Category Archives: Charente-Maritime

Saint Savinien Sur Charente – My Home.

Posted on by
9

A beauty of still water reflects a calm of timeless stone.

My problem in France is that I’m an Anglo-Saxon. I’m a pillager, not a villager. Every time I launch a raid on the Super U supermarché there’s more and more plunder. Fruits of the sea lead on to Charentais melons, Boeuf Bourginon, sorbet-citron and cheese. Soft creamy morning light caresses while deep warm evening wines seduce. Oh if only I were a famous travel writer I could claim it was all research! As it is I’m a penniless recidivist hedonist bloggerist with no excuses.

Shine a light and I will follow



A couple of nights ago I trotted out with my camera to capture something of the mellow soft late summer joy of my town. Really, it’s not a place – it’s an emotion, a passion and the thrill of calm. I took some shots. Voila!

Soon my sense of guilt and over indulgence gave way to philosophical reflection. I have been working on a novel. My man

You rays me up……….

has been working on the leaking roof. Neighbours have stopped and shrugged at the unpredictability  of roof tiles, love and fate. Toasts have been drunk to all of them. The air is feathered with swallows. The raised brow of autumn patiently indulges the unacknowledged end of youth. Still the noon is warm. I close my eyes and bask with the lizards. 

God can be gaudy.

Emma Thinx: It takes a warm blooded creature to act in cold blood.  (Click here to tweet this!)








"Wow – I’ve lost a stone!" Emma ejaculated.

Posted on by
5
Merely 4,250 calories = 8 days food

I originally started blogging when “Knockout” was published. Seemingly it was the thing that all aspiring scribettes needed to do. For the first six months I performed every day. Since then I have progressively reduced the output with surprising results. Yesterday for instance, some 200 hundred applauding fans flocked to worship at the shrine of my wondrous words. Or – perhaps not! 

My suspicion is that most of the views are conducted by some kind of Spam-a-vision. They leave anonymous comments about my genius and the need for the world to ejaculate more fully by using the tablets only available from their website. I’m with them on the assessment of my genius of course – but the other matter is rather beyond me.  Does any one else have blog issues with genius and ejaculation?

I am in France and sticking to my 5:2 diet. Yes, five different types of cheese and two glasses of wine to lubricate the follicles. Luckily I never omit an accompanying  substantial meal laced with blood purifying vampire slaying garlic to complete the evening. Oooh – you should have seen me at dinner with friends last week denying myself a third serving of full fat ham in liquid butter served with potatoes in melted cheese. I was so proud! Luckily there was some left for me to bring home.

Saint Saviinien  is so beautiful – even on a diet day there is loveliness


Of course, those are the five eat as you wish days. I have been ruthless on the two days of fasting. In France I have learned one thing. Denial is purely relative to temptation. We could call this the  DT index. Instead of all the statistics about financial inflation, happiness and climate we just need to know the DT ratio. Some places should warn that only experienced self deniers should enter. All French bakeries and cheese vendors would have to show their DT index on their shuttered shop windows. Oh why oh why is the best stuff so bad for you?

As big and as wide as a fasting novelists stomach


The good news….on the scales this morning I found that the world of Romantic fiction is now a whole stone (6.35 kgs) lighter. Accordingly I’m downsizing all future heroines by one size.
This diet is liveable and it works guys – it really does.

Emma thinx: Eat, shrink and be merry. 









Springtime Postcard From Saint Savinien

Posted on by
2
My wonderful home.

I cannot hide my joy at just being alive here in France. Springtime is special of course, wherever you are. It represents something of a forgiveness to me – that the great generous heart of the universe has  once again let me have its warmth. Surely, this is how pagan folk must have felt.

Brave tiny blooms – your beauty is stronger than my self important life
Oh – thank you thank you for your gorgeous push and pulse

I set out into Saint Savinien with my camera to take some pix of the first push of Spring. Oooh – it made me feel quite frisky – and at my age….no risky. God knows how many progeny I would have borne if I’d not lived in Republic Bar of  Urbania.  Springtime in South London was when they changed the revolving lamb kebab lump-a-stuff in the Istanbul Delite Tonite Takeaway window.  Here, the season pushes out its cry of new life. It’s orgasmic and I love it! 

So, all in all it’s romantic novelist and poet goes OTT with vernal lust. Here are a few images:

Reach and reach and reach and reach. I offer only my open shouting beauty. I AM ALIVE.










LOOK AT ME – I AM A MIRACLE


You just cannot beat these simple little blooms. I think of them as cherub kisses planted with a wink. Oh – joy joy joy!

Emma Thinx: Life sometimes shit. You always seed. GROW!
















Autumn In Saint Savinien

Posted on by
Reply
Anything I can babble on about today is quite pathetic as I watch the drama along the east coast of the USA. My heart goes out to all those affected. We are so weak and small when Nature bites.

I heard the news today – Oh boy, they’re gonna sell New Scotland Yard. Yes, they are going to sell the iconic HQ of the Metropolitan Police, the centre of Detective Inspector Anna Leyton’s world. Who would buy it? Perhaps a couple of Mexican drug cartels have the cash? Sometimes I cannot believe what I hear. Earlier this week they sold Admiralty Arch to a hotel chain. We have already sold our energy and water companies, all our public housing, our railways and airports. All our automotive brands have gone and all our ships are built abroad and mainly sail under foreign flags. Maybe there’ll always be an England but for sure, we’ll have no democratic control over it. You know what will control it don’t you….yes MONEY. 

Sold! Perhaps her majesty may pass.
For Sale. No parking issues for owners


Still, why should I care today? I am at my own home in France. As far as I can tell, the French resist all attempts to lure them into the total fluidity of globalised moneydom. In my village, you need the local accent to buy a baguette. They tolerate me because I am a cranky old Doris who knows enough local people to be seen in public kissing clinches. 

sun sets over CharenteMaritime


So, I went out with my camera and took some postcard shots of autumn in rural France. Although I’m fairly much in work ethic melt down, I have been writing. Just between us I’m getting to that lovely state with my current book where I’m kinda in love with the hero. This sent me into a frenzy of poetic remembrance of past amours and you’ll soon see the ripe fruit. 

Today was calm and mellow with the river full and reflection rippled. The shots are from the river bank at Taillebourg. This place is truly paradise.


Emma Thinx: Romance is not a love story. It’s a fictional truth. 



The Fatkins Diet

Posted on by
10
Titanic cheese about to strike apple-berg

Ok – I’m a bit of a mug sometimes. I do so want to be nice and kind to everyone….(Well, let’s leave my ex husband’s mother out of this. Actually, once I found I could sweeten her up by sitting her down with a lemon to suck we got on quite well). 

I went to La Foire Aux Vins in my home of Saint Savien. This is a kind of wine tasting hard-sell for people who know far more about wine than me. In addition to wine, there is cheese. Yes Gromit; cheese! Now everyone knows about cheese don’t they. It is that slimming product famous for being the perfect companion to Cognac or a glass of heart saving vin rouge. 

So lovely I could cry….and I do!
O! live live live

The wonderful peasant Fromagesse (don’t worry, I made it up) behind the stall counter placed her revolutionary French guillotine  tool on a block of cheese which looked like it had once been the corner stone of the Roman Empire. First she indicated a possible chunk of about the size of Scotland, but I realised that the Romans had been so terrified of their untethered skirt covered ginger genitals, they actually built a wall to keep them out. 

Little by little she placed her blade on smaller and smaller chunks until it was about the size of The Titanic. I nodded agreement, feeling so mean and unkind that I only wanted such a small sliver. She reminded me that this was genuine cheese made from the milk of magical mountain top cows who would only release the gold of their udders for re-sale to a woman of the finest beauty and taste. Hmm – lucky I showed up! 

I plucked up courage to ask what it was. She drew a deep breath and uttered the magic word “Cantal” and I recoiled in puzzlement, handed over 30 Euros and staggered on clutching my brick of magical mountain cholesterol. Luckily I was able to purchase a decent brandy to accompany it so that the alcohol will wipe out any ill effects. To balance the whole matter I bought a selection of goat, donkey and wild boar sausage. I’m gonna call it the Fatkins diet.

Village des fleurs et du ciel, Utter utter JOY!


Seriously though, my fellow bon viveurs, France is the place for flavour and savour. To convince you of the absolute need you have in your life to come to Saint Savinien Sur Charente I’m posting a few photos today to show you what you are missing. Bon Apetit mes amis.

Old goats still make a stiff sausage


Before I go I must share with you a complaint about the standard of modern spelling and grammar. A fine upstanding gentleman has taken the trouble to ask me on Facebook if I wish to see his very large Denis. Seemingly my new profile picture has interested him enough to dub me as “Senior but Sexy”. He is obviously a very inexperienced young man because ladies of my age know only too well that senior IS sexy. I’m sure that given time, his friend Denis will develop enough shades of grey to play in the senior leagues.

Emma thinx: Take the die out of diet and it’s time for tea.










Pineau Paradise.

Posted on by
Reply

I am so so happy. I am home in France. It was not long before there were friends at the door, Pineau to pour and and invitations to accept.  Don’t these people know that I am an artist and have to WRITE?  Luckily they couldn’t care less because everyone here is an artist in the medium of smiles and humanity. The teenage kids kiss Gilles and I as friends and are respected as friends themselves. Whatever happens, mankind must not forget that we can care about one another. 


Of course, it is Noel and the decorations are lit. French rural life is curious because it exists invisibly in homes and “les foyers”. Streets can have a ghost like quality. We arrived after “La tempête” and the crossing of the Channel was a churning vomitous horror. The night previous to our voyage, the vessel “Le Pont-Aven” had not been able to enter St Malo because of the storm. I guess the crew must have had a terrible experience.  For this reason I will not be writing to Brittany Ferries about the rude and almost confrontational behaviour of one of their car deck marshals. This large young shaven headed character had obviously trained as a night club bouncer. When Gilles did not understand his wild impatient arm gestures, he responded by pointing at his eyes with angry stabs and then at us. Finally we just pulled up behind the car in front and got out. We do not go on these boats looking for aggro with people who are paid to help us! By the sideways nervousness of his comrades I kinda got the idea that they were a bit uncomfortable with this guy. Brittany Ferries – let me say that we pay hundreds of pounds for these crossings. WE are the customers! If any of you guys out there have Trans-Manche Ferry stories I would love to hear from you.



In the meantime here are some shots of St Savinien at Christmas. With respect to the shot below, the box on the right is if you want a delivery. The box on the left is if you you would rather avoid one.

French letters.

Emma thinx:  Peace on Earth? Well, it’s no good looking at me!




Relativity For Ripples

Posted on by
Reply

There are some words in French that just convey how different life is here. The word “Auberge” carries such a quality of  hospitality and warmth. Oscar and I decided to lunch out today at Taillebourg at a restaurant named “L’Auberge des Glycines”. For the Romantic novelist this is the kind of venue where lovers might dine. Earlier in the year I strolled past when the front of the building was ablaze with mauve wisteria. Today rain fell on the river Charente as it swept past. In this mood I think the lovers would be discussing the impossibility of their love. As they talk, the raindrops leave their stamp of ripples on the flowing water – perfect circles, reaching for ever outwards and yet are swept helplessly onwards in the flow of life. These reaching innocent moments of perfection are born to fade into the chaotic power of the river. Maybe our lovers can escape the pull of time?  As I sat sipping my aperitif, these were my sketches anyway. This restaurant is in a beautiful location. The cuisine is absolutely first class. The menu is relatively limited – but believe me, this is no bad thing. It means they know what they are doing and do it well. If you are in the region and fancy a real gourmet treat at a very reasonable price check out “L’Auberge des Glycines” here.

You know those cookery shows where some celebrities get a tin of baked beans, 2 kippers and a cabbage. Their task is to create a gourmet meal whilst celebrity chefs pontificate and mock their efforts. I thought I’d give it a go but without the mocking supercooks.  I had some left over salmon, some Brussel sprouts and some potatoes and a couple of slices of bacon. I also had a rather dried out baguette, garden herbs and some chillis. The result was breaded salmon fish cakes with chilli sauce served with stir fried sprouts with bacon. At Intermarché whole Pacific salmon costs about 6 Euros and the bottle of Bordeaux will cost you 1.43 Euros. It’s obviously not a grand cru but it’s more than acceptable.

One day I’m gonna patent the safety cheese grater. Making my breadcrumbs I managed to remove enough fingerprints from my thumb to keep me out of Scotland Yard’s data base for life.

You can tell I’m back in France because I’m rattling on about love,  food and wine. Well everything else is just dust and existence isn’t it? (Well, there is cycling I suppose).

Emma thinx: Love does not confer rights. But it makes your wrongs delicious.

Passage to Taillebourg

Posted on by
1



There’s something so exciting about discovery. Imagine having the chance to find the source of the Nile or even America. Of course there were Africans and Native Indians who used to wander about such places on their way to work every day. I guess they didn’t know that anyone wanted to know about where they were. Nowadays, in the car at least I have Sat Naff. Huge satellites orbit the Earth some 12,000 miles away and they know where the source of everything is. Nevertheless today I got out my bike and set out to discover my own personal equivalent of the Northwest Passage. My aims were slightly more modest and amounted to finding a route from St Savinien to Taillebourg, not using the normal road. It was almost like stepping back into history as I encountered the little hamlet of Coulogné-Sur-Charente. I only have a couple of full days left here in France before I head back north for the madness of it all in the traffic with my bus. As I sit in the queues and bad tempered road ragers blare horns and shake fists I will re-live my moments of slightly woodsmoked  air and the whizz of my bike as I opened the South East passage of my own little world. If you are looking for a holiday in Europe and you don’t want the tourist trample come to Charente Maritime.


I do wish the Brits would stop belly-aching about Europe. OK – there are problems but all this “We want the trade and the advantages but we don’t want to join in” is getting tedious. I do not want to go on about politics but if you look at the World Atlas you will see Great Britain (The Disunited Kingdom) a few miles to the north of France. That’s where we are guys. Prime minister Cameron is sitting on a very sharp fence that threatens to slice right into his leadership regions. John Major called the anti European faction “The Bastards”. Oddly enough that was more or less what the French called William the Conqueror. 


If you are in France Leclerc supermarkets have some great prices for whole sides of French pork. They are also well priced for Boeuf Bourginon and other casserole beef  cuts. 


Emma thinx: United we stand, but only because there are no seats.



French Leave

Posted on by
1



I wanted you all to be the first to know. I’m going home for the week.The photo is of one of my views. Can you believe it? I just can’t tell you how lovely St. Savinien is. Away from the urban madness I will live properly again. I’m just so lucky. It’s half term in the UK so I’m free from the bus. Gilles works for an Anglo/French company and he’s convinced them that the corporate thrust needs to be applied over there for a few days. Poor old geezer should retire really but I don’t think they do retirement any more. Soon there will be a mass army of unemployed young people who’s only work will be as coffin bearers as all the old folk work themselves to death at all the jobs the young should be learning and taking on. I might write a book about it called “For whom the bell doles”. For the benefit of non natives the word “dole” means unemployment pay. Ooh I’m a cynical old cow.


Quiet day on the bus. At the tower block, intercom mom told me that her lad was “not really up to it today.” I asked if he had been kind to her. “Ee’s been a right little darlin’ Emma,” she said with a genuine smile in her voice. Somewhere in the concrete sky above me was a little warm sense of love. Ah – made me feel quite motherly smotherly. 

Gotta get stuff in the car and calm myself. Much will be forgotten I’m sure. This time tomorrow I’ll be home, gabbling to friends in French, wondering about dinner…..and the possibility of cassoulet du lapin. I love my man and this is the only proof he ever asks. Can a woman deny her man a nice bit of hot furry game?


Emma thinx: Don’t just sit there. – Boo something. Be a fan not a spectator.