Life has become very leisurely, so there’s not been a lot of news over the last couple of weeks. I (Helen) think I’ve got used to the fact that we are both retired and that we don’t HAVE to do anything.

The two main things have been starting to sort out all the things we need for being residents, and also the arrival of my (Helen’s) mother. Everything was such a rush in our last few weeks in Nottingham, especially with the upheavals for John’s mother, that we didn’t see very much of my mother, so it’s good that she has been able come out here for three weeks. Every year she says that it will be her last year of being able to come out, and this year it looked as if the car journey would just be too long and tiring. However, thanks to a good friend, Ann,  who gave her a lift to (and will later give her a lift back from) Birmingham airport, she has been able to take a relatively short flight from there to Basle, which is over the mountains from here, about an hour and a half’s drive. So Ruth doesn’t seem to be too exhausted and will be here for her 91st birthday on 9th July. She’s just come in to see what I’m up to (she doesn’t like to miss out on anything) and sends the following message to the nation: “the weather is lovely; Helen and John seem very settled; my greetings to everyone – they’ll all know me, won’t they?”

Using a wheelchair at both airports seemed to make the journey less tiring, so Helen investigated hiring a wheelchair here and discovered that the weekly rate is very cheap. So yesterday we hired one in St Dié, as it means my mother can come out with us for longer without getting tired. She’s adapted to it amazingly fast and seems to enjoy issuing regal commands from a seated position – “just wheel me back to where we were so I can take a photo”.

We were amazed when hiring the wheelchair that we didn’t have to pay the required deposit – they seemed to think Helen looked honest after producing her St Dié library card as evidence of address. Things like that take you by surprise when just round the corner you’ve been fighting bureaucracy.

We set off on the Monday of week 6 for St Dié to transfer our National Insurance sickness benefit into a French benefit, having obtained the necessary English document and having telephoned first to ascertain the required additional documents for English residents. We took in all the required documents, the clerk made phone calls to check that all was in order and everything was sent off.

We later got a letter from Epinal to say that we need to obtain a temporary residence permit first (mind you, in order to get a full residence permit, we need to have the sickness benefit document sorted); also the birth certificate photocopies were considered to be incomplete – this is puzzling since we have copied everything on it and the copy has been certified at a later office as being a full copy. However, a French certificate would apparently have a stamp on the back and Helen was unable to convince our allocated officer by phone that UK certificates don’t have a stamp on the back of the original. This means a trip in to the Departmental headquarters in Epinal once we have a Temporary Residence permit so we can take in the offending English birth certificates. Unfortunately our allocated officer will shortly be going on holiday for a month and no one else is authorised to deal with us.

So we hasten back to St Dié to sort out the temporary residence permit at the Prefecture. The birth and marriage certificates are fine, though they are different to French ones. So can they be translated by an authorised translator (only one off the police / town hall list)? After some explanation it is agreed translations are not necessary as all the information is on the certificate and can be explained. But we need a statement of income, in French, to prove we will not be a burden on the state and a stamped addressed envelope. We’ve now e-mailed our financial advisor for the income statement in French (fictitious figures so we don’t declare too much to the French state as there is a wealth tax…but it will be official enough as it comes from a registered financial company – all part of their service). So, so far we have neither our temporary residence permit or our health service registration card (a credit card with a computer chip holding our details which allows refunds of health service costs to be credited directly to our bank by the state service and the private top-up medical insurance company) and the French holidays, which traditionally seem to occupy most of July and August, started this weekend. Maybe by September we’ll be sorted, but then we’re bound to have over-run some deadlines for registering!

We can’t get any private top-up medical insurance yet as we don’t have our French health service registration card (and private medical insurance in France is only legal for residents if you have it). The French state health service doesn’t pay all medical costs, only a percentage of a nationally agreed tariff e.g. it is 70% of the agreed cost for visiting a doctor – 20 euros (£13) for a surgery visit –the doctor might charge more but you still only get 70% of 20 euros. The rest can be covered by the additional insurance (which is usually paid by employers for those in work). We visit two insurance companies to find out more – not too easy as they don’t have much information –most French know all about the options already! It seems there are various levels of insurance, e.g. you can take out insurance to 100, 130, or 200% of the national tariff to cover those doctors, consultants, hospitals, opticians, dentists, etc. who have higher charges than the national rates. So it seems any savings we might have made by not paying Council Tax are easily going to be eaten up by the private health insurance costs since the quotes we had were £800-£1000 depending on the level of top-up taken!

We were very aware of the start of the French holidays today when we indulged our developing passion for Sunday flea markets. Well, we didn’t notice anything in the morning as we went along to the market at the next village, Saulcy, where they were also having inter-village games (things like running and scrambling over obstacles with a tray of plastic cups full of liquid), as Saulcy can hardly be said to be on the tourist map. This was also where my mother tried out the wheelchair for the first time and so saw the whole of the market, rather than sitting waiting in the car or the refreshment tent. And after that we drove on to a tiny village, Hurbache, on the other side of St Dié, where there was a Fête des Foins (the huge bales of hay as we drove in to the village were a give-away for the translation). Our local farmer has also been busy haymaking around us – (including our fields, without any discussion, which would have been polite now we are in residence). The flea market consisted of one huge stall, where everything was being sold together (I bought a couple of books), and there were also some small stalls with bran tubs and other games. But the main focus was a huge trestle table, beautifully laid out for lunch, which looked a bit like I imagine the old harvest meals. A coach was depositing people and their bags as we left and it looked as if the village and its friends and relations would enjoy itself. Our lunch was nearly as much fun as we came home and took our food upstairs to the sitting room and watched Brazil beat Germany (what shall we do now with no more football to watch?).

After lunch we left my mother reading peacefully on the terrace and set out for a market on the other side of Gerardmer. Gerardmer has always been a very popular French holiday resort (and a skiing resort in winter), and the roads were full of cars. The sun was hot, the sky was blue, lake Gerardmer was a brilliant blue and covered with boats and pedalos – the whole world was out enjoying the first weekend of the holidays – and the roads were full of cars with non-88 (Vosges) number plates! Despite that we had a picturesque drive to a little village flea market, where John bought some decorative glass and a long shoe horn and Helen bought a couple of books (not as high-brow as it sounds – a couple French translations of a certain Capitaine W.E. Johns to add to my small Biggles and Worrals collection.) On the way home we stopped at another small village – the stalls were up both sides of the main street – but fortunately they were clearing away by the time we left. Again there was a lovely village atmosphere (and yes, Helen bought another book – and she’d said she wasn’t going to buy any children’s books in French!)

Next week St Dié starts its programme of walks in the forests and hills around S Die, which should be interesting. On Tuesdays the walks are longer (about 20 km – last all day!), but on Fridays the walks are in the afternoons and about 10km. So that might be quite a sociable activity (for Helen at least –not sure John’s knees, Achilles tendon, etc. are up to it). Helen made a valiant attempt to join in the activities of the Friends of the Museum and Library by going along to a talk on one of the hottest (and most humid) evenings. It was a bit of an unknown entity, the title being “Every object tells a story”, but it turned out to be all about the beautiful books of poetry and art produced by a small press, Aencrages, and it was a very interesting talk. And as Helen was the only member of the audience for a few minutes, the librarian the publisher, and the museum director were forced to welcome her and chat to her (the museum director said he remembered her from my moment of fame as their 400,000th visitor).

For those of you who know the area well, a small aside, again of a bureaucratic nature, re our splendid supermarket, Cora. We thought it would be a good idea to get a loyalty/ credit card, in order to take advantage of various offers. So once again we produced all the documents we’d been told were required and noted on a piece of paper at an earlier visit – only to find that the computer in the end rejected us as we didn’t have a French ID number. Although our passports are perfectly acceptable ID, nothing could be processed without a correct French number! There’s a lot to be sorted out before the EU works at ground level!

And now for something completely different: A tale about “Banana Plugs”. You can’t buy banana plugs in France (used for connecting speakers to amplifiers and leads from amplifiers to speakers). John had wanted some to connect up extra load speakers he’d brought. But it seems banana plugs have been banned by an EU regulation as the pin on the banana plug is the same diameter as the standard pin on a continental mains plug. And there are still two-pin mains sockets around and unshuttered three-pin sockets so it would be easy for anyone to put a banana plug into one of those mains sockets. So they’ve been banned. Next they are going to ban screwdrivers, knitting needles, and anything else with a 4mm diameter rod (or smaller ?) rather than letting the idiots who could stick such things in sockets learn the practical way that it is not the correct thing to put non-mains plugs into mains sockets. But at least you can still import banana plugs from the UK where they are still sold; although you cannot export them commercially, nor any device with banana plug connectors (amplifiers and speakers now have a different connector but which apparently, with a quick bit of fiddling, can often be made to take banana plugs……).

You will gather that the frustrations and the pleasures currently vie with each other, the long spell of good weather means the pleasures are uppermost. We have only to think of the panorama of distant blue mountains, and the shafts of sunlight on the winding roads through the woods this afternoon to be glad that we’re here enjoying it.

This week seems to have vanished very quickly, with not a lot of events, but some good meals and some excellent football. The weather has been very mixed, starting with showers on Sunday and ending up with unpleasantly humid weather today.

The flea markets on Sunday were disappointing. One was small; one (which was listed in the local paper) was concentrating on the elections that day and had postponed their market); the third was recovering from a heavy shower of rain when we arrived, though spirits revived as the sun came out and people unpacked their goods again. It’s interesting arriving at lunch-time as many of the stallholders turn their backs on the public and concentrate on a convivial Sunday meal (after all no one would be mad enough to try to buy anything during the sacred 2 hour lunch break!) Back home, John consoled us for our lack of success by cooking quail with grapes which was delicious, and we followed it with strawberries (from the garden) and ice cream.

Monday was a “pottering” kind of day, mainly cleaning and gardening (the latter including putting down slug pellets for the disgusting creatures which were aiming to strip all our young tender seedlings and plants.) The highlight was an evening meal with Ann and Michael and two of their friends at Nicola’s house. Some years ago Ann and Michael had stayed at our house as part of our summer lettings, and during their stay our friend Nicola kindly popped down from her village to sow some seed for us to cover the newly installed septic tank filter bed. Ann and Michael got friendly with her two dogs and ended up promising to return house sit for Nicola later in the year so that she could travel back to the United States to visit her daughter and old friends. Well this has become an annual event (sometimes twice a year; Nicola left last week for another trip to the States. It has become a joke between us and Nicola that something to do with water always goes wrong whilst Ann and Michael are here, or the grass cutter gets damaged. But the arrangement works well, the 2 dogs and 5 cats are quite happy, the house is lived-in and Ann and Michael are very fond of this part of the country. (They’re almost tempted to buy somewhere here rather than their beloved Hay-on-Wye which has got so expensive since the Festival brought that area to the notice of people form London). Anyway it was a sociable and enjoyable meal (and they are  able to report that all is well so far with plumbing and electrical equipment!)

Most of Tuesday was occupied with a visit from a financial advisor, which was very useful. However, we didn’t forget about eating well, as we all had lunch at one of our favourite restaurants (Le Petit Chantilly) in St Die, which Helen thought was even better than last time.. After he left us, we went back in the late afternoon to St Die, where John succeeded in subscribing to a Wanadoo special internet offer (after only 15 minutes queuing at France Telecom this time – they wouldn’t accept UK-issued credit cards on the web site so we needed to subscribe using direct debit from our French bank account) and Helen changed and renewed books at the library and was spoken to by the librarian (this was a great relief, as I was beginning to feel invisible in the library!). Helen hoped it wasn’t just because my library subscription was due for renewal. However the librarian noticed she was interested in local history; Helen asked if there was anything else on witchcraft in Lorraine (as Toby’s girlfriend will be doing her dissertation on that). It turned out that St Die had provided the microfilm to enable the Latin work of the  Lorraine Procurator General (who was responsible for the trials of over 300 people, mainly women, for witchcraft before 1595) to be translated into French (presumably they have the original!)

Wednesday and Thursday were quiet days (apart from watching the football!), though Thursday was enlivened by a gift of 40 young cabbage plants from our neighbour, Mme Laine, who was thinning her plot (some for us and the rest for her rabbits). Once the heat of the day died down, it was back to rolling back the plastic sheeting still further and digging over a big enough section for 4 rows of cabbages. It was getting dark by the time Helen came in (after, we should add, Mme Laine had cycled by to inspect “her” cabbages and the rest of our vegetables). She also took a look at our herbs and pronounced that our bay trees were quite different from French ones – and she had never come across rosemary before, which surprised me. Meanwhile, John had made dinner!

However’ John’s main culinary skills were devoted to Friday’s dinner, when  we were returning hospitality to Ann and Michael. Friday was hot and beautiful, and Helen got four lots of washing dried and ironed. Helen also had a surreptitious clean up of the children’s books she’s trying to sell for French friends as they looked so grubby and uninviting (all those years of library work are never wasted!). The cabbage plants meanwhile soaked up the sun, then wilted and flopped and did not look any happier after watering in the early evening. It was a wonderful evening to sit out on the terrace. Our meal, of asparagus quiche (some which Nicola had bought us from near Colmar which is famous for its asparagus), pork with a wine-soaked apricot stuffing, followed by cheese, and a mango mousse with chocolate sponge based gateau, lasted about 3 hours and ended by candlelight. Around 11 o’clock John spotted a satellite passing overhead on a rapid curve round the sky. The sky was so clear and the stars so bright that we couldn’t believe it would cloud over and rain as had been forecast.

However, when we woke Saturday morning there had been a thunderstorm in the night, the cabbages had perked up in the additional rain, and the weather was distinctly cool. However, the weather got hotter as Helen gardened, and, by the time England were due to play Denmark, it was unpleasantly humid. Even the bathroom and barn floors were wet (?with condensation or rising water table). Ann and Michael joined us for a light lunch of last night’s left overs, then we settled Ann into a comfortable armchair in the cool of the dining room with all the cookery books (she hates any kind of sport, but collects cookery books) whilst the three of us trooped upstairs to watch the very exciting match on BBC (Nicola’s television only picks up French television with a very fuzzy picture, and a lot of foreign stations from another satellite). After a quick celebration, they went off to St Die and we prosaically washed up, then decided it was time we saw the outside world so drove to Baccarat. We used to drive through this famous little glass making town on our way here before a motorway was built round it, but we hadn’t explored the part away from the glass industry and crystal shops. So it was a pleasure to find an old tower and some picturesque houses. We got stopped several times by “outsiders” looking for weddings. We later found both weddings, one in the ugly post war Baccarat church and one in the hilltop church of the attached fortified village that Helen walked up to. We drove back along a very picturesque road (through a village where John had enjoyed a flea market when he was working here on his own last summer) to Raon l’Etape. Here we stopped at a second hand emporium, though were not tempted by anything. It was sill very muggy when we got back here. Now we’ve had dinner (finally finishing up the leftovers and polishing off more strawberries, this time with ice cream). In a few minutes there’s an Agatha Christie “Poirot” on, so I’m hoping it’s not one we’ve seen. It’s a bit cooler now, so it will be nice to relax in front of the TV.

It’s odd to think that we’ve been here for four weeks now, without having to pack the car, and regretfully finish the holiday. Planting the garden with things that need watering (well, not this week!), weeding, slug repelling and day to day attention makes it all seem more real! However, John might need to go back to Nottingham quite soon if his mother’s house sale goes through rapidly.

Sunday 2 June
Week 4 began, as is becoming a habit, with the Sunday flea markets / vide greniers. Our first visit was to Corcieux, which has happy memories for us as that was where we were camping that sweltering summer when we fell in love with this house! We’d also been to the flea market once before with friends (no Dave, that cake plate wasn’t there any more!). There were a lot of dealers and we didn’t see any fleas of interest. So we bought a newspaper and a birthday card and retreated home to read, have lunch and watch the England / Sweden match (we’ve got two allegiances this year, and are keeping track of both England’s and France’s progress – will there shortly be a conflict of allegiances?). After that we set out, appropriately, for the vide grenier at Ste Helene and wandered the village streets in the hot sunshine, listening to children splashing and shrieking in a pond. Enjoyable though the village was, there was nothing we wanted to purchase so we went on to a third small village, which only had about 15 stalls (it turned out it was its first attempt a vide-grenier!) Disappointed, we returned over the hills to Corcieux, which was packing up and John spotted a wooden fruit press which had been reduced from 100 euros to 80 euros (“But I’ve only got 55 euros” he lamented. “Offer him that then”, I suggested. And after getting out his calculator to convert the offer into francs, the stall holder agreed. That press must definitely have fallen off the back of a lorry, as a similar one costs around 200 euros in St Die). Think of all the apple juice we’ll be able to make!

Monday 3 June
We celebrated the Queen’s Jubilee by digging / rotavating a vegetable patch, complete with compost – “dig for jubilee” rather than “dig for victory”. John proudly planted out the tomato and courgette plants we’d bought in St Die market on Saturday, planted some potatoes and sowed pea, carrot, beetroot and lettuce seeds. The garden looks far more attractive now there is less black plastic (though it has done a great job in our absence in suppressing the weeds and their deep roots). But we also celebrated in our armchairs at night as we watch the palace concert and fireworks. Do tell us about the street parties we missed!

Tuesday 4 June
A day of two halves! We were just setting out in the morning for the International Fair at Nancy, when Nicola rang to suggest that we joined her and two English friends to look through some old things. She has been helping two French friends to clear their mother’s house after her death, and had persuaded them that many things might be valuable or a least worth selling at a flea market. I was to go as the book expert and one of the others was to advise on linen, fabrics and furniture. It was like walking out of the hot sunshine into a small shuttered town house from between the two wars. There were huge carved beds and wardrobes full of clothes (including pert forties hats and a fox fur), a very sad, bare kitchen, the only toilet was in the cellar, where the drains smelt bad and where all the baking is still done for the family patisserie. Ann was fascinated by the lace tacked along the wardrobe shelves, and enchanted by the hats. Most of the books were in the attic, and were torn and grubby, A lot of the early books were school text books and not worth a lot, but I thought that the children’s books dating mainly from the late fifties and early sixties could be worth taking to a second hand dealer, so we packed them up in round wicker baskets. We all needed to recover from the cellar, which horrified us (surely premises where food is prepared are inspected!), and went to Cora, the super modern super clean super market cafeteria for lunch. We then went our separate ways. In the late afternoon we had the most violent of storms (how glad I was that we weren’t driving back from Nancy – it would have been impossible to keep driving). Rain, wind, hail. The meadow grass was flattened, water was running off the road into the ditches, and Nicola rang from Clefcy, which is higher up another valley, to say her road was a torrent of water rushing downhill bearing chunks of tarmac.

Wednesday 5 June
A quiet day – as the ground is so damp, we plant out an apple tree in the orchard, between showers, but it gets too wet to do any more outside. So we watch some football and do some indoor clearing.

Thursday 6 June
In the morning we sort out our house insurance. The insurance people (and Mme Laine) are the only people who’ve greeted us (other than waving from a distance). Everyone except the M. Gaire senior (and perhaps he’s never recovered from the Great Millennium Tempest) comes out of their office and shakes hands. We catch up on the family news of our ex-next-door-neighbour (who works in the agency) when the house and car insurance is sorted. Then we set off for Nancy, (where we’d intended to go on Tuesday), to see what the fair is like. It sounds as if it will have be mainly Agriculture and Produce of Lorraine, with a specially invited Ivory Coast section tacked on. Well, it is huge, and has more furniture, kitchens, and billiard tables than agriculture! As it’s lunch time we start off in the thatched restaurant of the Ivory Coast, then spend the afternoon looking round. There are displays of crafts from all over the world, which are beautiful – lots of knitted white cotton garments from Peru, beautiful silver necklaces from Yemen, painted dolls and amber jewellery from the Baltic coast (I couldn’t resist some more amber ear-rings), beautiful ornaments and carpets from Tunisia and Morocco, all kinds of hats from Ecuador, bead work from South Africa and really tacky tourist stuff from Egypt. Coming out of the craft hall into the kitchen and furniture halls there is a roar of noise. Nearly every stand has plugged in a TV for today’s match between France and Uruguay, and all the salesmen are urging France to victory as the minutes tick by with no score. We look at some interesting wood-burning stoves and also some attractive book shelving. Sadly cultural frustration sets in as we try to ascertain the prices of the shelving. The two sad men won’t give us a unit price without coming out to our room and measuring up and drawing diagrams with their rulers in the traditional way. We say we don’t know if we want them to come if we don’t have a rough idea of the likely cost. Impasse. However, their eyes widen when John tells them exactly how many metres of books we have. Eventually one sad man does a lot of huffing and pencil work and comes up with a unit figure very similar to the one in his catalogue which we’re trying to read upside down. We leave in time to avoid rush hour and drive back along pretty, small, cross-country roads. The evening after dinner is spent trying to find a box of French accounts and bills. At night I dream of unpacking all the cardboard boxes.

Friday 7 June
Wake up and spend the entire morning opening every single cardboard box. Nothing. John retreats to Cora to do the weekend shopping while I re-stack all the boxes. Exhausted we sit down with our lunch to watch the England / Argentina match. It’s fortunate that it’s such a good match as we are diverted from our horror at loosing our files. As a further diversion from fruitless hunting ( we really have looked everywhere), we set out with the two baskets of books for Fontenoy-la-Joute, our equivalent of Hay-on-Wye, our second hand book village. On Sundays all the shops are open, but it is also busy then, so I think it best to reconnoitre on a quieter day. Unfortunately the children’s bookshop (Puss in Boots), which I’d intended to use, is closed for 3 weeks annual holiday. But we take the Tintin and similar books into a shop which specialises in cartoon strips. I’d picked out two which I thought might be valuable, but you can’t easily tell the edition in French books. The woman in the shop picks out the same two, but we still puzzle over dates and she gets out a useful looking catalogue. It is John who reads the small print which helps to identify that one book (“Martin et Jacko”) is a 1912 first edition rather than 1950 or 58. It is worth £100 and she will offer us £50, which is acceptable. The Tintin book would also be worth £100 if it was in good condition, but it is undeniably battered and grubby, so she offers £35 rather than £50. Elated, we try another shop with all the children’s books, including those two, but that only offers £64 for the lot. On the way home we drop into the patisserie (shop, not workshop cellar) to see if Jean-Robert is happy with the price for the two and to say I’ll go back to Puss in Boots with the rest in three weeks time. Jean-Robert seems happy, and presses two tarts upon us for our dessert. The evening’s warm enough for us to eat out on the terrace, which we haven’t done since before the storm. The honeysuckle still smells very heady and the lavender will soon be out.

Saturday 8 June
A quieter end to the week, doing washing, ironing, tidying. In the afternoon we go into St Die. Missing English queues we join the one in France Telecom, but as no-one moves in 10 minutes, we decide to try again during next week (it was just as bad last time we needed to go). The market is busy and lively and it is warm enough for people to be sitting outside the cafes drinking coffee. Unfortunately the weather forecast is poor for tomorrow’s flea markets.

(For anyone  in danger of loosing the sequence, that’s week beginning Sunday 26 May 2002)

This has been a very leisurely week compared with all our “holiday” weeks spent here. Helen’s all for retirement – and might even bring herself eventually to use the word. We’ve moved quite a lot of stuff gradually back to the farmhouse, since the visitors left, done some gardening, Helen’s watched quite a bit(!!) of the French Open Tennis on TV and we’ve both pottered around and generally enjoyed the sunshine.

Picture the scene a the moment – it’s nearly 6pm on Saturday evening and still very hot. Across the fields to the south east the church bells have just started ringing (has there been a wedding? – possibly not as we haven’t heard car horns hooting – but then what was that poster as we turned the corner with a female in chains looking up to a male?), and from the field immediately to the north of the house comes the hum of the of the baler and the bagger, making hay while the sun shines. Flies are buzzing in through the open windows, too soporific to find the way out, and upstairs on the TV Agassi has just won his latest match. (But perhaps we’d better not mention sport since France’s inglorious match against Senegal last night! Today’s paper was full of pictures of the rejoicing Senegalese community in Remiremont and St Die and words like “desolation”. They tactfully claim that it feels a very French victory, as most of the Senegalese players play in France anyway, while the French players play in England and elsewhere!).

I’m sitting in the dining room, which, for those of you who know it, looks a bit different now, with the addition of the computer (on Leila’s computer desk) and many of John’s cookery books on my mother’s old dresser and in John’s Dad’s old bookcase (so lots of family reminders). Outside the front door, John is just starting to mix up some concrete to make some fence posts rigid in the ground (the posts being designed both for threading the wire to support the fruit – see below – and to form the outer edges of a fruit cage).

We’re getting more ambitious to cultivate more than black plastic in the old vegetable and fruit garden. During the week we’ve very belatedly planted out into it the two Worcester berries and the loganberry which we’d intended to bring out in March (and also a pear in the orchard). We also brought 3 grape vines from the Nottingham garden which have now been planted. So the fruit garden, which already has summer and autumn raspberries, blackcurrants, grapes, strawberries (the first ripened yesterday – delicious!), myrtleberries, and herbs is looking fuller, and the birds will have more of a treat than us without a bit of protection! There are still several apple and a mulberry tree to plant, when we can decide where to put them.

This afternoon we’ve cheated and been to the outdoor market in St Die and bought some tomato, basil and courgette plants; but from the agricultural co-operative we bought some beetroot, carrot, pea, bean and lettuce seeds although it is getting towards the end of planting time. It’s beginning to sound as if we’ll be far too busy with the garden for working on the house! This morning Helen unearthed our gardening books from one to the many cardboard boxes, in order to help us do things properly.

The orchard is also looking far less wild since John strimmed just about all the grass and flowers during the week. We’ve not seen it so clear in all the time we’ve had the farmhouse and it looks completely different. The remaining nettles have been fed with glyphosate (Round-up) in an attempt to kill those that can’t be cut with the strimmer. Wonder how many sheep it would need to keep the grass down?

On a more leisurely note, you’ll have gathered from last week’s news that we’ve become addicted to flea markets and vide-greniers (empty your haylofts/attics). Last Sunday was the first time we’d been here for the Entre-deux-Eaux flea market. We had a preliminary scout round in the cool, dull morning, then went over to Xonrupt Longuemer at lunch time for their market (much smaller than last year when John bought his mechanical calculator), where we had ham and chips in the drizzle, but then wandered round in the sudden sunshine. Afterwards, we returned to the Entre-deux-Eaux flea market in the late afternoon which was really alive and packed. We were rather pleased with our finds/purchases from the two markets – two silver serviette rings, a silver plated wine taster, a mystery silver object, three books, five euros worth of plasterboard hanging brackets (which would have cost around 30 euros from a bricolage), and 10 French marigolds (though here they’re Indian rather than French – oeuillets des Indes.). Tomorrow we’ll probably also stroll around one or two more markets in other nearby villages in the increasingly hot sunshine which is forecast (but then cloudier later in the week).

On Tuesday morning, which was overcast, we went into St Die to look at the national newspapers (the village shop only stocks 2 regional ones, which are fascinating if you want to see photos and accounts of committee meetings, firemen in action or car pile ups, but don’t have a huge amount of national and international news). We bought Le Monde and Figaro to help decide which, if any, national newspaper might become our choice of reading (except for weekends when we need the local paper in summer for information on the location of flea markets!). Then we decided to find out about local groups and societies to join. My instinct, of course, was to head for the library, but as we were nearer the tourist office we started there, and were given useful leaflets. They didn’t have the address for the local history society, but said that the museum was a contact and meeting place. Well, talk about unhelpful! The museum couldn’t possibly give us the phone number of the President as he was on the “rouge” list, but we could buy all the publications of the group (three times she pressed us to buy) and eventually she agreed to pass our names and contact details on to the President. Then something suddenly changed – she discovered we lived in a village a few miles from hers (and possibly the fact that Helen was able to identify our parish – never been asked about that before! It’s always the secular commune – and that we were English rather than German made a difference) and suddenly she was telling us about all the other things we could join. Phew! We escaped without buying any (very expensive) publications (“They’re bound to have them in the library”, I said, though the Museum Assistant thought it highly unlikely that the library would have any of them.) Next we went into the library (attached to the museum) where we found all the useful leaflets, the latest museum publications and an excellent selection of magazines and newspapers! So I think we’ll have to allocate a regular morning to the reading room. (Goodness, how soon we could become like all the seedy old men who haunted all the newspaper tables of all the public libraries Helen has worked in!)

Saturday 25 May 2002

The second week of our great move has, fortunately, been far less hectic than our first. It had seemed very foolish to have visitors staying in the farmhouse for a week commencing 3 days after the departure of the removal van! But in the end, it had the great advantage that we didn’t feel the pressure to achieve anything during the week And as we had more sunshine than had seemed likely from the weather forecasts, it was all very pleasant.

Both Sunday and Monday were holidays here, celebrating Whitsun. The village vide greniers (“empty your haylofts”) are great fun in fine weather – you visit tiny villages you wouldn’t otherwise detour to, occasionally find a bargain, and it’s often pleasant to rest weary feet at the food and drinks stall and watch the world go by. On the Monday we drove through lovely forests to a tiny village called Fremifontaine. The sun beat down as we wandered through the streets, lingering particularly at a stall with postcards (unused) from an old shop which dated from about 1940 (all those French film stars– even the men looked very heavily rouged by the lurid tinting process), where we bought some Christmas and Easter postcards and some later colour scenes. John also looked at some photographer’s black and white glass plates, but they were mainly studio portraits and outdoor family groups; the studio had been in Lyons, so nothing of local interest – it would have been an amazing bargain if it had been interesting. The day before we’d bought a 1939 Guide Bleu to Lorraine and Alsace, which is interesting as many things in it were obliterated during the war, whereas other archaeological “finds” didn’t seem to have been found yet (including a nearby Celtic fort). This Sunday should be interesting as it is the Entre-deux Eaux flea market and also there is another one at which the owners of one of the St Die patisseries (who are friends of our friend Nicola) are selling some his mother’s possessions, following her death a few months ago. I’m not sure what they will have tomorrow, but they found old Christening robes, wartime letters, books, exquisite linen, pre-war clothing in bedrooms and the attic which they’d never really been in (and they might have thrown much of it away had Nicola not persuaded them to try selling it. I think it highly likely that we will get involved in the book side of things, and will research the local book village, Fontenoy la Joute, to get an idea of values).

We’ve settled into the “west wing” without any problems, having managed to make sure we had most items we needed for the week’s stay – and with some rummaging in boxes we have been able to retrieve all we were missing. We’d made the new apartment very homely, if chaotic, as it had somewhat too many tables, chairs, and boxes of computers and hi-fi equipment. Nicola had dropped by early on to bring us some huge crimson peonies and some delicately scented lilies-of-the-valley which have added a touch of elegance. Living up there for a week has also meant that it’s been easier to envisage (for Helen who hasn’t lived in it before) how it will look. Consequently I’ve changed my mind again about bathroom tiles! The Rowes left earlier today and I feel quite sad at the thought of moving out of the conversion (and starting work on it!). So we’re taking it in stages. We’re cooking and eating in the farmhouse tonight, reclaiming a bit of it, but sleeping and breakfasting in bed in the “west wing.” Writing the “west wing” sounds very grand, but it seems to be the only definition (albeit jokey) where we both understand which bit we’re talking about

Having people here has not only slowed down the pace of unpacking and renovating, but it has also provided some diversions. Having expressed an interest in purchasing property here, they discovered quite how laid back the methods of selling houses seem to be here. The son (who is an estate agent) said in perplexity, “but don’t they give you some kind of printed particulars and an address to visit? And don’t they have some kind of structural survey done of properties?” They didn’t manage to find any of the properties that agents told them about ( with directions like, “it’s on the road between Taintrux and Rougeville” with no photo to take with them to identify it. And there are very few for sale signs outside properties.). We spent one evening showing them the photos of our first two years here (amazing how much, looking back, we managed to do or get done during short holidays! No wonder that Toby and Leila complained that we never did anything else whilst we were on holiday!) And on their last evening (Friday) we all went out to dinner at a ferme auberge at Taintrux which we’d never noticed before. It was very picturesque there. When we talked to the couple who ran it, it transpired that it was up for sale as they were hoping to retire to a chalet as soon as it was sold. So thereupon we all fantasised about how the Rowes could all buy it jointly and run murder weekends there, a camp site, inn, curry house etc etc. The trouble is that I can’t imagine any French people trusting themselves to English cookery! However, there it is, if any one dreams of running an auberge – only £250,000 and a claimed turnover of £200,000/year!

Our other socialising consisted of a day of John doing some plumbing investigations for Nicola whilst I curled up in an alcove and dipped into her art books and looked at her latest paintings (one of a local barn interior, and one of her daughter Emma on the beach in the States), and a depressingly wet and misty day (Thursday) when all 3 of us drove in the pouring rain to a garden centre (roses haven’t survived this winter) and a DIY shop (for plumbing bits). The garden centre was very busy as it’s French Mothers’ Day tomorrow. No doubt all the restaurants will also be crowded tomorrow lunch time.  I’ve also gone back to the library for my entitlement of 6 books – my annual subscription of about £20 must be nearly due (it goes very much against the grain, as it’s a PUBLIC library – hardly likely to attract socially excluded people!)  – the local section continues to furnish all my reading, though I did look a the two and a half shelves of English books, but wasn’t tempted. At present I’m reading a book of reminiscences about growing up in a little hamlet outside the nearby glass making town of Baccarat – all the parts about keeping 2 pigs, some chickens and rabbits sounds like life round here when the old couple lived in this small holding. We’ve had a couple of afternoons in the sunshine doing some gardening – the combination of hot sun and heavy downpours has produced a huge growth spurt and lots of different flowers are coming out this week – and unfortunately the bindweed is also sprouting and coiling wherever it can. We’ve waved at all the neighbours as we’ve been in the garden and they’ve been driving past, but our neighbour Mme Laine (who keeps an eye on the house for us when we’re not here) is the only one who’s come up to say “welcome!”. Even the Mayor drove past in silence when the big removal lorry was outside.

Well, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s vide-greniers, despite the rain that’s forecast. Then it will be back to emptying the “west wing” and getting started on a bit of work on it.

Friday 10 May

Up at 6 a.m. to block Second Avenue with our two cars, milk crates, planks and assorted appropriated cones before the New College students block the road. It’s moving day and the articulated removal lorry needs plenty of space to swing into our road. (Those of you who came to our farewell party may remember the narrow road and the limited parking!) Later on, the police, who’d been silent on the subject, despite a couple of requests, also put in an appearance to cone off part of the road (sorry that’s all the cones I have – a measly six). The scarlet removal van ( “from the Pennines to the Pyrénées, a Peak performance”) swings in with the greatest of ease and loading of all our possessions commences. The day is gloriously sunny, and loading is punctuated by many cups of tea. Lunch is spontaneously laid on next door. By mid afternoon John has brought up from the cellar some forgotten home-made elderberry wine, neighbours fetch wine glasses, and an impromptu wine tasting takes place, comparing the merits of 1982 and 1983 (yes, 1982 and 1983!). We could be in France already! A sensation compounded by the lingering alcoholic aroma after John has poured the remnants down the yard drain. The neighbours leave with a gallon of the ’83. By 5 p.m. the 13 metre van is completely full – we’re glad they spent the time discussing how best to pack everything in to optimise the volume at various times during the day (mainly taken up with over 100 cardboard boxes of books and crockery, but also fruit trees, bay trees and geraniums – we’re taking very little furniture). So many thanks to the uncomplaining friends who helped heave weighty items down from the attic and to colleagues who provided some of the cardboard boxes. We later hear the load was 10 tonnes and the men reckoned on just over 2000 cu.ft. in the 2200 cu.ft. van. Having started loading at 8.30 they finished soon after 5.15 and then looked gloomy at the prospect of the drive in the weekend rush to their depot just south of Sheffield.

After an hour’s sleep and a shower we’re ready to party all night with Ann and David Hart on the River Trent. We’d originally assumed this would be a warm pullovers and thick socks event until we discovered that evening dress is required, as the event, on board the Nottingham Princess, is to launch an Aids education project for Zimbabwe. A bit of improvisation is required. What a memorable way to say farewell to Nottingham with swans gliding by in the dark, bank-side buildings illuminated, hearty food and dancing till midnight (it has to be admitted that we rise to the challenge of the buffet rather than the dancing!)

Saturday 11 May

An anticlimax, as we finish cleaning the house. It looks as bare and impersonal as when we first moved in all those years ago.

Sunday 12 May

A day for family farewells. We pass our fax machine on to my mother and hastily coach her in the art of instant communication, as she is a great letter writer. Then she and Leila join us for a celebratory birthday lunch in Sherwood. I (Helen) had almost forgotten it was my birthday (where have I put the cards which came earlier?). My present from Leila and Toby is Nottingham Monopoly, so I can’t forget their birthplace! The Two Rooms restaurant is fairly new and only one other table is occupied; the meal is excellent for both the vegetarians and meat-eaters; so the owners are disappointed to discover that we won’t be around to tell people how good it is. So, for those still within easy reach of Nottingham, we can thoroughly recommend it – slightly nearer to Nottingham than the Sherwood library, on the eastern side of Mansfield Road, next to Geoff Bloore’s second-hand book shop.

Monday 13 May

After lunch, Leila and Helen’s mother wave us off on the great adventure. Stage one is an easy drive down to Billericay. We visit John’s mother, recently installed in a nursing home in a nearby village and still adapting to such the huge change following the unexpected death of John’s Dad just after Easter. Then over to his sister Ann and family in Billericay for the night.

Following a further quick visit to see John’s mother again, we drive on to Dover to get the 11.30 a.m. ferry. I (Helen) thought I’d feel immensely sad seeing the white cliffs of Dover recede. But the morning is grey, the cliffs drab and the boat seems less comfortable than usual. It’s raining in Calais. However the weather brightens as we drive across Belgium and Luxembourg; we re-enter France in full sunshine. We stop for a quick evening meal at IKEA north of the centre of Metz, as usual handily located just off the motorway. It’s interesting how different the French/Swedish fast food is from British/Swedish (and of course they serve wine as well as beer)! The evening sunlight over the Vosges is spectacular and it feels like a homecoming.

Tuesday 14 May

Wake up early (again!) as the removal van driver had, on Friday, announced his intention to start delivering our possessions on Tuesday afternoon rather than on Wednesday morning, as previously agreed (does this have something to do with the fact that he’s driving up to Scotland on Saturday for a week’s holiday?). As we had warned the neighbours that the road would be blocked on Wednesday, this is rather a blow, especially as a large milk lorry is due to collect from the end of our “cul-de-sac” on Tuesday afternoon. Spend the morning indulging in our own furniture shifting to make room for Nottingham items and walking through the orchard and meadows, delighted to find that the wild purple orchids have survived all the changes to the meadow, including our various sewerage excavations. Weather is glorious, and we relax on the terrace at lunch time thinking “this is what the move is all about!”

At around 4 p.m. red lorry proudly declaring “from the Pennines to the Pyrénées” (they can add “and Vosges” now) is spotted across the meadows. The driver leaps out, changes into his shorts, and he and his mate launch straight into unloading (there were three men to load), plants first. Many cuppas and a couple of hours later, the van is one third unloaded, all the plants have been watered, and the men call it a day. After we’ve all showered (separately) we all go off (together) for a pizza. The pizza turns out to be a fortunate choice as the driver’s mate can’t stand French food (or more specifically, anything that shows any signs of not having been cooked to death). What is unfortunate is that our nearby pizza restaurant, the Toscane, is closed on Tuesdays, as is the other restaurant on the outskirts of that village. So it’s off to the bright lights of St Dié for a pizza, which is excellent despite the snooty waiter. We hear the late rather than early afternoon arrival was due to delays they’d experienced travelling down to Dover from Sheffield on Monday – several blockages on English motorways – but they were unable to make up time on the French motorways due to the speed limiter. The lorry spends the night in the new huge carpark outside the village shop.

Wednesday 15 May

Another glorious day – fortunately the van is on the north side of the house in the shade. Unloading the boxes is complicated by the fact that we have foolishly agreed to let the farmhouse to people who enjoyed it so much this time last year. They will arrive on Saturday, so we can’t really stack the farmhouse with 100 boxes (although they have said that they’ll be out on the terrace in the sunshine all the time). On the other hand we don’t really want a lot of stuff lying around the “west wing” that we’re working on, as everything will be in the way. The compromise is to stack the new spare bedroom to the ceiling (it will be decorated after everything else!) and also to spread other items between the three barns. All the boxes and rooms are numbered, which seems most efficient – until we change our minds about a few locations! The last of the boxes is unloaded by lunch time and we wave the lorry off. By evening we are exhausted with sorting and decide to patronise the previously closed Toscane. The new owner obviously has no idea of the potential for British trade as he is closed yet again. So we sit out on the terrace of the busy St Martin restaurant in St Dié and watch the world stroll by with dogs and rucksacks as we tuck in.

Thursday 16 and Friday 17 May

Two days of cleaning and clearing the farmhouse for the visitors and sorting out bedding. How can it have got so dirty since we were last here? But by the end it looks more attractive with its additional furniture (“What a lovely dressing table!” exclaim the visitors when they re-enter “their” downstairs room – which we usually refer to as “grandma’s room”). John’s cookery books and some new games have all been unpacked and make the dining room and sitting room look very lived-in. The terrace is transformed and gleaming in the sunlight as nine years of moss and grime are blasted away by the inherited Karcher pressure washer. The garden also looks splendid with the potted plants and trees processing down the pathway.

Thursday evening is “rounded off to perfection” (sorry, an in-joke from our visitors’ book) with a meal on the terrace of our friend Nicola, who lives in a neighbouring village. The food is as delicious as ever (“only something quick and simple”, she says, as she serves the artichokes, followed by roast poussin, and then fruit with meringues – the meringues “stolen” from a baker friend’s patisserie). Her dogs think it’s wonderful to be out of doors so late at night, as we sit gazing at the planets in the clear sky.

Friday evening after another sunny day, we try out the domestic arrangements in the “west wing” — to make sure we’ve got everything. Various return trips are needed for wine glasses, colander, washing up bowl, drying up towel, etc. John slept in the new bit last year (when the Rowes, our forthcoming visitors were here last May), but it’s Helen’s first night!

Saturday 18 May

We wake up to rain. And rain/overcast skies are forecast for all next week, apart from a possibly sunny Monday. And our visitors were so looking forward to their break in the sun (in “paradise”, as they refer to the farmhouse setting) – outdoors all day and evening. Mme Laine, our neighbour, says that it always pours with rain for the Entre-deux-Eaux flea market, which is a week on Sunday. I’ve just finished mopping the kitchen floor when the visitors arrive, several hours early. So we invite them into our makeshift sitting room for a coffee……. They’re thinking they might like to buy a house in France in a region not full of the English at any time of the year (seems they’ve been to the Dordogne and Normandy since they were here last year!). Do we have any tips?……

So here we are, safely installed, after our rash purchase nearly 12 years ago. The old house looks good. And in the “west wing” barn conversion we now have temporary shelving in the bathroom, which has a beautifully tiled floor, shower, toilet and washbasin all fully functional, but bath purely decorative and unconnected; the connected fridge-freezer and the unconnected dishwasher earmark the future kitchen; our bedroom has two flea market beds (without fleas, fortunately), a clothes rail (reminder of student days), two old rugs and a curtain over the doorway (doors to follow at some later date). The huge living room is the crowning glory. John has installed yet another satellite dish and, with a Sky Digibox, we now have UK television (and, more importantly, clear Radio 4 reception all day – England v. Sri Lanka has been unfurling all day!). Temporarily, we have unrolled a carpet we haven’t seen for 20+ years (some may remember it from Blenheim Drive days) –  it un-needed in the Nottingham attic. We have the rocking chairs, a table and a weird assortment of upright chairs (when the men first unloaded them and lined them up round the living room it looked a bit like a doctor’s waiting room). Soon it will be dark and time to close the shutters a the end of our first week.

Well this wet weather, coupled with the enforced cessation of housework, clearing and DIY activity for a week, has provided the opportunity for a quieter time to reflect on the hectic past 3 weeks: Helen finishing work (“resting” sounds so much better, though not currently very accurate, than “retiring”) and leaving colleagues old and new; lots of farewell meals with local friends; John’s last canoeing trip for a while in England (and yes, he and Alistair just had to have a final soaking while playing at Newark weir); a Derbyshire garden centre and second hand bookshop nostalgic trip with Mary; catching up with all the news of more far-flung friends at the “au revoir” party (where have all those years since university, library school, Swaziland, RSC/UKCIS gone? – and why didn’t we hold it over the whole weekend to have more time to talk to all those who came); walking round Hardwick Hall gardens with Helen’s mother (lots of stops at benches), and last visits to Second Avenue from Toby and Leila. It’s been a break-neck 3 weeks (did we mention packing?), but it’s been lovely to see so many friends. Do please keep in touch as we’d love to hear all your news (especially on these boring wet days when we can’t just lounge on the terrace with a glass of wine and a good book). And of course, those of you who’ve already visited know that slave labour is always welcome (food and bed provided!) – and even “proper” visitors wishing to explore the area – we’ve room for six-to-eight!