Les Jardins des Renaudies

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Les Jardins des Renaudies 

It's not often you get to wander round well-tended gardens for free and back in May, Pen and I were offered two complimentary tickets to see Les Jardins des Renaudies in Columbiers du Plessis, just south-west of Gorron.

To be perfectly honest, we weren't really all that interested, and being as it wasn't exactly brilliant sunshine, we were tempted to cry off, but since we would be getting in for free, we relented and decided to give it a go.

The day wasn't just Les Jardins des Renaudies, but there would also be many artisans there with carved wood pieces, dairy produce, baked goods and lots of other stuff - including our friend Gerard and his wines.



We arrived reasonably early and after reserving several bottles of Gerard's wine, disappeared to have a look round. We began by looking round near to the lodge, which was where most of the artisans had been placed and where we discovered that not only did Les Jardins des Renaudies have gardens, but also a fairly well-stocked museum too!

I have just added a small number of exhibits, after all, if I showed you everything, there'd be no reason for you to go see it, would there?

However, everything from apple presses, to mobile stills - for the Calvados, tractors and threshers are on show, with the complete freedom to walk around the exhibits.

After a few snaps, we returned to the lodge area, got ourselves coffees and wandered round the many artisan's stalls. These included cheeses and other dairy goods, but having been bitten by people selling goods at these kinds of places at ridiculous prices before (see: The 20€ piece of cheese), we steered clear of all of them.

Instead, we set off to have a look at the rest of the gardens

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

About Les Jardins Des Renaudies

The gardens were opened in 1988 and created by Jean Renault, a nurseryman passionate about plants. They are made up of many rare species brought in from many different countries and laid out in twenty-one massive beds, forming an English garden style.

Covering four hectares, over 3.000 flowering plant varieties, trees and shrubs keep interest in the garden throughout the season as well as more formal vegetable gardens and during the season, there is a maize maze with routes of over one and a half kilometres which is a must for children and adults alike.

In addition to the plants, there are also sculptures and other pieces of art as well as functions including demonstrations of bee-keeping and Ikebana, the Japanese art of floral arrangement.

Our Visits

Our visit in May of this year, wasn't on one of the sunniest days, but it didn't detract from the spleadour of the Rhododendrons and Camilla, which provided us with a spectacular backdrop of colour, ranging from deep pinks and reds through orange and white.

Interspersed throughout the gardens were frames, giving the view a still-life quality that we hadn't seen utilised in a garden before.

In fact, there was much to keep us occupied during our visit, which turned out to give us a number of unexpected surprises and made us very pleased that we went.

One such surprise was the tree (right) that seemed to come from everywhere. The rough-hewn seat that sat beneath added to the magic, making the tree seem like something from a fantasy story rather than real life.

The water wheel also not only provided interest visually, but would turn every few moments, emptying its water noisily into the pond.

 Our visit on 24th August was no less spectacular. There sadly no Rhododendrons, but there were plenty of other flowering plants, some of which were truly breathtaking.


 We also discovered pathways between and around the beds that we had not found last time and I suspect that when we return, we will discover yet more.




We certainly tried the Maize Maze, which as described above, certainly gave us a walk as we tried once in, to find our way out.

I'm sure we could have remained inside for hours had Penny's sense of direction not been as good as it is!



These roses lose some of their appeal here on the computer monitor as it's impossible to appreciate the scent that was given off and I have to say, it was one of the strongest scented roses I have ever smelt.


All told, I feel we have found somewhere we will be visiting many more times over the years and probably will discover yet more things on each subsequent visit.

I can recommend this place to anyone and for more information, go to their website here.

A gardening job goes off with a bang

One of our customers has a fairly large garden with veg and flower beds, but the majority of it is left to grass. Our job since the beginning of the season has been to cut the grass twice a month and keep things relatively tidy.

Sadly, the rain has kept us away for the last couple of weeks and yesterday was the first time we'd been fortunate enough to get a break in the weather. After I'd tightened up the thumb nuts on the lawn mower, I got down to cutting the grass while Pen began strimming.

About fifteen minutes in, Penny noticed that something had moved in to a hole in the centre of a dead lupin plant which had stood on the corner of one of the veg beds.

The European wasp or
Yellowjacket

Wasps.

Or at least, we were pretty certain they were wasps.

Now I hate wasps with a passion, perhaps not as much as hornets, but then hornets hadn't moved into the neighbourhood, wasps had. 

They appeared to have built their nest in the centre of the now defunct plant and there were a couple of dozen of them buzzing around what we took to be the entrance. Pen warned me to give it a wide berth and I was only too happy to oblige.

A little later, we were surprised to see our client working away on one of the other veg beds and pointed out that he had an infestation of wasps.

"My wife told me they were bees," he said.

"No, they're wasps alright," we told him after some deliberation and peering at them from a safe(ish) distance.

He admitted he'd tried various things to get rid of them before, but had never managed it. He'd not tried again as his wife was sure they weren't wasps, but bees. Since by then we had convinced him that they weren't bees, he told us that he'd do something about it.

We went back to work, presuming that he'd go away, contact an expert and get someone to come round at a later date to get rid of them.

Much to our surprise, moments later, he returned with a two-gallon can and doused the hole with copious quantities of petrol. He then proceeded to light something that looked suspiciously like a lightly toasted marshmallow on the end of a four foot stick.

Pen and I backed away. We knew his interference would agitate the wasps - not a good idea at the best of times - but we continued to watch with more than a little trepidation.

"Can't you ask him to wait until we've gone?" I asked, since Pen's French was much better than mine.

Pen just laughed, but I was serious. I didn't feel comfortable and knew that in truth, neither did Pen. If he was going to do something silly, I would have felt much more comfortable somewhere else ... anywhere else and the further away, the better.

She realised and asked.

"Non," he said simply.

We moved farther back and after several failed attempts, he managed to set fire to whatever was on the end of his stick and cautiously approached the nest.

We took one more pace back. We could see the little blighters buzzing around and getting more active the closer he got, but with a final lunge, he tossed the lit 'thing' complete with stick into the hole.

Nothing happened to begin with ... well, perhaps half a second ... then:

"WHOOOOMPH!" A sound that was reminiscent of half a pound of C4 exploding shook the very ground we stood upon, followed by a small but perfectly formed fireball that leapt from the hole about fifteen feet into the air. Our client was thrown backwards about the same distance, landing on his backside, glasses askew and one slipper missing.

Please don't ask why he was gardening in his carpet slippers. I didn't see fit to ask.

For a short while, we were a little shocked and didn't move, but then he began laughing and Pen chimed in with, "Tres sportif, monsieur!" and we all laughed.

The fire in the hole (literally), burned for about the next twenty minutes or so and curiously didn't seem to adversely affect the wasps, who continued to buzz around, just from a little further back than hitherto. However as soon as the fire went out, the little buggers went back inside again, apparently unperturbed by our client's attempt to barbecue them.

So apart from almost being sent into a low orbit and making us laugh our socks off, our client achieved absolutely nothing. We hope he'll try something a little less life-threatening the next time - God forbid there is a next time - which we hope will be much more deleterious to the wasps.

Who says gardening can't be adventuresome?

Find us at www.byfordfrance.com

Spring cleaning?

What was it they say about spring time?

Oh yes, it's spring cleaning. It's that thing everyone knows about, but no-one wants to go anywhere near ... unless you're Monica Gellar.

It's that time when the cupboards all get emptied and everything gets washed, polished and put back. The fridge, washing machine and everything else on the floor gets moved so that you can clean underneath it.

All in all and on the face of it, it's very necessary, but it's a chore that  is something we'd rather not do.

Am I right?

Yesterday, we did spring cleaning.

It's something I'd rather not have happen again.

At least not the way it happened.

You see we have a cat - which I suspect, is something many of you will know already, but our cat is notorious for getting in, under, behind and on top of stuff. It doesn't matter what we say or do, he gets where no other cat has set paw and frankly, sometimes it drives us to distraction.

Ever since the kitchen was finished - well, as far as we have got it - he's been getting under and behind the cupboards. Sometimes, he even manages to wriggle in behind the washing machine, which we never thought anything of ... until yesterday.

Pen had work to do and I tried my best to a) stay out of trouble and b) get some writing done, so after lunch, she turned on the washing machine, said good-bye and went back to work, while I went back to writing.

During my spell in front of the computer, Biscuit made his presence felt and although I don't like turning him away, having him tearing around on the desk trying to catch the cursor and potentially wrecking my nice monitor, I was being very reserved in removing him and suggesting he might want to find something else to do.

In the meantime, the washing machine sat in its corner of the kitchen and chugged away, minding its own business.

By about four-thirty, I began thinking of Pen's return and whether or not to make tea and have it ready or wait a little longer - not knowing when she would actually return. To my horror, back comes Biscuit, jumps straight on my lap ... very soggy indeed.

"What the...?" I exclaimed and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.

Moments later, it occurred to me that he shouldn't be wet. He's a cat after all, and the last thing most cats like is being wet.

"Perhaps I left the toilet seat up," I mused, and began a search for what he'd managed to get into this time.

The upstairs toilet had its lid down and the bath showed no signs of dusty pud-marks, so I trundled downstairs.

"Oh shit!!!" I exclaimed.

The entire ground floor was under about half an inch of water.

I must confess, I was absolutely gobsmacked. I wanted to blame Biscuit, but in fact, it was my fault for not having made sure that the builders had the little 'U'-shaped bit of plastic to hold the waste pipe in the drain when they put the washing machine in place.

In all his scrabbling about behind the washing machine, Biscuit had dislodged the waste from the washing machine and it had quietly pumped all the water from the entire wash cycle over the floor. The kitchen and shop were both under water and as I began mopping, I realised I needed help - and not the sort Biscuit was offering.

I tried as best I could until Pen arrived, but mostly succeeded only in moving the water around; very little of it being picked up by the mop.

It took both Pen and I an hour and a half to clear it all up, but in the meantime, the fridge came out, the cooker was moved, as was the washing machine - all mopped and thoroughly cleaned before being replaced.

Once finished, our floor was spotless. I'd like to say it shone, but that's not true as the tiles on the floor are not glossy anyway and only shine under half an inch or so of water. So the fact they went back to their matt finish was actually a plus point.

Having replaced the the above piece and wedged the pipe firmly down the drain before replacing the washing machine, I have all digits crossed and fervently hope it won't happen again, but it got the job done!

Les Anciens combattants - Passais la Conception

In the centre of our village square, is a monument to all those from the village that lost their lives during the first and second World Wars. It's been beautifully maintained and means a lot to everyone.

Thanks to making the rather serendipitous decision to feed the animals at the farm early, we got to see this ceremony for ourselves and were able to take some pictures to share with you.



The day had been partly cloudy, which is why some of the photos look a little lacklustre, but it didn't detract one iota from the atmosphere and if you click on the pictures, you will be able to see them full-sized.

Les Anciens combattants

The standard bearers marched around the statue led by the musicians ...

... and then came to a halt encircling the monument.

The crowd begun to grow and when everyone was standing at attention, the speeches began.

As the villagers looked on, the dignitaries present moved around the assembled ex-servicemen and shook hands before wreaths were laid at the foot of the monument.

Once everyone had sung "La Marseillaise", the parade concluded.

There was something very real about this. Perhaps it was because it didn't appear to be one of those highly rehearsed affairs we see so often. Maybe it was because people from all ages and walks of life were involved, or maybe it was simply that it was from the heart; a single village paying tribute to those who had given their lives.

One thing is for sure: it wasn't a solemn affair, but people showing respect for their fallen comrades and confirming that their lives were not given in vain.

What's cookin'?

It's funny how some people have to do one job and that's it, but for us, it's pretty much whatever's set for us.

We've got to know quite a number of people over the relatively short period of time we've been here and it's led to us having to do a variety of things.

Take Saturday for instance.

Saturday was the first day for feeding the animals - hence the Bonzo's Jolity Farm (above).

It's not like we haven't fed animals before, I mean, who hasn't? This time however, the animals were about thirty chickens and cockerels, two ponies, five pot-bellied pigs, two doves, a ferret and about a dozen or so rabbits.

They have to be fed daily and while it's not really enough for both of us to do, I just couldn't resist being able to get to know to them. Surprisingly, it's rained every time we've been round there, but it hasn't put a dampener on the fun at all.

I'm sure I'll feel differently if it does it all week however...

Today has marked the beginning of a new line of work - that of cooking.

Saturday morning, Pen was approached by a friend who asked her simply, "Can you cook?"

Pen replied, "Yes," and was then barraged with all sorts of information about cooking for her husband on the farm (there are a lot of farms and farmers round here!) and instantly had to come up with the ingredients for a number of recipes that would do for lunches for said farmer and his assistant.

Pen provided the woman with a list of ingredients and suggestions for the dinners and the desserts and she went away, having asked Pen and I to be at her house for about nine-thirty Monday morning.

So today - Monday - as arranged, we went round to the farm to begin cooking and discovered there was a problem.

Ostensibly, we were there to make several dishes - including desserts - but we were to discover that this French farmer didn't like garlic, peppers, pepper and a whole host of other condiments, herbs, spices and ingredients, all of which made our recipes a little awkward.

On the menu for today was:

• Cottage pie - similar to shepherd's pie, but with minced beef instead of minced lamb
• Bolognese
• Cheesecake
• Apple crumble

Now these are all pretty simple dishes and with a little sleight of hand, the meat for the Bolognese and Cottage Pie could be done together and split. It's not ideal, but it did at a pinch and time wouldn't allow for the full three to four hours of cooking.

However, to my utter horror, many of the ingredients I would have thought standard were not allowed and to Pen's dismay, the woman hadn't bought the biscuits for the cheesecake - any biscuits - on account of the fact that she read the ingredients and decided she didn't like them, but provided no alternatives, of which there are many.

So the Bolgnese didn't have any garlic, paprika, pepper, capsicums (red or green peppers) and the onions had to be really finely chopped or left large enough for him to pick out.

The cheesecake wasn't and the apple crumble had no cinnamon, allspice or anything else in it other than apple.

This was a big test for us, as tried and tested recipes suddenly tasted really bland, but it's what they wanted.

Apparently, the apple crumble was a big success, but we await the verdict on the other recipes...

Our first anniversary

Who'd have thought we'd have lasted a year? It certainly doesn't feel that long at all, but then life does appear to go by more quickly as you get older, doesn't it? I must admit, we were a little apprehensive about moving over here and whilst it hasn't been easy we have enjoyed it immensely.

Achieved this year ...

We read somewhere that it's one thing to holiday somewhere, but quite another to live there, so I think one of the biggest achievements has to have been getting here in the first place. It's really easy to sit and dream about doing something, but quite another to actually get up and do it, especially when it means stepping so far outside of one's comfort zone.

By that, I suppose I mean the language barrier. Apart from Pen practicing French along to Michel Thomas CD's, we didn't have much of the language between us. I was able to ask for things in shops, but my grasp of French did not stretch to understanding the replies I might have got.

Once, I decided to be brave and go and get the bread from the Boulangerie over the road. I practiced like mad in the hundred or so metres between our house and the shop and thought I'd done exceptionally well when I bade the ladies, "Good morning," and requested, "Un pain, s'il vous plait."

Their replies however left me standing there feeling completely lost ... and getting more lost by the second.

Dominique, amid gales of laughter, later described my attempt to Penny with, "... his eyes got bigger and bigger behind his glasses.

Now, I can actually converse to a degree, though not nearly as well as Pen can.

We also managed to get the car through the Controle Technique, registered in France and given its Carte Gris. This was a lot simpler than many on the ex-pat sites led us to believe although there was an element of luck involved, because we got the Certificate of Conformity in English and not French and many have been rejected as a result. Another of those could have cost us a month and another 200€.

Our house has been completely rewired, re-plumbed and we converted one of our bedrooms into two rooms: a bathroom and an office. That was no mean feat I can tell you and took the entire month of September to get through. Still, it's done now, so its one less thing to think about.

The house also benefited from a bit of a makeover with some exterior rendering to repair some holes in the wall. The kitchen and new bathroom got redecorated as did one of the upstairs rooms, the old bathroom - which is now a toilet and washroom - and the downstairs toilet. The hallway got a coat of paint downstairs and the full textured treatment from the first to the top floor, plus, the bathroom floor, first floor hall floor and stairs down to the ground floor have been stripped and waxed. It looks really nice, but now we squeak when we walk up or down them and we can no longer sneak up on the cat when he's somewhere he shouldn't be.

We had hoped to be able to change out some of the windows for double-glazed jobs, but the money wouldn't stretch. Even if we had the money, thanks to a clerical error, we don't have certain very important bits of paperwork to get the planning permission to do it. It's taking an absolute age for them to come back with it, but we're assured it will come. Of course, none of our windows are standard anyway, so apart from about four, each of the other ten windows and the shop door would have to be made to measure and could cost us as much as ten grand in total.

Oh well. Maybe in another lifetime.

We registered ourselves as a BIC Micro-Enterprise, which means we have formed a little company. The red tape is something to behold, but that's the same for everything in France. There's more paperwork than you could shake a forest-full of sticks at, but we now have a petit enterprise and our business, while not great, is growing steadily.

The work we've been getting is very varied. This week we have been feeding some animals at a farm and earlier, we even got to cook for a farmer and his helper. As well as that, we have gardened, mowed and even pressure-washed the outside of a neighbour's house prior to it being repainted. Had we had a ladder, we'd have got that job too, but well ... Okay, me and ladders don't go together very well at all, but I would have made the effort - honest!

In the relatively short time we've been here, we've met more people and had more of a social life than we've had in absolute years. We've been to dinner with our neighbours, voted in the local election for Maire, participated in the Vide Grenier, had some of our neighbours round to dinner, been out and about to various functions and generally had a much better time than we've had in ages.

Whilst what we have achieved may not seem like much, we have to keep reminding ourselves that things don't work the same here as they do in England. The language is different and the way things are done is much, much different too. To begin with, everything seemed so scary and while we're not exactly blase about doing things we haven't done before, we are getting used to it.

I have to admit that Pen does most of that sort of thing, but that's only because she's so much better at this lingo thing than I am. I understand a great deal more than I used to, but conversing is still a bit of a nightmare.

All things considered, it's been the best year of our lives thus far and we're going to do all we can to ensure it continues.

So, here's to the next twelve months ...

The 20€ piece of cheese

France has a lot of what they call Vide Greniers, which basically means 'empty Attic' and would closely resemble a car boot sale. People gather together their unwanted stuff and sell it on the street. It can be a really good way of getting rid of unwanted stuff and making a little money into the bargain.

Vide Greniers differ from car boot sales as they have commercial stands as well as public (or should that be private?) stands. Many also have fairground attractions and occasionally, live music.

We went to one today in Domfront which had all the above. Our mission was to get some of our business fliers out on the cars parked nearby - after all, you can't look a gift horse in the mouth, can you?

Despite being there to advertise and not buy, we just had to have a look round and found ourselves at a cheese stall. The man kindly shaved off a couple of slivers and handed one to each of us. It was really nice and Pen thought it might be nice to take some home with us.

Now one of the reasons we're here in France is because of cheese. Well it's not really, but we are both partial to a cracking bit of cheese - Grommit.

So Pen asked him to cut a piece off this huge quarter wheel - about a quarter to half a pound of the stuff or 100 to 200 grammes. We nearly ended up with one huge piece until Pen persuaded the man to cut it thinner.

He did and when Pen was satisfied that it was small enough, he cut.

Once on the scales, we had the shock of our lives. The piece was half a kilo - about a pound in English money.

The price?

22€

Yup, you heard right, but we got it for the bargain, knock-down price of 20€

"Can you cut that in half?" Pen asked, blanching at the price.

"No," was the simple answer. "Not now it's been cut."

Yes, the cheese was nice, but not that bloody nice. Nevertheless, we had agreed to the piece and paid.

It's probably the most expensive bit of cheese either Pen or I have bought, but I can tell you now, as nice as it is, we won't be rushing back for another piece any time soon.

We left there sharpish and posted as many cars as we could find with our fliers and now have our fingers crossed that we can get some work from them to pay for what we bought today.

Chim-chiminey, chim-chiminey ...

I can't sing, although I do have fun searching (usually unsuccessfully) for the notes and have been told that some are alright. This is why I play guitar and drums.

I can't dance - much to Pen's disappointment.

I don't look like Dick Van Dyke, although my impression of a Cockney is streets better than his.

However, I have learnt to sweep chimneys - or more specifically - ours.

Three weeks ago, our wood burner started to behave a little strangely. Firstly, it didn't seem to be performing like we knew it could. That said, we knew that wood burners were reliant upon the wind being in the right direction or sometimes, you just couldn't get them going.

We didn't believe that at first, but we were beginning to.

Also, it was taking forever to get going at all - nearly two hours and we noticed this on a day when there was no wind - so that wasn't a factor.

Then suddenly, we discovered smoke belching from the chimney joints and the wood burner's breather holes, filling the kitchen.

I quickly emptied the fire into the garden - one shovel at a time - and allowed the fire to go out. Fortunately, this was a morning start for the wood burner and we had plenty of time to get in touch with a man we knew in Domfront; a man who had swept our chimney before we'd had the wood burner installed.

He couldn't make it until early the next week and knowing no-one else that could do the job, we borrowed a friends gas heater and waited ...

Upon his arrival, he discovered that he could get to the 45^o elbow in the kitchen, but no further. He had to admit defeat, feeling that the chimney would need to be swept from the top down, for which equipment he didn't possess would be needed. He gave us the phone number of someone he knew that could do the job and left.

I have the utmost respect for someone who can admit if they can't do something. Too often, people blag their way into getting jobs and end up taking the money and running, leaving a huge mess behind them. At least he hadn't done that.

So we phoned this other bloke and asked him to come and sort it out.

Days with multiple phone calls passed until eventually, two of his workers came and began stripping the wood burner down ready to clean out the chimney pipes. We were a little apprehensive as the chap's brush looked a lot like a mangy hedgehog and couldn't possibly have done a very good job cleaning out the pipes. Nevertheless, when they'd finished, the smoke did go up the chimney, although, they left one hell of a mess behind them.

After that, the weather brightened considerably. The days were warm and we didn't need to use the wood burner until the sun went down, but after two weeks, once again, smoke began coming out of the joints. With the kitchen filling with smoke, I emptied the fire and Pen got on the phone to the company who'd cleaned it before - the company which, to this date, still hasn't billed us for the work.

Not that we're at all inclined to pay them anyway.

We couldn't understand how in the two weeks following the cleaning of our chimney, the whole lot should be clogged again. I didn't want the blokes who did it the last time back in the house, but Pen was adamant that they should be given the opportunity to come and rectify the problem we believed they caused.

"I don't know why we don't just buy the brushes and do the work ourselves," I argued. "It's not as if it's particularly difficult - from what I saw."

Well that was all it took.

We bought a set of poles with a 200mm brush, got home and got on with the job. It cost us 20€, which was expensive compared to some places where the price was around 12€, but having seen both, we got our money's worth. Besides, it cost us 50€ to have the chimney swept the first time - it might have been less, but we wanted a certificate for insurance - the brushes were expensive at twenty, but even so, in one use, we saved 30€.

More than that, we can use them again, plus, we discovered that there was no possible way the last people had cleaned the chimney properly, as the elbows were absolutely clogged shut with crud; crud that had probably taken from October when we first began using the wood burner regularly to build up. The quantity of muck was astonishing.

All of this had to be swept up with a dustpan and brush and while it wasn't as dusty as cleaning out the fire itself, the mess was pretty big.

So we began looking into the possibility of getting another vacuum cleaner. I suspect we've all tried cleaning up our DIY mess with a conventional, domestic cleaner, only to look disappointed when it doesn't work properly afterwards. We didn't want to ruin ours, but the price of a sensible work-type cleaner was prohibitive.

Then we discovered the little toy to the right. It's not a vacuum cleaner, but by connecting it to one, it can be used to suck up the crud and dust from the fire - providing it's not still glowing - without clogging up and thereby ruining our domestic one.

We've seen them before and their prices have ranged from about 30€ upwards.

This one?

6€95.

Bargain.

We now have the full set and can clean out our fire and the chimney to our heart's content without ruining our vacuum or having to be on our hands and knees for ages sweeping up the crud!

This led us to ask questions about why we'd ended up blocked up to begin with. Our friend from Domfront was surprised to learn that our chimney was blocked since our wood burner is a French made Invicta, which usually only needs to be cleared once a season. He suggested that it was the wood we were burning.

We explained that we bought what we had been told was well-seasoned oak and beech, but he didn't think so. Neither did the other people who came to clean out our chimney.

From now on, we will be cleaning our chimney more regularly and have made mental notes on what our wood burner's behaviour was like when it became clogged. We will also be asking more questions of our wood suppliers before we hand over the dosh so we don't get caught out like that again.

Spring? Is it too much to hope?

It seems as though it's been ages since we last had a day where it didn't rain. For months, everyday was a wet day and fields had turned into 'ponds' that covered hectares. In fact it's only in the last few days that some fields are once again visible, but water is still running away in torrents and the ground continues to feel more like you're trying to negotiate a swamp.

Last year at this time, they had one night where eighteen inches of snow fell overnight, but it looks (touch wood) as though we will escape that this year, as since Thursday of last week, not only has it been dry, but sunny too. Granted the nights, or at least from sundown onwards are damned cold, but that seems a small price to pay for some good weather after literally months of absolute crap.

Does that mean that spring has sprung?

Well, frankly I think it's too soon to tell for sure, but we've been taking advantage of the sunshine while we can getting out and about and in the garden ... with Biscuit.

Under the strictest supervision, we let our kitty-cat out into the unknown territory that is our napkin of a garden, for the very first time, marveling at how nutty he went at all the new sights, sounds and smells, not to mention the new textures, bugs, bits of dust, leaves and especially, shadows.

We sat on the bench as he gamboled and frolicked, sprinting with utter abandon from the kitchen door, up the garden and into the garage at the other end, making contented 'prooping' noises all the way.

It was nice to see him so happy.

Yesterday, we returned from a lovely, sunny walk to have tea in the garden and Biscuit once again gamboled and frolicked happily.

Monday however, it was a different story.

It appears that our cat is not content to simply bimble around in the space we have, but already wants more. Today, it was all we could do to stop him from leaping up and over our garden wall and getting out into the big, wide world outside.

He was driving me mental as I had work to do in the garage and was running back and forth between it and the house. Everything took twice as long as it should, as I only had to approach the door and there was Biscuit, squirming through between my legs and out into the garden.

The first couple of times this happened, I was able to see the funny side. Thereafter however, I began losing patience. Once, I left him in the shop at the other end of the house and immediately I opened the back door, he shot past me and down the garden path in a blur of fur and paws. He very quickly got wise to being  collected and returned to the house, so it became more difficult to catch on each occasion.

This I fear will only worsen.

I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for the fact that I had to keep a watchful eye on him ... at all times.

It's true our village isn't big or busy, but there is a through-road that leads from Mantilly to Domfront with traffic that doesn't appear to notice our little village and hacks through at breakneck speed, putting our darling little bundle of curiosity at severe risk. Even the slower moving cars and trucks that pass through the little lane outside our front door wouldn't take the least bit of notice of a little ginger cat and we're afraid that it wouldn't be long before Biscuit was no more than a small orange pancake.

So we cannot let him venture out on his own - for his own safety.

He doesn't see it that way.

There are plans in the offing for a fence that will act as a deterrent, but alas, this can only happen in the future, not immediately. Even when it is up, he's a determined little so-and-so, so he will still have to be supervised - and very closely at that.

Oh joy.

And people wonder why we never had kids...

The before's, durings and afters 3: The Bathroom

Our old bathroom was tiny with a tiny bath and a cracked sink. The bath needn't have been so small, as there was room for a larger one, but we're in France where the majority of men are less than six feet tall (182 cm) and don't need something half the size of an Olympic-sized swimming pool to bathe in.

We were tempted to retain the old bath as it was good and solid cast iron, but it was also stained and in awful condition, impossible to keep clean, bloody cold in the winter and meant I had to bathe with my knees round my ears. It had to go.

Then there was the front bedroom, which was huge - well compared to most English bedrooms it was. Our bedroom is on the same floor but over the kitchen, which is heated by the wood burning stove and remains quite a nice temperature thanks to the vent installed, but the front bedroom is over the shop, making it quite chilly during the colder months of the year.

We had considered using it as a spare room, but had discounted that idea when we discovered it was cold and more importantly, French house insurance rules state that rooms under 3 metres square (or 9 square metres), didn't count on the insurance and neither did bathrooms. 

By partitioning off the front bedroom and adding an extra door, we would then be able to create an office and a bathroom. Converting the existing bathroom into a toilet, meant that we would no longer have to wake up in the middle of the night and negotiate our way downstairs to take a leak either. It also meant that it fitted with French preferences to keep the bathroom and toilets separate.

During the work we were having done, the room got partitioned with a stud wall that created a room of just under 9 square metres on one side which we use as the office and a second, larger room, which was to be the new improved bathroom.

When the plumbing and electrics were all in place, our bath was installed in its cradle and made ready for us to create our new bathroom, although we weren't able to use the shower, as the bath stood against a plain plastered wall on one side and nothing at either end.

Getting the shower going soon became a priority!

We knew doing the bathroom was going to be a difficult job as we had already done a bathroom at our previous house; not necessarily difficult, but a lot of fiddly work, which had to be done in a specific order.

Here, we planned to panel the entire bath side of the room except the area around the bath, which we would tile, create an airing cupboard in the corner and a removable panel in front of the bath so that the plumbing could be accessed in emergencies.

As can be seen from the picture (right), a chimney stack runs up the corner of the room behind the bath and because we a) didn't want increase the cost of the work involved to remove it from top to bottom and b) didn't want the extra mess - of which there was already more than we knew what to do with, we elected to box that in.

This killed two birds with one stone as the odd shape of the room could be disguised behind the paneling, thus giving us a nice, straight appearance to the finished product.

So with the materials all purchased, we were ready to move forward and begin the task of taking the bathroom from something that was just off being a bomb site, to being the finished product.

I would like to say that the work all came out perfect, but as the person who did a lot of the work, I can say without any fear of contradiction, that it does have a little bit of 'character' here and there.

The house runs the gamut of angles and not being a professional, I did tend to get caught out every now and again.

Having said that though, I am well pleased with the results. As is Pen.

Left shows the new basin we had installed and the chimney is now hidden behind the false wall. I would like to have utilised the space and put some shelves in the paneling, but decided instead to keep it simple, which also kept the costs down. The tongued and grooved isn't cheap when you're covering such a large area.

The other side (right) contains the airing cupboard which is heated using a timed 120 watt tube heater that we bought on-line from a British company, as the French don't have anything like it. 

Tiling wasn't easy and if you were to look closely, you'd be able to see the fact that some tiles aren't quite in the right place. 

Again, it's down to lack of experience and abundance of 'let's get this finished and we can live with that'.

Regardless of my lack of precision, the whole thing is water tight and does exactly what it's supposed to. It also means that we can shower now, which is usually more preferable than bathing.

The floor was stripped and waxed to bring up the wonderful colour. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that Pen spent an age on her hands and knees removing the old varnish.

We should have used an industrial floor sander, but it would have meant having to use magic to prevent the entire house being covered in sawdust.

Whilst Pen's method took a while, it was a whole heap cleaner and the results speak for themselves.

Among Pen's many DIY skills, she's also a dab hand at wallpapering.

This was on offer at La Maison in Gorron, brings a wonderful texture to an otherwise boring wall and fits with the overall effect nicely.

Well done, Pen!

The table was the first time I got to use my biscuit jointer to take two lengths of wood and seamlessly join them together. Best tool I've ever bought that and good fun to use too.

The table leg was supposed to be used in the kitchen, but some miscalculations meant that it was no longer required. The idea to use it in the bathroom was marvelous and it fits really well. The table should have been twice its length, but upon seeing how long it would actually have been, it was decided that we'd keep it smaller. That's why the power points are to the left and not in the middle as planned.

Overall, we're dead chuffed with our new bathroom and since the airing cupboard has actually been proved to work, it's been well worth the wait.

The unofficial inspector of works ...

Biscuit is supposed to be on inspection duty here, but appears
to have seen something much more interesting

Our once dinky little cat, Biscuit, is growing, as cats - or kittens - do, and fast becoming more of what the French describe as a crapule or scoundrel.

He can't help it, it's his job.

He has a thing for feet - ours - and appears to take great delight in hiding under the bed while we're dressing or undressing only to leap out, grab us by the ankles and go for the toes.

Going to bed and getting up looks more like a fast-forward clip of Riverdance. Just call me Michael Flatfoot.

Aside from having a canny knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time - usually under those same feet he takes such delight in terrorising - he has many redeeming features ... and not just the fact that he's a very pretty cat.

Most notably, he loves to be 'helpful'.

His 'help' is often offered for sweeping the floor and dusting - especially when it comes to the sofa in the kitchen. Tying shoelaces is now much more, er ... interesting with Biscuit's 'help', as is filling in forms (of which there are no shortage. Well, this is France after all), using the computer and making the bed where he leaps under the duvet as it is being spread out and then goes mental.

He was obviously a supervisor in a previous existence and that is something he is very keen on doing. We have been informed by our French friends that he has become the 'Unofficial Inspector of  Works' - an apparently normal trade for a cat to take up.

In pursuance of this trade, he has taken to sitting on Pen's or my shoulders. He really seems to enjoy that Meerkat view from high above the ground and is happy to sit and watch what I or Pen are doing, offering little mewls of advice here and there as he supervises.

His 'helpful' noises (best described as 'proooooop', occasionally interspersed with short squeaks) were especially loud whilst sealing around the bath recently. I cannot tell you how much easier it was with him peering over my shoulder, offering sage advice in a language I couldn't even begin to understand, whilst I leant at full stretch over the bath. However, as I said, he does like to be 'helpful' and supervise.

I would have thought he'd have been paying more attention in the above picture as at the time, I was sanding down wood filler prior to waxing the door of the airing cupboard and needed to be particularly thorough or it would affect the colour of the wax after application. He'd been particularly vocal on other less important jobs, so his silence in this case was quite a surprise.

It's not just DIY jobs he likes to oversee, but cooking and other general housework too. He often sits on our shoulders as we wash up, make tea or coffee, prepare or cook food and many other tasks. About the only time he becomes otherwise entertained is when the washing machine is running. He seems convinced he can jump through the glass door to get to the washing itself and tries tirelessly to prove it.

We'd hate to tell him the truth and disappoint him.

The downside in Biscuit's apparent need to supervise, is his method for getting up on our shoulders to perform said task. This leaves a little to be desired and can be extremely painful to say the least. It seems that no matter how used to his method of getting to our shoulders we may have thought we were, he still catches us out - regularly.

I was reminded of this the other day while taking a leak. He clawed his way up the backs of my legs, up my posterior and almost pulled my sweats down, leaving deep red lacerations in the process. From there, he scrabbled up my back and on to my shoulder, where he sat, meowing loudly.

Of course I would have liked to have dissuaded him from using me as a human pin cushion at that precise moment, but could only grimace and try to maintain accuracy - not an easy task, I can tell you. I was forced to simply stand, unable to do anything about his impersonation of Sir Edmund Hillary, as my hands were otherwise engaged and my feet needed to stay precisely where they were too, for fairly obvious reasons.

Still, we'd much rather he did that than got up on the worktops and so I suppose, must be grateful for his help and other small mercies ...