We had a perfect day. It's about to be marred by frustration with French keyboard layout where a, ., w, numbers, m, and other usual keys are all in the wrong place so typing takes far longer than normal, trying to correct everything.
During the night, Joan's bed had tried to eat her when she got up in the dark - some sort of automatic pillow-lifting thing slipped into action when she inadvertently knocked a switch.
After breakfast we headed along the coast towards Etretat, stopping first at Yport where a pretty little open-topped English Morgan drew an admiring crowd of French Harley riders, and we watched masses of little school children go winkling down on the beach. The tiny row of beqch-huts are very pointy and chic in white, grey and black stripes. The twisty road over the headland to Etretat is just divine... through woods dappled with sunlight, with wild flowers shining in every quarter. (I now know why the French speak with such q strong accent - it's becaquse their keyboards are all zrong:::: I am spending tzice as long as nor,ql trying to type this as I have to correct it every few letters).
Etretat is gorgeous - coffee in the square, visit to a cider shoppe. An Englishman with a very strong northern accent told a tale of woe. He had forgotten to drive on the right and totally mashed his car. He was waiting for a new one to arrive.
Signs along the prom warn against feeding the gulls. We ate plaice at the Corsair Hotel on the seafront, with one cheeky gull trying to get through the glass 'wall' to nick our food. We admired the well-placed repros of some of Monet's beachscapes, comparing them with the present view. The sea was glassy calm, the cliffs magnificent. I wish you could see the rubbish unfolding fro, ,y fingers qs I try to touchtype. Aaaaaghhh.
On then to Honfleur, which must be one of the prettiest places on the planet. From a campaiogning point of view, I want to bring all our local councillors to this little medieval port to see what could be achieved with a swingbridge, some pretty boats and cafes etc along the waterside. Fantastic.
We have just eaten a crab salad for supper. Simple, stone-age and perfect. I cannot stand to type here qny ,ore; I zill do it on ,y Liniux ,qchine to,orroz qnd trqnsfer using q flqsh cqrd:
More to,orroz:
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Monday, 9 May 2011
Day one
To Fecamp
We've had a great day getting here: The ferry crossing from Dover to Calais was smooth – on P&O's brand new Spirit of Britain. We had a reasonable cafeteria lunch marred only by the 'hostess' insisting that we approach the counters via a chicane of those bloody awful straps which make you walk up and down in pointless back and forth movements. I asked why she didn't just take it down as the boat was barely half full. She said it had to be there in case a great rush of people arrived. This kind of attitude is insulting as well as bonkers. My mother-in-law is 92 and walking is not always easy for her, but even she had to limp her way round this ridiculous rat maze. She chose a sandwich, Andrew had a Balti curry, and Josh (my 22-year old nephew) and I had haddock and chips. Not bad.
Getting into Calais is always splendid. I love it. The whole history and light of the place is very transparent. I liked it better before its recent revival, but no doubt the locals are pleased with how it's turned out.
There is something so inexplicably French about France, something so different from England and made up of so many tiny details all deeply rooted in their revolutionary culture and democratic method, that is impossible to imagine there could ever be more than a nodding kind of friendship between them and us. Their lamp-posts, gardens, hours, family life, rules, humour and smell are totally, absolutely, completely different from ours. I can only imagine they look on us as a real yahoo country, indisciplined, scruffy and with an odd tendency to assymmetry. I am always struck by how the French have arranged for most of their things to work the same way wherever you are in this huge country... lunchtimes, parking arrangments, town lawyers, shutters, what have you. Their engineering of bridges and harbours is magnificent. Their formality, directness and national pride maybe seem rather old fashioned to us Brits now that our great empire has more or less vanished... we are turning our own considerable powers of science, politics and engineering to new areas, so we have a rapidly evolving language, more informality, more self-deprecation, more fragmentation.
We dropped Josh off at the station to catch the TGV to Paris, then we drove down through Normandy – the glowing beauty of the landscape is irresistible. The farms may sometimes be small but they are prosperous. There are these small fields full of grass with small herds of the local brown and white cows and their calves, who all look blissfully happy. You almost never see cows like this in England. Here, each animal knows it is highly valued for that precious creamy milk and is, in all probability, a member of the family. They are actually radiant with calm contentment. It makes me angry that our livestock are not managed like this, but squashed into intensive systems, fed on unnatural foods, numbered and kept distant. Here the mighty French tradition of food has made them cherish their kine, and the dairy cows are so so lucky to live this side of the channel.
Fecamp is an old sea port, where the fishermen until recently worked the Grand Banks and up into Icelandic waters. Now the harbour is full of yachts and there are plans to build a big hotel and museum. Our gorgeous apartment on the third floor faces west over the basin. The town is spread out on the opposite bank, with the cliffs leading down towards Etretat behind them. We were shown into the flat by a friend of the owner who is away in Portugal. Our guide is a lovely lady who used to be an English teacher, comes from Rouen, and sounds just like my French teacher back home. Both are called Michelle, as it happens. This one has invited us to supper at her house on Thursday. Her house is a feast of French knick-knacks, bowls, paintings, dried flowers, ships' wheels, a marvellous old banjo-clock which was a wedding-present to her grandparents in 1902. The décor is yellow and blue. She's lived there for 10 years. She brought us along to this apartment just along the road: it's three floors up, via an automatic car-gate and a smooth lift. She went back home, leaving us to install ourselves. As we loaded the things into the lift, a neighbour downstairs told me in a stong Fecamp/Dieppoise accent that the person in the flat exactly next to ours died this morning. The family are all here. She indicated we should be sombre. That does not match our mood as we enjoy this big spacious salon with the sun setting over the sea, and light cascading down onto the quays and jetties. I hope Josh has arrived in Paris ok... in fact he's just texted to say he's ok.
This keyboard has a very different layout... I zill hqve to get used to it:
We've had a great day getting here: The ferry crossing from Dover to Calais was smooth – on P&O's brand new Spirit of Britain. We had a reasonable cafeteria lunch marred only by the 'hostess' insisting that we approach the counters via a chicane of those bloody awful straps which make you walk up and down in pointless back and forth movements. I asked why she didn't just take it down as the boat was barely half full. She said it had to be there in case a great rush of people arrived. This kind of attitude is insulting as well as bonkers. My mother-in-law is 92 and walking is not always easy for her, but even she had to limp her way round this ridiculous rat maze. She chose a sandwich, Andrew had a Balti curry, and Josh (my 22-year old nephew) and I had haddock and chips. Not bad.
Getting into Calais is always splendid. I love it. The whole history and light of the place is very transparent. I liked it better before its recent revival, but no doubt the locals are pleased with how it's turned out.
There is something so inexplicably French about France, something so different from England and made up of so many tiny details all deeply rooted in their revolutionary culture and democratic method, that is impossible to imagine there could ever be more than a nodding kind of friendship between them and us. Their lamp-posts, gardens, hours, family life, rules, humour and smell are totally, absolutely, completely different from ours. I can only imagine they look on us as a real yahoo country, indisciplined, scruffy and with an odd tendency to assymmetry. I am always struck by how the French have arranged for most of their things to work the same way wherever you are in this huge country... lunchtimes, parking arrangments, town lawyers, shutters, what have you. Their engineering of bridges and harbours is magnificent. Their formality, directness and national pride maybe seem rather old fashioned to us Brits now that our great empire has more or less vanished... we are turning our own considerable powers of science, politics and engineering to new areas, so we have a rapidly evolving language, more informality, more self-deprecation, more fragmentation.
We dropped Josh off at the station to catch the TGV to Paris, then we drove down through Normandy – the glowing beauty of the landscape is irresistible. The farms may sometimes be small but they are prosperous. There are these small fields full of grass with small herds of the local brown and white cows and their calves, who all look blissfully happy. You almost never see cows like this in England. Here, each animal knows it is highly valued for that precious creamy milk and is, in all probability, a member of the family. They are actually radiant with calm contentment. It makes me angry that our livestock are not managed like this, but squashed into intensive systems, fed on unnatural foods, numbered and kept distant. Here the mighty French tradition of food has made them cherish their kine, and the dairy cows are so so lucky to live this side of the channel.
Fecamp is an old sea port, where the fishermen until recently worked the Grand Banks and up into Icelandic waters. Now the harbour is full of yachts and there are plans to build a big hotel and museum. Our gorgeous apartment on the third floor faces west over the basin. The town is spread out on the opposite bank, with the cliffs leading down towards Etretat behind them. We were shown into the flat by a friend of the owner who is away in Portugal. Our guide is a lovely lady who used to be an English teacher, comes from Rouen, and sounds just like my French teacher back home. Both are called Michelle, as it happens. This one has invited us to supper at her house on Thursday. Her house is a feast of French knick-knacks, bowls, paintings, dried flowers, ships' wheels, a marvellous old banjo-clock which was a wedding-present to her grandparents in 1902. The décor is yellow and blue. She's lived there for 10 years. She brought us along to this apartment just along the road: it's three floors up, via an automatic car-gate and a smooth lift. She went back home, leaving us to install ourselves. As we loaded the things into the lift, a neighbour downstairs told me in a stong Fecamp/Dieppoise accent that the person in the flat exactly next to ours died this morning. The family are all here. She indicated we should be sombre. That does not match our mood as we enjoy this big spacious salon with the sun setting over the sea, and light cascading down onto the quays and jetties. I hope Josh has arrived in Paris ok... in fact he's just texted to say he's ok.
This keyboard has a very different layout... I zill hqve to get used to it:
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Anxieties.... plans....
We watered, hoed and planted some beans this morning on the allotment, hoping things will stay orderly enough for our friend Dennis to manage it while we are away. The people on the plot next door were putting up a proper polytunnel - the last one ripped in the wind and that led to a rift between the two guys who owned it. One left and the other has found a new helper. They were using a metal-cutter to fit the hoops so our peaceful time there was full of industrial noise. I planted out some baby red pak choi and something called namenia for salads when we get back. Hope the slugs don't find them all.
Back in the garden it's been hard work planting things out so they have a better chance of surviving whatever the weather flings at them. That includes a smart little banana tree, three coffee plants, a lychee, and the usual herbs etc.
Our neighbour is very kindly going to water for us, but there are so many pots and special things, it will be quite a task. I vow never to go away again in May... there is just too much going on. The truth is, at this time of year, we are quite often checking things on a two-hourly basis. Wind and bright sun can wreck things very fast.
We are particularly pleased with our pip-grown grapefruit. It's about 15 years old and has made blossom for the first time this year. One of the flowers has already started forming into a little grapefruit. The tree has quite vicious spikes, however.
I should have gone to hear Andrew playing in the choral society's fund-raising cabaret show this afternoon, but ended up wandering round the town and doing some petty shopping. First time for ages. I'm sad to have missed his brilliant new arrangement of 'My Old Man Said Follow The Van' for three (or four) brass instruments. I've only heard it so far on the laptop, it sounds terrific. He says the players take it more slowly than he intended, but there are an awful lot of notes. He will be home soon - we will finish up in the garden, pack, check things are organised, and have an early night. So, that's it for today. Next bulletin should be from Fécamp, where we will be in an apartment on the Quai Guy de Maupassant, overlooking the harbour. I am planning to go to the fishing museum, which I am told is exemplary, devoted mostly to the Grand Banks. I have some beautiful little posters for them, from the Faversham Creek Trust, which is considering starting a museum devoted to Thames Barges and other North Kent matters. Private, of course.
Back in the garden it's been hard work planting things out so they have a better chance of surviving whatever the weather flings at them. That includes a smart little banana tree, three coffee plants, a lychee, and the usual herbs etc.
Our neighbour is very kindly going to water for us, but there are so many pots and special things, it will be quite a task. I vow never to go away again in May... there is just too much going on. The truth is, at this time of year, we are quite often checking things on a two-hourly basis. Wind and bright sun can wreck things very fast.
We are particularly pleased with our pip-grown grapefruit. It's about 15 years old and has made blossom for the first time this year. One of the flowers has already started forming into a little grapefruit. The tree has quite vicious spikes, however.
I should have gone to hear Andrew playing in the choral society's fund-raising cabaret show this afternoon, but ended up wandering round the town and doing some petty shopping. First time for ages. I'm sad to have missed his brilliant new arrangement of 'My Old Man Said Follow The Van' for three (or four) brass instruments. I've only heard it so far on the laptop, it sounds terrific. He says the players take it more slowly than he intended, but there are an awful lot of notes. He will be home soon - we will finish up in the garden, pack, check things are organised, and have an early night. So, that's it for today. Next bulletin should be from Fécamp, where we will be in an apartment on the Quai Guy de Maupassant, overlooking the harbour. I am planning to go to the fishing museum, which I am told is exemplary, devoted mostly to the Grand Banks. I have some beautiful little posters for them, from the Faversham Creek Trust, which is considering starting a museum devoted to Thames Barges and other North Kent matters. Private, of course.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Getting ready
I always find myself writing about how panicky I feel before I go away. Too much to do. All the planning in the world is useless. There's still too much to do. Anyway, my business affairs are in capable hands, the garden and allotment are being cared for by friends, ferries and flights are booked, so that's about it.
Is the panic really another fear? I think so. That I won't come back. See?
Having had a totally unexpected cancer diagnosis in January, followed by surgery, and with radiotherapy lined up for the end of the month, the ridiculously fragile nature of my life is more apparent to me than ever. I thought I would go on forever, in fact. Now I've had this little message from the ultimate hotelier, Death.
Consequently, my perfectionist instincts are all the sharper. I would like to be leaving my house, garden, wardrobe, accounts, correspondence, etc all in perfect order but - ha ha! they have never looked so chaotic!
We are off to Fécamp in Normandy with my 92-year old mother-in-law for a few days, then back home for a night, then off to Nairobi to stay with friends for a long week. Quite a lot to plan, as it happens. I am aware of the perils of both excursions, all to do with relationships of course, and how I manage my behaviour. I find I have a low opinion of myself in the company of some people and I shall be with some of them during this holiday. Heigh ho!
Anyway, as usual I have no idea how easy it will be to post during these travels. I will do my best. We are off on Monday early.
Is the panic really another fear? I think so. That I won't come back. See?
Having had a totally unexpected cancer diagnosis in January, followed by surgery, and with radiotherapy lined up for the end of the month, the ridiculously fragile nature of my life is more apparent to me than ever. I thought I would go on forever, in fact. Now I've had this little message from the ultimate hotelier, Death.
Consequently, my perfectionist instincts are all the sharper. I would like to be leaving my house, garden, wardrobe, accounts, correspondence, etc all in perfect order but - ha ha! they have never looked so chaotic!
We are off to Fécamp in Normandy with my 92-year old mother-in-law for a few days, then back home for a night, then off to Nairobi to stay with friends for a long week. Quite a lot to plan, as it happens. I am aware of the perils of both excursions, all to do with relationships of course, and how I manage my behaviour. I find I have a low opinion of myself in the company of some people and I shall be with some of them during this holiday. Heigh ho!
Anyway, as usual I have no idea how easy it will be to post during these travels. I will do my best. We are off on Monday early.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Tim Emmett
A fellow trainee here is Tim Emmett, climber extraordinaire, the sort of guy who throws himself off buildings and precipices, uses wing suits, does stunts with tiny parachutes of high-rise structures... he was doing press-ups and pull-ups this morning by the pool, makes my little regime of steps and sit-ups look pretty miniscule. Tant pis. You should definitely check out his website www.timemmett.com I think it is. Or google him. Another Juice Plus+ devotee of course... he has been eating it for 12 years.
The whole thing is very exciting... whether or not you are involved in this business, you could just take note. It´s all about to kick off... expanding into new territories, an avalanche of new research coming out, sales soaring and the new team structures growing by the thousand. Staying at a multi-millionaire villa tends to consolidate the feeling of excitement and confidence.
The flight home this afternoon is a bit difficult to pin down. Easyjet says it´s distrupted but the details look the same online. We may be staying longer than planned, but if so, good!
The whole thing is very exciting... whether or not you are involved in this business, you could just take note. It´s all about to kick off... expanding into new territories, an avalanche of new research coming out, sales soaring and the new team structures growing by the thousand. Staying at a multi-millionaire villa tends to consolidate the feeling of excitement and confidence.
The flight home this afternoon is a bit difficult to pin down. Easyjet says it´s distrupted but the details look the same online. We may be staying longer than planned, but if so, good!
Saturday, 6 November 2010
Majorca
Flight smooth, once again sushi as the onboard meal is brilliant, bought from Boots again though people recommend M&S. How peculiar it is to be whizzing along at 37,000 feet. Everyone acts so normal, reading books, drinking wine, dozing, etc. but it´s so abnormal.
The new Palma airport is gorgeous, last time I was here we were in the old airport and this is a gleaming marble pavillion. We were picked up in Birgit´s Lexus, and so far we have been whisked from one wondrous experience to another. Last night we sat on the terrace and watched the dusk fall as specks of fire cruised across the sky, transforming into aircraft heading into the island. We walked around the rich rich port of Portals, with dozens and dozens of vast white plastic yachts bobbing on their moorings... Three million euros per mooring and the contract lasts only 18 years. It´s all about conspicuous display, but it made me think of small penises, and of course the smart money went into building the jetty and renting out the space.
Supper in a dockside cafe, warmed with a flame inside an awning-clad terrace lined with dead twigs. Ah well, that´s interior design for you.
Today we have been touring round a bit, up to Valdemosso to see George Sands´ and Chopin´s lodgings in the old Charterhouse... stunning place though of course they had a miserable time there. You can still buy or rent an apartment there, with a terrace and garden looking out over an exquisite antique scene - tiny valley with the sound of sheep bells, and birds in the woods, and the fields and terraces with olives.
Then past Deia to Soller, and back through the tunnel to the house and some training.... tea is waiting for me on the terrace and I cannot stay at the desk any longer. More later if I can.
It is warm and sunny and quiet and calm.
The new Palma airport is gorgeous, last time I was here we were in the old airport and this is a gleaming marble pavillion. We were picked up in Birgit´s Lexus, and so far we have been whisked from one wondrous experience to another. Last night we sat on the terrace and watched the dusk fall as specks of fire cruised across the sky, transforming into aircraft heading into the island. We walked around the rich rich port of Portals, with dozens and dozens of vast white plastic yachts bobbing on their moorings... Three million euros per mooring and the contract lasts only 18 years. It´s all about conspicuous display, but it made me think of small penises, and of course the smart money went into building the jetty and renting out the space.
Supper in a dockside cafe, warmed with a flame inside an awning-clad terrace lined with dead twigs. Ah well, that´s interior design for you.
Today we have been touring round a bit, up to Valdemosso to see George Sands´ and Chopin´s lodgings in the old Charterhouse... stunning place though of course they had a miserable time there. You can still buy or rent an apartment there, with a terrace and garden looking out over an exquisite antique scene - tiny valley with the sound of sheep bells, and birds in the woods, and the fields and terraces with olives.
Then past Deia to Soller, and back through the tunnel to the house and some training.... tea is waiting for me on the terrace and I cannot stay at the desk any longer. More later if I can.
It is warm and sunny and quiet and calm.
Friday, 5 November 2010
Off to Majorca
Lucky me, I'm booked in for some training with one of the top people in my company, so we're flying to her villa in Majorca for the weekend. This time I am trying to take a real minimum of kit to wear...I always end up taking too much.
We had such a warm day yesterday I was very grateful... I find it almost impossible to summon up ideas about warm weather clothing when it's cold outside, but the summery conditions put me in the right mood.
Andrew is dropping me off at Ashford in a few moments and I will meet up with some of the others who are going. The radio has had such interesting programmes this morning: Hislop on Lord Kitchener's Image, then How to live frugally. It's not clear to me whether all my gadding about this year is frugal or not. We have done it on the cheap, I suppose, but it feels very flighty and luxy. I love it!
We had such a warm day yesterday I was very grateful... I find it almost impossible to summon up ideas about warm weather clothing when it's cold outside, but the summery conditions put me in the right mood.
Andrew is dropping me off at Ashford in a few moments and I will meet up with some of the others who are going. The radio has had such interesting programmes this morning: Hislop on Lord Kitchener's Image, then How to live frugally. It's not clear to me whether all my gadding about this year is frugal or not. We have done it on the cheap, I suppose, but it feels very flighty and luxy. I love it!
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