The Usual Sausages

I often find myself caught up in ooh la la jokes, I think I start them sometimes without realising the error of my ways. In fact, sometimes I arrive at work with such a catalogue of events on a Monday morning that even they've started calling me La Bridget Jones... At Christmas, I got a little more than I bargained for when I ordered my usual from the butcher however...

On around 20th December I phoned the local Boucher to order our Oie for Christmas lunch. I love goose with all the trimmings and it must be said that his is a mighty fine "wah". Every time I order without fail, he laughs his head off, thinks my pronuciation leaves a lot to be desired. He's probably right. Too many years in voice training at the BBC and I can't quite shake my English accent. Anyway, some people say it's charmant! He looks a bit like a shrunken version of Quentin Tarantino so of course we delight in joking about his latest film, " The Usual Sausages". However, on ordering my Oie, after the usual jokes, Mme suddenly asked me if I was expecting. I have begun to dread this question.

" Er, mais non pas encore " I spluttered.

To my horror, she turned to her husband and shouted in French " She's not pregnant yet darling."

Ew, this was feeling a bit embarrassing and I was getting a little hot under the collar.

" When would you like him to come round and show you how it's done? "

While she was talking I'd decided to have a quick slurp of tea. Needless to say with the outburst of laughter I am still wiping off the spray from the computer desk weeks later.

" Oh, er, non, we're fine merci but I'll let be sure to let you know how we get on".

Not on your nelly! Mon dieu.

And, so she she laughed and repeated my order back to me,

"Donc, that's une Oie!

" Yes, one Wah " I said.

"Oie" she said

" Wah " I said
"
"Oeeeeaaarrrghhhh " she squawked back

" Yes, WAHHHHHHHH " I slightly shouted back.

"Bon, parfait. "

I was just about to sign off when she said " and you'll pop in and pick it up soon? And let me know if you want our assistance"

Jeez, I didn't dare ask for a sausage with that. What with all the Wah wah ing I think the neighbours probably thought we'd confused Christmas with Valentines night already.

So, my fellow ex pat friends, make the most of the not understanding and steer clear of my mistakes or you too may live your life in France like a carry on movie. They were only joking of course but I must admit, I am slightly anxious about visiting the shop now at closing time, just in case I am whisked out the back and artificially mated with one of their prize ganders.

Learning to run again

Is it me or does it get harder to get in shape the older you get? I used to fit in a dog walk, horseride and mucking out before school in my childhood years but now I can barely face the thought of exercise and the waistline is proving it!

So, when I came across Reebok Easytone Running Shoes, imagine my delight.

http://www.littlewoodseurope.com/reebok-easytone-smoothfit-sunsaa-trainers/651286812.prd

A pert backside and thighs without setting foot in a gym. So, off my mind goes wondering whether soon I will be able to squeeze into that Zara jacket that really is way too small even though it's a European size 14..ouch that hurt. Sadly, as a friend reminded me " Losing a few pounds Katie won't halve the size of your back " Hhmmm, good point.




I'll soon be 35 - I can't believe it either and recently someone who stayed in our b and b thought I was my husband's mother. Not good. With a body that feels like a muffin and a face that's well, aged me around 60 - I've gotta do something and quick!

So, anyone tried these amazing running shoes? Did you see the difference? And, more importantly, how long will it take me to look like Kate Moss?...

Babies, babies everywhere

Me and my dear fellow have been considering adding to our family home for a while now. I could at this point go on to say how saddening this can be at times, how I long with cradled arms singing " All by myself " but there really is no point. There will always be someone with a sadder, longer tale than ours and frankly, it's just not that pressing. Some people have started saying, " Ah, right, " but it's ok, we understand.

We, on the other hand are not depressed. We're happy and busy waiting for our shooting star, baby dust or stork visit ( careful with that one the roof might cave in ). We're happy having lie ins and going out at the weekends guilt free.



In the meantime, we know that good things come to those who wait x

Christmas Tree

She's up and we're feeling fine and festive.

Autumn in Paris

Paris je t'aime. I've spent seven years looking for you, dancing on stage for the children of the village dressed as a giant ostrich no less, trying to find a French friend to share a bottle of wine with on a Friday night, mingling with chasseurs guffawing about their measly winter catch, making polite conversation with a Frenchman who thought to explain rugby to me he would just shout louder. Yes, the French love affair has, at times been trying. I wondered whether I could ever feel at home ...that was until I found you gay Paris.

A late Autumn break seemed the perfect time to head to to the city while our restaurant closed for a few weeks rest after a long and busy summer. I've stayed once or twice in Paris for a friend's hen weekend, for my own hen weekend and in between train and eurostar plenty of times too. This time it was different, I had more time to soak up this fabulous place and fall in love with it like a first date.


From our apartment in republique we could see Sacre Coeur, tour montparnasse and beyond, all in a misty wet wintery way but so romantic all the same. A gorgeous man in the cafe next door gave us a free apero and told us about his collection of 2000 shoes! We did the tourist thing and hopped on a tour bus around the sights of this structured but free feeling city. I treated myself to a camel beret and drank kir at teatime with the other thirty somethings on their way home from work. On and off the metro we floated, to the Louvre, Tour Eiffel and on to a tear jerking service in Notre Dame, eating and drinking all the way.


The brasserie Lipp was an amazing find, full of buzz and excitement, waiters frantically toing and froing in floor length pinnies - archetypical of a Parisian bistro. Joking with bags of ooh la la about men who prefer a plump, full breast and those who like a skinny leg - chicken of course but hilarious all the same. I'm all for a bit of cheeky humour and this place filled my veins with France, frenchness and everything I love about this warm and tender place. After dark we headed to the lights of St Germain to young people and bars open til the small hours. We took it all in, I pined over pink lace up brogues in the shop windows and we sadly considered what a shame we can't afford to live here.



Back on the train home and as we edged closer to the countryside a group of local fonctionnaires hopped aboard after clocking off from a day shuffling more papers. They make me feel depressed and remind me about the negative, small minded side of France. Their attitudes are as old fashioned as their moonboots and they glare at us like we are second class citizens. It didn't matter because we know what it is that makes us feel homesick from time to time, the massive differences between us and them. We were pleased to be home all the same to fresh air and our loving mutt. We dreamt merrily of Paris and it's open attitude and felt happy to know we're not etrangers everywhere after all.

Foraging for figs, pears and blackberries

We all love a trip out in the wilds in the Autumn to gather free food. The French regularly hunt for mushrooms, cepes and fruits to adorn their winter tables and there's so much more than your average blackberry in the hedgerows down our way.

My kitchen table has a lovely little pile of sweet pears I plan to transform into a pear and pecan salad over the weekend and the blackberries I've picked up on my usual dog walking route have made a fine addition to my morning yoghurt ( as ever trying to become thin a la Sienna Miller ). I planted strawberries and raspberries at home this year but didn't exactly get a bountiful crop, small but sweet maybe.

All this colourful fruit around takes me back to being small and watching jam tarts, apple and blackberry pies and fruit fools being turned out week after week to our dining table on finest chintz willow. We used to keep pigs in the dining room at one point ready for butchering so the crockery and table were quite a step up!


This year I've received loving baskets of plums from workpals as well as apples and the first bunch of grapes from our vine in four years. I've compote'd, if that's a word, stewed, baked and gobbled up all of these with great gusto and am wondering what I'll do when they're all finished.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all would be the most beautiful fruit of the countryside; finest french figs. I've got used to seeing these buxom fruits dangling from the side of the road over the years but the sight of them never ceases to please me. Big flat leaves with green and riper purple fruits dotted in between.

My pockets are full after my walk, so much so there's no room for the dog lead. So pleased am I with my foraging that my figs have been the staple of my morning porridge and then again for lunch some days with locally cured ham and creamy goats cheese. So pleasing, so pretty and so free! I am no spiritual guru but unloading my pockets onto the kitchen table with these lovely finds makes me feel both happy, naughty and lucky all in one.

Unfortunately the biggest, juiciest ones are always out of reach...

Living the outdoor life

I love last minute plans, they always turn out to be the best fun. Last night, some friends dropped in on their way home from Archachon after a week camping on the coast. Full of excitement and tales of their week away, nursing the burnt bits and shaking the sand from their flip flops with a car packed to the rafters.

A seafood platter later, copious muscadet and a belly full of laughter and we were done. We sat outside until the lights went out in the village listening to the faint hum of musique drifting across from Club Marpen where the last of the summer volunteers restoring the old priory celebrated their final night together. Another summer almost over, already. We huddled around and soaked up the gentle sound of summer, a blanket of stars above us and candlelight to guide us to our beds.
This, for me is summer at it's finest.

Farewell amigos

So it's a sad au revoir to our friends the Newtons who are heading home for their next adventure. This is Hannah bananas, words can't really describe what she means to us all here, but just to say thank you so much for being a wonderful new best friend, I hope it's for keeps.

This is Tim and Betty, we'll miss this double act and her chocolate chops. I'll even miss her screaming Grandma at me as I walk the dog up the lane, thanks Betty I am going to investigate botox.



And these are their fabulous twins Millie and Felix. Quite extraordinary.


This year with them has been as much about us finding our feet as theirs; they came to France to make some big life decisions and we ended up doing the same in the process. Hannah is brave and brought together many different people at her various soirees, childrens parties and cocktail fuelled fancy dress. She's made cakes so fabulous they should be framed and created death defying games for grown ups and kids alike, all the time grinning from ear to ear with that infectious big smile of hers. They've become an extension to everybody's families and we'll miss hearing the children singing from their bedroom windows, the baby shouting, the nappies by the bins and the staggering to and fro under the stars from each others houses, it's been quite unique.

This year, we've talked...a lot mostly about all manner of things, but we've also got blind drunk, danced, laughed, cried, drained the charity shops, collected vintage kitchenalia, cooked, grown veg, foraged, sunbathed, flossed, waxed and generally morphed into one happy bunch when we're together.

We laugh and wonder what will become of little Betty, an adventurer, explorer? She has enjoyed a few great espapes during her time here. Or whether we'll be reading all about Millie the star of the big screen in hello magazine or seeing snaps of Felix as he patents another of his amazing inventions. We'll miss seeing Tim in his full cycling get up and Hannah's big red specs.

We hope all your dreams come true Newts, you're a talented bunch and we love you a lot.

Au revoir xxx

Made in Britain

And only in England do you see such sights. I had to double take to check this wasn't the real white van driver as I came sauntering round the corner with my creamy cappucino. Don't get me wrong I adore France but there's something about Britain that just makes me smile.



This trip led me to Borough Market among other places; to dogs driving vans, Neal's Yard Dairy inviting me to taste a rainbow of British cheeses and the best coffee this side of Italy at Monmouths. Wandering around this rich and amazing place I felt sad I never saw how wonderful Britain was before now. Thriving with business, we love making money and making light of the serious stuff around us. Yes, us Brits have a lust for life that no one else quite tops. From the Fat Delicatessan in Balham where we sipped Prosecco and nibbled juicy olives with fig cake to bacon butties at the side of the road, anything goes.



Part of my travels led me West to the patchwork quilt of my childhood made up of soft local diallects, rolling hills, quaint pubs and a traditional English wedding with fairy cakes and spotted bunting. And, oh what giggles in the West Country, a land where people laugh their socks off, hells angels let you stroke their beards down the pub and an afternoon turns into an evening over a cider.

All this just two hours from the city but a far cry from the capital with her shops so big your head spins. So alas, it was from fine dining to singing round the piano with old school chums and side splitting school girl jokes about domestic fowl...You'd have to grow up in the middle of nowhere to understand why when asked what eggs we'd like at breakfast in the hotel we'd reply, " Do you have any horse eggs? " and fall about laughing with the staff. Oh yes, a rip roaring load of fun with friends, family and complete strangers.

So, more about those other adventures later but for now this is a confession, a crush, a spilling the beans on my passionate affair with my homeland. What a diverse and wonderful place you are old blighty, just had to get that off my chest.

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