We are homed!   At last!    We are unpacked and the fire’s alight.  The fridge is full.  The Christmas trees are up and dressed.   We are like two war torn, world weary animals finally  reaching their home territory.   We curl up before a roaring fire, watch tv, recovering from the  slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune that have brought us to this point and search for the joie de vivre that we lost somewhere along the way

We fought the cold and ice of the old country; the great MOT debacle, the transformation of Mistress R. Soul into a sickly, needy liability and were nearly floored at the outset by the great Suck Instead of Blow Machine and the terror of going through Customs with a suitcase full of prescription drugs.

We fought through snow in the north here too, the “read my mind, we don’t do signals” car brigade; our eyes ached with the beauty of the countryside and were blinded by the low morning sun.  We experienced the ludicrousness of being the only guests in a huge old Chateau, attended by the Marquis and his titled wife.   We experienced the fear of having to get out of the car and walk.   We fought the great monster that is Rouen who tried to ensnare us in its ancient walls and never let us go.   We’ve discovered a new phobia: “The fear of Supermarket check out girls “ who accuse us of unknown and non-understood breaches in French supermarket etiquette.   With quaking knees we have faced the interrogation of certain ladies of the ex pat community, looking at us with the avarice of vampires seeking new blood.

All of this have we faced   Mostly with a bravery we didn’t know we had.    But now, as we creep into our new lair, bloody and battered (and with hacking coughs) we seek the restorative power of fire, food and alcohol  and will rise on the morrow like phoenixes into the glory that is ……… La Belle France!

On the eve of Christmas Eve we got sunburned eating oysters on the sea front at Bouzigues Then the lack of build up to Joyeuse Fete meant that Christmas Eve came as a bit of a surprise:  in that,there was a person on the streets and three checkouts open  at SuperU.   We spent most of the day in front of fire and tv. I did a passable imitation of Mimi , coughing and sighing, hand on brow, whilst Gary peeled a grape or two and spoon fed Lemsip.

Two of the good guys (alongside SuperBri and his gal) have been Hugh and Bassie, old friends living in nearby Gabian   They took delivery of parcels and scooped us up when our rental was  delayed.   A British Christmas in all its gaudy glory welcomed us into their home on Christmas Day, another lovely log fire, amazing food, wonderful new, kind and interesting friends. Four dogs and one cat  – hey ho, I’ve given in   They are  errmmmmm, ok!

Back  in our lair we lick each other’s wounds (not a   great image I know; mixing with too many animals can do it),  keep taking the medicine and prepare to welcome old friends into our new life on New Year’s Eve.

Or do I?

I know I said I wouldnt blog for a while.  But to all those who said they envied this”adventure” ….. listen up. We are still homeless.   I am having the worst cold of my whole life.  English tv is an hour later here;  I can’t watch Have I Got News for You at bloomin 10 o’clock .   That’s  bedtime.

Joe won “Strictly”. The bread’s too crusty, the sausages are white and don’t get me started on the bacon.    You can’t get Marmite, and frozen peas ( because the tinned vegetables are so good, come on….).  You can’t get frozen Yorkshires and it is impossible to get turkey

Chickens, however, are the size of  emaciated sparrows and the colour of bananas . And the skies are grey today and I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve lugged eight cases of clothes and my light-up-flamingo over here for nowt.

i am hoping my present negativity is due to my ill health and not a permanent state of mind.   After all it’s nearly Christmas

(Dinde is turkey; gui is mistletoe)

It’s not the same though is it?  I know we are supposed to be embracing the
French culture of our temporarily adopted country.

I don’t know about “Deck the halls” but if they are decking,  it ain’t showing.  Even the supermarkets have only the odd bunch of coloured  balls, hanging sadly like left overs from a Gay Pride march.

Where’s yer turkeys, where’s yer mince pies, where’s yer after office parties  with drunken Santas lying in the gutters?   It’s not right. The Sparkle of Christmas is on dimmer.

Added to which the skies are so bloody blue, you daren’t sit in front of a window or your book would catch fire.  Yesterday Gaz was sunbathing in shorts and sun cream. Mind you, thinking on, he strips off if someone switches on a light.

We are both still a whirling cauldron of catarrh and infection.  Sitting in bed we cough like a couple of 90 year old 60-a -dayers. Me in me curlers and winceyette nightie, him in a moth eaten jumper.  Ah the romance of our French sojourn.   Babies will be born, of that I’m sure

We move into our temporary  adopted home on Friday and our lovely girl comes to visit in early January.   Can’t wait to show her how far we have become immersed in the customs and culture of our new country.

Mist rising out of the valley behind Hugh and Bassie’s house.

And mushrooms of every sort on view and on sale at the Mushroom Museum.  Yup.

Because of my aversion to the “W” word (walking that is)  we haven’t done much.  To be fair it has been very wet and cold . but even through a car window it is obvious that the Loire more than deserves its reputation for beauty.  It is a stunning area.   Fascinating to see amongst the grandeur of the castles, there still exist the caves of the troglodytes.  There was an enactment area where actors demonstrated how the cave dwellers lived.  But that would have meant getting out of the car.   So we didn’t go.

Our second hotel, in Chinon, was even older than the Chateau but newly restored to add amazing modern touches, like my wonderful bath tub.   The owner Maurice was justifiably proud of this beautiful building.  Let the photos tell the story:

Despite the two hour delay we made good time through Northern France towards our first destination in Alençon, where we were due for aperitifs at 7 pm  … “whatever happens” driver Gaza’s says “we don’t want to go through Rouen”   So why did we?   Bad navigator, moi!   Two hours were spent driving round the town during the evening rush hour.

We rang ahead to warn our hosts at the Chateau de Sarceaux that we would be late   It was not a problem they said   We came off the motorway and within five minutes we’re driving up the mile long driveway, through deer inhabited parkland to be confronted with the Chateau above

We were met by the Marquis Herve Glicout les Touches, our host and his wife, the Marchioness and chef, and shown to our room, which was very old and rather beautiful   The whole place, (not huge, only four letting bedrooms) was steeped in history and decorated sympathetically to its origins   We were the only guests and, following aperitifs and amuse bouches  in front of the fire with Herve as we now call him, were served a four course meal by the owners, in a candlelit dining room  with Chopin nocturnes playing in the background.

We were so bushed by this time we fell into bed to woke  up to a continental breakfast and “heggs from our own ‘ens” as Herve said.