Bread.

How much do you pay for your bread?

Every time I visit my favourite supermarket I grab a couple of Baguettes. Generally I never look at the prices of things I buy, but yesterday I did. My Baguettes cost 39 centimes each, which I think is about 33p in UK money. This does seem remarkably cheap, but I must admit that it's not the best bread in the world.

It's quite a soft Baguette which is perfect for sandwiches, or with paté, and it usually accompanies our lunchtime salads and charcuterie. It serves our purpose well.

They also freeze very well. One always gets cut in half and placed in the freezer, they come out again in perfect condition.

The same type of simple Baguette is over twice the price in a bakery.

 

Boo Boo's Peaches.

This is the Peach tree that I planted on the day that Boo Boo took his first breath of fresh air on 20. 4. 2014. It is HIS tree.

When it decides to fruit, it does so in abundance. 2023 is one such year. The tree is covered in slowly swelling fruits, which should be ripe quite soon.

Our only problem will be trying to eat them all.

Sadly Boo Boo won't be here to enjoy any of them himself. He's just moved from Oz to a small island in Thailand, where my youngest has been building a villa. It is now finished, and rather that let it (which was their original intention), they have decided to live there instead.

As it's only recently been completed, it apparently has teething problems. Some of the plumbing is a bit erratic, and the pool is green. Otherwise they're very happy with it. By the look of it, I think they need a gardener too!

Here are Kellogg, Boo Boo, and the Cherub about to Christen the green water.

Then and Now.

This is my 1996 watercolour of the nearby ruin that I posted just over a week ago.

And this (below) is the same building today. 

It hasn't changed too much since 1996, but more of the roof has fallen in, one of the chimneys is now missing, and the extreme right has become completely covered in Ivy. The wooden structure of the porch has totally disappeared.

It wouldn't take much to bring it back to life. It would make a lovely house again if sympathetically restored. It doesn't have water or electricity, but both are only 50 metres away.

 

The New Address

As advised, I have now screwed our new enamel house number onto our letter box, where it can clearly be seen by anyone who might wish to find us (provided they know our number).

Having previously been reached by our name, and that of our tiny hamlet, we now have both a house number and a street address that should (we are advised) be used at all times.

However, I did notice that on the letter that accompanied the delivery of our new number plaque, that the mayor's office failed to use their own new address, and where the letter had been addressed to us on the envelope, they didn't use our new one either.

I have owned this small house for about 45 of my 50 years residence in France, but I have obviously failed to notice one very important thing. Being number 268, I had failed to notice the other 265 homes further up the road in our tiny 3 house hamlet. Where can they be?

Lord, give me strength. 

 

Three memorable encounters.

When I quit my job in The City in the mid-60's, I took a very poorly paid post as the Manager of a small independent Art Gallery in Devonshire Street, W1. It was called 'The Fine Art Gallery'.

Living in Central London in the mid-60's was a lot of fun. It was a period of great change (Swinging London, etc) and 'celebs' seemed to be everywhere.

At the Gallery itself I met quite a few interesting people, but there were three who were probably more remarkable than all the others put together.

Firstly dear Brian Sewell (above). Brian was a good friend of my boss Nicholas (Miklos Vilag), and he would come to the Gallery quite often. His plumiest of plummy accents was quite extraordinary; he must have worked hard on it for years. He was both comically pompous, and extremely knowledgeable. I rather liked him.

Secondly someone that almost everyone will have heard of; Paul McCartney. Paul was dating Jane Asher at the time, and she lived just around the corner in Harley Street. He would often spend a while in the Gallery before the allotted hour of his 'date'. I did have my photo taken with him, but my idiot boss Nicholas didn't have any film in his camera. What a plonker; I was furious.

Thirdly was probably the most memorable. My friend Camille Honig phoned and said quite simply "Don't leave the Gallery on any account". I was alone at the Gallery when he turned-up a little while later accompanied by Igor Stravinsky. I chatted with him for about ten minutes; firstly in English, then for no apparent reason in French. I don't recall what we spoke about; I was probably too overawed. Nicholas was furious that he'd been out, and hadn't met him.

I later moved to SW3 where I ran my own antiques business. Chelsea in those days was overflowing with celebs (and probably still is), and one thought nothing of it. But I always felt like shouting out loud "Hey everyone, I've met Stravinsky".

Yes, I know this is terrible 'name dropping', but I don't care. When you've met and talked to someone like Stravinsky, you want to shout it from the roof tops.

So, how are things in France Cro?

Well, much as usual, the French just love taking to the streets. Whether the cause be well-founded or trivial the French youth do love a good riot. Any excuse to lob a few bricks at the cops will see these professional arsonists and looters leave their homes and travel to wherever the pickings are thought to be best.

Here they are, performing their favourite Summer evening activities.

Another nail in the urban coffin.

Regular visitors to this page will know that I had a favourite nearby restaurant, that I've been visiting for 50 years; albeit under several different ownerships.

Last year it was run by the lovely Natalie, and we would visit regularly for their totally superb 'Steak and Chips'; the steaks were always wonderfully generous and tender.

Now, sadly, the Hotel/Restaurant is under new ownership, and we hear that Natalie is heading for one of the French Caribbean islands (Reunion I think).

We went on Thursday evening, and I was very interested to see how it would compare to Natalie's tenure (see new menu above).

Oh dear, oh dear. I chose the Magret, and Lady M the Confit, accompanied by (as it states on the menu) chips, rice, or green beans. You can't really go wrong with magret and confit, but where were the chips?

No chips or salad, instead of which we were both offered a small spoonful of mixed insipid boiled vegetables that had no doubt been re-heated in a hot water bath. The whole effect was abysmal. The bottle of local 'Bergerac' was probably the best bit.

They had even changed the name of the hotel. Previously it was always known as the Hotel du Commerce, but now it's the Eden Auberge. And the restaurant itself has become Aux Multiples Saveurs; how pompous is that!

This is not good news. Our small nearby town goes from bad to worse, and I'm afraid that the dumbing-down of the restaurant is almost a final nail in the coffin. We shall certainly NOT be going again. What were they thinking; if anything they should have tried to improve.

We have one more new nearby restaurant to inspect. It's further away, and I'm hoping that the standards will be higher than the AMS. Otherwise, that's it. In future we shall eat at home; a good steak is less than half the price if I prepare it myself.