29. starry starry night

Well, I have been here a month now and what can I say? I already feel I have been here for years and am getting to know the area. I haven't watched any tv or films since I arrived and have to say that I haven't missed them. Ask me if it will be the same in winter and my answer will probably be different. We spend more time outside so there is no need to coop ourselves inside as we did in London because we didn't have any outside space, except a balcony in full view of the street. I keep thinking that someone is going to tap me on my shoulder and say 'er, excuse me, I think you're living someone else's life and they want it back, awright?'. In between looking after little Mooh I'm doing the shopping and smashing up the house ready for work to commence, and because of that I feel like I have lost some weight already, woohoo! Even though the house is a right old mess I could still live here, with it in that state, for the end of my days.

I started a little project a few weeks back taking a picture of the sunflower field opposite in the same place at around midday-ish everyday and posting it on Facebook, just to see how long it would take the army of yellow heads to rise and fall. It's such a beautiful sight to look out of the kitchen door window and see these stoic flowers standing, waiting to face and greet the sun every morning. Their heads are getting heavier now and bowing, almost kneeling with the weight, almost like the sun has offloaded some of its weight on them.

We spent an afternoon going through papers at the Mairie with one of its employees to see if we could find any more history about the school. The second floor of the builiding still has wallpaper from the fifties, peeling off and dusty. In a room piled with papers we attempted to help sort out documents while at the same time digging for documented gems for ourselves. We did find some lists of pupils and sundry papers, one of which seemed to indicate that at one time the playground had been cobbled. Fab! We then dreamt of finding these cobbles and using them to bring back the asphalt drive to life. We eventually want a garden there. There are still two old tennis court net posts in the playground and so Seb in his enthusiasm to see if there was anything underneath pushed and pulled it out of the ground, butch or what, only discover rubble underneath. Oh well, it's only a small part on the far side so we may yet discover some yet.

Poor little Mooh was spayed yesterday and was a bit sheepish when we got her home. I think she sees the Vet as Dr Death now, so that maybe a problem. When he gave her second injection she was almost climbing over me to get out. But she got her own back that night when we put her in her pen to sleep. She howled for an hour, and not just howled, cried, yelped, mewed and generally tore at our heart strings as he lay in bed wondering if we should go down. Seb went down at one point and nonchalently went to look at something on the kitchen table just to make sure she hadn't attempted to self harm and we'd find a bloodbath in the morning the noise was that disturbing. It really is like having a two year old. She was fine and eventually stopped. The Vet had even given us a morphine pill which we had administered and seemed to have made no difference whatsoever. I think next time we'll ask for a hardcore horse tranquiliser. She's sensitive but a tough bird.

Mum and dad are coming out in early September and we are really looking forward to showing the place off to them. They may be a little aghast at some of the work needed doing but we'll get there. Sebs Papa and his girlfriend Michelle should be down too so they will finally meet, which will be interesting as neither speak each others language. But my Dad can be fluent in anything after a couple of beers!

Heard Mooh whining at 4.30am so took her for a wee (see we are dedicated parents really) and looked up and saw the clearest darkest sky speckled with a sheet of stars. Amazing! I count my lucky stars we live here.

28. new friendships

Mooh is sprawled across the threshold of the kitchen's French doors leading to the playground, stretching every now and then, snoring to her puppy's heart's content, Fox is cutting the small trees we chopped down into tinder for this coming winter and for the first time in weeks I can actually sit down and do something other than working or falling into a slumber. Life is good today. Bar the little fuckers flies that seems to come out of nowhere in their droves as soon as the sun is up.

I was at the Galopin few days before Fox's long awaited arrival, talking about our overgrown garden (Mooh isn't allowed at the back, we fear never to see her again the grass is so high) and the lovely Marina and Philippe casually mentioned they would come and make a start on it sometimes. I thought it was lovely and neighbourly but I have to admit I was a bit doubtful about it actually happening.

Then few days later, as I was driving back from work I saw, sticking out above the wall of the school, a man's head in the playground. I'm now used to finding people wandering on the school ground so wasn't alarmed, just slightly annoyed. But as I turned into the school's playground I found Marina armed with a rake and Philippe with a machine strapped to his body, cutting down the grass, as they said they would. It was baking hot, they had been working that day, but still, here they were true to their promise.

Marina then took me on a tour, showing the rescued Wisteria and rose bush I didn't know were there and we carried on for a little while. I was then invited for dinner. I was very touched, and felt a bit guilty for my initial scepticism. what a lovely thing to do. That night I ate a delicious home cooked dinner, listen to them playing the piano and bass guitar, talking til late, enjoying new friendship.
Then the day following Fox's arrival, as we were having a drink at the Galopin, Marina announced to me that they, the usual crowd I got to hang around with, had had a talked and thought we had enough to do in the house to get ready for the coming winter and therefore should not worry about the garden anymore. They would deal with it. So-and-so had a tractor and an attachment for the back that could take care of the overgrown field at the back, who had the number? And off they were organising the tasks.

Then Stéphane dropped by the next morning with his trailer to help take some of our rubbish to the tip. I went into the caravan to make him a cup of coffee to find him when I returned up the ladder, taking down the bell that threatened to fall down.

It's a quite strange for Fox and I, after years of living in London where people ignore one another and certainly don't want to get involved, to be
looked after in that fashion. There have a been dozen or more such selfless deeds to help us since I arrived, and even more wonderful evenings getting to know the folks of our lovely village.

But all those new friendships are no substitutes for the old ones. I miss my friends terribly and wish they could be here to enjoy a glass of wine and the wonderful night sky with us. Remember, the caravan is now ready for guests.

27. now we are three

After a 'few' drinks after work I got up at 4.30am in a 'slight' alcoholic sweat, with a liquid memory of Paul urging me to have 'just one more' and packed my last items. I didn't want a huge leaving drinks at work or with friends, I wasn't dying after all, and I hope to see them again soon. It was a Thursday, therefore a school night, so not the best time to get people together, which suited me in any event because all I wanted to do was get on that train to Sebastien anyway. I had the best luck as a friend of mine was working on the same Eurostar train and was able to get me upgraded, which meant free hot breakfast, my saviour! I arrived at Lille and had to change to the local station and drag my bags over the bridge to the other station. It was hot, humid and sweaty. You might as well have told me to drag six dead horses with me it felt so endless.

On the train to Poitiers I was dreaming of roast pork for some reason, maybe something to do with the farewell burrito I had at Exmouth Market with my friend Leeloo. It was a small parcel of sheer heaven and the memory of its deliciousness still haunts me now.

I arrived at Poitiers and searched for Seb and there he was. We had one giant hug and I felt at home. We had been too long away from each other and the last few days seemed endless and determined to keep us apart. It was a joy to get in the car and aim for the life we had both been planning for quite a while.

I have been here a week now and I never want to leave. The caravan was far too small for two and so we were determined to move into the house. I cleaned the very basic kitchen area, we moved a large oak table that had been left behind into it and with a microwave, et voila, a kitchen. It has been oppressively hot and without a fridge it has been nigh on impossible to live properly without a cold glass of wine or unwilted salad. But thanks to our new neighbours and publicans we have had the use of a coolbox which has been a boon. Annie and Alistair run the Galopin, the village bar and social hub of the village, and have been incredibly welcoming and looked after Seb while I was in London. It's a great place, where Ringo the Labrador greets you with wag tail and Annie and Alistair with a deliciously cold beer! French and Brits mingle happily. I love this. Language is no barrier, and I'm hoping mine will improve because of this, you only need to be friendly. Sebastien has the double edged sword of being the lucky one to speak both languages fluently, but because of this he has been a conduit between people and helped to explain lunguistic differences, my husband is very clever. In fact, the day I arrived he had reserved a table at Le Galopin and had pre-ordered our dinner, roast pork! That's how clever he is and why I married him, he can even read my pickled mind on a hot train through France.

So we are sleeping on an inflatable bed in a shabby house and I couldn't be happier. I have swapped a flat in London with a view of three tower blocks, with lazy taxi drivers hooting their arrival, boom boom music in open cars and stroppy girls rowing with each other at four in the morning for a view out of the kitchen door of a growing field of sunflowers that will blaze into life in the coming weeks, the tolling of the church bell announcing the hours, the chittering dive bombing swallows and a big blue sky. Why would I want to leave?

Seb and I knew that having a dog in London would have been impossible. Having seen an ad on French internet page I saw some labrador pointer crosses that were being given away. Having discussed breeds and their pros and cons, do we want a jack russell, a boxer or a labrador? A small one or a bigger one, a girl or a boy? There are lots of dogs in the area so we wanted one that would be sociable. We arranged to see the puppies that are left and it turns out that from a litter of 14, poor mum, there were two left. We arrived and saw two gorgeous bouncy little pups. The dad was a huge show labrador and the mother was a liver and white patched pointer and both were very friendly. How to choose? We agreed on the slighter darker and sleeker coated one and put her in the car. She seemed a little worried so I had her on my lap all the way home and we didn't a whine or a whimper out of her. So now we are three and the proud fathers of a little puppy called Mooh, and we are totally soppy about her. Real little house on the prairie stuff.

So last night we sat on the kitchen step, with a glass of wine as the sun went down watching little Mooh sleeping, who needs TV?