Branscombe Beach Devon

Feeling rather jaunty at the thought of a few days in Dorset where I hope to indulge in the next best pastime to staring out of the window at the Pyrenees. Peering into rock pools and sifting through grains of sand and pebbles for the ever elusive fossil is as good a way as any for sheer relaxation. I usually take a trip to Branscombe Beach in Devon but I fear that this beautiful spot has now been blighted. The sight of all those scavengers profiting through other peoples misfortune is sickening.

On a brighter note I will pop into the best French Patisserie outside of France, Le Vieux Four in Beaminster. I shall more than likely succumb to a crumbly and succulent citron tart, especially good accompanied by Childhay Manor clotted cream ice cream. Its tough leaving the sunny South of France after having forked out a mere forty pounds for a return airfare with Easyjet, however I'm sure I shall manage to pass the next few days in a diligent manner dealing with the increasing number of enquiries and bookings for Le Chateau.

From where I sit I have met all sorts of nice folks this week. It's funny how you strike up a rapport with people from a distance. One of the not so pleasant tasks though is having to write to people the very next day and tell them that the weeks they were told were previously available have now been booked, literally hours later.

Which is why I'm just going to take a moment to look at my man in the white van pruning his vines as I've got two such letters to compose.

English Tea

Having a few hiccups with my camera today. Rushed out excitedly this morning partially clad to snap away at the frosty world laid out before me. The rising orb of the blood red sun was turning everything into the most beautiful blushing landscape. Sat impatiently at the computer only to find finger tip control was zero and could not transfer this morning's photos. Yesterday's red rose though is sadly no more due to the cold.

Taken to monitoring the man in the distance who religiously prunes his vines whatever the weather whilst sitting at the computer. Every half an hour I move my chair slightly to the right. This gives me a clear view of the vineyards, hills and snow capped Pyrenees beyond. Move my chair slightly to the left and I have the Corbieres hills. Sometimes on a clear day I can see the famous mountain Bugarach above Rennes Le Chateau. Straight ahead between the windows is a wall containing a Chloe Cheese print entitled 'The Breakfast Room'. His Lordship placed the desk deliberately so I would not get distracted. I've worked out that it would take me approx five minutes at a brisk pace to reach the man with the white van working amongst the vines. I could produce a thermos flask full of steaming hot English tea with a fine slab of fruit cake made from a wonderful Delia Smith recipe.

He's gone now though. I suppose he will re-appear on the dot at 2'oclock like he does everyday.

I tell His Lordship my idea. "Make sure you give him your address" he suggests. I must have looked rather baffled. "His wife might decide to bring me a carafe of local red wine with a slice of homemade citron tart". With that he gently pushed my chair so that I was back facing the wall.

ISIS The Solution.........nearly

Wallflower is endeavoring to join the small band of people in the World to open her ISIS puzzle. So far she informs me that she has managed to get the third ball bearing as there is definitely been a change in tone from the inside of the ball. She can rotate it slowly whilst keeping the plunger pointing in a Northerly direction until the ball goes silent, BUT, at no time has she been able to make the plunger only depress a small amount and this is the bit she is stuck on.

I'm impressed enough to realise that should she be able to achieve this then just like the poor souls down in Branscombe in Devon, we are going to be seriously inundated with world interest whether we wish for it or not down here in Carcassonne.

Nobody can accuse me of not being prepared here at Le Chateau in rural Lasserre de Prouille. Oh no. Even now shutters and windows are flung open to allow the sun to pour through the vast rooms on standby for the expected influx. We are fluent in English, French, Spanish, Russian, and I have a smattering of double Dutch to get by on.

Lastly I would hate to be thought of by my faithful band of readers to be posting the same old hat.

So here you go,

A new old hat.

Followed by a glass of red from the Malpere........

For the first time in days I can finally feel some heat from the sun seeping through to my bones. I've been swaddled up like some old dear from Tibet, minus the cut off mittens. I drew the line at the woolley hat, that's for seriously old people surely ?

I've just snatched a quick bite to eat. The in-house chef, His Lordship was on good form today. Sporting a rather dashing deer stalker hat (a universal look for ANY AGE whatever the weather) he knocked up Parfait de foie de Volaille. That's warm slices of apple caramalized, duck confit, chicken liver pate with cream, egg yolks and a touch of madeira. Following that we had a bowl of warming celery soup accompanied by some crunchy baguette. I opted for a small glass of local red from the Malpere which is allowed because :-
1. It is France
2. It is lunchtime
3. It is Friday

I sat back mostly satisfied and cast a furtive glance around the kitchen. "Creme Brulee in the fridge" ? I lightly enquired.

I received a look that would freeze even the most hardy of souls and sort of wished I had kept quiet.

Meanwhile I've slunk shamefaced into my warm spot in the library, south facing, seat full in the glare of the afternoon sun. Not only do I have to contemplate work but I must face up to the awful truth sooner or later that my bikini may well have shrunk in the wash.

Burns Night

I'm rather stumped when it comes down to finding a Haggis for my Burns Night. Same goes for the ingredients for bashed neeps, the right potatoes for chappit tatties, and fresh skye raspberries are a definite no go. It's a shame really as Burns Night provides the perfect excuse for some serious fun. Furthermore your kilt can be retrieved from the back of the cupboard and you can play Scottish Reels all night and seriously upset your teenagers. In short a recipe for a great evening, Haggis or no Haggis.

I explain to His Lordship that all I can rustle up for the occassion is cock-a-leekie and maybe some fluffy buttery mash with some French spuds.

"A dish of garlic snails would be nice" he murmurs. I pretend I haven't heard, but on further reflection and serious contemplation to the pressing matter in hand decide to go out and buy a bottle of whiskey.

I suppose snails and whiskey will have to qualify under the circumstances.

Snow beautiful snow

If there was one thing for certain today His Lordship would not be enquiring as to whether I would be taking a dip. 2b stayed tucked up warmly in his bed safe in the knowledge that there would be no school buses. The Small Cross One slid all the way down the hill anyway and waited in vain. I tried to tell her not to bother, but would she listen ?

Much sniggering at the breakfast table when they learnt that Maman had got herself locked into the bedroom and being utterly desperate had battled out into the garden in a blizzard and howling gales via the French windows to answer the call of dutyat three in the morning. Oh yes I'm still in stitches about it before you ask.

The electricity decided to go off last night and 'Mr Helpful' (no names here) pulled the computer connection out. No internet, no phone, that is until 'Mr Helpfuls assistant' put the right thingy into the right socket. Allowed myself a discreet smirk into my porridge but not until I had witnessed a free indoor firework display.

Still it seems that when there is snow on the ground people's thoughts turn to their summer holidays and I've had a very respectable amount of enquiries today. So, even with two Alpha males, one Small Cross One knocking out Fairy Cakes for want of anything else more interesting to do I'd have to say "Keep on snowing".

Snowy South of France

Huge excitement down here in the Sunny South of France. We are soon to be the Snowy South of France if the weather forecast is to be believed. The wind is howling making the entire house groan and creak, the shutters and windows are rattling with indignation against the cold. I'm alright though. What with thermals, cashmere, and topped with an alpaca wool poncho from Peru I'm well equipped to carry on regardless.

His Lordship has found a spare 100sqm of space in the house. Well, the attic of the apartment to be exact, and has decamped along with his entire library of some 1,000 books plus to his new sanctuary. He is safe in the knowledge that I won't be a regular visitor as to reach him you have to climb a rather precarious ladder and he knows only too well that I hate heights. This has put me at a great disadvantage as he seems to respond only too readily to the words "cup of tea"? but not so rapidly to "can you do" ?

He announces, with some exaggeration in my opinion, that his new space is "just like the room from Dr Zhivago. "And you're like its protagonist Yuri Zhivargo are you" I retort. "Only unlike the backdrop of the Russian Revolution of 1917 we are now in The South of France 2007 and its not THAT cold". I like a few titbits of information to throw out occasionally.

"Another cup of tea" ? I enquire pleasantly.

The Big Brother House.........or Chateau

Sadly, even tucked away deep in the heart of the South West countryside of France, the dreaded words that seem to have fuelled fevered imaginations and rocketed around the World by all acccounts have not passed me by. If you don't know what I'm talking about then you must live in outer Monglolia, well lucky you in that case.

The Big Brother House, along with Jade Goody and Poppodoms seem to be getting a hell of a lot of publicity. Just out of interest the spelling of Poppodom is acceptable in a variety of forms but it does not seem to appear in Roget's Thesaurus or my French Dictionary.

In complete contrast another story which was by far the more interesting of the two was the publication of Captain Robert Falcon Scott's last letter written to his wife. Endearing, touching and beautifully poignant you would be deeply heartless to have nothing but sheer admiration for his bravery, stoicism and pride in the way he and his men conducted themselves.

Along this thread of thoughts and realising that the programme hosted by Channel 4 had reached its lowest common denominator, and sadly which presumably is the reason for its popularity it occurred to me that standards can now only go up. Which is why there should be a new programme called ' THE BIG BROTHER CHATEAU.' Nobodies, second rate celebs, low life and riff raff hell bent on self promotion can now come and better themselves rather than lower their standards even further by staying in a house with style and grace.

In that way they will achieve their main aim in life, to be remembered and revered just like Captain Scott who will long outlast the infamous Jade Goody who in a little while we hope will return to the obscurity whence she sprang.

Miss Potter

Somedays, just somedays mind, I would rather be somewhere else. Today is one of those days.
My bodies here but my mind is currently situated on the beach at Eype the most marvellous little jewel down on the Dorset coastline. From here you can just see the outline of Lyme Regis Bay. Looking at this picture carefully I can almost feel the rather rough sand between my toes. I know that if I walk over to the rocks in the distance there will be small pools inviting me to spend time peering amongst the seaweed. If I am really lucky I may stumble across a fossil. Afterwards a healthy climb up through the fields will reveal a National Trust tea-room where we can sit and have the most marvellous cream tea and I can gorge on clotted cream.

I'm also rather sad that I can't go and see the new Miss Potter film with my Mother. We should be sitting together eating toffees that we both know are bad for us but make us feel good all the same. She will sit through the entire film wishing I was there.

Just because most days I appreciate that where I live is close to heaven it doesn't mean I can't float off elsewhere occasionally.

Hugh Grant, surely not ?

You know that you have reached the zenith of your dreams when you catch your teenage son reading your blog and inviting you out for the evening all in the space of 24 hours.

Last night we hit the town together, Castelnaudary to be exact. Such a pretty spot with a small port off the Canal du Midi and famous for its dish Cassoulet, a thick pork and bean stew designed to stick to your ribs.

We settled into our plush seats in the cosy theatre, my don't the French just love their heating turned up full ? The thick deep red velvet curtains swished open dramatically and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. There, only feet away from me, was the living breathing form of Hugh Grant. Hugh Grant, in Castelnaudary on a Wednesday evening presenting the dance theatre show of the lycée, il n'est pas possible ! Same impossibly thick floppy hair, same foppish manner and now warbling in gutteral French a Charles Aznavour love song and grinning at us all. The 'French Yoof'' groaned audibly. Honestly if Hugh or Gemma for that matter, (more likely) was looking for a seriously sexy French double here was their man.

After that the tempo revved up considerably and I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to get to meet 'our Hugh' after all and enjoyed the brilliant mixture of dance and theatre.

I really tried very hard to get a pic of 'the imposter' swooning into his microphone but it was way too dark so I've posted a pic of 2b instead. Not only is he better looking he also performs a much hotter dance routine. Move over Hugh, or whoever you were.

Hurrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaah

Big excitement as my new webpage floats around in cyberspace. I have been shackled for way too long on the computer and suddenly I feel as free as a bird, AND, the sun is shining, utter bliss.

2b hovers over me real close, too close, and I begin to smell a rat. "What are you doing tonight" he enquires very pleasantly. "Hmmm let me see now" I ponder, "I'll just check my diary". After 10 seconds of staring at a blank page and unable to think of a quick answer I am forced to reply "nothing whats the catch" ? "We're going out then" he announces, "an evening of hip hop, jazz, break dancing, fused with vibrant theatre performed by my friends from the Ivory coast, Kenya and Nigeria. "You will make sure your camera's charged then won't you" ? he added.

Unlike yesterday for example when I was quietly sitting minding my own business staring at my pictures for the umpteenth time, like the one above. Suddenly the whirring sound of a helicopter stirred me from my reverie. Hovering in front of the house the huge machine stayed for a few moments and leaning out of the side was a chap waving at me ! I grabbed my camera fast, only to discover that the battery which I assumed was charging was unplugged and I had missed the most wonderful shot. Seconds later it was gone.

"Someone you know"? enquired His Lordship.

Fairy Cake Recipe And High Heels.

To make sure I always have everything to hand I put important paperwork safely away. Not filed necessarily but somewhere within the boundaries of the office. So why I ended up in The Small Cross Ones bedroom I don't know, something to do with the fact that my hairdryer had also completely vanished. There amongst a row of Converse Trainers sat my pair of pink fake fur leopard skin high heels. Seriously de rigueur to stand out from the crowd in a rural village down in The South of France.

Stuck onto the full length mirror with a Post-It sticker were three stark words, DON'T FORGET TONIGHT ! Last nights conversation came flooding back to me with complete clarity. My main task of the day, or should I re-phrase that as my most important task of the day was to whisk up some perfect Fairy Cakes for an assorted bunch of French girlies with seriously discerning palates who were arriving this evening. I am brilliant, even though I say so myself, at a Victoria Sponge Cake and Fairy Cakes. And tonight, I will wow them all yet again with a plate of beautifully formed, delectable soft mounds of feather light all butter petit sponges. I'm under the strictest of instructions not to ice them. The Small Cross One has to individually 'style' each one apparently so it gives me plenty of time to search for that elusive paperwork.

Oh, and to find the perfect recipe for Fairy Cakes..............

ISIS I - The Solution Is Simple!

By 9 o'clock I am pacing the kitchen and on my third cup of coffee, where on earth can Wallflower be? She promised me that today we were finally going to complete my newlook website and unveil it to the world.

Eventually I cracked and phoned her up, she sounded surprisingly jolly and had completely forgotten our rendezvous. "Um what time are you expecting me?" I asked tentatively, "I had completely forgotten that you were supposed to be coming over" she trilled, "something very exciting must have happened then" I suggested.

"I'm playing with my new ISIS I puzzle, I have decoded all of the clues but I still can't open it" she explained. This meant absolutely nothing to me, still she was obviously fully engrossed in something pretty exciting which meant that if I turned up on the doorstep she was bound to welcome me with open arms, which I did!

Only when I turned up she didn't welcome me with open arms, she instead thrust a shiny blue and gold metal ball into my hands and said "open that would you?"

"No problem" I replied, "only while I'm doing it can you finish off my website for me!"

For some peculiar reason, she smirked at me.

To Swim Or Not To Swim

His Lordship has taken it upon himself to devote his time this weekend to cleaning out the pool.
Whilst everyone else's winter pool covers remain tightly closed ours is now very much open.

To those not in the know you might be led into fooling yourself that just because it was twinkling away like a jewel in a crown it may prove to be a pleasurable experience.

Well no amount of him chasing me around with my wetsuit is going to induce me to be so foolhardy, no matter how seductive it may appear.

I'm staying very firmly in my gardening attire. Furthermore just to prove my point that I have no intention whatsover of taking a dip I fully intend to have a bonfire with the prunings of the fig trees.

I would be the first to admit though that it would be beautiful were I to own a full length wetsuit. Which I don't, just a three quarter one.

Which surely is justification for my reluctance ?

Talk To The Snail

I'm currently turning the pages of Talk to the Snail, Ten Commandments for Understanding the French by the best selling author Stephen Clarke. His Lordship has half an eye on the glamorous French weathergirl and the other half on his glamorous wife (moi). One ear is cocked in my direction whilst I recite some amusing anecdotes. Today according to reports we can expect temperatures of 18 degrees, hmmm not bad for January. She then very gracefully turns her attention to Blighty where they seem to be suffering some rather severe storms at present.

By this stage I'm howling with laughter and practically falling off my chair. His Lordship looks vaguely surprised at my level of mirth qnd reprimands me. "Just because you are basking in warm sunshine down in the South of France whilst your fellow countrymen are shivering and quivering does not give you the right to snigger". I look fleetingly up from my book. "Quoi" ?

I read aloud another riveting fact on what makes the French so charmingly different to us Brits. Look don't get me wrong, I of all people understand exactly how to talk to a Snail. Why, I positively welcome them to Le Chateau. Here's a little chap above happily moving about his business enjoying the original 19th century tiles gracing the hallways and elegant rooms.

But Oh, to be blessed with such wit...............

Old Fossils

My view from my former bedroom window at Le Chateau takes some beating. With the majestic Pyrenees towering on the skyline (scant snow today), vineyards neatly pruned, fields awaiting this year's sunflowers and gently rolling pastures this is one of the boudoirs that awaits the lucky people staying with us this year. His Lordship and I have decamped into the apartment and I have to say that the change of scenery is rather refreshing. Instead we have french windows leading out onto the terrace overlooking the rooftops of the village with the Corbieres beyond. To celebrate our new abode His Lordship splashed out on some balls filled with tit bits for the birds. Conversations first thing in the morning are riveting. "You'll never guess who's on our terrace this morning" ? might be an opening gambit. So far we have been visited by three kinds of tit, collar doves, greater spotted woodpeckers, pied wagtails and countless sparrows. Magpies hover in the background.

2b overheard one of these conversations. "This is proof" he announced "of your advancing old age, you're a right couple of fossils".

"Well you seem to enjoy old fossils" I retorted, and to prove my point here is a picture of him searching for them on Charmouth Beach, Dorset's very own Jurassic Coast.

1st Class Pork Pie

Dizzy phoned from London last night. "Are you in bed" ? she enquired. Being a 'Yummy Mummy' is hard work. Rigorous regular excercise, 5 pieces of fresh fruit a day, plenty of water, zilch wine. Oh yes, getting in my beauty sleep is very important.

"THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR, has finally taken place" she announced breathlessly. For a moment I felt quite befuddled. Surely even I in the depths of rural France, sans television, head buried deep into my computer for days on end could not have missed this one ? Just because we are an hour ahead in France you think we know it all. Suddenly the penny dropped. Dizzy's baby sister. "Did Hello magazine put in an appearance" ? I asked.

It might have slipped my mind temporarily that I had sadly missed 'the social gathering' but I'm not so daft as to recognise that there is something rather fishy going on surrounding Mon Frere Jumeau's Pork Pie. Why for example when you google 'Worlds Best Pork Pie' would my humble musings appear ? slot 1, page 1. Why indeed ?

In the end though I wasn't going to stand for all these people gawping at his pork pie on my blog. I phoned him up pronto and spoke firmly to his answering machine. "Stop this nonsense at once or else you will be asked to come and be my resident chef at Le Chateau for the summer".(no wages).

Honestly, he must think I was born yesterday.

"Put that in your Pork Pie" I added for extra effect.

Maddening Macaroni

I phoned up Wallflower Queen of e bay to see what she thought of my prose that I had spent most of yesterday struggling over. As she's so clever she's rustling up a new look website for Le Chateau. "Well" ? I ventured. Her reply was short but not sweet and did not bring me the deep glow of satisfaction I thought was about to spread through my veins.

I'm feeling rather disgruntled and not in the slightest bit inspired which is why I'm popping one of my favourite pics in today. It's from a 1953 edition of France Illustration which I happen to have in the library. This is to celebrate the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, the magazine that is, not the pic of a pile of macaroni which incidentally should you be interested is how my brain feels. The enormous pile of slippery stuff, all loose and jumbled represents every little word I want to cleverly sculpt together but can't.

Never mind, onwards and upwards as His lordship would say.

Oh yes, forgot to say that I've taken my first booking for Le Chateau, must be doing something right then !!

Snail going slowly

I'm going to share with you the most enormous secret today and if I do it's strictly between you and I. This picture might give you a clue but more of that in a while.

Queen of E bay Wallflower arrived yesterday completely laden with luscious goodies and placing them seductively around Le Chateau starting snapping away at an alarming speed. Shabby chic pots and pans leant against rustic doors, bedspreads draped nonchelently over antique beds placed against panelled walls. You get the picture. And so did she, lots of them in fact. When she had finished in the time it took me to rustle up a cup of tea her attention turned onto my miserable web site. "You've got your pictures and text ready for me then"? she enquired. Fortunately at that very moment the computer chose to freeze or stop, or something highly inconvenient so I was given another 24 hours grace. Which was a blessed relief really as I'm not quite ready. And also explains why I am locked into the office without a key and not allowed out until I have produced ample text fit for a stunning new website enticing all those people looking for beautiful accomodation in the Languedoc to book Le Chateau for their holidays. (Sleeps up to 18) thought I would slip that in quickly.

Anyway look, the secret is this, what do you suppose my nickname is ?

Who said Flowerpot ?

I agree with Boris Johnson

I have purposely put this ghastly little picture right in the centre of todays musings for it is the inspiration of todays brainwave and one that I shall be offering my discerning guests at Le Chateau .

And my offer is this, that I shall remove the offending piece completely. The TV/DVD that is , and you will notice that tantalizingly to the right there is a piano which provides far more fun and entertainment and brings together people in an altogether much more pleasing manner than any amount of gawping ever did at a box flickering in the corner. As if that were not enough a library of over 500 splendid books covering a range of subjects for even the most literary of minds combined with a selection of games makes this an excellent choice of venue for bringing family and friends together for a holiday that is FUN.

Which is what holidays are about after all and the opportunity to indulge in a pastime or passion that you simply never seem to get around to whilst shackled to the restraints of having a home with a television, or computer for that matter. Imagine the bliss of neither. Bring your paints, brushes, sketchbooks, airfix models, violins, whatever, Le Chateau has the space for you to set yourself free and discover the joys of conversation and long forgotten hobbies.

I practice what I preach in case you were wondering and our best holiday was spent hunched over a Scrabble Board argueing furiously with His Lordships ever increasing obscure words, and oh the joy of beating him at Dominoes (seriously addictive)

And this revelation came about by living in a TV free zone and reading Boris Johnsons thought provoking article in this weeks Daily Telegraph. He urges us to summon up our strength, all our courage, and yank out that plug. And then if anyone kicks up a fuss, get out the sledgehammer and strike a blow for literacy.

The choice will be purely yours ......

http://www.chateaulasserre.com

Sunflowers and Sunshine

The bright sunshine streaming through the large windows of the library is making it very difficult to concentrate today. Clear blue skies and not a breath of wind add to my complete lack of application to the urgent work required. Were it not for the fact that every tree is stripped bare you might be forgiven for thinking it was a summers day.

His Lordship and I took lunch on the terrace and noted that the snow on the Pyrenees in the distance looked rather depleted since Christmas.

The Small Cross One took this photograph whilst out on a walk the other day. Difficult to imagine that by July the ground will be filled with vibrant yellow sunflowers, each and everyone turning their heads towards the sun. And right next to it all lies my house.

I'm sure you can sympathise with my daily dilemma.

Bonne Année

Humphrey was keeping his opinions firmly to himself this morning. I'd tried to take him quietly aside and have a one to one, face to face exchange but he remained completely non commital and who could blame him ?

The party was over, the feasting, the drinking; the jollity and merriment was no more. He at least looked woebegone as we said our farewells. So 2006 was past and as we shot through the countryside of the Corbieres homeward bound to Carcassone I couldn't help but ponder what 2007 may hold in store for us. I felt subdued until we reached home but as we rounded the corner to Le Chateau my spirits were soon restored. There was my beautiful house looking magnificent as ever with the undulating countryside spread before us. There seemed to be a couple of neighbours on holiday sitting peacefully at the ornate table and chairs alongside my olive tree completely unperturbed by my sudden appearance. "We love it here" they beamed, and I didn't have the heart to object to them enjoying their picnic in such a peaceful spot.

Once inside the fragrant smell of woodsmoke filled the air and I rushed around opening all the shutters to flood the house with beams of light and let the sun suffuse the house with warmth.

I warily opened 2b's bedroom door. There seemed to be figures that I could pick out in the gloom. I stuck my face into the one that I supposed was his. After what seemed an age one eye opened briefly. I couldn't help reflecting that although Humphrey had not uttered a word this morning the look that he fixed me with seemed overall to convey far more sense than the one I had just received.