48 hours to go and counting down

It's easy to get your Mysa Vattens mixed up with your Mysa Latts as I managed to yesterday. Why I even got the day wrong that I was due to be swallowed up in the cavernous blue and yellow warehouse and what with everything being in Swedish AND French I never really stood a fighting chance.

So here I am. Precisely forty eight hours to go before visit of Inspectors of guide I really want to get into. It's not so much want as must. Its not so much a case of deciding to run a house rental on the side as a 'jolly' whilst we enjoy the laid back lifestyle and the sun in the South of France. No, its a case of one last herculean effort to get our project off the ground and to provide a living of sorts for two ex farmers who became disillusioned with policies from Brussels and the tempremental weather, however lovely the British Isles are fruit growers are always beholden to Mother Nature.

The jolly old roofers (we won't let you down we 'promise') are due to roll up the drive in their battered white van to coincide nicely with Inpectors arrival. That's if it stops raining of course. Sixteen excited Spanish are even now contemplating their Easter break at Le Chateau. His Lordship is primed to explain the intricacies of the Aga to them. 'No it does nothing but cook, no it does not provide hot water, no it does not do the heating' Incredulous silence always ensues.

So rather than being in the hands of Mother Nature our future now lies in the Lap of the Gods. I am hoping and praying that they will be instantly smitten as they walk into the house as I was on a sultry July evening, that the beautiful panelling so lovingly restored will delight them. That the handsome features of our village house will win over their hearts.

But if, for whatever reason, they decide that Le Chateau is not going to appear in their glossy brochure for 'discerning guests' then I will know one thing for sure. That I, along with my family have put every last ounce of energy and love into our venture. And that we will all have done our best, and if we don't get chosen, well what are you all waiting for ? we're open for business !

http://www.chateaulasserre.com

Shopaholic from the South of France

My Angel has appeared in the shape of Wise Owl who seeing my predicament and sensing my raising despair has come to the rescue. Armed firmly with a notepad, obviously. In case you are puzzled Easter sees the first influx of large groups of visitors to Le Chateau, all rooms laid bare to the scrutinizing eye of the discerning holiday maker, and that of the Inspector of the Guide I really really would like to get into, if possible.

Yesterday visited my favourite Brocante (second hand shop with antique shop prices). It takes us along the most spectacular route.. From our landscape of rows and rows of vines this gentle undulating rolling countryside soothes you in a different way. Soft toffee coloured cows are dotted in the rich pasture and fields of wheat and sunflowers flourish in the open spaces. We approach the small town whose square boasts beautiful medieval arches cheekily interspersed with gargoyles leering down at the tourists beneath. No time to stop and linger today, we are on a mission. Pulling up outside I notice that the absolutely gorgeous ornate antique ironwork is still displayed for sale. This is difficult to resist as are the piles of embossed linen prettily tied up with red ribbon. Exactly how many linen sheets does one need ?

In less than an hour we were done and dusted with His Lordship mightily pleased with this painless shopping experience. Quick swipe of the plastic and we were off followed not long afterwards by a man in a van delivering the whole lot that very same day. Not only had we saved valuable time, wear and tear on my patience and sanity but practised what I preached about the ethics of recyling. Gold star for moi then wouldn't you say ?

Except that I still find myself this morning facing a visit to the large blue and yellow cavernous warehouse just off the motorway where I know that I am going to be swallowed up for at least three hours and succumb to a lunch of Swedish meatballs

Matters of the heart from the South of France

2b has had a reflective day. In a small tight community when something not so nice befalls one of us we tend to pull together. Look out for each other so to speak. So when his lovely girlfriend of just 18 went hurtling off the road in her new car and ploughed into a field word quickly got round. Within seconds MSN was buzzing, 2b's mobile phone rang incessently as she phoned tearfully from the local hospital. Fortunately she came out pretty unscathed but the car is a mangled wreck of twisted metal. And they are all in shock, believing as you do at that age that a wet road holds no dangers, like 2b's friend last year as he set out for his camping holiday but a tree got in the way instead of a moist gentle friendly field and he died instantly. Driving hard and fast seems to be national disease here, being involved in a car accident regarded as a rite of passage.

Yesterday as I drove towards our nearest town I was forcibly hit by the dramatic change in scenery along a certain well known fast stretch. Where plane trees had majestically towered over the road and cast their shade for 200 years or more there was now a long line of red and white posts marking their graves where they had been brutally suppressed.

I commented upon this fact to 2b and The Small Cross One, lamenting on the changing face of the countryside. They looked at me incredulousy. "The trees are dangerous" they pointed out, do you have any idea how many people die when they hit them" ? The idea that people might drive less fast than the manic speeds they embrace here was alien to them. The suggestion that if there is a car in front does not deem it necessary to overtake and sod any oncoming traffic was met with puzzled looks. The answer to them sadly, and to that of their peers, was to chop the offending trees down.

And I find it bewildering also, our arguments at such odds with one another. And I really don't know, I really don't know who is right. Because, thank god, it wasn't my son who hit the tree.

D.I.Y bliss in the South of France

Hailstones greeted me this morning against my bedroom window. The sky looked like someone had thrown a jam jar full of old painted water at it. Truly inspiring for the South of France. Large puddles were forming rapidly on the terrace and yesterday's washing flopped in a pathetic and delusionary fashion on the line. "Hope you remembered to put the bucket under the leak" His Lordship mumbled from under the safety and warmth of the covers.

After two quick slices of toast I was shovelled into the car. "No time like the present", "The Devil finds work for idle hands", and so forth and so forth. We were heading towards the Mecca of D.I.Y in France Mr Bricolage. Think Homebase and B&Q, to my mind they are designed by men for men. As soon as we enter the rows and rows of paint, assorted screws, plumbing bits, electrical tools for chaps with a purpose bring to my mind the phrase 'watching paint dry' but then I felt guilty and admonished myself inwardly for my ungratefulness. After five minutes we lose each other. This in itself means I have to prowl up and down the aisles far more than I would care to and the whole process swallows up half the morning. In my lethargic and unhelpful state I manage to leave behind a shower fitting which I had already forgotten once by the cash till as my eye was caught by some rather tempting wooden steamer chairs. My mistake was discovered half an hour later when we finally made in home.

As a punishment I was dispatched 'tout de suite' back to the riveting metropolisis of D.I.Y World. I was greeted like a long lost friend when I entered the store. Smiles all round, easy mistake. As His Lordship had declined the invitation of a return visit I allowed myself to linger over the chairs that had caused me all the trouble in the first place. Isn't it easy to shop without hindrance ? Decided that must have six to place seductively around the pool, first impressions etc etc. Minor problem, large bulky chairs, small car. I had to have them though, my heart was set.

I take back everything I previously thought, said or uttered under my breath. No problem. Would I care to borrow their brand spanking new, state of the art Renault van, gratuit, for free, yes absolutely free, incroyable non? I thought so too.

Wise Owl had finally appeared with my promised bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk when I rolled triumphantly up the drive tooting on the horn for extra effect. "No time for a cuppa" I explained," got to get the van back pronto". "I'll come" she cried excitedly and we grabbed the chocolate as we fled. Bliss. By now the sun had appeared as we tootled along the roads lined with ancient plane trees, the vines bent over like Lowry's matchstick men, their stumpy black outlines against the pale blue sky. And one whole hour of inconsequential gossip and giggling completely uninterrupted. Oh yes I can recomend this D.I.Y malarky.

Living the dream in rural France

Every bone in my body was aching with tiredness when I eventually slumped still in paint splattered overalls in front of the fire. We had already had the 'do we have anything for supper' ? conversation and visions of pasta, more pasta, were beginning to form whilst I toyed with an idea for yet another imaginative sauce. Mon Frère Jumeau phones, that's the twin brother in case you are puzzled, I was for a long while when people kept asking me the question and gesturing towards him. Looks vaguely like me poor soul but talks less and does more if you get my drift. "Do you get Channel 4"? he enquires. Simple enough question one would suppose but I wasn't sure of the answer. "We get something with adverts on in-between" I venture. He does a short sort of 'pffffff' down the phone, never ceasing to be amazed even after all these years at my uselessness at answering the simplest of questions. "I'm busy" he informs me with impatience, can't stop long. If you do find out you get Channel 4 you should watch the programme 'No going back, Chaos at The Castle, its brilliant and completely hysterical. People must be utterly mad who take on that sort of project". Satisfied that he has imparted all that needs to be known the phone goes dead. Oh yes recollections of the programme vaguely materialize. Some lucky sods who threw in their jobs in the city, bought themselves a proper chateau with turrets, spent loadsa' dosh on it, got in a TV crew, threw a few wobblies, and guess what ? bobs your uncle finished and tickety boo within the year and taking the bookings, merci beaucoup. Contrived, no surely not ? Everyone knows how easy peesy it is to renovate a house in France don't they? A true reflection of those of us who have managed to 'live our dream'. Yeah right.

With 9 days to go before the Inspectors of the Guide I really really want to get into arrive the roof decides to develop a leak. The gorgeous Jean-Pierre of yesterday has disappeared off to another job. Well he wasn't to know we would have gale force winds was he ? so I phone the not so gorgeous B. I've phoned him three times already but what the heck I'm desperate enough to grovel. He gives a bored yawn, "your roof then is it" ? a pause," terribly busy with getting everyones places ready for Easter before they come down 'fraid". A belch. 'Yummy Mummy' then gives family a 'rant' and not a film crew in sight, my what a missed opportunity Channel 4.

I wouldn't want to give you the impression that I'm in the least bit stressed, nooooo, why I've even managed to admire the beautifully drilled fields with their neat rows of lettuces. Marvelled at how quickly the local farmers onions are progressing and gazed reflectively at the wheat moving in that mysterious way it does in the wind. Wondered what was going to be planted in the newly erected polytunnels in the next village, smelt the blossom, heard the bees stirring, watched the butterflies dancing, sniffed appreciately at my hycanths, picked a few early periwinkles.

But my roof's developed a leak and there's not a man in sight and I'm worried, just ever so slightly.

Amour Propre

Jean-Pierre and his 'oh so gorgeous' son Sebastien arrive early to swell the workforce here at Le Chateau. Papa is forty something and still retains the naughtiest grin whilst fixing you with that 'you know what' twinkle in his eye. An irrisistable rogue. Son Sebastien is twenty something and seriously possesses 'it'. Even in these current chilly conditions he insists on wearing the tightest pure white t-shirt stretched to the maximum capacity across his broad firm chest. Get the picture ? Which is why this morning found me unusually enthusiastic on the D.I.Y front.

Sebastien insists on practising his English with me. There should be a law against Frenchmen speaking English. Completely and uttely decorative young Frenchmen speaking English should be locked up for their own safety. Prime example. "You want lie down" ? he says gesturing towards the tiles awaiting fixation to the wall. I must have blushed because he looks confused. "I am left" he ventures. I'm not about to explain the finer points of right/wrong, right/left however endearing his efforts are.

Jean-Pierre requests that I steady the step ladders for him whilst he does a particularly tricky manouevre with some piece of wood in the bathroom. Which is where His Lordship finds me. Inches away from an extremely agreeable French workman's taut derriére and not staring away as decorum states on these occasions. "What are you doing" ? he demands. "You promised to help me in the garden this morning". I would have thought it was very very obvious what I was doing but I had to do some quick thinking on my feet. "You know that most accidents occur in the home" I reply, delivered in what I hope is the right balance of righteousness and indigination sprinkled with a 'forty something workhorse's' concern for her troops. I should have known better, he knows me only too well by now and I wasn't fooling him for a nanosecond. Well I suppose if the espadrille was on the other foot I would feel slightly miffed too under the circs.

I was overwhelmed by love and tenderness for 2b when he announced last night that as a special birthday treat he had phoned up Steve Wright in the Afternoon on Radio 2 and requested a song for his Mother's birthday. We will never know however if Mr Wright obliged as I kept on closing the bedroom door firmly throughout the afternoon as I was varnishing the floorboards. It did however explain why 2b kept poking his head solicitously round the door and leaving it ajar and the volume rose at an alarming rate. What is she doing listening to Radio 2 in France ? I can hear you thinking to yourselves. Have you tried a diet of French 'pop' muzeek ? I know I know 'When in Rome'......

The Bride-to-be or not-to-be, that is the question ?

His Lordship has taken to polishing the wooden panelling that lines the staircase and hallways with a tin of boot polish and a tootbrush. I'm not suggesting that this is not a first class and admirable job he is undertaking but there is a touch of eccentricity there.

The Small Cross One is languishing in bed for the schools are on strike today. This is France. 2b is rather miffed to find he has to work until midday at the very least.

The Bride-to-be loved Le Chateau. And another house too. Seems its down to 'us' or 'them'. Meanwhile could I just give an indication on the availability of local chambre d'hôtes (B&B) for 60 people nearby and rustle up costings for catering and a mobile disco. I make lots of phone calls and leave lots of messages. Does anyone get back ? do they heck, this is France. Oh and it snowed last night.

Sat up until midnight cruising around beds and sofas on the internet reckoning that this way of shopping was the answer to my prayers and would thus save me a day long and very expensive trip to Ikea in Toulouse. By the time I had totted up my hours though I could have been there and back, had Swedish meatballs for lunch and enough scented candles and an assortment of useless knick knacks to fill the house nicely.

My friend Wise Owl flies in today courtesy of Ryanair for something like a penny plus taxes. She's thrilled that the skiing is looking so promising here on the Pyrenees but unless you are a lover of snow and the inevitable cold it brings it plays havoc everywhere. All the spring flowers that were excitedly appearing to put on a blaze of colour in time for Easter have been seriously thwarted by the weather. . That's roses, hyacinths, jasmin, grapefruit, clematis and my wild strawberries. All previously very happy. From a grower's point of view it might slow down the crops that were coming on far too early which is why farming overall is so perilous; relying heavily as it does on the whims of Mother Nature.

I can't use the snow and cold as an excuse for the house not being ready and in completely 'tip top' condition for my guests. There is however an inclination to linger a moment too long by the sleepy log fire which is where, of course, my computer sits.

MOTHERS DAY from the South of France

Oh sure, being down here in the South of France has its perks but today is Mothering Sunday and my Mother is miles away in a tiny Dorset village spending Mother's Day without her beloved daughter. Moi.

It was a pointless excercise me lying in bed dreaming that loving little children would come bounding in excitedly clutching homemade cards proclaiming me to be the 'best mummy in the whole wide world'. No, sadly those days are past although I have been 'promised' masses of help today, when they eventually stir I suppose. Today I must not show any signs of stress whatsover or mention that I have my first large party of guests arriving for Easter. Today I must not mention that the Inspectors of a certain well known travel guide arrive in precisely 12 days time (heavens, so soon). No today I am going to attempt to be lovely, funny, relaxed, attentive, serene, joyful, all singing, all dancing super 'Yummy Mummy'.

Which brings me back to my own Mother so many miles away. There are many ways to show your Mother that you care for and love her without resorting to the mass commercialism that now surrounds every sacred and special event in the calendar. Today for example I could have picked her our very first iris that has appeared in the garden, shown her the glorious flowering jasmin filling the dining room with its heavenly scent, taken a walk together nattering incessantly along every step of the way. Such a wonderful way to excercise and embrace the pure fresh country air, don't you think ? But she is there and I am here.

So I guess its business as usual here at Le Chateau. Beds to strip, rooms to air, bathrooms to clean, wilting flowers to throw away.

No more wine THANK YOU

His Lordship's birthday was a resounding success yesterday. Jolly coloured balloons, an enormous lemon frosted sponge and lots of chilled fizzy wine taken in the warm sunshine whilst admiring the snow on the peaks of the Pyrenees in the distance. Once we had 'kick started' the party our guests attentions turned to the enticing aromas eminating from the Aga. Delicious olives from our own tree soaked in oil and herbs de provence accompanied a plate of mixed charcuterie. For the 'foodies' amongst you here's the menu. If you're on a diet skip the next bit...

Cold curried prawns on toast garnished with chopped parsley.
Drunken Quail stuffed with Foie Gras and flambèd in Cognac accompanied by a baby leaf salad.
Homemade mint and chocolate sorbet served in a tiny glass and drenched in Cognac, a real palate sharpner !
Salmon, egg and mushroom wrapped in a flaky pastry coat.
A fine cheeseboard.
And then the birthday cake.
And then some beautiful handmade Belgian chocolates ...


Our guests meanwhile became rather animated. "I found a rather nasty common looking cat under my bed" one of them remarked. "Oooh how awful for you" I replied and His Lordship and I exchanged amused smiles. "But that's your cat surely" ? one of our friends interjected. Meanwhile The Small Cross One takes a call from our friends in Ireland whose purpose is to wish us all a very Happy St Patricks Day. They seemed to be a day early in starting their celebrations but its a minor point really.

Before the guests retired for the night they requested that the bed be moved around. Being the 'hostess with the mostest' and full of bubbles I readily obliged. "We're not sleeping too well" they explained "with the bed in that position". When I first viewed the house the master bedroom had an air of reverence hanging over it. Next to the bedside table was a glass containing some false teeth. Spectacles were loosely pushed into a case and a pile of condolence letters edged in black sat on the dressing table. "We are very sorry for your recent sad loss" we proffered. The owners gave us a bewildered look. I gestured vaguely in the direction of the bed where presumably the deceased had lain but a few weeks earlier. My sympathies were greeted with a typical French shrug of indifference. Turns out the old dear had been as dead as a doornail for at least five years. The 'Chatelaine' had given birth countless times and finally died with the bed in that position. But this little gem of a story I kept firmly to myself.

This morning the guests were bright eyed and bushy tailed which is more than can be said of His Lordship and I. "We slept like a dream" they enthused, "we have had the most wonderful stay with you". We embraced warmly, kissed each other goodbye and smiled enthusiastically at the prospect of seeing them back in July here at Le Chateau Lasserre. Are you going to visit us this year too ? http://www.chateaulasserre.com

After their departure His Lordship announces brightly that lying in the sweet pea bed is the largest juiciest rat with its head bitten off, presumably the work of the nasty common looking cat. If I hadn't got a migraine coming on then I most definitely have now. Au Revoir.

NATURIST HOLIDAYS

"Is it obligitory to take our clothes off" ? the Spanish lady asked tentatively. His Lordship who was dealing with the call in his best Spanish threw me a bewildered look. "Which website is she looking at"? I hissed back. Two way conversations in different languages, a recipe for confusion in anyone's cookbook. In the end it was established that the little box that said 'naturists welcome' had indeed been ticked but No, their state of dress or undress was entirely up to them in the privacy of the back garden. After a while, one holiday website blends into another especially when hunched over the computer in the rather dreary months of January and February where even here in the South of France it can get jolly cold. If you were faced with an innocent box stating 'naturists welcome' wouldn't you be tempted to pop in a tick for fun ? Anyway a letter arrived this morning from Barcelona, Dear Friends it began, we would really like to rent your beautiful property ........hope they are not expecting a discount for lack of clothes hangers,low usage of washing machine etc etc, ooooooh er, whatever have I got myself into now...............???


It's a sad day when you have the same thought before you drop off to sleep and awake with it in the morning. Sad because I'm worrying about forgetting my twin brothers birthday. You think no doubt that posting a letter here in France is an easy affair. Firstly if you want to post the letter in the village to support local rural business you have to remember that the post goes before the post office opens. If you haven't got a stamp then you are stuffed until the next day. Planning your morning then around opening hours, roughly two when I last checked give or take fifteen minutes, either side is crucial. That's if you can find a decent card to post in the first place. The French don't 'do' cards. Chocolates, flowers, kisses, yes. Fabulous greeting cards 'Non'.


The 'Bride-to-be' loved the house yesterday. All boxes of 'to be dealt with' were stacked high in the tiny corridor of our apartment. The daffodils swayed gently in the ever so warm breeze, violets nestled under the fig trees, crocuses tentatively beginning to open, the buds of the lavender bushes pushing out their sticky first shoots. Lots of smiles all round and excited talk of marquees and huge arrangments of flowers gracing the hallway and corridors. Oh, and talk of an all night party. Shrieks, throbbing disco music are two words that are forming in the back of my mind. And how much will it cost me in Pastis to pacify our delightful neighbours for the evening ?


Oh, and MUST NOT FORGET the Post Office opens in two hours time as is closed on a Saturday morning (I think).

Monsieur calls..............

French officialdom paid us a visit yesterday and it was not a pleasant experience. After being wrongly advised for five years that we could not claim child benefit we suddenly found we could. Immediately aroused suspicion and along came the man in the white van. His Lordship and I were both put on trial, presumably for having children and choosing to live in France. The throbbing headache reached such fever pitch that I had to pop the kettle on. Such a marvellous British tradition and, you've guessed it, after a cup of my Co-Op 99 and Lapsang the man was eating out of the palm of my hand. Well in a manner of speaking. 2b and The Small Cross One finally arrived home just as he was leaving. He peered at the inscription on 2b's t-shirt. "Who farted" ?he stated in his best English.

The guests have decided to stay a few more nights to help us celebrate His Lordship's birthday which I thought was today having spent the entire week a day ahead of myself, only in the mind though. In reality I am weeks behind schedule and March is passing at an alarming rate.

Today a bride-to-be comes to view Le Chateau with the prospect of holding her wedding here sometime in September. She was first attracted to us by my website which has a seductive picture of The Grand Duchess, a very fine looking 1952 2.5 litre Riley motor car who turns heads wherever she goes. By the time they arrive she should be sitting gleaming on the driveway resting sedately under the olive tree. That way when they tour the house they will overlook the rooms that are not quite ready and not be too alarmed at the copious boxes currently under the heading 'to be dealt with at a later date'. At least that's my theory.

Meanwhile the dishwasher, which I very rarely pop on anyway, let me down completely last night and this morning everything is covered in a fine layer of unspecified gunge. Some very very stupid person has helped themselves to the massively expensive orange juice in the fridge," do I NORMALLY buy this brand for YOU" I screech.

Time for another helping of Co-Op and Lapsang, taken in MY mug with the inscription 'Only dull woman have tidy houses'
Oh I am ever so definitely not dull............

Roast Pork with crackling

Another day dawns here at Le Chateau in deepest rural France. Luckily for me I am of the early bird variety which is just as well, twittering along together as we contemplate the challenges of another day. First things first. Accompanied by my own special mix of English tea, half Co-Op 99, half Lapsang souchong, I know, I know, 'nowt so queer as folk, I eagerly scan all the incoming e mails. There's nothing quite so invigorating as running your own enterprise. Or exhausting. I am dismayed to see a request from an Australian lady wanting a two week rental when I had, against my better judgement, taken a mid week booking. His Lordship had been of the opinion that a 'bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'. Have just written extolling the virtues of mid-week travel to them.

Fabulous fiery gold sun is slowly emerging over the hills of the Corbieres, where incidentally I had the most magnificent lunch yesterday of roast pork WITH crackling taken alongside a truly beautiful mosaic tiled pool in the early warmth of the spring . We cannot get this wonderful cut of pork here so it was a truly rare treat.

The guests seem to be enjoying their stay so far. After yesterday's lunch the 'juggling monkey' (moi) rushed back to rustle up a delectable four course meal. This morning they can expect freshly laid eggs from Mme whose girlies cluck soothingly at the bottom of our garden. I like to feel we have a rapport as I push through fresh spinach leaves to them every morning but it could be a sentimental thing. Accompanied by croissants from our small epicerie, the centre of information and exchange in the village, its a wholly different affair next door to the frantic scrabbling going on around the kitchen table here.


There are 96 letterboxes here in the village according to His Lordship. He has just announced that he has volunteered that I am to deliver 20 invitations to join the campaign to spruce up the village. "Is this before or after breakfast" ? I enquire calmly. "Just let me know won't you where to place the starting block this morning" !

Wishful Thinking

The monkey did a fine performance last night and enthralled everyone with its fine tuned juggling act, even though I say so myself. Whilst greeting our new arrivals, after having rushed to Carcassonne airport to sort out a car hire problem, everyones attention turned to the sous-chef in anticipation. The chief in-house chef was availing himself to a glass of chilled Blanquette de Limoux, the areas excellent alternative to champagne.

2b and The Small Cross One prowled the apartment whilst I realized, not without some dismay, that the Aga had not been switched up to speed in the Chateau. Juggling hot dishes between the two lots of living accommodation it vaguely crossed my mind that the terrific series featuring Basil Fawlty had not been that wide off the mark.

This morning the golden glow of the early sun is highlighting the tops of the Pyrenees that can be seen in the distance covered in a white dusting of snow.

Not that I have the time to sit and reflect or admire the simple stunning beauty of our village at the moment.

No it's all hands to the deck (mine) as the guests have requested ' full English breakfast'. As you would on a visit to the South of France !!

Happy 100

Thank you thank you most fervently to whoever is responsible for

a) the beautiful warm weather today and

b) ensuring that the master in-house chef has recovered sufficiently to assist le sous-chef.

Hurraaaaaaah all is wonderful. The long range weather forecast is optimistic with large smiley yellow suns on yahoo weather for Carcassonne. His Lordship has rolled back the cover on the pool and its waters are twinkling a seductive turquoise. Spring flowers are gently pushing their way upwards towards the clear blue sky and the mimosa is still in full bloom.

This evenings menu for the arrival of our guests is mouthwatering and the bottle of delicious sparkling Blanquette de Limoux, a seriously good alternative to champagne is chilling in the fridge. The Aga lit like a dream and is gently pushing out a steady soothing heat.

Nothing can possibly go wrong, can it ?

His Lordship comes in looking rather grave. He sighs deeply, pausing for effect before he delivers his words. "You've picked up a bottle of demi-sec instead of Brut" says.

Happy 100th posting Sally's Chateau. http://www.chateaulasserre.com

Cool Cat

The In-house chef has taken a turn for the worse, not food poisoning I hasten to add, so the sous chef has taken a step forward. C'est moi. Am now busy doodling menus. Think of all my favourite food and cook it. Simple. Only I do perform better as sous rather than chief but I'm cool (ish). So why am I feeling stressed ?

Seemed to have a mini hurricane in the middle of the night which blew a window into the attic. It just had to fall on a plate dating back to 1785 and completely scatter all the paperwork. Cannot check the tiles on the roof because a) its blowing a gale b)I detest heights. I expect when we have a torrential downpour I'll be able to ascertain the damage. Still, must remain calm as guests arrive tomorrow.

Strange goings on again. Went up to the Ham Room where we keep more junk. There under my feet were a set of car keys that were lost four years ago. Just sitting in the middle of the floor and appearing as though by magic. Have you any idea how much strain those missing keys caused in my marriage as the car sat at a wonky angle for six months completely slap bang outside the house ? You want to try replacing a set of keys for a classic car in France when the anti theft locking device is jammed.

To round off the day nicely I made a horrendous boo boo for a weekend letting. Like on the price. Fantastic bargain for them, not so hot for me. The blame lies fairly and squarely at my door but I feel a complete twit. Had to admit mistake to His Lordship and am now using deep breathing techniques to combat annoyance with myself.

Why can't I just be a seriously Cool Cat ?

The Secret Garden

Still in recovery from the early morning flight from Stansted to Carcassonne. Absolutely bursting at the seams with visitors flocking to the Languedoc via Ryanair. Even at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m I bumped into a few people I knew who were interested in my new venture here at Le Chateau so a few more business cards were dispensed. Mind you when asked how much I charged for a week in June I confess my mind went a complete blank. I simply cannot function on four hours sleep anymore and am happy to confess to the fact.

Alastair Sawday's office confirm that I will be receiving an inspection in the forthcoming weeks. My first visitors arrive for a weeks stay on Sunday evening, taking advantage of the in-house chef 'His Lordship' , who seems to have slumped in the morning sun after answering enquiries in Spanish.

It's a mystery really why I'm not in a full scale panic as I have to admit I'm NQR. (As in, not quite ready). Maybe it's because I'm looking at a picture of a rather pretty stone statue staring soothingly at a clump of spring primroses in my secret garden in Dorset.

Or maybe it's because the cat is dozing contentedly too, the birds are twittering in the warm morning air, and everything is looking rather splendid and inviting. Whatever the reason maybe you should come and grab a dose of this soothing tonic too.

http://www.chateaulasserre.com

Oh to be in England...........

.....now that April's there, (well March actually) but I'm not going to argue with Robert Brownings sentiments , who did after all, die in Venice dreaming of England. Well I'm not dreaming, I'm right here! Although, last night in utterly torrential rain on the M25 it was more like a nightmare. Tucked away amongst the Dorset hills we eventually reached our secluded gamekeepers cottage once I had cleared away a fallen tree and we had fumbled in the pitch black with various keys.

Today we were rewarded by banks of primroses and daffodils glowing in the sunshine. A tiny fluffy rabbit sat on the bank and watched us nervously. Magic !

However, the rain returned in the afternoon but I had managed to hand out quite a few of my new business cards depicting the sunflowers which will surround us in July and be a blaze of riotous colour providing a dream location for photographers and artists alike.

Just to make sure the sun was still out on my lovely swimming pool I took a quick peek http://www.chateaulasserre.com

Looked fabulous.

WAKE UP ....... the sun's out here

I'm up with the lark, and come to that the sun too. The early bird catches the worm, or in my case has to make the morning cuppa. I've already paced the terrace and looked out over the gently sloping southern red rooftops of the village and noted, not without some satisfaction, that it looks set for a beautiful day. The pretty red and white check gingham tablecloth is waiting in the early morning warmth to be seductively set with warm croissants and fresh slightly crunchy baguettes. Why aren't you here ? http://www.chateaulasserre.com/

His Lordship picked a pretty bunch of violets nestled in the garden. I'm going to amble down there soon, admire the mimosa and its wonderful scent that fills the air with its powerful aroma. The lilacs fat buds are bursting forth and the 'two girlies' at the bottom of the garden will be craning their scraggy necks and peering with their beady eyes to see if I'm going to push them any fresh spinach through the fence. Such is their faith in human kindness they now rush forward when I arrive.

I don't have long though to enjoy my peaceful haven. The Small Cross One is off to Madrid so her entire wardrobe has to be laid out fully laundered for inspection. I have the thrilling prospect of being somewhere on the M25 later today and the even less thrilling experience of arriving via Ryanair at Stansted.

In fact, on reflection, I have such an enormous amount of tasks to do this morning I'm going to have to forfeit my tentative dip in the pool.

Dozing off

It took most of the afternoon for French Telecom to set up all the new lines for the assortment of phones and other paraphernalia required to keep in touch with the outside world. Accompanied by much huffing and puffing the computer was finally positioned into its new surroundings. I was delighted. Everything seemed so fit so neatly and seemed, to me at least, highly organised and the height of efficiency. I sat down excited and ready for action. Only nothing glowed in the right place and it turned out that it had been connected to the wrong outlet. So much for progress, I was phoneless and computerless. A glass of red wine was in order after a long week.

His Lordship soon got it all up and running however and this morning we sat and had breakfast in a relaxed manner on the terrace. A delightful soft boiled egg with a hint of sea salt sprinkled on top accompanied by a fresh baguette, for a split second I could have been on holiday myself.

Seeing as there is now only a wall to look at unless I swivel round on the chair to decide whether to waste a few moments loitering on the terrace I'm feeling mighty driven and bossy to boot this afternoon. I'm wasting my time though. the warmth of the afternoon sun has driven everyone intoto a Saturday afternoon stuper. Even the cats called it a day and