I Believe in Mirabelles

Posted on July 21, 2011 by emmacalin

They don’t like it you know – this whole patio thing. It’s not as if I’m setting up a fish and chip shop selling battered oysters and snail fritters. Mind you – if there are any entrepreneurs out there please feel free to have a go. “I suppose you will be leaving…uh…..places for zee plants?” commented a shrugging well wisher. No – it is the avoidance of plants AND WEEDS that je cherche. I do hope to have a vine up the South face of Chateau Calin – but I’m kinda in dread of the well wishing grape harvesters who doubtless will know that the soil is better on the south western slope. When I was in England for my tooth re-build I saw a virgin fertile field on the outskirts of Romsey which was being raped/ bulldozed for several thousand houses. Such an event here would lead to kidnapping of developers and the construction of guillotines. Here people respire, live and die. But the soil BREATHES and is immortal.

A wonderful neighbour has just arrived with a huge bucket full of mirabelles. I tasted some a few days ago for the first time. They are a variety of greengage/plum and are a kinda large cherry size. Gifts of fruit are a currency of affection and acceptance. I feel humbled and doubly ashamed of my Anglo patio. I’ll do a barbecue to make up for things. I mean, what can a romantic novelist do for people?

There’s problems at the beaches of La Palmyre. The naturists (nudists) are shivering. Finally they have given up and are wearing clothes. Now – whatever your religious beliefs, you must accept this as evidence of evolution.

OK – I’m sorry about this cycling stuff. BUT, Thomas Voeckler is still in the yellow jersey of the Tour de France. Today was an historic day in the history of La Grande Boucle. Andy Schleck attacked on a do or die mission. Tommy held on and gave everything he could and still leads by a fragile 15 seconds. He is a hero and a gentleman. I’m proud to be a kinda half Francaise. More candles burning for you tonight Tommy! On vous aime.

Emma thinx: Is a guide dog an aware wolf?

Wet Blanquette

Posted on July 20, 2011 by emmacalin

Too late – what a horrible term it is. To me it conjures up all those official gate closings and back end of bus disappearings that surely punctuate everyone’s life. Here in Charente Maritime it means drought withered sunflowers too far gone to benefit from eventual rain. There is hope that the maize crop can still plump up and perhaps save an extra 10 percent of the expected loss. For certain the rain is not too late to send hordes of campers back home. Camp sites are reporting more departures than arrivals, ice creams and bikinis remain unsold. When I was a happy camper I used to think that rain was an essential part of the holiday. My kids have endless memories of pebble beach picnics wrapped in cagoules and penned in by windbreaks. Wasn’t it wonderful to gaze out on an angry grey sea as flurries of rain swirled in the storm. Then we would all return to our half destroyed tent, slip into damp bedding supported by deflated air-beds. Ahead of us lay a fabulous meal of Cornish pasties with instant mashed potato and a torch lit night of holding down the tent. Go home? Dear oh dear – no wonder we won at Trafalgar.

Poor Gilles took a few days off to construct my patio. Poor lad has to sit indoors watching the Tour de France. Genetically they are just not used to day after day of rain. A French guy who knows I’m English, called out to me this morning – “Hey – this is your weather!” as if I were some kind of meteorological witch. Good job I haven’t got a cat.

OK, I know I shouldn’t keep going on about the Tour de France. However, sport does provide us with so many metaphors and simply demonstrations of truths. Thomas Voeckler is still leading the race. I have just been downstairs to see why Gilles was apparently beside himself with excitement. Now, just to be in the Tour means you are in an elite of the elite. But if you think about all the genetic chances, the number of sperm, the chances of your progenitors meeting at all and the vagaries of the female cycle YOUR CHANCE of being born at all puts you in an elite of the nearly impossible. So, Thomas Voeckler put on the yellow jersey and became it and all that it means. All over the world so many disadvantaged and lost folk under achieve and we just accept it. What would they do in the yellow jersey – whatever race they were in?

Emma thinx: If you have the power- award a yellow jersey. You do have the power.

Ex Patio

Posted on July 19, 2011 by emmacalin

What a day! Look – it’s not that I nag – I just want things to be better for all of us. So we have commenced project patio, that most English of traditions. To a Frenchman the soil is a living entity. To me it is weed bed that has to be controlled. At the side of the house there is an expanse of soil. Gilles can see lines of beans, peas and possibly a few chickens. What we actually see is weeds. Well, he is a busy man and I am saving him trouble in the long run. If you are an ex pat reader of this blog you may be planning similar projects. Many things are better to buy in the UK and many things are best bought in France. Certainly bring your paint from the UK. On the other hand budget kit wheel barrows for 23 Euros M.Bricolage could not be bettered anywhere. We are lucky in having a branch of VM Materiaux near to us at Saintes. I can thoroughly recommend these guys. On a couple of occasions I have been there when Gilles has not been available and exposed my complete lack of building site vocabulary – no not that sort of vocab’! I mean things like – sharp sand, ready mixed concrete and all in ballast and ornamental stone. However, on each occasion I have been treated with kind incomprehension and eventual success. Poor Gilles is no better since he does clever marketing and world manipulation for a living. Luckily half the town of St. Savinien is being dug up and I pocket a few samples of stuff that I see and take it along to show the sales guys at VM. I suspect that the mad Englishwoman on a bike with pockets full of sand and stones is something of comedy. They never let on. By the way the guy who brought all the stuff today was a real pro and a gent.

At least I have been able to help a little and see Gilles shirtless looking muscular and shovel wielding. One of the problems for Romance writers is that in reality business type billionaires are unlikely to have flawless six packs and pulsating pecs. They might work out in the gym whist watching Bloomberg money TV and flicking their little fingers to score another few million, but they’re unlikely to be like some tough kid who digs the roads and carries railway sleepers – not that I look at any of those sort of guys! Perish the thought.

I can’t help but follow the Tour De France. Tommy Voeckler is still in the yellow jersey. He fought and fought today. I’m gonna light a Buddhist candle for him. C’mon – you can do it – for France and for me.

Emma thinx: Try making foundations without sand. Stone your prejudices.

When the Saint Saviniens go Marching In

Posted on July 18, 2011 by emmacalin

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So, it’s Sunday night and the town of Saint Savinien is holding a musical soirée in the church. A gospel group led by Jo Ann Pickens came to sing. Now, I wondered about this. How would this go down in rural France with an ageing population of Catholics. Well, I need not have worried. At least twice the expected number of folks turned up and they rocked – Oh Lordy – even for a Buddhist Trotskyite – they rocked. I hope you have checked out the video clip. The quality isn’t that good but just feel the depth of real soul pleasure that’s going on. So, folks – we have solved war and strife. Just let people see and enjoy each other. How it is that rural France embraces Southern American gospel beats me. They sure don’t have it on the radio. Incidentally may I say what stars all the performers were. The three girls that opened the show were fantastic and the keyboard guy was spot on. Jo Ann Pickens spoke in immaculate French and she just filled the place up with her talent. It was simply a wonderful event.

All of the above leads me to consider three individuals – John Mayer, Cliff Richard and Johnny Hallyday. Now, I suspect that readers – depending where they are – will be asking Who? All of these guys have huge fan bases in their own countries but have never been heard of anywhere else. Now why is this? Clearly some music travels better than others. Johnny Hallyday is hard to describe. He is more French than garlic snails and more rocker than Meatloaf. Perhaps that is a recipe I should try. I think that the virtual generation of lost “book my face” souls won’t appreciate him but he still has a loyal following. If you understand Johnny Hallyday you understand something profound of France. Not even the French know what that something is. But it is profound. It is something of passion, excess, revolution and the soil. Check him out here.

I read the news today – Oh boy! Big trouble at St Rupert’s. The London Police Force has resigned and the Head Boy has recalled all the prefects from their jolly hols for a special meeting. Now, if you wanna know the real inside on the Met Police check out my Romance “Knockout.” I researched this book in bed with a true hot top Interpol cop. Now – how’s that for artistic sacrifice.

Gilles and I have been gardening. He is on a mission- hence my daily thinx.

Emma thinx: Trouble not. Nature will win.

Coming in short pants

Posted on July 17, 2011 by emmacalin

Glancing back through the blogive I notice I rarely write about writing. You will know that stories about novelists bring me out in a rash. The trouble is that writers sit somewhere apart and write…..or think about writing…….or do a review of other writers……or think about something that someone else has written and decide they’re so good that you may as well give up or so bad that maybe you should keep going. Eventually you write something, decide it’s so good that you probably stole it or so bad that you have to scrap it. Book writing is a long process. I do wonder about the ease with which you can just delete the dross. Would I have done the same in those paper and typewriter days? I suspect I thought more before I typed. These days I find myself starting a sentence to see where it goes because if I don’t like the balance or tone I can scrap it……or maybe not!

All this brings me on to the subject of Indie books. Now, I know nothing of literature and for sure I’m not talented enough to create any. I do read many books in this area and I have two impressions. 1) There’s a mob of astonishingly talented story tellers out there. 2) A lot of them just can’t write. But here’s the overview – few writers can write because they’re madly trying to get their story onto the page. A few geniuses were sent by the gods to kick off the whole literature business. And on the seventh day the gods created the EDITOR. If I have reviewed your book you need not worry. If I’ve read your book and haven’t reviewed it It’s probably because you put the same word three times in one sentence, had your heroine’s breath coming in short pants or had Mr Billionairebigboy cleaning his ears with a cotton bud. No single error kills a book but poor grammar and endless dialogue about whether he wants jam or honey on his toast in a 200 page book puffed up to 700 can seriously damage the health. Since few of us have the editor gene it’s something that has to be developed. If you know how to clone them let me know because I could do with one.

Midday and the church bells are ringing. Some things like emergency vehicle sirens, bell ringing patterns and the colour of buses remind me how foreign I am. What does it for you?

Emma thinx: Are you sure you would know the back of your hand?

The Whole Truth

Posted on July 16, 2011 by emmacalin

Sometimes you have no choice. I stood for several minutes at the meat display at Carrefour.There they were- whole rabbits, gourmet rabbits and chopped up rabbits. The whole ones are – well – whole. They look at you with their soft eyes from naked earless heads. I know Gilles will love me if I do this for him. It will be an act of cultural respect, loyalty and prostration. I went for the chopped up (could be anything on legs) budget pack. It’s only a casserole isn’t it.

And now it rains. The forecast promises more rain but it has come too late for the sunflowers. They look to be about half their normal size. What joy they are, turning their ever hoping faces to the sun. They are the flowers that a child would design – like those suns that blaze in the right hand corners of all those fridge door paintings of “my house”. They are impossible gaudy badges of ecstasy even in their impoverished state. Vincent Van Gogh painted them in a transcendent frenzy, often squeezing yellow pigment straight from the tube in an attempt to capture their unequivocal moment of blazing passion. I think he got them for us don’t you.

Many folks will be planning to holiday in France. My little town of St Savinien is part of a big push to attract tourism. Enthusiasm for foreign travel has not reached President Sarkozy. He has advised members of his government to holiday in France. He has also advised them that they may relax but remain on duty. OK – you can be a tourist – as long as you stay at home.

Emma thinx: One seed is enough.

A Strife on the Ocean Wave

Posted on July 15, 2011 by emmacalin

Home – yes home and re-toothed. Another fabulous Breakfast at Brittany’s aboard Le Normandie. The restaurant staff are just a delight of friendliness and efficiency. The trip began badly with hundreds of kids running wild on the ferry. Seemingly several coach loads of them were on their way to see historic battlefields in Normandy in order to civilise and pacify them. Let’s hope it works. Looks like a mountain to climb. At least their keepers didn’t seem bothered if I can judge by their absence. A wonderfully politically incorrect broadcast was pushed out by the ship’s staff.

“Children who are travelling in groups. Go now to your cabins and stay there until you come out for breakfast!” A further broadcast asked the would be pacifist historians to “Respect other passengers.”

It’d been centuries since anyone in England spoke thus to brats. Several of them will live their lives as emotional cripples as their creative externalisation of personality expressed in charging downstairs knocking others aside was thwarted.

As I left the UK the phone hacking frenzy appeared to be spreading to the USA. A comforting note was that British politicians have found someone to blame at last. It is of course the police. Why didn’t the Metropolitan Police take all their officers away from suicide bombers and drug cartels and investigate the newspapers, the editors of which dined as courted mates with the prime minster? That’s one tough question. And who should answer it?

Regular readers- (by the way I love you all) must have begun to think that I am obsessed with baguettes. Once I had offloaded my father’s old desk and the tandem bicycle I went to the local Intermarché. I bought une baguette at the cost of 50 cents and gave the Monsieur a one Euro coin. Now, at the time a family of shoppers had arrived with a new baby and there was a kiss-kiss-hand-shaking fest being held over the counter. Le Monsieur gave me change of 50 cents AND my original one Euro which he kept in his hand and not put in the till. I pointed out his kind error.

“You gave me 2 Euros!” He informed me with a flat dismissive finality.

I hackled and argued back. “Non- You gave me too much change – I did not have any 2 Euro coins.”

A shrug of surly wounded pride accompanied the coin as it was tossed into the till. I had hurt him. I felt ashamed.

Emma thinx: Being right is just as likely to land you in the wrong

Le Grand Crew

Posted on July 14, 2011 by emmacalin

So it is the 14th July and I am in England. The night boat awaits so at least I will be under the French flag before midnight. As it stands this morning a Frenchman – Tommy Voeckler is leading the Tour de France. Please oh please all you other riders – let him stay in the yellow jersey tonight. He won’t win the tour but he is an absolute gent and a courageous rider. He will give every gramme of his soul to fight today as the race goes into the mountains. If there is any justice he will stand on that podium tonight. Already I am filling Rosina’s cottage with sounds of La Marseillaise. My edition is by La Garde Republicaine and has a real shouty urchin vocal by Mireille Matieu. A while ago there was a suggestion that the blood soaked words of the French anthem were watered down and made more PC. I think the sight of the guillotine being erected finished all that nonsense.

And now my special revelation. Anyone travelling on the overnight boat may notice a car with a bike on top – well actually it’s a tandem. Gilles is something of a cyclist and I am something of a woman who rides about on a bike. Have you ever seen bored looking males in Lycra loitering about at the top of hills as you sweep by in your car. Then as you descend the hill you see a beetroot coloured female about a mile behind slogging along in the lowest possible gear. Now I can tell you that just as she arrives exhausted to join her mate, he will give a peeved “OK then!” and shoot off. The tandem is heaven and is such good training for him! The great thing is that we chat all the time. If you wanna test your relationship – get a tandem. I won’t go into the history of the bike here, but it is considerable. The next project for it is a non fiction book called “Le Grand Crew.” Geddit?

Emma thinx: Chain him up – he’ll love it.

Breakfast at Brittany’s

Posted on July 13, 2011 by emmacalin

The garage mechanic/roof tiler/drain unblocker/washing machine fixer/brain surgeon/lawyer/dentist are all descendants of the same gene. You have arranged to see them and you guess you’re just another Joe with a worn ball valve solenoid collapsed pipe spring widget divorce synapse enamel issue. They will have seen it all before. You are boring! And yet every time you encounter such people there is a huge intake of breath accompanied by a shaking of the head. Eventually those fateful words emerge ” Oh dear – dear Oh dear – this isn’t the normal sort of thing – dear me- this is more serious than I thought. Don’t know what we can do about this – dear oh dear- who fitted this brain/pipe/marriage/ widget sprocket/tooth?

Does this sort of thing happen to you? Perhaps I just leave things too long.

So, I arrived in England on the overnight ferry. Sat naff sat with me all the way giving me impeccable instructions in French. My wonderful 1997 Mercedes 250 diesel shrugged off her 264,000 mile history and delivered me to Brittany ferries. I slept and awoke to the gourmet breakfast of smoked salmon, boiled egg, ham and cheese. There is also a choice of all manner of juices and fibres for people who have body temples. I don’t do commercial plugs, but Brittany Ferries posh restaurant breakfast buffets are WONDERFUL. So I drove to Rosina’s place, had coffee and set off for the dentist at the little market town of Romsey. I emerged an hour later a new woman. Dear me – I was a big job. I was pinned and shuttered like concrete gate post by a most meticulous guy called Dr Thomas and his lovely assistant Julie. If you’re in the area and need a tooth job – these are the guys.

Then the desk. I collected it from my old house. England no longer seems like home but sometimes neither does France. Tomorrow is the 14th Juillet – the national day with fireworks and well – fireworks. It is a celebration of the storming of La Bastille (a Paris prison) in 1789. I could join in of course but somehow I’m kinda glad to leave it to those born to it. Elgar’s Nimrod from his Enigma Variations, the peel of church bells and the bark of a dog across the meadows this evening are my home. Sometimes I think of all those frontier guys who set out to make the USA and could never come home or know again those subtle rhythms and aromas of their own place. As I have said before, everything that we are and that we have was paid for by some poor soul.

Emma thinx: Home is where the artful are.

Oh Oh Seven!

Posted on July 12, 2011 by emmacalin

In a few minutes time I will be at the wheel of my 14 year old car and taking the do or die auto route to the coast. Luckily the cruise out of control system still works. I set it at 80 mph and point it North. When I first arrived here I was worried about having a right hand drive UK car. My neighbours shrugged and said “Well – here we drive in the middle of the road, so it doesn’t matter”. I keep the vehicle taxed, insured and tested in the UK. I had hoped that Gilles would be able to come with me but he has to work poor soul. Do you think I feel any disquiet that several French ladies have offered to look after him while I am away? OF COURSE I DO NOT! At least none of them cook rabbit.

Look – I live in France and sometimes I don’t always catch what they say on the radio. I thought I heard that the Beckhams have called their child Harper Seven. The French don’t seem sure how to pronounce it. I must be hearing things.

At last a Buddhist hero. The cyclist Johnny Hoogerland was knocked off his bike by a car driven by journalists in the Tour de France.This bike race has always seemed to me like a bike rally that somehow got caught up in a car race. This poor guy hit a barbed wire fence at 40 mph. When interviewed he said “Well, these things happen – no one meant it to be this way – I feel sorry for the guys who did it because they will feel very bad.” Now – these remarks left me feeling utterly inadequate. He has acceptance, mercy and wisdom. He went off to receive 30 stitches weighed down with absolute respect of millions. I just hope that the ambulance chasing lawyers are careful not to knock him off again.

Remember I advised you to keep an eye on the Steroid-EPO team in the Tour. The cats pounced on a minor mouse today – well, sadly no surprise. Look all you Mr Gogetitnows- what sporting world do you want for your OWN kids? Write to me in confidence. I really want to know.

Emma thinx: What name would your child give to you?