British Summer Time in France

It's time to change the clocks again, Spring forward, Fall back is the only way I can remember it. Our neighbouring village Brezilhac is still on the old time judging by the church bells this morning which I can hear gently ringing out across the valley. Not that any one cares as it is the night after the Vin Primeur celebrations when they crack open the casks and try the new wine, and do they try it !!

Psychologically though it is difficult to reconcile oneself to the approach of winter as yesterday was 28 degrees and the pool was sparkling and quite delightful. The French however religiously close down their pools on 1st September so we are viewed with deep suspicion and thought of as quite mad, a view now shared by the Small Cross One and 2b who have gone completely French and are donning thick jeans and sleep with their windows and shutters tightly closed.

Twice a year His Lordship expounds his knowledge and burbles on about the Greenwhich Meridian. We lie on it more or less so solar time here is the same as in London. But being nearer to the Equator by a 1,000 miles or so the twilight in the morning or evening is much shorter, a fact that I know is going to be repeated shortly over a delicious cup of steaming coffee and a hot buttery croissant taken outside The Chateau in the warm morning sun.

Ronde du Malpere

Today I noticed that the berries on the hollybush had started to turn red, a sure sign of ' you know what' fast approaching. I refuse to say the word when it's only October although I did rush and quickly knock up a rather artistic shot involving a certain chap who wears a red coat and sports a long white beard. This was to be for my 'you know what' promotion for the apartment but in the end the fabulous shot of the pool always wins hands down.

This weekend we have the sixth Ronde du Malpere held in the very pretty village of Lauraguel. Wonderful opportunity to catch up with old friends and sample the diverse selection of wines from the Malpere region. To celebrate the harvest the following weekend we have a soiree in our very own village involving yet more raising of glasses to the lips but in this case its the vin primeur. As everyone knows this is a wine to be treated with respect and a cautious intake is recommended. After every event though it gives the village shop enough gossip to carry them through to the following year.

The Small Cross One appeared after school and devoured every last chocolate crunch. Just as bits of rice krispies were making a trail through the hallway she spied the door open to the cellar. "What on earth is he doing out" ? she demanded and I have to admit he did look rather odd with his boots sticking out at a drunken angle.

Think I shall take him to the Ronde du Malpere tomorrow, who ? Father Christmas of course !!!

Turbo Lister 2 and raspberries for afters

I've spent the entire day grappling with Turbo Lister 2. Before today I might have thought it was one of those video games or playstation thingybobs, or am I five years out of date ? Oh heavens who knows I was prepared to give it my all for EBay's 10p listings day.

Wallflower makes it all sound so easy, but then as I keep on repeating parrot like fashion to His Lordship " I was not an IT bod in my former life". I'm going to get a badge made up which I shall wear on a daily basis. Might swizzle round the wording too depending on how the mood takes me.

After about six hours I felt I was getting somewhere. At least I could see out of the library windows as His Lordship in a show of solidarity was cleaning the glass, heavens suddenly the Pyrenees looked so much closer. I felt on reflection that I had come so close to breaking through the pain barrier, but then as luck would have it I seemed to trip up at the finishing line.

2b breezed in with a number two haircut (I might have that wrong too) and cheerily applied the cutters to His Lordship. With two new spruced up men I thought a celebration was in order. Recklessly purchasing a punnet of beautiful Autumn raspberries I floated back to a previous life when I grew strawberries and raspberries and the trials and tribulations of Turbo Lister 2 were a horror not yet encountered. At least you knew were you were in those days. If the sun shone you were happy , if it rained you were miserable, simple.

2b bounced up to the computer, after a couple of clicks he announced that it was "all sorted".

When I pointed out, not unreasonably I thought, that it was still not downloaded or uploaded or even "sorted" he looked very reflective.

He popped the last raspberry into his mouth, gosh it must have tasted divine. "hmmm" he said, "y'know you really were quite good at growing them weren't you, why did you give it up" ?

Friday 13th

I had announced to the entire family that they could expect nothing but bad luck. Friday 13th was written large and clear on the family blackboard in the kitchen. If you want to convey anything to the family, write it on the black board. If the Small Cross One does not like it then it gets rubbed out, so it's a bit hit and miss really.

Anyway they all got the message. His Lordship said I was being a bore about the entire thing. The family that had booked to stay during half term in the gite decided that they did not need accommodation with a swimming pool so cancelled. We now have an Indian summer and I had a wonderful swim in the pool. I did try and tell them but I guess sitting watching Autumn descend in England they couldn't envisage it.

Someone jolly nice turned up for a drink. Gave me the perfect opportunity to drive the point home on my Friday 13th theory.

Suddenly 2b bounced in, I mean he can be a lively chap but it did cross my mind that he may have started the weekend early, if you get my drift. Our visitor was terribly proper so I did hope that I wasn't going to be let down my an uncouth youth.

"What day is it today" he shouted face alight. "Friday" I said. "No No" he all but shrieked, "the date"? There was an inward groan from the rest of the family. "Friday 13th" he bellowed, "unlucky for some but not for me" He flung down 100 euros in my direction which was long overdue towards some bike insurance. Turns out he had purchased a scratch card for 2 euros and won 200. "Figured out that today I might get lucky" he explained.

With that he leapt on his bike and roared off.

His Lordship announced it was time for a celebration and popped open a bottle of Limoux Blanquette which knocks a bottle of champagne into a cocked hat anyday of the week and is a fraction of the price.

The Small Cross One wiped my warning off the blackboard and the terribly proper guest ended up staying the night.

Easy Jet and Mince Pies

By the time I noticed the e mail from Easyjet I only had a few hours left to book any flights before midnight, never mind 45% off. I blame His Lordship for downloading a spam blocker, it's certainly managed to block off far too much in my opinion, or to be more precise, waste a valuable amount of time this week what with sorting the unblocking of the blocking, if that makes sense. I'm working in the dark most of the time anyway, and I don't mean burning the midnight oil either.

I think problems with the computer have overtaken everything else when it comes to being high up on the list of culprits for matrimonial strife. Who's got time for an illicit liaison these days anyway? and what with so many numbers to remember for every plastic card, passwords for every activity on the internet you could hardly be blamed for forgetting your own name sometimes, never mind your illicit lovers.

By 11.30 though I was becoming rather tetchy. I had already decided that the four of us were off to see the "Golden Oldies" for a pre-christmas break. In my minds eye I could see over crowded, over stuffed, over hyped, over priced shops. Coupled with the rosy faced cheeks of the Salvation Army as they pumped out those jolly festive tunes we all so love "God rest ye merry Gentlemen" and so forth.

In the end though I secured four return flights for £144.36. Bravo for Easy Jet direct from Toulouse. "Hip Hip Hooray" and only ten minutes to spare.

So I'll be there, sampling Blighty in all it's pre-Christmas glory. (Not forgetting a healthy intake of mince pies).

Just in time though to nip back for Christmas, where hopefully, once again, we may enjoy our roast turkey sitting in granduer outside gazing at the snow capped Pyrenees in the background.