recognising periods of time as either work o clock or beer o clock, both being enormously flexible.

Another late blog; following yet another night of aperatifs. You’d think we did nothing else around these parts.    Tonight we were supposed to be entertaining some Dutch friends from our old town of Jumilhac but I fear that it turned out to be the other way round.   I think that this will be the last time the rosé makes an appearance this year and already it seems out of season….that now being very much autumn.

Dig-It were all working at Sue Poole’s house today, laying down the foundations of her swimming pool, and Matt went into Bordeaux to find out how to fit an integrated pool cover. He stopped at Auchan for diesel on the way back which meant that he was forced to pop into Ikea for a catalogue ( by royal command) and ended up buying a herring wrap as a substitute sandwich.

There’s only so many times one person can hear the same story of the herring wrap lunch. The words ‘get over it’ spring to mind.

Talking of which, and I don’t know why that made me think of it actually but earlier this evening, just after our aperatifers had left the building,  I was cold-called by someone from Medicins sans frontiers who, after a supposed questionnaire,  ended after 5 mintues of hyper fast talking upping our monthly payment of 10€ to 15€…not that I mind and afterall 10€ does seem a bit pissy but I could hear a bank of telephonists in the background all doing the same thing to other unwitting people which turned it all into some cynical marketing ploy….. I mean you expect this kind of behaviour from France Telecom but really…..still it still does seem a pathetically small amount actually so fair cop to them when most of the world is dying.

Charity, on the other hand, does not start at home where Alfie is concerned. He phoned last night to ask if we could put some more money into his post-office account, having spent the entire conversation (on someone else’s phone- obviously! ) talking about all the partying he’s been doing at the weekends, how many punk bands he’s involved with up there ( but they’re all really nice guys and anti-racist!), how nobody says hello in the shops like they do here and how in the holidays he’s bringing home not only his girlfriend but also 5 other friends…..to stay for two weeks!

The idea, which was mooted by both Matt and I, that he get a job in McDonalds or some other such establishment was met with not only shock but a certain amount of derision.

….and so lesson 1. in growing up begins…..

Great weather this weekend. The kids were playing football on Saturday and both had a 1.30pm rendez vous in Oradour which meant that Matt and I had the afternoon to ourselves. Instead of working on the house, which was on the cards, we decided to take advantage of our freedom and went out, ostensibly to drive around for the sake of it but really to stake out shots for our photography competition!

Having bought the new digital camera a couple of weeks ago the only photos we’ve taken have been those of work in progress at various houses or marketing shots of those houses we’re trying to sell – before the sun goes in for winter. Not especially inspired or interesting so we decided to have a competition and see who could take the best shots of the same subject. The day was strangely entertaining… although it quickly became clear that that was a practise round, so we decided to do the same on Sunday afternoon with the kids.

In the morning, on another glorious day, we went in search of artistic inspiration and almost found it at the vide grenier in Chalus,, which turned out to be unexpectedly big and was probably the first one that we’ve been to this year. After a few you have the feeling that everyone’s semi-professional nowadays and you know what they have to offer but this felt like normal people trying to make a bit of money. For that reason the prices seemed a lot lower than they have been although sadly we didn’t have much money to buy anything and only came away with some porcelain feves (the little figures found in a galette de roi) and a first edition Boule et Bill which Etienne spotted and bought for 0,50cents – with a view to resale on ebay. As encouraging as such entrepreneurial practise is I couldn’t help but think of the posh boy with the curly blonde hair and bow tie who, aged 8 or so, used to be a whiz at spotting an antique in a jumble sale and is now, following a sex change a fully fledged, madly scary looking woman.

Following a traditional Sunday lunch…at McDonalds…we set off to the Botanical gardens by the cathedral, in Limoges, and began our Concours de Photo. Between the four of us we came home with about 80 snaps of which 10 have been kept and which I’m going to go and get printed out tomorrow. The idea is to get an unbiased jury to look at them and pick a winner. I think it’s fair to say that Louis won’t be winning any prizes, which is just as well as he seems to be under some illusion that he should be awarded an electric go-kart. Etienne, who is a strong contender with one of his, wants as a prize a huge bar of chocolate from Hotel Chocolate and I think any of us would gladly settle for that - although in reality it’s more likely to be an éclair from the boulangerie, and a framed memento on the wall.

If the economy in the UK had us worried before last week then the last seven days has given us reason for near panic. I was in London interviewing graduates this week as the Lehmans and then the HBOS situation unravelled. There was a feeling that it wasn’t safe to go to bed anymore in case the world had shifted on its axis by the time you awoke.

Working with Financial services customers means I am a little nearer to the epicentre of panic than most and I don’t want to have to work through another week like that again. Don’t get me wrong, it was far worse for others, not least those that are out of jobs as a result but nevertheless a harrowing week in which capitalism began to eat its own young.

Mel and I were at our friends wedding on Friday night and despite promising to take it easy, we both ended up plastered by the time of the happy couples first dance. By 10 O’clock I could barely stand which made all the more amazing that this was the moment I chose to resume my truncated dancing career. I say it was truncated it was actually completely curtailed by the realisation that I dance like a cross between Bez from the Happy Mondays and a geography teacher at a school disco. Mel says I am possible the worst dancer shes ever seen and finds it impossible to dance with me as she is about three inches taller than me and whenever we’re at weddings etc she wears high heels. Consequently we end up looking like a mancunian version of Billy Joel and Christina Brinkley.

I once again discovered what they don’t teach you in chemistry lessons – that strong lager, red wine, champagne and Jack Daniels are not happy bed fellows. Consequently I have spent much of the weekend sprawled on the sofa feeling sorry for myself and eating cake. We ventured out this afternoon to meet a gaggle of friends for lunch to celebrate a clutch of birthdays including mine. Great as it was to see 14 of my dearest friends; their 10 accompanying children were not really what my fragile head had in mind.

My birthday is this Thursday but the celebrations will be muted as I am away with work for much of the week. I’ll save the merry making for Sunday when we arrive in France though the supermarket will not be open for me to buy my customary cheap cider. In fact, I cant remember what liquid or solid delights are in our French larder so I may end up celebrating with Cassoulet and cheap table wine. We’re planning a healthy week of cycling, walking and fresh air and after Friday nights antics my body thinks that’s a really good thing. I have a sneaky feeling all those good intentions will count for nothing once we get there.

Not sure whether I’ll be able to blog next week, it all depends on our new broadband ‘solution’.

“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”

Thomas Jefferson (1802)

….miserable fucker

To help us with the transition from the dog days of summer into the cold dark purgatory (exaggerating for effect) of a Limousin autumn the mellow, if somewhat depressing, stylings of Emily Jane White (for anyone interested she is playing at the Woodstock Boogie Bar in Limoges on the 19th October, a venue which is both a fire hazard and unbearably hot – am I selling it to you?)

Apologies for the lack of blog last Saturday but there was an unscheduled trip to the UK to sort out new tenants for our house in London as my brother in law (a plasterer, dry waller and electrician – how useful……) has now returned to France with us (for a short sojourn) and has been coerced into going up a rickety five metre tower balanced on a box (I’ll beat all that health and safety nonsense out of him) to try and fix the apogee of bodge that was my attempt to plasterboard the ceiling five years ago in the freezing winter of 200something just after we arrived. Lordy, that was a long sentence.

We were supposed to be going on Le Shuttle (horrendous expression) but had to change plans when it caught alight – this did mean an extra night in Boulogne and a rather nice dinner so all was well with the world. If anyone needs a cheap hotel in Boulougne then I can recommend this place, very central, clean, bog rooms and about €56 a night….really, what more could one want.

Still we had a couple of very nice nights staying with our friends who have a big house in Kingston, plus it seems we happened on the only two days of sunshine that have graced English shores this summer. Much time was spent pootling around shops but as there were more people shopping in Kingston on a Sunday morning then there are people living in the Limousin, I did succumb to the fear and had to hightail it back to our mates’ house.

We are opting, with the aforementioned plastering of the landing, to tint the plaster which hopefully will mean we won’t have to paint the stuff. After much deliberation in the shop I went for a subtle dark grey colour which I thought would dry lighter and give us the post industrial, Manhattan art gallery look I was after. The brother in law applied a large patch and as it dried we realised we had skilfully contrived to exactly match the colour of the untreated plasterboard on the adjacent wall – marvellous.

With all the talk of the Chinese taking over the Limousin’s golfing establishment, you’ll be pleased to know there is a new Chinese run coffee shop in the next village*

*In no way true