Why does that make me feel so good…

Well, “hows about that then”….the mobile homes never came, and how very expected is that.  When I scrambled into conscientiousness this morning Mike was dressed and ready to go, today was mobile home day and as I clomped my way through the tedious routine of getting ready for the day I had a real feeling of foreboding. Before breakfast I had given HOSS a ticking off for barking too loud and the cock for cockadoodledoodling inappropriately so early in the day.  I called Monsieur Morris to make sure he was prepared for the transport lorry and he sounded as ready as a French chap can sound selling two old mobile homes. 

I made porridge, as punishment for the moody start to my day and it felt good and justified. The sound of the phone screaming for attention from the lounge forced me to pass a comment in the way that you do when you know precisely what is about to happen next and I said, “that will be the transport company saying they can’t come”.

I must confess that if the transport planner had said the driver had colic and he couldn’t come I would have sent him my best wishes and accepted a new plan, but when the planner calls you to say the vans will be delivered on Thursday because we had not been given Monday as a delivery date I just saw red. My French is good and my intuition and observations of behaviour is mostly spot on and the attitude, speed and volume at which the planner was telling me that at no time was I given a delivery date just made me screech with anger. I knew he was in the wrong, and so did he.  We were both at it hammer and tongs, me, in the “I am the client”  corner and him in the “I’ve got your deposit and your caravans” corner so I took the blow as soon as I realised  that at any moment he could throw the phone down and I would be at his mercy to get my caravans to Brevands.  I shut up and let him tell me that despite my daily calls to his office the girl who gave me the date of Monday, actually said, “we will call you on Monday”. So, I wonder where the conversation was going when I asked her at what time we could expect our delivery on Monday and her reply was that the driver would call us en route to ensure that we would be in and ready for him.  I am amazed that the large transport company can allow the planner to lie to that extent, he most likely took a call late Friday afternoon to collect a load from  Caen or Cherbourg on Thursday and  moved us about  so he could get a return shout at our expense. Mike and I got over the initial, put the house on the market we are going back to the UK routine but then  agreed that  any profit seeking transport company would do the same the world over, I just don’t like being treated like an incompetent foreigner when I actually hold my own quite well. We have a few extra days now to prepare for delivery and come up with a cunning plan of revenge.

As soon as I had got over the now routine collapse of confidence, the questioning my worth and my ability to squabble in French I called a lady in Baron Sur Odon and arranged a little retail therapy for Mike and me. We set the GPS to small roads only and followed the mesmeric tones of Lovely to the back end of Caen to buy, for twenty five Euros, an ancient water pump, all broken and rusty but perfectly formed to adorn our garden.  Tomorrow we will give her a clean and find her a corner to rot in dignity. Why does that make me feel so good…

And that will be his first task in the morning…..

You know you have mates when you drop a birthday card off and perhaps angle for a cup of tea and you end up staying around their table for five hours.

It was William’s birthday today.  William and Anna live in Blossville between us and the annual  Montebourg chandeleur weekend where all the local nursery men line the streets selling bare rooted trees and bushes, so we planned to have a nosey around to see what was new on the market then take a tiny detour into Blossville on the way home. We have in the past, spent a lot of money in Montebourg this time of year in order to build up our plant stock but as the years have gone by, we have propagated more and more from our first purchases  and now we are smugly satisfied  to see that the plants we have nurtured  with love and care cost a small fortune on the open market, so an appreciative thank you to the makers of  gardeners world who helped me realise, even I can make baby plants and that they might grow into big ones.  I made William a card and wrapped a jar of home made strawberry jam in a square of cellophane to give it French style but in reality it was like taking coals to Newcastle as Anna is the queen of jams and chutney, I confessed this thought to William who said that other peoples jam always tasted better, but he hasn’t tried mine and I fear he was just being kind. Needless to say when we got to Blossville  our welcome was huge and we were sat at table with cutlery in hand sharing a spontaneous lunch before we could say, thank you.  There is so much to talk about and I do sometime wonder if we will ever exhaust our  enthusiasm to chat and debate. The garden is a good and steady subject and Anna is on the cusp of developing her brand new garden this year and we are thrilled to be able to appreciate her plans and actually have an opinion and dare I say a bit of advice.  When we walked  in at one o’clock a cake came out of the oven and at four thirty it was iced and topped with birthday candles, we took photos and sang the most sung song on earth and had a good afternoon out.

It is bitterly cold at the moment and although we had plans to go on to the park to move a few plants and, oh yes, I forgot to mention that we bought two cultivated bramble bushes to grow over our new antique farm machine, but it was cold and I was feeling relaxed and happy on my spontaneous lunch and cake so we shut the shutters and loaded up the fire box and said maniana to today’s work plan.

As the weather has turned again Mike has decided to do another fat ball run for the birds  and set himself up in the lounge with seeds, fat blocks, large bowl and a sheet covering my precious rug. If he had been a teenager in my home I would have given him a stern talking to about the right place for the right job but he lives here, sometimes vacuum cleans, and that will be his first task in the morning…..Happy birthday to Miranda

I had just struck the deal of the week.

We are most definitely in good form this week and have achieved a huge amount.  I called the Transport company on Tuesday about the delivery plan for our little cabins and was promised that they would call us in the afternoon with a date. I called again on Wednesday and I was informed that the planner was in that morning and they would call us in the afternoon. On Thursday my mind was racing away and I began to develop the concept that we might just be caught up in a complicated and cunning scam so when I rang I was delighted to have the planner himself on the phone who promised that he was planning that day and would call in the afternoon. This morning, Friday,  I called up as Mrs UK Everso Angry and Grumpy, and kindly asked what the dickens was going on. The very sweetly spoken receptionist replied, we will call you with a date and at that mention of “we will call you”  I snapped,  in the most adult and grown up manner but with the tone of a blood thirsty terrier and sent the young lady off to get me a date. When she returned she meekly announced that our delivery is planned for Monday. Now I could have ranted on about it being Friday so when were they planning to let us know but I climbed down from my spike and thanked her for being so efficient and now we know, the vans will come on Monday. Hoo raaa

The septic tank report from ES Etude arrived at lunch time yesterday and took all evening to decipher and  came in the format of a pretty glossy report copied five times with forms to sign and attestations to complete so we set to and went to the office that does, and put our wheels in motion with the lovely Miriam who will let SPANK know that we are  building a septic tank so that they can come and inspect the build and ensure we are following the rules. Now I want you all to say SPANK with a French accent and understand why I am having reservations about this whole process but  Miriam assured us that with the quality of work we have already presented for this project there would be no problems and it will all go to plan . OH GOOD.

To finish off a jolly day as we were planting out our two English Brambly apple trees I suddenly remembered that we were due to be at the wood yard in Perrier to collect twenty wooden garden stakes we had ordered last week. We rushed to finish the planting and dashed out to catch the wood yard  before a possible poets day routine. Pop Off Early Tomorrows Saturday.   Fortunately the yard was in full swing and we went straight to the office to find two dogs on duty. One was on the desk and the other one was on the chair peering at the computer screen. You really do have to take stock of a tableaux like that and wish that you had the foresight to carry a camera but as we backed out of the office the owner came over and asked if the office was empty, well I couldn’t  say no so said that the dogs had suggested we find him. The owner saw the funny side of my response and we started our business with a good laugh. We asked for our order and although he looked a little blank and bewildered for a moment he graciously admitted that the order had not been started but would we like some of those over there at the same price instead. We absolutely jumped at the offer because the stakes he was pointing at were bigger and better than the ones we had ordered.  I asked what he could sell me cheap as chips to make a bench seat and he showed us a fifteen foot plank of Douglas fir and said I could have it for a tenner, euro tenner at that.  The man with the chain saw was called over to cut it in half to fit it in  the car and as we paid  the bill and chatted to him till the cows came home  he picked up another four foot plank and put it on the pile destined for  home.  We were delighted, and the smell of Douglas fir was so intoxicating in the car that I felt quite light headed, or was it that I had  just struck the deal of the week. 

Only eaten porridge and soup so far to be able to afford it.

We are just back from a few days in the UK to attend Rob White’s  50^th birthday party where we were sure to meet up with a good crowd of Port Solent yachties to compare stories with, and chew the cud. We took the opportunity to put a deposit into our memory file and walked  right around Port Solent reminiscing and reminding ourselves that although we had good times there, we are now in a much better place. Eric and Gill fed us and gave us a bed to sleep in and in return we walked Popeye the dog. Whilst walking someone  elses  dog I  realized how much I missed my HOSS who was tucked up warm and happy with Sarah and Peter in Petite Ville.  We did have one laughable episode whilst queuing at the lights on the Porchester road in Cosham, Mike, in a pathetic little voice, wined a mention that the Jaguar in the opposite lane could be his. I always get a little irritated when he harps on about all the stuff we have had to sell over the years, but we have moved on from jags and stuff.  As we set off on the green light however,  the jag sped past and, by golly, it was his jag and we both laughed but actually felt happy and content to see that  she was shiney and beautiful and still in the hands of the enthusiasts we sold her to in Portchester in 2007.

Back on French soil and we have promised ourselves a concentrated effort in the park this week. We are expecting the caravans to turn up any time soon and the gardens need to have plants moved. Yesterday we dug up and replanted ten six foot broom to make a back drop for the antique farm machinery we picked up for free last week. So we are now back on track, I planted out a bed of lettuce in the poly and Mike took down the rotten window frame wall of the potting shed and replaced them with old but not rotten frames we picked up for free a few weeks back. How good it feels to be achieving again. It is raining and we are dashing in out between squalls but before the day is out we must move a huge pile of gravel off the top gate parking so that we can get our little vans in. 

I am back on the diet, but Mike had a bacon sandwich today, what a treat, we did a supermarket dash in Tescos on Monday before the ferry which was  piled high with non available food in France.  We  have eaten guinsters pasties, bacon, and tonight a Chinese take away box for two, I just can’t wait,  and have only eaten porridge and soup so far to be able to afford it.

Too pepper doggie in amongst all that salty old dog stuff on board.

In true French style our visit from the EF Etude arrived over thirty minutes late and when he did turn up, asked if we had been worried for him, I shrugged my shoulders in true French style and said we were used to people being late and sometimes not turning up at all so he was doing well.  The survey was not perfect as we live on wet planes and although we are on a four meter contour line putting us four meters higher than mean high water at every tide we didn’t expect to be regarded as on the Marais. Jerome took readings and measurements where our little cabins will go and decided that he could  specify a simple system as long as we only use it in the summer and don’t drive the tractor over the pipes as they will need to be very near the surface. He must have been confident and happy with his findings to let  Mike and I start a design discussion on the spot for our next garden to include a newly laid lawn that will need to be sewn when the digger has gone, and trashed a sixteen by ten meter  area where the pipes will drain the treated water from the septic tank.  We did the paper work and then Jerome left with a solid promise, and I believe him, to have the report ready for next week so we can then commence the next bureaucratic event of informing our communaute communes office with more forms filled and signed, for them to tell our Maire and then to ask the organisation called SPANK in Riems to give us a document number and for them to verify the plans. If we get the OK, we can start work, I have my doubts that we will start any time soon and Jerome even suggested not getting the digger in until the soil is good and dry and I suspect he knew a lot more than he was letting on in terms of time scales.

We drove out to see Beema to make sure she was dry and warm. We called in last week and she had pulled her pontoon cleat out and was drifting about in her given space but had knocked her nose a couple of times, and the pontoon showed signs of damage. On the way to Cherbourg we detoured to St Pierre Eglise to buy some Rotring pens that Mike had found on Le Bon Coin. Mike had seen me raking through the rotring internet sites looking for refills to the pens I already own, and wouldn’t you know it, they have been taken off the market and are no longer for sale so when I went to look to buy a  new set I was horrified at the “put this in your basket” price of  over forty quid. I  bought two second hand, good as new sets for ten euros from the very nice man in St Pierre so I can start drawing houses again using the right equipment and I am looking forward to that.  Beema was good and dry but we are becoming more and move aware that the fateful day is coming when she will have to go. We are committing our selves to a certain lifestyle here that most definitely does not include sailing, we jump into  our camper more easily and hit the road more readily than organise a sail trip with all the weather and meteo considerations and even I  must admit that Beema is no place for a HOSS the dog , he is too big, too polite to say he is not happy and just too pepper doggie in amongst all that salty old dog stuff on board.

Home made cake is not such a great idea.

We now have a huge project under way and we even have a folder called “Cabins 2011” to gather all the goings on and to stash away the leaflets and web pages of information we are going to need to complete our mobile homes in the park.  Mike is taking the lead in all of this and I am just talking when we need to speak French and so far it has not been too challenging.  Dr Groundworks came over to discuss our requirement for a new cess pit and over coffee he gently broke the news  that you can’t just dig a hole and plonk a cess pit in. Mike had read this, but as always it is not evident where you start the process of regulations, re-design and ridicule.  So with heads up on the process I called the EF Etude office for La Manche and was promised a form in the post that needed to be completed in nightmare French building speak and in a few weeks time we would get an official visit to test the soil and to evaluate the  possibility of sinking a cess pit in our garden. This process and  a  document costing three hundred and fifty Euros sent alarm bells ringing for Mike and he decided we should go to St Mere Eglise to visit the office and fully understand the process and other costs we could expect, and,  just how long will this all take.  The address is 16 bis Rue General De Gaulle and we always contemplate just how many roads, streets and town squares are named after the famous Charles. The building was a D-day memorabilia shop, shut for the winter and our hearts sank that we were perhaps entering a dark and mysterious quango style organization that tell you what to do with no logic or fairness in the decisions and regulations you are expected to fulfil. We feared a situation much like DRIRE where the officials are locked away out of the public gaze and are only accessible by phone and fax. We found our way around the back of the shop and came across a shabby little office occupied by a friendly and enthusiastic university graduate who was delighted to see us and only too happy to go through our plans and even threw in a smattering of English. When he had heard of the intention of mobile homes and family coming to stay and people enjoying our garden he decided we would come over tomorrow at 14:00 hours to take a soil sample and document all the information he needed to draw up a plan for our builder, whom we will name, Mike. He also explained the costs and the purpose of the final  certificate of conformance  that will ensure we have no problems with the installation and future existence of a spanking new cess pit. I came out of the office and punched the air in glee and we both felt we had achieved, having said chappy coming to us within 48 hours of an enquiry is a result. I called my friend Ann and she explained that he was called Jerome, and was great.  Jerome apparently gets all your paper work done in a few days so that the process is simple and stress free,  and he does that for every one. There I was thinking it was my charm and  aging good looks that had convinced him he should put aside his time scales and schedules just to deal with us urgently, but no, he just loves his job and is a good egg to boot. I will feed him home made cake and fresh coffee when he comes tomorrow just to make sure we keep him sweet, well perhaps the home made cake is not such a great idea.

We would never get up again.

Spring was most definitely in the air today with a clear blue sky and a tingle of heat from the sun warming our faces despite all of us being clad in jumpers, coats and gloves for our out door task.  It felt like a May day until about five o’clock when the day looked like it wanted to go to bed and the temperature went into a depressive downturn and the day was gone.

We spent the day with Graham and Ann moving rubble from the cottage they rent out in St Mere Eglise to our top gate drive. The back wall to this house had developed a bulge and they took the very brave decision to see to it and looking at the amount of work and the ominous positioning of acro jacks holding the building up it dawned on me that they probably got to the problem in the nick of time. A huge hole was created by dismantling  the outer wall from the front of the house, rebuilding in block and then refaced to look as though nothing had ever been disturbed. What a great story of a preserving recovery this lovely little cottage will be able to tell in the years to come, but only us, the builder and the house know that story. I hope Graham thought to take pictures of the worst moment when his house was gashed open gaping up at the sky wishing it wasn’t raining.

Between the four of us we moved three large trailers of hardcore and three vans full of clean, dressed stone, what a booty, Mike and I felt we had come away with material and stock to instigate a new project. The four of us can talk the cows home and the chaps believe that Ann and I must breath through our ears so that we don’t have to pause to inhale, cruel I know, but true, natter natter natter about something and nothing and such a great way to see off a potentially dull January Sunday, Oh by the way, there was a lovely lunch at Ann and Grahams house in Neuville where we stopped for an hour and thought we would never get up again.