Pas de tout mes amis, pas de tout. At the end of Marlene, I resisted the call of Glastonbury Festival... particularly difficult this year as JL was playing with practically everyone except Beyoncé and had offered me a free ticket, PLUS backstage access and a warm bed in the event of bad weather... and sold my soul to Michael O'Leary for safe passage from Leeds to Limoges.
I elected not to hire a car for the week, partly because I didn't want to spend my holiday running round the Limousin like a crazy fool, but mainly because it was fiendishly expensive. Get this:
CAR HIRE, 1 WEEK, SCARBOROUGH: £63
CAR HIRE, 1 WEEK, LIMOGES: £200
So a big THANK YOU to all my friends who variously visited me in St Germain, kidnapped me and fed me, did my laundry and delivered it back to me, chauffeured me to and from the airport and assorted supermarkets and were generally tolerant of my lack of transport and extreme work-related fatigue.
Now onto the fun bit: The Little House is of course less habitable than it was when I bought it. Natch. However, exciting things are happening.
The courtyard wall is not longer in danger of collapsing. The well/breadoven (the more informed among us are plumping for well) has been transformed from a soggy chipboard cupboard into a magnificent arched sentry-box. Unless I can find a handy beefeater hanging around Place de L'Eglise, I'm going to use it for storing wood.
The chimney is no longer giving a creditable impression of a banana on top if my roof, in fact it has temporarily disappeared.
And in order to facilitate the normalising of the chimney situation, an échafaudage has been erected and the road duly closed. I'm so proud. I made that happen. Me. I'm the reason my neighbours can't park their cars round the back. And there's nothing they can do about it. I got permission from the Mairie. In French and everything!
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