Don’t give in without a fight

Don’t give in without a fight

As always, it’s been an eventful week or so. The builders have been here most days continuing with the foundations work and the base that our house will go on to is now a huge slab. A few days to dry off and it will make a lovely dance floor!

Termite protected slab

It’s been fascinating to watch and we are loving the opportunity to see our house from the very beginning – we will have intimate knowledge of every nook and cranny from the bottom up.

Metal rods and concrete bricks

Everyone visiting has commented on how neat the brick work is, which is something we have also been very, very impressed with. When you consider that this is just the foundations and the pointing will not even be on show when the area around the base is filled back in. We obviously have made a good choice for our ‘maçonnerie’ (BRONDEL Freres). Although there has been a little bit of apparent bickering between him and our electrician/plumber – neither of whom have wanted to take responsibility for drilling the holes for the water and electricity pipes. This has been ongoing for a few weeks now and on Wednesday morning I said in no uncertain terms “this has got to be resolved”. And, lo and behold, it was, and a slightly miffed looking electrician/plumber skulked off saying reluctantly he would do it. It always amuses me to see any French people having a discussion as you never can tell if they are having a full-blown argument or just getting really passionate. But, I don’t think either of them realised how lucky they are that I didn’t fully get involved in the discussion as I certainly was not going to be giving up without a fight – there is absolutely no point in having a foundation slab built and then a house on top of it if we are not going to have any water or electricity so I was not going to let that one drop.

Matt up the split tree #2

The acacia that has given me so many sleepless nights of late was also not giving up without a fight. The tree in question was in close proximity to our Garden House and split suddenly a few weeks ago – the branch that split fell over in the direction of the Garden House but lodged itself in the branches of a tree just behind the “ugly ivy tree”. This was NOT my favourite tree, although it was the one that my hammock hung from this summer – but I was not keen on it – too much ivy, meaning too many insects and bugs lurking around.

South West France has had its fair share of awful weather the past few weeks, as has all of Europe, and we had 3 nights in a row with torrential rain, and thunder storms. Each night I would awaken to the sound of the thunder claps and then lay awake for hours expecting in the next thunderbolt to also hear the tell-tale crack of a huge branch crashing down on to the Garden House. Living in a 17 square metre motor-home with the luxury of another 17 square metres in the form of a Garden House does mean that we tend to hold a lot of reliance on both of our living spaces remaining intact for at least a little while longer, so it was very nerve wracking.

 

However, we were recommended a Tree Surgeon called Matt, and he came on Wednesday and expertly took down an acacia which had the potential to interfere with the house when it’s erected, and also dealt with the tricky split acacia. As you will see from the little video clip (click here to play) the acacia did not want to give in without a fight. Matt’s plan was to drop the “ugly ivy tree” (which I wanted down anyway) onto the split branch and bring it down. But, although the “ugly ivy tree” when felled did crash onto the split branch it just bounced back and stayed put. Next plan was to lop one of the other acacias which could have stayed for a while but we were going to get rid of in the longer term. So that one also was felled and attempted to knock the split branch…but again it stayed put. We joked and said that even with a thunder storm every night for 10 years it probably would have stayed put. But, with so much at stake we just could not have taken the chance.

 

Matt now had the split branch at the perfect angle to just chop and drop – straight through a gap – no damage to the garden house or to the ruin. He obviously really knows his stuff and it was very impressive and enjoyable to watch him at work.

 

Zoe puss chat was nowhere to be seen all morning on Wednesday, but Zena was prowling around with her permanent scowl on her face. She is definitely too nosey for her own good as when one of the last trees came down, she ran in the wrong direction and literally ran under a falling tree. I’m actually really glad I did not capture this on film as I don’t think my heart could have taken it. This is one of the perils I suppose of having semi-feral cats (hmmmm…. not sure how semi-feral they are – I’m still convinced they will be indoors before the year is out) but we just can’t catch them and keep them indoors for their own safety. But, all’s well that ends well and Zena used one of her many lives but clearly not the last one! And Zoe has been sighted since so she obviously wasn’t snoozing under a tree…. but after seeing her last night UP a tree we are now wondering if she thinks she is a lynx?

Zoe thinks she is a lynx

Talking of fights, and not giving up without one. We have been trying to avoid watching Brexit too much as it’s just downright depressing, but we were really pleased to see so many people representing our views on our behalf at the People’s March in London on 19th October. I honestly can’t thank those people enough for marching in protest against Brexit and to protect our rights.

I’ve felt many times over the past 18 months since moving out here that many people don’t understand what our rights are! Well, the way I see it is:

Our rights to be treated fairly as British Citizens who have paid our National Insurance from the age of 16 on the understanding that we would be looked after from the “Cradle to the Grave”.

Our rights to exercise our choice to transfer those rights to another European country and live out the remainder of our days living a life that we have dreamed of during our working life.

Our right to make personal sacrifices to enable those lifestyle choices without being used as pawns in what has become a vicious and callous game for extremists who have no idea what they are fighting for other than to have “won” and career politicians who are only interested in personal gain.

Our right to be treated AS FAVOURABLY as EU citizens in the UK not LESS FAVOURABLY (shame on you Britain – you once again show no back bone in your policies – are the UK migrants living in the EU now your way of meeting the welfare deficit?)

Our right to NOT BE FORGOTTEN!!!

Although those marchers were strangers to us, they were showing the UK, Europe and the whole World that we are not going to give in without a fight…even though it often feels that even some of our family and friends prefer to choose to pretend that this nightmare isn’t happening as they don’t want to feel uncomfortable by acknowledging it.

I hope that we are not part of the next Windrush Generation…it feels as if we might be if people leave us out in the cold.

Once again, I turn to musical lyrics to express my feelings, and this time the words of “Hey You” by Pink Floyd – (click here to play track) sum it up well for me.

 

“Hey You” – Pink Floyd

“Hey you

Out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old

Can you feel me?

Hey you

Standing in the aisles with itchy feet and fading smiles

Can you feel me?

Hey you

Don’t help them to bury the light

Don’t give in without a fight”

 

So, I ask you…. any of you who might be reading this. If you are in the UK and have family or friends in Europe – don’t leave them out in the cold…. (getting lonely, getting old) – please help them fight that fight. No matter what your political views are, whether you support Brexit or not, none of us deserve to have our rights stripped away – please do what you can – whether that is to lobby your MP, or just simply listen to your family member or friend when they tell you they are worried, instead of dismissing their fears and just telling them it will all be alright. Our fight is real, and it is very scary at times.

But….we won’t give up without having that fight

 

 

This house is built on a foundation of love

This house is built on a foundation of love

 

“This house is built

On a foundation of love

This house is built

On a foundation of love

Our toys are in the attic baby

Pictures on the wall

We can see our memories

From the days past in the mirror

Down the hall, oh yeah

Our love will survive in our own little paradise

So inspired, so inspired

Palatial it may not be

But it’s a home and a castle to me

A dream from a magazine

And we’ll never give it up ‘cause

This house is built

On a foundation of love

This house is built

On a foundation of love”

Diana Ross

To hear the track click here

This past two weeks has seen the long awaiting start of our building work – and what an exciting time it is. We’ve now been living in the motor-home for 17 months with the exception of a few short periods of respite when we have done house sits. And to be honest, sometimes it has felt that it’s taken it’s toll.

We’ve stretched our relationship to it’s limits in our 17 square metres, and yes, there have been some humdingers of arguments, usually over silly stuff because we are quite simply on top of each other.

But we’ve got through all that, and now, more than ever, I know why. It’s because we have a rock-solid foundation of love that we are building our life upon.

And in all the time we have been together, at no other time in our relationship have I seen that more apparently than in the past 3 weeks. My wonderful husband has helped me get back to fighting fit through the start of the illness (when we thought it was a tummy bug) then through the operation, and now the ongoing recovery at home.

Being ill in a motor-home is not easy. This will have been the third bout of vomiting illness that I have had since living in the van and I can honestly say this presents challenges that living in a normal house does not. For one, as anyone who has ever used a chemical toilet will tell you, you really don’t want sick going into that compartment. Even worse if it were to go down the sink into the waste water container. So, it’s  buckets for the top end, whilst perched on the loo for the bottom end!! Not nice, and all within a tiny space, with very little privacy. And my darling husband comforted me all the way through it, attending to every little thing that I needed.

We were travelling home from the holiday the day it started – and the journey that should have taken just over an hour took 5 hours as I kept needing to stop to get the bucket – and he did not moan once…just rubbed my back and done everything he could to make me comfortable.

Doggos in the car parkDuring my short stay in hospital he came in to keep me company as much as he could, and even brought the dogs in so when I was back on my feet I could meet up with them in the car-park to give them a cuddle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then, during the early days post hospital discharge….when my body was trying to get itself back to normal. Because I rarely take any medication as I prefer to use natural remedies where possible it means I am very sensitive to everything, so any drugs that go into my body really do wreak havoc. This meant that the pain killers and the anaesthetic stopped my bowels working, the gas they pumped me up with gave me the most awful tummy pain.

And then, it all started moving in the right direction, but of course my body wasn’t moving how it should be. So, every part of what I would describe as my normal activities of daily living – were buggered.  I needed so much help, and I really hate asking for help, but my lovely husband just done whatever was needed – in such a lovely way, with lots of laughs along the way. I completely trust Martin to look after me, he would never say or do anything to make me feel bad for any of the things that I needed him to help me with. Poor bloke never expected to have to shave my legs, but that’s only the half of it! But no-one will ever hear about any of that from him as he is just not the sort of person to make someone feel small when they are already feeling vulnerable.

My problems post-op  had initially been general weakness, and a complete inability to bend to pick things up and reach the lower half of my body (because the incisions were right across my stomach making bending really hard). But once my staples came out that improved quickly and Wednesday was my first day able to do my shower all by myself and I was very proud!!

Dutch ovenI like to be in control of my health, and also have worked as a health information specialist, so I feel confident to use reliable web sources to look up symptoms and side effects of medications (but I know where to look to avoid getting the horror stories)  I honestly had some fascinating Google searches including finding out that “It is possible to kill someone with farts” (read article here ) and that a “Dutch oven” is the act of pulling the bed covers over someone and farting!! Who knew???

 

 

 

 

I’m back on cooking duties now too. Luckily, I only fancied very bland food in the early days, because Martin is not the best of cooks (he is the first to admit that – this is not me being mean), but he managed to get me fed every day whilst I couldn’t cook, and he washed up. But I’m glad that I am back to cooking as we can start having some more adventurous food again.

Prior to me being ill we had been discussing our diet, and had started to consider eating fish again, probably just when out, for a number of reasons. We both, but me in particular, struggle to get enough protein in without overdoing the carbs, and that’s had a derogatory effect on my weight. I had put on 2 stone since moving to France – and not all caused by the ‘Pain au Raisin’ (although I suspect they played a very bit part). When eating out, often the only option is pizza and it just makes me feel heavy and sluggish, all that cheese and ALL THOSE CALORIES! So, we considered that fish might be a good way of getting some lean protein in our diet without overloading the carbs. Fish was the last thing we stopped eating, so it’s only a few years since eating it. It probably seems strange to some people that we make a decision on what to eat together – because of course – if Martin wanted to eat meat he can do so; I don’t tell him what he can and can’t eat. But we have tended to change our diets over the years together. For one, it makes it easier – we don’t have to worry about two lots of cooking. So, we tend to discuss any changes for ages and ages before finally reaching a decision, and this time these discussions included what type of fish we would eat (aiming for fewer animal lives lost per meal so big fish like cod) and whether we would eat fish at home or just when out, or round at friend’s houses. Would we eat it when we just fancied it, or only when there was no other option? It’s fair to say we were still struggling with this decision when I became ill.

Fish and ChipsWe had eaten fish once whilst on holiday – cod and chips at a campsite – and really enjoyed it, so we knew there would be no “yuk” factor, but still wondering if we should find other ways and stick to being vegetarian. I was also feeling that I needed to be looking at my diet as a whole, feeling heavy and sluggish for ages, carrying an extra 2 stone, no chance of ever running again on my knackered knee, especially being so heavy.

Anyway, when I became ill, I really reflected on this and came to the conclusion that I need to look after my own health needs first and foremost, and if that means eating fish then that’s what it means. I was having a chat with a family member about it, and she said “What will you be called if you don’t eat fish” …..Martin and I replied in unision “SHARON”.  In that moment I think we both realised that we are fed up with the labels……we’ve had a hard time about being vegetarian for ages now, and of course to the “vegans of the world” we are the worst kind – far, far worse than meat eaters. So, I made a conscious decision there and then – I left ALL the vegan groups I had been in, with the exception of one “veganish” group. France is just not like the UK – you can’t pop to the shops and get a vegan wrap made from some “fake meat” for lunch – it’s all about plant based food – which means carbs after carbs after carbs which for me – with my apple shaped – is diabetes just waiting to happen.

So…fish is back on the menu!! On occasion, not every day, and probably only when we are out. Or not!! It will be what it will be. And I’m still just called “Sharon”. Not “Sharon the vegetarian”, or “Sharon the pescatarian”, or “Sharon the vegan”. Just Sharon…..maybe “Sharon the animal lover”….that’s a label I don’t mind at all.

So, back to the building work. The cement was poured into the trenches a week ago last Friday and has now set. The builders were due back on Thursday, but one of them is off sick so they will resume work on Monday (we hope).  My main concern was that whilst the cement was still wet, on of our four fur babies would fall in, and maybe not get out again. The doggos were easy to prevent this happening to, as we just keep them close to us when we take them out for a walk. But the puss chats were more of a worry as they are free roaming. So each morning I was checking to make sure there was no cat shaped impression in the trenches. Thankfully they managed to avoid that. But we had to laugh, when yesterday a cat appeared at the Garden House.  Zoe was already there – as soon as she hears us she appears – she either wants food or a neck rub (no way is that cat semi feral – she’ll be in our house before we are I reckon) but this other cat looked familiar – it was the shape and size of Zena, the scowl on the face looked like Zena, and the characteristic movements were of Zena – but it was the wrong colour!! Much too grey for Zena!

Zena the statue catCloser inspection revealed that it was indeed Zena – totally covered in what looked like cement dust!! A ghostly apparition!! Goodness knows what she’s been up to – but we saw her again today and she appears back to her normal colour and no harm done – she must have sheltered from the rain as I would imagine if she had got wet she would now be a statue.

 

 

 

 

 

We were due to have an appointment with the ‘menuisier’ to make a final decision on the shade of wood we want for our windows and doors. However, by some fortuitous stroke of luck the appointment was postponed until 8th November – the reason being is that they didn’t get the samples to show us. And the reason for that is that the supplier is trialling a stain that will make the ‘bois exotique’ appear closer to a natural oak colour! So, it’s fantastic that we may be able to have that colour option available to us, as if we had the budget our first choice would have been natural oak – but at 30% extra cost for that on an already huge bill, the cost was too prohibitive.

The ‘bardage’ (cladding) will be larch which we can stain to any shade, but we will probably stick with quite light and close to oak. So, our windows will hopefully be a similar shade. This will be quite unique in France as the French seem to really love their contrasts. But our house will be unique in all aspects anyway.

We’ve managed to pin down Bertrand who is doing our plumbing and electrics and that all seems to be going in the right direction.  He has a friend who does underfloor heating so we hope to get a quote from him for that  soon. One of the things I am most looking forward to in our house is that Luka and Lillie will have a lovely warm floor to lay on. They loved the underfloor heating at our house sits in Limeuil. And after nearly 2 years in the motor-home they will be very deserving of that.

 

CulotteI’ve been spending my convalescence period doing some really constructive preparation for a new venture that I am helping lovely Beatrice from the camping site with. We are setting up a French/English Conversation Group, once a fortnight on Sunday afternoons. I’ve been busy preparing some activities – one of which is flash cards with pictures of body parts the French word – I needed to get the English words to go alongside the French. I had such a giggle when I looked up the English word for ,’culotte’ which should have been pants, or knickers – but it came up as ‘cheeky’. Very appropriate for the sweet little pair of knickers on the Flash card.

It’s keeping me busy and occupied which is great for distraction for the final remnants of pain that are lingering around, and I’ve now been able to stop taking pain killers which is great. My tummy is still a bit sore, but I have to say, I feel that some of this at least is self-inflicted – for my tummy has been getting fatter and fatter for the last year, so I think that the surgeon probably had to cut through quite a lot of fat to get to my appendix, so I am sure the healing time takes a bit longer in that situation.

A pound of fatSo, I have vowed to lose the weight that I have gained since moving to France. I’m half a stone down already, and no matter how long it takes I will get the rest off as it really is no fun being a fat, fifty something year old woman. I’ve always been an emotional eater (stems from a traumatic childhood where meal times were overly dramatic, and food was always an issue) so I have some “issues” to overcome, but I am taking a mindful approach to eating, and starting to see my body as something that needs healthy fuel to help it work, rather than a garbage bin to fill up with anything edible that is put in front of it.

Martin certainly isn’t complaining – he always loves whatever is put in front of him, and even though every dinner is now being served up with a side order of greens, I think he’s just glad that I am back on track and back in the kitchen!!

Eat your greens.jpg
Eat your Greens

If there is a silver lining to my spell of illness (and there always is a silver lining isn’t there) it is that I’ve slowed down so much that I am really noticing everything around me, and taking the time to be present in the moment instead of charging around at a rapid rate of knots. And, it’s really lovely to see, as if from a new pair of eyes, how beautiful our surroundings are, and appreciate how lucky we are, to be alive and living in this lovely place with each other, and to be laying those foundations, together, which will last forever.

 

 

 

Pardon my French

Pardon my French

Warning – a lot of swear words

 Living in France without speaking fluent French does have its challenges. When we moved over here in May 2018 my French language was limited to what I could remember from school days – pretty much “le chien est dans le jardin” and “le chat est sur la table”, which to be honest probably is never going to be of any use….although now the Puss Chats are getting more confident the phase “le chat est sur la chaise” is now a commonly used exclamation!

Puss Chats
Zoe on the garden bench – Zena on the deck – not sure they really are semi feral!

For a number of reasons, we have not yet taken formal French lessons.

Firstly due to the ‘imminent disaster that is known as Brexit’ we bid a slightly more hasty retreat from the UK that we might otherwise have done. So, although our initial plans were to have taken classes for a year before moving we actually didn’t get the opportunity.

Secondly, our living circumstances have meant that popping out for a few hours to a class once or twice a week is not practical as living in a motorhome with two doggos as part of the package means that essentially where we go the doggos must go too.

And thirdly, when we did meet a local woman who offers French lessons the first impression made of her teaching style was not great. I greeted her in French (as I always do when meeting a French speaking person) and she immediately picked me up on my grammar. Fair enough if that had been during a lesson, but without asking her for a critique of my French skills it seemed a bit harsh. Up until now I have both avoided taking up her offer of French lessons and also resisted the urge to comment on her mistakes that she makes on her Facebook posts. If she wants to offer prices instead of prizes that’s entirely her business!

These circumstances mean the development of our French skills has been slow. Martin seems to be picking it up quicker than me – I have a theory that this may be because his head is emptier than mine to begin with – as I always seem to have eleventy f***ing billion thoughts running through my brain. But even though slow we have been pleasantly surprised and quite proud of how much we have picked up despite the challenges our current life style presents.

So, when we were recently on holiday in Provence we were stunned, and quite frankly very disappointed when the first of what turned into a series of comments arose – all of which challenged our right to live in France whilst not speaking fluent French. Stunned because it’s not really happened up until now, and disappointed as the only reason we can conclude for this is that the first of the comments coincided with the clown that is now in charge of the UK – Boris Johnson – making a rather arrogant statement demanding that all immigrants to the UK pass an English test.  

The first occasion was at the campsite we stayed at in Aups.  Martin checked in with the French owner, speaking mainly in French, but clarifying a few points in English. When he gave our French address the guy said “you live in France but you do not speak French?”. We were so gob smacked we didn’t even respond other than to say we get by with day to day stuff but anything a little more technical is harder.

Then, I had an emergency visit to the doctor – also in Aups – as I had a breast lump – every woman dreads this so I just went straight off as quickly as I could armed with Google Translate to refer to if I had any difficulties.

Google Translate for Doctors Appointment
Thankfully it was just as a cyst as I had expected 

 I managed most of the appointment in French, with a little English, and it was all fine and she was very friendly and helpful, but when we were discussing me needing to follow up with my own doctor and I said we lived in Villefranche du Perigord she said the same “you live in France but don’t speak French?”. Again, I explained that we are OK with the basics but anything medical of importance I felt was better to be safe (after all – if I got my “gauche” muddled with “droite” I could have ended up “sans sein”).

The next occurrence was at the Motor home Dealership we visited on our way back home to get a habitation check done on Marsha (our motor home). The guy there said a similar thing.  By now it was getting to much of a frequent occurrence to be mere coincidence – we are absolutely convinced that it is a reaction from the French to the stupidity of our country of birth’s attitude to the rest of the world. And an understandable reaction!!

What is the world coming to when people’s worth to an economy is determined by them speaking a particular language? Or their right to reside in a country of their choice? Or their right to be treated with a little respect and understanding? Shame on you Boris! And shame on the people who can’t empathise enough to realise that this clown isn’t speaking for us! 

We had two further incidents, one which was just so bat shit crazy that I still cannot get my head around it – but to suffice it involved someone saying that I should fuck off and go away because I would never fit in (because of my lack of French amongst other completely unrealistic demands), and the other one involving a Dutch guest at the local campsite saying that by now all too familiar phrase “you live in France but you do not speak French?”….it seems the TV coverage of BoJo also reached Holland …..and Belgium.

We do our best, and will continue to do our best – but it’s not always easy once you are past 50. When I was learning French at school I couldn’t see into the future and know that I would be living in France some 35 years later – hell, I couldn’t even see myself surviving my 20’s let alone becoming an old person!! Unfortunately in England we did not have compulsory language lessons, unlike the rest of Europe which is taught a second language. I’m not saying I agree with that – but it sure is not my fault that it’s the way it is.

Martin and I are not the type of people to move to a new country and act as if the people that have lived there all their live have to change to suit us – not at all! We fully embrace all that is French, the language, the culture, the food (not all of it – we are veggies of course), and even though we don’t like all of it – we appreciate and respect all of it. So, we were really upset that it would seem that the political craziness of the UK is now infecting our life in this manner. People that have no desire to explore outside the comfort of the town they were born in, no wish to travel into Europe and maybe set down roots there, and some that have a crazy belief that the British Empire still exists as a construct – all these and more – they will not be affected by this political madness – it is us, those who have chosen a life on the continent of Europe that are affected by it on a daily basis. It makes me really upset, and it is a very sensitive subject for us now.

Even our own family members have twitched those nerves – yeah I know – who needs an Internet Troll when you have a family member who texts you to say they were surprised you hadn’t learned enough French to deal with a mammogram and an ultrasound scan at a hospital. My response to the person’s comment of “you must try to learn more French – I thought you would have been good at it” was “Well, I think even if we had been having French lessons I would have been hard pushed to gain the vocabulary to deal with an appointment at the radiotherapy department. What lesson would that have been I wonder? Lesson 5? Sharon gets a breast lump?”

So, we feel like we have been getting a hard time of late. But, there is some fun with it all too – Beatrice at the campsite is wonderful – if she gave French lessons officially I would be first in the queue – she has the patience of a saint – but there is no saint like quality to her when she is teaching me the naughty swear words in French – although she says she doesn’t know many of them!! Strangely these words seem to stick in my head better than some of the other more useful words do. I certainly seem to have more motivation to remember and use them anyway.

There was an incredibly grumpy old woman at the commune swimming pool recently. I was in one cubicle, and Martin was in the one next to me (they are unisex changing rooms) and as always, I was taking a while, having long hair etc. I could hear her muttering, and she banged on the door, obviously getting impatient. Martin finished a bit ahead of me so she went in that cubicle after him and I could hear her muttering “merde” under her breath.

Intrigued I asked Beatrice what it meant – “shit” she said. So, in that session I remembered that I knew the word “encule” (fuck) from school days (no wonder my French teacher bound me with gaffer tape) and also an Italian word “stronzo” (asshole) from an Italian/Australian boyfriend. This led to a discussion about the correct finger positioning to demonstrate the number 2 in French. Martin had stuck up two fingers for a number 2, and then quickly changed it to a more polite finger gesture. Beatrice asked “why did you change your hands”? So, he explained and this led to an amusing discussion the origin of the 2 finger “fuck off” gesture which apparently, some say originates from the French v English Battle of Agincourt during the Hundred Year’s War. The myth is that the French had threatened to cut off the index and the middle fingers of any archers they captured. The V was the sign that the English longbowmen made to the French to show they still had them.

It seems now that the French are now saying this to the British and I can’t say I blame them to be honest. I wish that the so-called leaders of our country of birth would show a bit more consideration for the impact that their tactlessness has on all of us.

It’s hard to know for sure if the grumpiness is due to the political tensions or just the general grumpiness that temperatures in the high 30’s bring at this time of year. As well as everyone being too hot, too busy, too grumpy to do very much, France comes to a standstill in August and it is impossible to progress any of our building project at this time of year. However, fortunately, by the skin of our teeth we were able to arrange a “rendezvous” with the company we have selected to supply and fit our windows and doors on the very last working day before their summer break. So, the good news on that front is that we are on the work schedule for the foundations being done in October, then the house being erected in November and hopefully the roof and windows going on which will give us a water-tight building by Christmas. We live in hope! All we have to do ourselves in August is decide what colour we want the window frames – and amazingly as well as being kind enough to squeeze us in for the RDV on the last working day – the lovely people at the window company also loaned us their samples board for the summer break – I was honestly only joking when I asked if I could take it!!

Sample Board
Favourite is the top one but that is out of our budget – we need to choose from the 4th one down and below

We were able to show 12 of our UK based family and friends our progress so far as well as the local night markets when they came out to celebrate Martin’s 60th Birthday and our 10th Wedding Anniversary in July. 

Loubejac Night Market
14 of us at Loubejac Night Market 

 

It’s hard for anyone to grasp just how much we have achieved in the time we have been here without seeing it from the very beginning, and the only person out of this group other than us to have seen it when it was 8 foot giant brambles is James who helped me do the dead hedge in October 2018. So, we left said dead hedge for him to see to help him get his bearings – but as soon as he had gone back to the UK that has come down as our next stage is to clear the whole of the top level, and then move down to the second level.

Dead Hedge coming down
Hard to believe that 18 months ago this was 8 foot high brambles, the shed didn’t exist, the stone wall was not yet discovered – we are now just seeing the first tufts of real grass start to grow – all tamed by hard, manual work – no weed killer, no machinery other than a strimmer 

It’s magical to us, seeing it all unfold before our eyes. We can only imagine at the moment what our view from the mezzanine will be as so far no one has been up that high. It’s both exciting and daunting at the same time this adventure we are on but we are in it together, and renewing our Marriage Vows on our 10th Anniversary has strengthened our resolve.

Garden Arch Sharon and Martin
We planted a Garden Arch with red roses to remember the red roses in my wedding bouquet and white jasmin to symbolise our love, and were gifted plants by our friends which we have planted to symbolise us putting down roots in our new home. 

 

Some days we fear the worst that we might be prevented from achieving our dreams, and some days we are sensitive to the “perceived” negativity of those comments about our lack of French. But mostly, we just soldier on and say “encule cette merde” (fuck that shit) we will get there – and we will say here. This is our home now, we have the will to learn more French, and the staying power to not let the “tetes de merde” (shit heads) get us down, and to anyone (English, French or otherwise) who tries to suggest that we do not have an equal right to integrate and become part of this local community we say

 

Fingers Up
Encule cette merde