A wise man

We've just spent a week with my father in law and he's a lovely man with an amazing history. He's been a monk in a previous life and is a clever wordsmith although not many people know that about him. My poetry isn't a patch on his but here's one about the day we first met...

Waterloo
There’s a man I met in the underground
He bought me a cake and we sat down
We talked at once of nothing and all
He told me his life and I poured the tea

I listened and I saw the boy in his eyes
Talking, singing and laughing
Of sadness, happiness and in between
I wondered about where he'd been

From small beginnings
To decades of travel
His eyes reliving his history
The memories so fresh in his head

While he talked of art and life
I noticed his shiny shoes
And fiddled with the flowers on the table
As I wondered about where he’d been

The sage has lived and loved
A cat of nine lives
Each wave bringing new change
Washing new life over him

From the green hills of Ireland
Back home to London town
Quietly confident
His eyes do his smiling

These days he sits by moonlight
While the rest of the world slumbers
Shaping his words into prose
His years his bible, a mantra

And who could forget that wise face
Put pen to the gifts he knows
His face telling a thousand stories
Like sunlight on the ocean

Entranced, I listened on
He glanced at his watch and stood up
Until the next time he said
And I watched as his hat disappeared onto the train

Earwigging

Weeks have passed already since I excitedly packed up and set sail for a girls weekend in Jersey. I am totally in love with these islands nestled between my new and old homes and try to get there at any given opportunity. Sometimes I find that actually getting out the house and on my way is the hardest part of a holiday; this, as usual was the case but I made it to the port on time. But, this posting isn't about my trip to the isles, that's another story. This, is quite simply a story about ear wigging.

I hadn't realised how much I miss ear wigging until now. I work amongst French people so spend a lot of the time partially deaf, missing out on those little subtle moments in conversation that end in rip roaring laughter, tears or just pure fascination and disbelief. I often don't tune in unless I'm fully concentrating on what's being said and it's kind of isolating and culture starving for a socialite. Anyway, here are a couple of earwiggings from my travels so I thought I'd share them with you.

Acte 1
Waiting to board the boat, I found myself listening to a very well spoken young lady chatting away to two Indian women about Jersey; it's positives and negatives, the over building, the wealth, the lack of green space.
" I was bawn in Jarsay you see, it's dreadfully sad how much it's changed over the years " Said young lady only looked about eighteen so I wondered how much she'd really seen change.

" Such a shame, buildings going up all over the place, ghastly things and no greenery left like before ". To my mind Jersey is full of green spaces.

" Yes, that's right, too many foreigner everywhere, they taking all the job and can't speak very well English " Replied the Indian lady she was talking to.

The trio had moved on to the subject of foreigners. This is where it got a little strange, the girl and two said Indian ladies began complaining profusely about the problem of immigration, the new breed of immigrants in the UK taking all the jobs, not understanding what they say, not showing any respect etc.

What a peculier sign of the times and also a strange chat to have with a total stranger. I couldn't help but wonder how a French person would react if I had sparked up this conversation with them. You are certainly very at home in Britain, do you ever get to call France your home?


Acte 2
As I settled in to upper deck C on the ferry I sipped my ice cold beer ( the first of the holiday treats! ) and thought I'd shut my eyes for a minute or two. A teenaged lad slumped himself down opposite me and a lady and her son opposite him. Almost immediately they fell into conversation with each other.

" You know Provence?" The teenager said.
" Oh yes, I do, we have a very, very large property you know in the South of France. Do you live there? "
" Nah, just been visiting me grandad, he lives there in a big, big house."
"Oh, lovely. And, you er, you went there on your own to see him?"
" Yeah."
Then a minutes silence or two.
" My Grandad, he's minted you see. You know them petrol strimmers? "
"Oh yes, dangerous things. "
" Well, he's got one of them." He blinked and shuffled uncomfortably for a bit then said, " You know them remote control lawnmowers? Well, he's got one of them too."
" Oh right. Does he have a pool? "
" Yeah, you?"
At this point it was clear that child or not, the teenaged boy and the lady had locked horns, engaged in battle. If they were bantam cocks their chests would be fluffed up and ready for action. Even the adult in the conversation couldn't help herself.

" Oh yes, you just have to have one where we live, it's very very hot you see. How big is his?"
" It's above ground "
" Oh, right I see. Ours is a proper pool, a very big pool actually in the ground. "

I almost spat my heineken across the table. Outright war, conversation over, contest in full flow. After a while the conversation faded and they went back to silence. The little boy accompanying her who was the teenagers initial interest was now bored again, kicking his own feet and swinging his legs all over the place.

I was shocked how people are so competitive, so cheesed off they turn their anger on to a complete stranger. Instead, I turned my attention to the gift shop, to some nice looking little watches. But, there's no escaping it, in the background, a generation older, three elderly gents behind me began discussing the last Parish Council meeting.

" You know what Bill? "
" What? "
" If I were you I'd have..."

Enough's enough. No more contests, this ear wigging was starting to drive me nuts. Out to the deck to some "foreigners " smoking and taking in the sea air.

I didn't have a clue what they were on about but they were laughing a lot. For today I think perhaps I prefer it this way...

Green fingers and muddy paws

For two days I couldn't lift my arms above my head without groaning like an old tractor but it was worth it. Six barrow loads later and our little courtyard garden has been transformed into a productive site where raspberries, cucumbers, potatoes, strawberries, lettuces, peas, courgettes, herbs, beetroot, chard, sweetpeas, tomatoes and not forgetting the divine sounding purple queen beans will grow..if all goes according to plan.



It's pretty small chez nous and I'm no professional so we 've had to think carefully about what to do. Although keeping it simple is key, I like a space that calls in all our neighbours, particularly the fluffy, winged or feathered kind to help the garden grow and tweet to their heart's delight. The sounds of these visitors is so soothing and for me that's the sign of a great garden; one which you do absolutely nothing in or equally one that is just as perfect with the echos of laughter and clinking of glasses over summer lunch.

I definitely have a touch of that SAD disease in the long winter months; they seem so full of a dourness that I can't shake and those grey days leave me dreaming of hearty stews in front of a roaring fire and praying for sunlight. A little dramatic I know but with the first sniff of spring my winter coat is shed, my green fingers polished and I'm prepared to muddy my paws, feel the earth and leave an annual imprint on our little outdoor space.



This year I got thinking about how amazing it would be to have a garden that makes a difference, gives more than just relaxation back to you? Helps you eat organically, saves on transporting food round the globe and gives hours of blissful solitary fun. I always thought our garden was too small for any of this but then I discovered Nigel Slater and have been romanced by the idea of having all those ingredients just a step or two from the back door. Even better, Alys Fowler and her fabulous city garden. This bright, quirky new gardening queen has an ingenious way of planting the veggies in with the other garden plants to create a delicious and beautiful haven to sit, relax and eat from all year round. Sprinkle on plenty of vintage glamour and you'd be crazy not to try some of her home grown heaven even in the smallest space. My little sister's even going to try some balcony pots at her new London pad. I love it and think it's such a fun way to grow things.

What's more, it really pays off, the more we've put in, the more visitors we have and it's wierd but it makes you feel so happy to see a couple of birdies watching out for each other, letting one another eat while the other keeps guard, so symbolic somehow. For me, this is the single most magnificent way to unwind and dream of the future so deciding what goes where is crucial as with each year things look brighter and more beautiful than before. So far, the potatoes in the bag are coming through, the tomatoes are sprouting and it'll not be long before my sweetpeas are weaving a magnificent purple web up the bamboo stakes set in place for them. For me this is heaven on a plate.



www.telegraph.co.uk/gardening/gardeningadvice/7422221/Alys-Fowler-new-kid-on-the-block

Five a Day habit...

I'm lucky that my Mother passed my sister and I good skin. That does sound a bit vain I know but I have thin rubbishy traveller hair so that sort of makes up for it. Shamefully enough, at 59 her's is in much better nick than mine. Her generation washed their faces before bed, left a party graciously before midnight and never got drunk. I don't need to tell you how far removed this is from my youth, the reason for my writing this says it all. As it happens, the skin isn't looking too bad with a little help from my friends at Clarins Flash Balm, quite fresh for spring in fact.

However, the weight is a sadder story. I've taken onboard my comments in January and partied hard while everyone else detoxed and it has to be said it was fun, but, many hangovers later I've decided to shape up for summer. Trouble is I've tried Pig to Twig, French women don't get fat, Weightwatchers, Stuffing your face diet, Not Caring Diet and frankly with each one the pounds are piling on. So, in short, I'm confused, totally gaga for losing weight but getting no closer to the goal.

I shall watch Sophie Dahl with interest tonight and see how she pulls it off. In the meantime, a smaller plate a la Liz Hurley, running three times a week and anything to eat in moderation and as long as it's bright and beautiful. I'm going for five a day starting at breakfast, a daily body scrubbing in the shower and cutting down on the bread and pasta. All this washed down with water, water and more water, milk thistle and a washed face before bed. Will it work? No idea, I'll keep you posted.

Double edged denim

Think Shaky, think snaky, skinny, straight or flared. The old blue faithfuls are bigger news than ever before and my fashionista friends tell me that denim wears a new face in 2010 - any which way as long as it's true blue. So, how best to customise one's trendy look for the new decade when carrying a few extra pounds and not having many pounds to be spending?

Answer: Raid Dad's painting shirts? Take out his old chambray fave and make it retro? If you're Kate Moss then yes, Katie Anderson, then no.

Real answer: A much better, safer bet is to visit a good online store and buy a newer, more fashionably shaped version. Or even a little waistcoat at a push.

I've always loved denim anyway, that chic Italian feel of shirt, sunnies and jeans however, the skinny, drainpipy, grungy look is overtaking in the fast lane. All the mags are telling us to customise, rip, cut up, run a cheese grater over...really? Yes, really... applique badges and patches, adorn beads, chains and heavy metal accessories. All this to follow the latest rip roaring Shakin Stevens green door fashion? But, here in the real world, it would probably be much more acceptable to add a pretty brooch, a fabulous pair of platform heels to straights. Maybe, if you dare, take a large pair of scissors and lop the bottom off your shirt. Unless you're incredibly stylish then the cheese grater effect is going to look cheap. I'll settle for applying some skin tight skinny jeans, an expensive slick of lippy and da da! Not sure it's a look that will be lusted after from the catwalks in Milan but it looks alright and I rather like working my vintage chi chi.

Mothers Day

This year for mothers day I decided to treat my Ma to a summer glamour kit; a delicious blood red lipstick by Chanel and a fresh faced bronzer. She's a classic lady so teamed with a crisp white shirt, smart jeans and slip ons, she'll enjoy this for her chic mornings at the French marche.

We had some bad news this week about a friend of ours and it made me stop in my tracks. It seems so wierd we'll never see her again. I couldn't stop thinking about the son she's left behind, how lost he must feel and how thankful I am for the lunch and laughter we had on Sunday... and mum thrashing me at cards. Poetry really isn't my strong point but I got a bit emotional and sketched this out for mothers day.

For the hands that helped me.

In you I see what's been before,
In me of what's to come,
This little rhyme can't say it all,
So much we've said and done.
Nurtured, fed and dressed for life,
You sent me on my way,
To riches rags and back again,
What now? I'd hear you say
You promised to take care of me,
Catch me should I fall,
I pushed the limits time enough,
You invested me your all,
To thank you seems too small a gest,
So what am I to do?
I'll show you that I'm big enough,
To return this love to you.

"Sit "...for god's sake

This is my substitute baby. I will not disclose her name as you'll think she's daft. Anyone who knows my baby will tell you that she likes to lick - a lot. Over the years, our shoes, faces, walls, settees, friends, glasses, fingers and toes have all been licked, a lot. We have learnt to live with our fluffy friend and she us but there are some things about her that we will never understand. Perhaps I should tell you how I came to be mother to this baby of mine.

A few years ago, my future husband and I decided we needed a pet. We probably should have just had kids but never mind about that. We were told about an English lady who had found some abandoned puppies in the French countryside and so went to take a look, on Christmas Eve. To cut a long story short, we took this poor little "Spaniel" home with us and she loved us for ever more. As time went on, the spaniel began to grow, a lot. In fact, the handsome vet speculated, shook his head and said alors, not a spaniel my friends but a St Bernard. Oh shit, double shit and triple shit we said. But we loved her all the same.

If you've ever seen the film Marley and Me, well we're not far behind. Said pet has dragged us through markets, licked small children's faces in public when my back was turned, ripped off collars, flipped and spun shitzus into the air for lunch and drewled and dribbled all over the place. Oh, and not forgetting the time she greeted me at the door with my vintage peep toe poking through her chops.

That aside she is the perfect pet. We can't train her very well, but that's our fault. When we go to bed at night we have to put chairs on the settees so she doesn't sneak on and when we go out we have to leave a light on. This fluffball leaves furballs everywhere and sleeps with her legs in the air. She rules the roost. All this for the undying love she shows you, even when you've been out for just five minutes, or gone to get the post in. It's like she hasn't seen you for years. The best friend you could ever have and probably the most adoring amber teddy bear eyes you have ever seen. We love her back from the bottom of our hearts. She will probably never read this, but in case you do mutt, we love you...and get off the computer.

Oui... for better or worse

In 2008 we tied the knot.

It took us a few months to get over what we'd done - we said "oui" in front of our family and friends in the local Mairie and God only knows what we agreed to. We managed the ceremony well and flooded out into the summer air to Pimms and canapes under the old school house hangar. The Mayor of our small but close knit commune embarked on a little story about how our eyes met over a game of petanque in the village. Under leafy limetrees we drank cider and clacked boules to our hearts content; no jobs, no home and no stress, just a bicycle each and the memory of careers we'd left behind.

Five years on and we have a home. We're still renovating and bit by bit we're making progress, putting every piece back together of our ramshackled stone house where we plan to live with our family for the next few years at least. We work, a lot; businesses and jobs with the added struggle of living away from home, but we stick together like glue.



The Mayor, Gerard, picked me up the morning of the wedding in his vintage turquoise citroen, it was beautiful and he and my Dad wore tidy suits with cut away collars and shades like the blues brothers or rather les brothers bleus, half French, half English. Mum had a tear in her eye in her polka dot outfit, she looked so lovely. We were touched by the way that our friends and family threw themselves at putting up marquees, not the flashy sort, open plan like the ones that you get a cup of tea in at a village fete. I couldn't sleep the night before with worry that our guests would be washed away with the rain. As it happened, everything went like clockwork, an honest and true reflection of our lives together - not perfect but simple and fun. One of my friends said it was the most real wedding she'd ever been to and that meant the world to me. Her husband was amazing, stirring up a team of men to build beautiful bamboo arches adorned with paper roses, an igloo filled with balloons for the children and a play area created from nothing but four straw bales. I was too afraid and stressed on the day to tell everyone in both languages what it all meant to me and I regret it really...I was blown away with how much love people showed us.

To say things haven't always gone smoothly is an understatement, as most young couples we've had our ups and downs and still do from time to time. Sometimes I can occasionally adopt the role of moaning fishwife and my other half, a busy ambitious restaurateur can sometimes regress to the grumpy teenager his mother tells me he once was. Whenever I think I am going to kill him and bury him under the rosemary bush, along with his big messy newfoundland dog, I think back to the summer of 2008 and remember us dancing under the stars with our friends, cutting our stripy candy pink cake and how happy we were to be so grown up and married.

For all our faults, we've decided this year to say I love you with a homemade card- that's all. I'm looking forward to it far more than any other year. No more puffed up rabbit or kitten cards, single roses or weekends away. This is my love song to us, St Valentin - to all the rows, the parties, the hard work and tears. Please keep the stars shining on us, I think we might have made it. x

Jaded Old January

We all know January is supposed to be the month for making big decisions, giving up your vices, starting a diet and making progress at work. For some people it's as extreme as going it alone, handing in your notice and setting out cap in hand to find out what really makes you happy. Of course, January is the perfect time of year to do this when it's cold and damp outside, the account is overdrawn and your jeans are two sizes too small after your Christmas blow out. This year, I have decided it is going to be different.



I recently read a blog about a man in France who thought it was outrageous to give up drinking cocktails in the new year when everything else is so depressing. I have decided to take a leaf out of his mojito and concentrate on having loads of fun. January 2010 for me is about indulgence. I will be paying off the bills but I'm also going to try to be 100% more fashionable, fun and glamourous. I am thinking about taking a trip to Morocco or Italy; somewhere hot and beautiful with a roll top bath and fluffy slippers. On top of that I vow to be a good, kind person always, bite my tongue and strive to remember the important things in life like laughing, feeding and walking the dog and getting cards to the post box in time.



At home, well the same old, same old of winter is rather routine; 7am the alarm sounds, then it's up to stoke the woodburner in my slippers. A few rounds of piping hot tea later and it's doggy out for a wee then five minutes coupling socks before heading off to the office. January is the same wherever you are and while life is dull sometimes, with Spring round the corner there's much to be done.

I'm making the most of dinners in; as extravagant as possible, with a tablecloth and matching plates. I'm busy placing photos in albums, darning clothes with holes and planning how to become thinner, richer and more successful. What's more, this reflective time is short as in few weeks time the snowdrops will be peeping through the lawn followed by everything else coming into bloom.



So, that's January wrapped up for me and it's not looking too bad at all. I have started my new mantra today with an invite to a birthday party where I intend to eat, drink and be as merry as possible. I'm accessorising an old LBD, stepping out in killer hills and most definitely won't be weighing myself until February.

Vintage Clothing treasure hunt

In Britain these days, charity shops are so fabulously stylish that I'm green with envy I don't get to snoop around them all that often. Every high street has at least two and while France doesn't have anything like that, what they do have harbour some amazing treasures.

Saturday afternoons I occasionally meander into Emmaus, a homeless charity. They do house clearances during the week and people drop off unwanted clothes, crockery and furniture to raise money. It must be said you should expect a lot of crud; filthy rugs, night dresses, knackered bits of farming equipment, people fighting over Jonny Halliday records - but amongst all the junk and tattle I always find a jewel in this scruffy old crown. I love to root around second hand shops and have discovered that while a slick of sludgy coloured paint brings furniture back to life, second hand clothes can look fabulous with a little TLC too.

This week, I am over the moon with my purchases, a charcoal grey shift number for office days which looks great with animal print tights and ankle boots and this cracking tweed blazer which is jolly lovely. What's more they fit and next on my list is a seventies puff sleeved dress or jacket to work the denim trend so if anyone knows of any other charity sales I'd love to hear about them.

For now, let's face it, if I can support a local charity, get a vintage shopping fix and still have a few euros left in my purse for a fresh fish supper

" la vie est bien belle ".