Gardens and Bathrooms

I have a theory that WordPress looks at titles and grades them as good, bad and indifferent. I think I may try to Jazz mine up sometime, maybe. I am approaching a milestone in this years writing. It’s only April and I am just 56 hits away from all of last years total, woo hoo.

I’m writing something for a friend at the moment, they will probably read this. Its been interesting looking at what I think they want from a piece of poetry. Something simple, open, biographical? I have a piece of work that is still progressing through the fight. But a question occurred to me of how much we see and know of those around us, especially our friends. I have taken an idea and gone about my business to give them something that I feel works for them and me. But what if I miss the mark? This will be a new horizon. Writing to something that someone else has an idea about. And I have taken it and written.

In my notes, I have under the heading of perception “What can I write about you, that is not of me?” That set the cat loose so to speak. Version five is well under way, My wife thinks I am overdoing the rewriting. I won’t know until I pass this to its intended. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Back though to my title, gardens, Saturday and the forecast here was for heavy rain from the south. Not a usual direction for here in the Auvergne, we get Northerly or westerly wind. But the Jet-stream has shifted. Two days ago we got sand laden rain from Africa, the car now needs cleaning, not my strong point. Today was a warm gusty wind, so I got out and hit the garden hard. Those Dandelions and Nettles never stood a chance, I then chopped wood for the fire, pandering to my male sense of providing for the family. The French say wood heats you three times, once when you cut down the tree, once when you chop the wood, then finally when you burn it. I would add that it also works when you move it about. We have to get the design for our garden sorted. I haven’t hunted anything to death yet though to put food on the table. Instead this week I am bathroom building for a friend and neighbour, I hate plumbing. Electricity is fine, if you make a mistake, BANG! Fuse, shock, smoke, maybe a burn or two. Water, leak, goes everywhere. Ruins everything, you don’t find puddles of electrons running out of a plug socket do you? Much easier in my mind, it’s my own fault, for being able to do DIY. I still hate plumbing.

Self Portrait

What I want is a garden that doesn’t keep going all the time, I want a moment when I can press pause. To stop it as it is and enjoy it without having to hack about cutting and bashing and not sitting enjoying the view. I have resigned myself to the fact I will not be allowed to Astroturf the garden and use plastic flowers. I thought it was a good idea.

Fluffy weeds, before the strimmer

Dandelions

Finally, another short poem. For anyone struggling to get out.

Inside.

I have the answers
to your questions, the snappy
comeback, the last laugh.

More from the journey of a lifetime soon.

1st December

Today we packed the car. Tomorrow we say bye to our friends, Saturday we head north to the ferry and Christmas with the family. Fair warning, we are on our way. I always believed that packing was an art. Now, each time we prepare to leave, we say to ourselves “only the essentials” when the open boot lid hits the bridge of my nose, I know the car is full. But the temptation to fill the space is almost too much. Our car works hard for its money, it is a working beast, not pretty, useful and does what we need it to do. We will cross half of France, get the ferry Sunday morning, then be home Sunday night to watch the football. (The kids will, I’m sure, object to this plan)

I have posted off two competition entries this month, so we shall see what becomes of them in the New Year. One requiring more than one poem, occupied some time as I ferreted about in my writing folder making choices, we shall see.

For now, a brief trip across France, soon we should have the time to take the back roads. It is Autoroutes with the comfort of steady speed and light traffic. We arrive relatively fresh and in good spirits, mostly.

The car is as full as it has ever been, more things to be returned to England. This time, we are taking paint back to the UK, a first in seven years of renovating houses in France. It is just before six in the morning, not my best time of day, when the dark and the damp make the final checks worse than normal. Water off, lights off, doors locked, a list we are now fairly good at organising between ourselves. Leaving Rilhac should be simple, catching up with the family, seeing friends and Christmas shopping.

Soon we bump along the back roads through fields clear and ready for winter. Misty water coats the windscreen, enough to be a pain, not enough to need the wipers. When we hit the main road there is a mental line crossed. The point of no return. If we have forgotten anything now it is too late and we won’t be going back for it. Passports and tickets being the last check we make before driving off. The headlights make grey out of the darkness, not much of an improvement but better.

We have four hundred miles to cover before we make Ouistraham and the ferry to Portsmouth. For this early start there is nothing of the mountains to see except black shapes beside the motorway, so we listen to an audio CD, a background sound that passes the miles, comfortable above the rumble of travel. Dawn slides down the hill as we start the long descent into the Allier region.

We passed Clermont Ferrand, its black cathedral and the jelly shaped lump of the Puy de Dome a while back still under cover of low cloud. Now as the sun clears the mist a little, leaving just rain we can see a bit more of the passing French countryside. We are leaving the high ground of the Massif Central, foothills compared to the Alps but still a beautiful place to explore, and we drop about 300m to the Allier. This is the point when we think that’s it, we’ve left. And the point on the return journey when the end is in sight. The Aire du Volcans has one of the best views along the famous Chain des Puys along to The Puy de Dome after which the region is named.

The hills are lower now, rolling through the Centre, past Bourge, Vierzon and then a left turn towards the Loire valley and Tours. It always amazes me how much the scenery changes, and as we cross some of the biggest rivers in time passes quickly. We do two-hour stints at the wheel. A throwback to travelling with Rosie dog, who we lost last year. But taking the time, coffee breaks and snacks make for more enjoyable and less tiring travel.

After Tour, we again head north and pass by Le Man with its 24hr circuit. The services here has one of the sports cars in the lobby. We are getting closer now and as we start seeing signs for Caen, we also start to see the directions to Commonwealth and American war cemeteries. A reminder of the 6th of June, when so much was given by soldiers from around the world. Normandy and we start to smell the sea. Ouistraham, the ferry port, fishing boats. We can almost smell the fish and chips now. In the local bar though, I opt for moule frite. Fresh and done well it is one of my favourite foods. After it’s time for the hotel and bed, ready for the boat in the morning.

Next time I write, we will be in England and building up to Christmas.

I like this time of year, don’t you?

Here we are, back in France.

After driving 560miles and crossing the English Channel we have arrived back home in France. It is however, cold and damp. We have the fire on since it is -5c at midday here. There is a sprinkle of snow left in ditches and at the edge of fields but nothing else this low down. Snow line is at 1600m at the moment. We seem to be getting better at arriving. But packing the car was a crisis pack. So much stuff, and we bought a window to put in over here. Totally threw out the packing scheme. We are cleaning and tidying and waiting for friends to arrive next week. Catching up with the village gossip, and enjoying a bottle of wine.

Of to the Alps next week to do my first serious winter walk with a friend. So here’s hoping the weather holds good.
I hope to post some proper writing soon. Or maybe write some prose about the trip over here. Not much but people watching and driving across France. We like it, Although it was strange because Rosie, our springer spaniel died in November so coming back has been quieter than usual. I suppose we will get used to her not being here but it is still odd at the moment.

In the meantime, have fun everyone.