French vignettes

Truly the middle of nowhere

H comes to pick me up at Toulouse airport. I'd been allowed on the plane notwithstanding some questions and several frantic phone calls from the Swissport guy at the gate to see if someone in my condition could truly fly. And a very pleasant flight indeed. A small airline called Baboo with charming in-flight staff (would I mind terribly if they moved me from the emergency exit - where H's miracle worker secretary had managed to seat me - since - well, I'd not be really much use in the event of an emergency...), and delicious snacks - I could nearly imagine I was at a cocktail party being served canapé's rather than on a low cost airline. The difference? No plastic tray et al. Rather, each part individually served with the staff walking up and down the isle. The benefits immediately obvious - less waste and no annoying tray on your table for the entire flight.

The round trip to our rented parsonage is 5 hours... We literally are in the middle of nowhere. We are so nowhere that there isn't even mobile coverage - not without driving 15 minutes up the road. Heavens knows where the closest wifi spot would be. WEEEFEE c'est qoui? Luckily the kids could stay with the grandparents who were here for a couple of days en-route to their next destination. They'd just been victims of a particularly brutal drive-by mugging - car window smashed in while they were parked at a lay-bye having a snack.

We finally arrived. Not a single light in sight. An old parsonage attached to a church and cemetery dated 1639. The kids are having a ball - R in searching for bugs of which there are a profusion and N in sketching the buildings and graves. After a 2 day search and trying one huge antique key after another, she finally managed to find the right key to the church and we entered its musty spider-webbed depths. Of course this is wonderful for a girl with a surplus in imagination and fantasy. The reality is a little less prosaic - the church was last used for a baptism in 2002, and the local population of 3 houses - ours which is intermittently used by the owner included, doesn't justify its upkeep. Our accommodation inside is about 10 degrees cooler than outdoors. I guess mainly due to the 1/2 metre thick walls, small windows and shutters. And we hear nothing. Really nothing. Well maybe some insects, but no other noises.

'Till the cows come home

In a rural place like this it is not hard to see where old expressions come from. Each morning at almost exactly 8 am the cows leave the neighbouring farm and go out to the fields and at 8 p.m. they come home. The kids find it quite hilarious that they're allowed to be outside playing "until the cows come home"

Fun with French

Shortly after we arrived the local dog stuck his head in to see if anything was to be gained by begging. "Allez, Allez!" shouted H's mum. The dog duly left the kitchen with R running after him saying "Allez, Allez, come here, come here let me pat you"

Do we have to sign up?

Yesterday we had evidence we are bringing up a bunch of heathens. At 7pm the church bells in the village we were visiting started ringing. Questions as to what they were and why. We explained they were calling people to the evening mass. N's question : "how do you go to church, do you have to sign up for it like a course?