It rained some more, rather more enthusiastically than yesterday. The dodgy wall made a perceptible lurch in the wrong direction. I suspect it’s being held in place by the network created by the Virginia creeper. There’s a stout trunk at the base which I shall work quite hard to preserve when the wall is rebuilt.
The old dog went home; the bells chime out once more from the grandfather clock and I shall spend a neurotic few days to get them to synchronise with radio pips, the church clock and the computer. I used to worry about my watch as well, but grew out of that.
A Thursday holiday, Ascension Day, meant that nobody went to work on Friday either, nor Saturday because it’s the weekend. This applies to farmers as well so the eerie silence of the French countryside is even more marked. This country enjoys 13 public holidays each year, twice the British figure, and that does not include the ‘pont’ days like Friday.
It rained; I weeded, pruned things that are obviously not going to recover after February’s cold, and otherwise occupied my time fairly purposefully.
I was over at the chateau today, intending to cut a few roses from the shower of pink that cascades, unseen by anyone, down the east side. I did the same last year and was stung by a bee. This time I kept a wary eye open but no sooner had I grasped the first stem and there was a furious buzzing as a bee landed on my ear. I retreated, deciding the flowers weren’t that pretty after all.
The chateau shows further signs of assault each time I go over. Stone steps leading up to a door have been smashed and some taken. And a previously shut door in one of the barns has been levered open to reveal a dozen pallets of new roof tiles. One stack has already been raided. I doubt the rest will last very long.
I hoovered during one of the more flowery effusions from the church bells and the old dog did not notice them, but otherwise they do tend to lead to some moments of depression. Cato is a courteous host but is equally depressed by the amount of food his guest is offered and my refusal to let him get at it.
I occasionally make attempts to understand the separation of powers in France. I can’t get much beyond the belief that the President is an dictator, but subject to yells of derision.
I am playing host for a day or three to a very old dog. It took exception to the chimes of the long-case clock, which I have stopped for the duration, but it has extended its concern to the bells of the church and, of these, I have no control. I just hope the beast realises that these are of no threat otherwise it will work its way into real tizzy.
I bagged up endless laurel leaves after chopping the hedge and shoved them in the car to ready take them to the decheterrie. I ran out of bags and got wise to the fact I could just stuff the leaves under the hedge but that was a bit late…next year. As a child I used to collect beetles and killed them in cyanide gas produced by crushed laurel leaves in a jam jar. The car is saturated with the sweet smell of almonds and I shall likely croak on the way to dump the leaves tomorrow. My hedge cutting disturbed a queen Asian hornet which I tried and failed to slice in two. They kill honey bees as well as getting very cross indeed if they reckon you threaten their nests.
Hedge cutting today, a bit of bill paying and recovery from a late and most civilised dinner on a terrace in a nearby village where most of the people had been born within a stone’s throw of me. It remains a bizarrely small world. The darkness was enlivened by some rather jolly whistles from some distance off that none of us could identify but was confirmed to be in E flat. A bit of web work this morning identified a Scops Owl. I thought I heard most bird noises from the direction of the chateau but this one was new.
The Man came last night to examine the collapsing terrace, bearing himself with the dignity of one who owns several large yellow digging machines. He was rather a petal and drew a sketch of what was wrong and what he would do about it. It involves rebuilding the retaining wall with reinforcements and sticking in drains. All, I fear, both rather expensive and obvious. He will send me his devis and would like to do the work in October. He likely will.
Cut grass, got hot, got pissed off with attempts to convert seven books, professionally scanned into PDFs, into Kindles, did a vast and shitty chicken thing out of left overs and have had the car repairs delayed for a week. And, in a short while, more depression will arrive when a man with lots of expensive machinery will come to shake his head mournfully over the collapsing terrace. The solution must be a large slug of chilled wine which I will enjoy in the sunshine before the man arrives – if he arrives.
A lovely alfresco dinner last night with four Brits, two Belgians and two French. The French couple spoke no English and so much of the conversation was in their language. I found it rather harder work than I would have liked, even though one of the Belgians was able to give simultaneous translation of whatever he said in either language. He also managed to make Belgium sound a very interesting country, historically and culturally, which I would not have believed possible beforehand.