Sunday, September 28, 2008

At a hundred miles an hour through France

There was an early morning trip in the car to Portsmouth. Peter drove us and chatted brightly to Tom as I dozed. The cars rushed passed us in the. morning haze of green and grey. I barely remember the wait in the ferry terminal. Brittany Ferries are rather upmarket and swish. I was fractious and anxious, feeling insecure and provincial surrounded by real grown ups on their jaunts to France. There was a pait of couple sat opoosite us, the women clearly french, so chic, and their hursbands, one english, one french conversing in the strange trans continental franglais of the middle age expat.

On the boat I read and read and read, having ironically picked up a book about an Irish expat to France, and the swallowed the book, finishing it on our first day after arrival. We ate well in the restaurant, cheese and salad nicoise for me , lamb and frites for Tom and chocolate mousse and wine.

Norman, Tom's dad picked us up on Caen, and the two hour drive from Caen to Saint Laurent de Cuves was more dozing as motorways French or English bore me. The landscapes of Normandy have a warm hard light, like looking through a smokey quartz crystal, everythign covered ina slight haze of dust from the pale brown soil. I enjoy the way the local style of house building is so un - english, all tall windows and doors with shutters, local stone and building regs demanding houses be white or cream or light brown or yellow. A painters palette predecided by local government.


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Once unpacked slight, and adjusted to the haze of nictotine that hovers at Norman's house we changed and went for pizza at Le Petit Nicolas in Brecey, the next village over. I shared half and Etna, all chorizo and chilli oil and a Norvegienne, smoked salmon and creme fraiche with extra coquille st jaques.


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Our time in France was spent food shopping in the Super U in Brecey and at Brecey market, painting walls in the corner of the living room, sleeping and eating and drinking. My favourite half an hour was chatting to Yvette, who runs the Bar des Sports in Saint Laurent de Cuves about studying history in England in university. She speaks no English at all, but as the expats keep the bar in business she takes care to speak slowly and clearly with them and make them welcome. We also spent a good 15 mins on knitting and laughing at men who love Volvos, something which inspires geekery in both the English and the French. We took a sneek peak in the church in the village, and a tour of the graveyard, marvelling at the money spent on lavish gravestones. I also hemmed many a curtain in the hope that next time we visit they may have been hung!

Later in the week we went to the castle at Fougere beloved of Victor Hugo, ate a paable Moules Frite in a restaurant with terrible service and then I pretended to be Rapunzel, translated labels and got gently sunburnt. The approach to health and safety there was minimal, with rickety hand rails on tall towers, and every thing being open for the public to climb. Having been ransacked in the Revolution the bare rooms were quite a shock after lavciously furnished NT houses.

The last days of the trip were made frighteningly excitable by the last of a summer's hornets flying into the warm of the house through open velux windows and hiding in the rafters of the unfinished ceiling of the room we were sleeping in. Every time we went to go back to bed, I would spot another and amusing crashing and spraying and whacking with newspapers would ensue. I did not sleep at all on the last night in the fear they would appear again.

An LD lines ferry took us back from the concrete lego brick magnificence of La Havre, and whilst the food was terrible, the boat noisy, we had club louge stickers and so rested on leather sofas, our booty of cheap and tasty wine safe in the car ready for stashing in cellars and gifting at home.

At a hundred miles an hour through France

There was an early morning trip in the car to Portsmouth. Peter drove us and chatted brightly to Tom as I dozed. The cars rushed passed us in the. morning haze of green and grey. I barely remember the wait in the ferry terminal. Brittany Ferries are rather upmarket and swish. I was fractious and anxious, feeling insecure and provincial surrounded by real grown ups on their jaunts to France. There was a pait of couple sat opoosite us, the women clearly french, so chic, and their hursbands, one english, one french conversing in the strange trans continental franglais of the middle age expat.

On the boat I read and read and read, having ironically picked up a book about an Irish expat to France, and the swallowed the book, finishing it on our first day after arrival. We ate well in the restaurant, cheese and salad nicoise for me , lamb and frites for Tom and chocolate mousse and wine.

Norman, Tom's dad picked us up on Caen, and the two hour drive from Caen to Saint Laurent de Cuves was more dozing as motorways French or English bore me. The landscapes of Normandy have a warm hard light, like looking through a smokey quartz crystal, everythign covered ina slight haze of dust from the pale brown soil. I enjoy the way the local style of house building is so un - english, all tall windows and doors with shutters, local stone and building regs demanding houses be white or cream or light brown or yellow. A painters palette predecided by local government.


View Larger Map

Once unpacked slight, and adjusted to the haze of nictotine that hovers at Norman's house we changed and went for pizza at Le Petit Nicolas in Brecey, the next village over. I shared half and Etna, all chorizo and chilli oil and a Norvegienne, smoked salmon and creme fraiche with extra coquille st jaques.


View Larger Map

Our time in France was spent food shopping in the Super U in Brecey and at Brecey market, painting walls in the corner of the living room, sleeping and eating and drinking. My favourite half an hour was chatting to Yvette, who runs the Bar des Sports in Saint Laurent de Cuves about studying history in England in university. She speaks no English at all, but as the expats keep the bar in business she takes care to speak slowly and clearly with them and make them welcome. We also spent a good 15 mins on knitting and laughing at men who love Volvos, something which inspires geekery in both the English and the French. We took a sneek peak in the church in the village, and a tour of the graveyard, marvelling at the money spent on lavish gravestones. I also hemmed many a curtain in the hope that next time we visit they may have been hung!

Later in the week we went to the castle at Fougere beloved of Victor Hugo, ate a paable Moules Frite in a restaurant with terrible service and then I pretended to be Rapunzel, translated labels and got gently sunburnt. The approach to health and safety there was minimal, with rickety hand rails on tall towers, and every thing being open for the public to climb. Having been ransacked in the Revolution the bare rooms were quite a shock after lavciously furnished NT houses.

The last days of the trip were made frighteningly excitable by the last of a summer's hornets flying into the warm of the house through open velux windows and hiding in the rafters of the unfinished ceiling of the room we were sleeping in. Every time we went to go back to bed, I would spot another and amusing crashing and spraying and whacking with newspapers would ensue. I did not sleep at all on the last night in the fear they would appear again.

An LD lines ferry took us back from the concrete lego brick magnificence of La Havre, and whilst the food was terrible, the boat noisy, we had club louge stickers and so rested on leather sofas, our booty of cheap and tasty wine safe in the car ready for stashing in cellars and gifting at home.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Brought to you from the boat...

...I'm actually, right this second, on the the LD Lines ferry 'Norman Spirit' somewhere in the English Channel. The ferry is gently swaying from side to side and I will reach Portsmouth some time about 8pm. It is a grey blue day outside, and the view from the window sees navy and grey seas choppily rolling to a pale horizon.

See you in England!

Brought to you from the boat...

...I'm actually, right this second, on the the LD Lines ferry 'Norman Spirit' somewhere in the English Channel. The ferry is gently swaying from side to side and I will reach Portsmouth some time about 8pm. It is a grey blue day outside, and the view from the window sees navy and grey seas choppily rolling to a pale horizon.

See you in England!

Friday, September 12, 2008

oddness.

When I listen to certain pieces of music, a shiver runs down my spine. Except it’s not like that. It’s like pins and needles tingling travelling through body, from the front to the back, like someone is pulling the music through me.

It’s intensely painful and pleasurable all at once.

Only certain pieces of music make it happen.

Very odd.

oddness.

When I listen to certain pieces of music, a shiver runs down my spine. Except it’s not like that. It’s like pins and needles tingling travelling through body, from the front to the back, like someone is pulling the music through me.

It’s intensely painful and pleasurable all at once.

Only certain pieces of music make it happen.

Very odd.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Camping in the Rain


Discover Brandi Carlile!



I spent the weekend of the 5th camping in the rain with my good friends at Roundhill in the New Forest.

It rained alot. Waterproof trousers weather, huge pooling puddles in the grass weather.

But it was awesome. It stopped raining when we went to the beach on Saturday at Highcliffe for a stormy walk. It stopped so we could pack the tents away.

The food was fab courtesy of Tom and Jess. The purchase of windbreaks helped with the cooking immeasurably.

I feel so wonderfully alive when camping. Soaked through, surrounded my friends with sky right up to the edges around me. The happiest I've been in months!


And worth it for this picture:

Camping in the Rain


Discover Brandi Carlile!



I spent the weekend of the 5th camping in the rain with my good friends at Roundhill in the New Forest.

It rained alot. Waterproof trousers weather, huge pooling puddles in the grass weather.

But it was awesome. It stopped raining when we went to the beach on Saturday at Highcliffe for a stormy walk. It stopped so we could pack the tents away.

The food was fab courtesy of Tom and Jess. The purchase of windbreaks helped with the cooking immeasurably.

I feel so wonderfully alive when camping. Soaked through, surrounded my friends with sky right up to the edges around me. The happiest I've been in months!


And worth it for this picture:

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Music for Sad Days


Discover Damien Rice!

Music for Sad Days


Discover Damien Rice!

Family Picnic

So your wayward blogger returns.

I had my family picnic. This slice of awesomeness is second only to the family party, where we spendall evening playing silly games and dancing. This one takes place on the New Forest at Ocknell's Pond on the Sunday before the August Bank Holiday. It's all about french cricket ans den building and the Magic Kitkat tree where the fairies leave you chocolate.

As is my way, I invited my good friends to come too, and some had never ever built a den before. We quickly rectified that, and I believe a good time was had by all. Every time I attend one of these family events I'm reminded of how lucky I am to have this, how awesome it is to be in touch with so many of your extended relatives, how interesting people are and I kick my former self for moaning about going as a snotty teenager.

It also reminds me of how great my friends are, as countless aunties remark how nice it is to see young adults joining in with all the games. I also have to stop and sigh a bit as I watch Tom being the one who joins in the most, who cuts down the most ferns and plays french cricket the most viciously and competetively. With all the stress of recent weeks, it's good to be reminded of how good he is for me.

Here are some pictures from my Mum:


This is my godson and cousin Max, with my aunty, Vicky. Max spent most of his time on the coolbox. As you can see it was fun.



Max really likes Lala, and I had a Lala backpack from my non- conformist extraordinaire years when I was about 14. He loved it.



This is my cousin Kate, and my second cousins Blake and Safira. They are in the den made from lots of twigs and sticks and ferns between three trees.


Marmaduke had never made a den before, having grown up in the city. So mum made him pose awkwardly next to it for a picture.

Paddy liked waving to people through the gaps in the walls. It looks like he's being swallowed by it. He's Kate and Max's brother.


Here I am failing miserably at French Cricket with my second cousin Beth on the right, and selection of my friends.



Finally here's Tom in a Tree. I've never seen him so proud or happy.

Family Picnic

So your wayward blogger returns.

I had my family picnic. This slice of awesomeness is second only to the family party, where we spendall evening playing silly games and dancing. This one takes place on the New Forest at Ocknell's Pond on the Sunday before the August Bank Holiday. It's all about french cricket ans den building and the Magic Kitkat tree where the fairies leave you chocolate.

As is my way, I invited my good friends to come too, and some had never ever built a den before. We quickly rectified that, and I believe a good time was had by all. Every time I attend one of these family events I'm reminded of how lucky I am to have this, how awesome it is to be in touch with so many of your extended relatives, how interesting people are and I kick my former self for moaning about going as a snotty teenager.

It also reminds me of how great my friends are, as countless aunties remark how nice it is to see young adults joining in with all the games. I also have to stop and sigh a bit as I watch Tom being the one who joins in the most, who cuts down the most ferns and plays french cricket the most viciously and competetively. With all the stress of recent weeks, it's good to be reminded of how good he is for me.

Here are some pictures from my Mum:


This is my godson and cousin Max, with my aunty, Vicky. Max spent most of his time on the coolbox. As you can see it was fun.



Max really likes Lala, and I had a Lala backpack from my non- conformist extraordinaire years when I was about 14. He loved it.



This is my cousin Kate, and my second cousins Blake and Safira. They are in the den made from lots of twigs and sticks and ferns between three trees.


Marmaduke had never made a den before, having grown up in the city. So mum made him pose awkwardly next to it for a picture.

Paddy liked waving to people through the gaps in the walls. It looks like he's being swallowed by it. He's Kate and Max's brother.


Here I am failing miserably at French Cricket with my second cousin Beth on the right, and selection of my friends.



Finally here's Tom in a Tree. I've never seen him so proud or happy.