My Dinky Village.

I've not given a guided tour before, so here we go. Perhaps one of the nicest features of my village is the entrance to our church. The interior doesn't see much of me, but I did exhibit some paintings in there once.

This is the church itself; some lovely fat buttresses and carved archways. Otherwise pretty typical of small village medieval churches. No paintings inside sadly.

And here is where once lived the village curé. These days new Catholic priests are as rare as hens teeth, so it now accomodates holiday-makers instead. The land in front of the presbytery is where, each thursday evening in summer, we hold our village 'Marché des Producteurs'; a giant picnic set amongst wonderful food stalls.

If you wish to get married in France, this is where it happens (especially if you live in my village). The Mayor's Office is a very important part of life in France; it's where everything is decided, and where bureaucracy rules.

And this last picture is taken outside the Mayor's Office, looking back up to the church. Under these plane trees is where the village boot sale is held at the beginning of July.

Other than that, our staggering population of 240 live scattered amongst 18.5 square kilometres of perfect unspoilt countryside. That's it.... that's my village. Not much of it, is there!

One egg or two?

My oldest son, Kimbo, is an unashamed gourmet. He likes the best of everything, and never misses an opportunity to try new delights. He discovered these Goose eggs at his local Farmer's Market, and couldn't resist.

One egg covered three pieces of toast, and I understand it was delicious.

When I was a student, I would occasionally turn up at my parents home with a friend in tow. My mother would always fry up a few eggs (it was easy and quick). She would ask 'Four eggs or three?". My friends would reply predictably "Oh, just the three thank you!". Pity she didn't have goose eggs; she could have done just one each.

Energy of the Future; Energy of Now!

My good friends and neighbours, José and his daughter Laurence, have recently gone into the Electricity business (agricultural diversity).

The roofs on both these long old wooden 'séchoirs' (tobacco drying sheds, very similar to the one we own), are now covered with solar panels, and all the electricity produced goes exclusively to the French National Grid (do enlarge the picture to see properly).

I believe it'll be about 15 years before the initial investment is paid off, but after that it's pure profit from the sky.

I know there's some doubt over the pollution caused by the manufacture of such panels, but I'm sure that'll be sorted out before too long.

Isn't this what we should all be doing? We're certainly considering something similar for our séchoir; but for our own domestic use only, not to light up the whole of France. I'd love to watch TV, or run the washing machine, knowing that the electricity came free.

It'd be a big investment, but to be self-sufficient in both electricity and water is no longer a dream; it's available to all of us (yes; at a price).

Suave Harv' & Ollie.

Having one's own children is good enough, but having grandchildren is on another level.

It's confirmation that one's own works were good; and that the human system is a success. The gene pool has been carefully fished, and the correct formula put into action.

These two cool dudes are my London based grandsons; the children of my oldest son Kimbo. They'll be with us in July/August; one of the highlights of my year. Nice boys; Cool shades!

I'm Such A Messy Bugger.

I don't mean to be; but I really am a messy bugger when it comes to painting (and life in general). Actually, on reflection, I think the above looks quite tidy.

I'm meticulously clean, and well organised, when it comes to everything concerning food; even though the kitchen itself looks more like a rag-n-bone man's garden shed (that's about to change). It's the same in the garden, and at Haddock's, where I like everything to be in order; but, to be honest, the weeds, slugs, and insects have the upper hand.

Now with an ever-growing, lolloping, permanently hungry, adolescent dog (4 month old pup') in the house, there are bits of chewed shoes, bones, and sticks, all over the place.

I'm almost at the stage of just giving-in to all the mess, dust, and rubbish.

Did you ever see programmes about barmy old people who live with 20 cats, a dozen dogs, and mountains of urine-soaked newspapers?..... Well I'm seriously considering that as an option.

Gnome Sweet Gnome.

This strange looking object is my 'Gnome'.

I'm an insomniac, and rather than get up at all hours, I prefer to stay in bed until about 5.30am whilst listening to the radio.

My Sky Gnome is linked to my Sky Satellite TV system, and allows me to listen to various favourite radio stations throughout the night. I have about 8 stations programmed in, amongst which are BBC Radios 4 and 7 (now 4extra), World Service, and LBC. The Gnome is wireless, has an 8 hour charge,  and can be used anywhere up to about 30 metres away from its transmitter. It also has an earphone, so that I don't disturb Lady M.

Unfortunately the transmitter (a similar looking box) has suddenly failed on me, and the bloody thing no longer works. Frankly this is a disaster. It's probably an interior fuse that's blown; or worse. I'm undecided whether to take it to a specialist for repair (sounds expensive), or simply buy a whole new caboodle (slightly more expensive).

Amazing how not having radio can really disrupt life; well, mine at least! I've been getting up at 4am!!!

STOP PRESS:  I've decided to go for the 'new' Gnome option; that way I'll have two recievers, and one transmitter..... perfect!..... I've ordered it on-line.

The Bock.

Have you put your Christmas decorations away yet?

Most of ours were put away on 'twelvth night', but, for some reason, our 'Bock' has stayed on my well-organised desk.

Regular readers will know that Lady Magnon is of Swedish extraction. And it seems that if you marry a Swede, you also marry a 'Bock' (a traditional Swedish Crimbo decoration).

Ours is a classic model; about 50 years old, straw made, and, as usual, covered in red ribbon. 'Bock' is Swedish for Goat, and tradition has it that Santa Claus used to ride on a Goat when delivering his presents. Although many other reasons are given for its symbolism.

I think Mr Bock will stay on my desk until Christmas comes round again.

p.s. One of my neighbours has a new Border Collie pup'. His name is also Bock; I wonder why?