29th November - Sardines can be dangerous

Last night whilst preparing my feast for dinner, as a geture towards energy saving ideas I warmed my tin of sardines on the log burner.

I forgot what I was doing, and wondered what the piercing & rasping sound was. I turned to the fireplace. There were 3 foot flames shooting into the air, the oil from the sardines had bubbled over and caught alight in a most victorious fashion. The boys, sensibly had high tailed it, and of course, my automatic reaction was to run around screaming and swearing. I was desperate not to burn the house down and so I had to carefully retrieved them using the old poker from the fire.

Moral of the story?

I really need to buy myself heat proof gloves.

25th November - So, how warm is WARM?

A friend signed off an e-mail hoping I was 'keeping warm.'

Warm? It’s bloody tropical mate! 9C in the lounge this morning, and it got up to as much as 10C. My blood is so sodding thick now, that I have to shoot myself with a taser gun in the morning, just to get moving and up from bed.

Can’t wait for visitors. If you want chocolate biscuits, you have to smash them with a hammer and eat them in small parts, else you break your teeth.

I am going to break out into song in a minute, I am so looking forward to another night in the caravan. 'What now?' I always think.

Just conveniently the wind just started up again at about 6pm tonight, after a beautiful day, it’s now gale force again. I am banging on saucepan lids to dull out the noise, it’s just too scary. It’s a 50 metre dash every night from the house to the caravan and quite frankly anything could happen.

The wind cuts like a knife. This time I am going to try two log burners, one down each leg of my jeans to keep warm and see if that saves on the electricity bill of charging my gun.

Shall I let you know how my plan works?

24th November - Hide the dog biscuits

I spent last night in the house as the wind was so veracious. Sleep is quite difficult in the caravan especially when the raindrops carry rocks in their rucksacks.

So, for the first time I settled down on a luxurious single mattress, all camping style by the fire with a DVD. I was on cloud nine, thought life couldn’t get better. Had come to terms with the spider issue, as I had only seen the one since being back here so I thought it would be a chill out. And God, the wind was a blowing, I thought I had it made. I finally dropped off to sleep after 1am. No worries.

I awoke sharply, at 3.45am by a rustling, I had a lamp left on (for emergencies and because I am a chicken in the dark) my sight was set in the corner where the dog biscuits were in one of those stiff plastic bags. Bach (the dog) sat bolt upright and stared at the same place. It was a mouse, working his way up the bag, about to dive into the open corner.

I have found that mice respond fairly promptly to harsh language.

I believe it's a conspiracy and a test. I must pay a penance for previously living in a house with laminate flooring and central heating.

Next update: How to survive in a stampede of Normandy cows. Well, that's all that's left isn't it?!













I can't catch mice.

18th November - Routine and risk

One of the routines that has to be performed when returning to this house after being away for a while is clearing the spiders' webs. My sister has done this for the last 3 years and I only witnessed the circus act when coming back after a short break in October. When the front door was opened it was clear that the little critters had had a field day. And, these aren't your usual tiny little inconspicuous variety, that you might actually think 'ahh, how cute'. Oh no, these buggers have fangs and legs that look like they body build four hours a day, every day. Out comes the hoover, and each beam has to be meticulously cleaned, as that unspoken fear of one crawling over you at night was too much to bear.

For the 3 years that Kate (my sister) has stayed here, she has braved this risk and has not befallen to any encounters. She wasn't too pleased about the mice running around and munching on fallen crumbs, and didn't complain much about the Barn Owl in the chimney. But the spiders, no, as much had to be done to avoid the danger.

Now, I am OK with most things. I don't freak at mice, rats, snakes, even boring conversations but in the case of spiders I really can't control myself. The thought of one crawling on me especially of this size just makes me want to pee my pants. It's the reason I can't sleep in the house until the renovation is done, I can't sleep knowing they could be eyeing me up planning their attack. And the way they move? Oh god it's repulsive.

The nights have drawn in now, it's damp and it's not conducive to high output in the form of work. So to console myself, last night I partook in a few glasses of wine and a DVD, the wood burner was finally kicking out some heat and the boys weren't shaking with the cold, which made me feel good. Then I spotted my trouser leg moving. I knew that the wine wasn't that strong and I wasn't moving my leg myself, it must be a foreigner. Wondering became reality and I was up and out of the chair like someone had stamped my arse with a red hot poker. My new Spiderfriend launched into the air and landed in a dark spot. It wasn't possible to leave it, the thought was unconscionable, what if he followed me to the supermarket? This is the thing with paranoia and phobia, there are rules and they must be adhered to. It had to go.

But then remorse set in. He didn't move like the others, he was covered in dust and fluff and didn't seem to tear across the floor braking land speed records as they do. Maybe he was dying? Grabbing the torch and shoving furniture all about I found him and gathered him up carefully in a jar big enough to get all of his muscle bound legs in, and observed him. I never would have done this before, and would have normally jumped up and down like a banshee hoping that someone would come to my aid. But this time, because there was no one to help, no one who would hear me scream I behaved actually quite dolefully.

He was placed outside in the grass, and I talked him through the whole process. Of course, at arms length.

It didn't stop me from taking off all my clothes turning them inside out, shaking and checking them, before putting them back on. Checking the chair, removing the cushions, and looking all around in case he was the first of the whole army.

I settled back down to my film, wondering if maybe, just maybe that myself and these French creepies could co-exist. Just don't ask me to sleep with one in my caravan though. That's just too much!

9th November - Sundays; For rest and relaxation, not for fighting the elements

Yesterday was a day from paradise. It was beautiful and sunny and I actually managed to mow the lawns. Ever heard of calm before the storm? I should have known.

My sister went back to the UK on Thursday and I have been trying to find my rhythm. I haven't lived on my own since I was 29, that's nearly 10 years, and even then it was for only 3 months. I used to mow the lawns for my parents when I was a young teenager, it was my solace, my way of escaping from my head. So I went back in time to try to console myself from this solitude. I was scared.

Today, Sunday, was a different story, the rain set in but I was secretly pleased with myself for anticipating this and finishing my mowing. The wind got up, as it does on these hills. It whips through the valley and across the fields, once sheltered by several oak trees the farmer cut down. It's probably the wood that I am burning now to keep warm. I have a short journey to get to my caravan which is lit by torch or by the moonlight. There was certainly no moonlight tonight, just rain, travelling sideways. I had stayed indoors until very late, not wanting to go out but the need for sleep caught up with me and I decided to give in. The boys, (my two dogs) just weren't interested in going from what seems to them a warm haven to this madness outside. I willed them, and we ran to the caravan and shut the door. The noise was incredible, the rain sounded like small pebbles hitting the roof and the cable for my electricity slapped the roof with abandon like a jockey slapping the hind of his winning steed. Sleep was impossible with all the ruckus, I consoled myself with a DVD on my laptop in an effort to ignore what was going on inside.

3am came and I had still not slept, for the last hour the wind had really gained momentum, and the shell of my caravan was whining. I was actually terrified, I imagined all sorts of objects flying in through the windows; slates, sheet metal, wooden panelling. I was considering going back into the house when I heard a thwack, my awning started to slap against the side of the caravan. The poles were thrashing and hitting the windows and the flaps rucking and beating against themselves in the gusts of hurricane conditions. There was no other choice, I had to go out and see what was going on. In just my t-shirt, underwear and work boots I had the torch in one hand and my head in the other. The whole awning, although still attached to the caravan, was thrashing around as though Mother Nature was eating it up and spitting it out. I had a picnic table, and some picnic chairs with various items on and some boxes from the van that I still hadn't unpacked yet. The whole lot was turned upside down, I had no idea what had blown away. Fortunately I had an outside light, which I put on and grabbed of the awning what I could the stop the whole lot from sailing off into the distant black fields. I held onto to one corner which made matters worse and rest bulged and raised up throwing the poles into all directions I could see one had snapped and this made them lethal weapons which I had to dodge. There was only one thing for it. Put the dishwasher on the lose flaps and hope for the best.

I hadn't found a home for my dishwasher yet. So it was sitting tidily outside the caravan, covered with a piece of carpet. I hadn't moved it because it was heavy, and at the time I couldn't be arsed. Tonight, I had to lift it, there was no choice. I managed to pin down the two front flaps with my foot and I picked the dishwasher up and plonked it on the join. It seemed to do the trick. I settled the poles down and the rest I looked at and laughed, there was nothing much I could do but hope that it would stay there until morning, well, daylight. I returned into the dry, my dogs were bothered by the rush of wind as I opened the door and with my frozen legs and hair up on end I tried to settle down. The wind died about half an hour after I challenged her. Respite, I could finally sleep.

29th October - Snow hits La Chappelle

All night long I was kept awake by horizontal rain and wind shaking the very bones of my caravan. My mornings are spent checking the damage done overnight, the wind whips across these hills and takes no prisoners as it passes. I must have drifted off to sleep at some point in the early hours, and when I awoke there was silence.

A quick glance out of the window and I could see white fluff building on the ledge. I bolted out of bed and ran around outside like a dizzy school girl. The dogs hadn't seen snow for a long time and weren't sure that they wanted to again. I dashed inside the house to tell my sister and woke her up. We made for the thermometer; 5 degrees inside! This is a picture of the main cottage. Notice the lack of ridge tiles on the roof. This is a work in progress, but snow stopped play!

A few images caught by myself.

The last picture here is of the lane down to farm buildings and other old cottages where our French neighbours relish the tranquility and often lots of solitude.