Back again

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Well, we had such fun in England, catching up with friends and family, even though there seemed to be far too many friends we never got round to seeing at all: I was very iffy indeed about coming back here at all.

But return we did. We had the two cars, both stuffed to beyond capacity with books, kitchen bits and bobs, bookcases, plant pots, paint, porridge oats and golden syrup (for making flapjacks for appreciative French randonneurs)………... One way or another, the journey takes 3 days. That’s if you want to call in on Emily in Leicester, and cadge a bed for the night from Tom and Sarah in London.

The only real adventure we had was on the first night in France. We’d booked into a thoroughly inaccessible B&B near Blois which looked good online, but less good after we’d bumbled about after dark on a succession of ever more minor roads in search of it, and found that….it was dark and all shut up, and only a small and very yappy dog had been left in charge. Thoroughly cross, tired and hungry, we cheered up when the very first hotel we found turned out to be a truckers stop, clean, friendly and welcoming, and best of all, with a free room.

After that it was all easy enough and we were glad to be back in Laroque by the following evening. Oddly, though we had covered precisely the same route, our mileometers showed that my journey had been some 13 miles shorter than Malcolm’s. Still, when it’s about 1000 miles, who’s counting?

The house was all in one piece, and we’ve been contentedly slipping back into our routines. We’ve rediscovered the pleasures of slow shopping in Lavelanet market: joining amiable queues where you chat to everyone as you wait to be served with vegetables or cheese or whatever, and then in your turn chatting with the stallholder as he advises you on the best bargains of the day. We’ve popped up to the potager. Despite knee high weeds, the crops are flourishing. One crop is succeeding all too well. I was given some pumpkin seeds by an acquaintance who was a bit vague about them. They turn out to be prolific producers: worse than that, the only pumpkin I’ve so far harvested weighs a whole 15 kilos. How many meals’ worth is that? And we’ve got a dozen of the things. Where are English style Harvest Festivals when you need them? They’d make a splendid centre piece for any (large) parish church celebrations.

Autumn is really on its way, despite the daytime heat and blue skies. We’ve collected sloes and blackberries and our first mushrooms on a walk yesterday, and today, it was off to a nearby village, Le Sautel to see their sheep return to the valley having spent their summer months up in the mountains: transhumance is still an important part of country life here. Really, the return of the sheep is just the excuse for a huge village party, an immense Vide Grenier (car boot sale), and general day out, beginning bright and early in the morning, and going on all day and into the evening.

All 200 or so of the flock eventually ambled down the main street towards midday, following a large troupe of majorettes, and grabbing mouthfuls of grass and greenery where they could. Whether they were later officially welcomed back by the mayor and corporation, we couldn’t say, because we decided to call it a day and return to our DIY and gardening duties back at the house. Not a bad use of a late summer Sunday.

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Photos

Nursing a 15 kilo pumpkin
The wretched thing doesn't look all that big on my knee. Just try lifting it though.