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When we first laid eyes on the sign that stands by our front gates, letting eveyone know what the house is called, we fell in love. ‘Le Chant d’Oiseau’. The Birdsong. Truth be told, we’d fallen in love with it anyway as the car we were being driven in by the immobilier was brought to a halt by mother & baby deer. Just yards from the bumper. Syb & I just stared open-mouthed, then grinned at each other, thinking “we’ll have it…” before we’d even laid eyes on the house. Or the sign.

We had no idea what the place was called before we saw it. We simply knew it was for sale, and roughly where it was. We’d tossed around a few names in the event that it really did turn out to be as good as it sounded, and as it looked on paper.

But, all the names we chose failed miserably when we pulled up outside what is now our home and saw ‘Le Chant d’Oiseau’. A gorgeous wrought iron and metal edifice, locally made and standing sentinel just outside, on the quiet country lane. Perfect.

It’s fitting that our place is so-called, as the bird-life surrounding us, and indeed on-site too is just fantastic! We wake to birdsong, and we drift off to sleep to the sounds of the owls that are as much a part of Le Chant d’Oiseau as the bird-tables we’ve put up everywhere, to ensure a square meal for our feathered friends. The owls have lived in ‘Hibou’ (French for ‘owl’) since anyone that knows Le Chant can remember. We’ve had thrilled guests stand with us, binoculars in hand, glass of wine close by, keeping an eye on the narrow ‘window’ above the gite, waiting for the owls to appear in early spring. They fly out, calling to their young to follow, and we watch enthralled, as the parents teach their young how to hunt in the fields behind us.

Owl flying free

We love to watch the owls hunt in the fields surrounding us.

We often fly to the office (forgive the pun) to pick up one or other of the binoculars there to see what it is that’s causing a commotion in the fields behind us. Sometimes it’s the graceful to & fro of the hen harriers that love the wide-open fields. Other times it’s the gawky herons and egrets, stock-still, patiently waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting morcel. A frog perhaps, or a mouse. Just a couple of weeks before Christmas, we counted 9 herons in the field behind us!

Hen Harrier in the wild

Frequent visitors to Le Chant d'Oiseau are the hen harriers.

Just behind Chardonneret, we often see clouds of goldfinches (Chardonneret is French for ‘goldfinch’) rising from the grasses there, swooping and diving for just a moment before settling once more, en masse. Then they’re off again…

In the spring and early summer the swallows and swifts visit, and try to revisit the old nest that’s still attached to one of the beams in our lounge. It’s been there since 1990, or even earlier, and we just haven’t the heart to remove it! They fly around my head in the office, looking for a likely nesting place. Deciding we’re too busy to accommodate, they fly back out again. Only to be replaced by another prospective home-builder soon after!

We often see (and hear) the woodpeckers in the garden, either on the poplars, or lately, on the hazlenut trees. Green ones normally, but we’ve seen a few huge black woodpeckers. Hoopoes too, with their funny flight pattern and striking ‘hairdo’s’ marking them out for all to see, easy to spot.

Kestrels, buzzards, hobby’s. The fields around Le Chant d’Oiseau are a raptor’s delight! We’re not sure if we’ve seen red kites here too. Possibly, but we need verification!

Rarer sights and sounds are the cranes that we see flying overhead at this time of year. The storks have been known to nest in the forest, in the highest branches, close to Loroux. We’ve had guests that have heard a golden oriole here too, but unfortunately failed to spot it, or them! Nightingales are popular on summer evenings, and we’ve even had to rescue one or two when the’ve become trapped in the sheds, or as on one occasion, on our landing! We sometimes have to rescue babies too, after they fall from their nests and we get the chance to reach them before the cats!

Lucky baby bird

This one lived to fly another day!

Wrens &  finches in the grounds, kingfishers down by the river. Cheeky robins in winter. The birdlife in & around Le Chant d’Oiseau is magnificent. Not just here, but a little to the south, by the Loire. Or close by, at Rillé, the huge man-made lake there has become a popular destination for ‘twitchers’ from all over the world. You don’t have to stray too far though, and the best sights are often the ones you don’t expect. Like a pair of hoopoes feeding their young on a country lane not to far from here. Guests of ours who’re keen birdwatchers all over the world are thrilled to have so much birdlife literally on their doorstep! They’ve stayed here twice now, and are back again this summer for their third visit. Hopefully to improve on the number of species they’ve recorded here – currently 89!

Herons

Patience is a virtue! Hérons in the field behind us.

It’s not just the birdlife that we (and our guests) are enthralled by. There’s usually a deer or two to brighten our days. they’re regular visitors to the fields around us, as you can see…

Deer in the countryside

Local deer, being inquisitive!

Deer grazing.

The owl decided this morcel was just too big....

And this little beauty was worth the long trek across the countryside to get this shot. I ‘blogged about that little adventure here.

Closeup of a baby deer

Mummy's little beauty!

Deer abound, as do wild boar. The boar are usually quite shy and not very often seen by guests. So, it was a great holiday surprise a couple of years back to be able to tell guests about this trio of orphans who’s been taken in by a herd of cows not too far from Le Chant d’Oiseau. Because the cows were naturally inquisitive, the boars came too, when we clicked and called…

Wild boar babies

Boar babies! Adopted by a local herd of cows after mummy was caught by la chasse!

So – Le Chant d’Oiseau, or (as the Cassini map of 1750 states) ‘Les Chants d’Oiseaux’.

Cassini Map c1750

The earliest map we've found showing our house.

Birdsong, Song of the Birds. It kind of rolls off the tongue, and it’s such an easy way to start a romance with France. Just like we did!

Until the next time, au revoir!

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2010

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We get asked this all the time. Mostly from folks that appear to be teetering on the brink of doing exactly what we did – leave the UK. We’re pumped for any info, bled dry of anecdotes and squeezed of every last drop of advice about ‘the French’.

So, just what is it about France, then? What makes two perfectly normal, hard-working parents with decent jobs, nice house and great social scene in the UK swap for a life in the sticks in a country that refuses to drag itself into the 21st century?

Exactly that. For those of us that still cling to the romantic notion that good manners, respect for elders and having the time to chat are still more important than keeping up with the Joneses, France fits the bill perfectly.

Here’s an example. Yesterday was a bugger. Daughter called at early o’clock in a bit of a panic. She’d had a call from their landlord asking them to be out of their house by 3:30pm, as new folks were moving in. Steve, her boyfriend took the call so there was no mistake. They’ve been moving stuff piecemeal for a week, having given notice on the place to move back with us for a while. The 31st was their date, and this worked out fine. All I had to do was create a bathroom from the bombsite that should be a bathroom in Chardonneret! No worries. I work well under pressure.

Then the call!

Could we have Bill (the spaniel, not Bill the grandad, you remember?) for a few hours whilst they got rid of stuff and cleaned through? What actually happened was that everyone was pressed into service, including Sylvain, one of Hannah & Steve’s friends – on his only day off, without so much as a cough! No problem, he wasn’t up to much anyway. It was a long, long day – hard work, lots of shifting of ‘stuff’ from there to here, to Bocé, where Steve’s parents live, and back again. It was mad.

At one point, in SuperU when Hannah’s card refused to work while buying essential cleaning products, the queue just waited patiently, chatting amongst themselves while she tried the cashpoint around the corner to no avail, then again while we called her mum to get the code for her card which I’d found in her purse. The card was out of date, but luckily I found some cash in her purse too. Not enough, but there was no problem calling one of the girls over to take back some stuff. The young guy on the till said it wasn’t a problem, when I apologised for holding everyone up. He wished us both ‘bonne journée’ with a smile, and off we went.

Witness the guy at the dechetterie (dump) who helped us unload the trailer with all the rubbish, with a smile and a bit of friendly banter. No problem, bonne journée, au revoir!

The end of the day came, and as we were shifting the last few bits and pieces from the patio to the gite they now call home for a while, the bell rang on the gate, and our friend Bernard walked in, smiling and carrying a basket of fresh champignons for us, along with a bunch of fresh parsley. He had one of his sons, Nicholas and his grandson with him. Kisses all round, smiles and appreciative noises over the quality of the mushrooms and herbs. Stunning.

Now, a few years ago, back in the UK, I’d have probably visibly sagged at the thought of having to deal with visitors after a day like that, in French too. Not so now, it was a real pleasure to see Bernard and Nicholas, and to have a chat about stuff. A neighbour’s dog, Hannah and Steve, the dole, French private healthcare. A bottle of wine was opened, duly tasted first of all by Bernard, as he’s French and knows about wine, see? Whereas I’m English and know bugger all! But that’s ok. I know my place.

Time for our visitors to leave, after explaining how to prepare the mushrooms, cook and serve them. Bernard shook my hand again as I closed the gates behind him, saying that the next time we pass on our bikes (he’s seen us), we have to stop for a drink! He’s right, it’s been ages since we’ve stopped by, and they really are just fantastic people, he and Mauricette.

Then Steve and Sylvain returned from Saumur – 22kms away, with pizza, french fries (not chips) and ice cream just to say ‘thanks’ to Syb, myself and Sylvain for helping he and Hannah through the day. So, we ate, drank a couple of beers and laughed at the day, in both French & English, around our kitchen table.

It’s strange at times, exasperating lots of the time, but it’s mostly wonderful living here, and if you’d have told me how my life would be in 2009, just a little less than five years ago I’d have laughed at you.

But now I know different. Now I know my place. It’s here. In France. Home.

Champignons & parsley

Until the next time, au revoir!

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

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Each August, a local village celebrates it’s ‘Fete de Plan d’Eau’. There’s all the usual stuff, a vide grenier, a bar, a buvette selling snacks like frites, hot dogs and kebabs and stuff. There are static displays too, like tractors or old farm machinery. It’s all typically French, but this one, Les Loges, is different. The lake is huge. Bigger than the average Plan d’Eau you’ll find on the outskirts of most communes. There’s a campsite attached and there’s a guingette. Like an open air restaurant, the likes of which our daughter & her boyfriend have been trying to convince us to build here! This one does pretty well. Open only during the summer, it attracts the crowds with the promise of dancing to ‘Eddy Morgan’ and his ‘orchestra’ on selected Sunday afternoons. There’s no ‘orchestra’ really, it’s just Eddy, and his disco. Sort of an upmarket Dave Doubledecks! Still, the place is usually full and folks enjoy it.

But, the thing that really makes the fete des Loges stand out, and why it’s really worth a visit is for the annual 2CV races. On the water! Yes, these 2CV’s have been modified for use as motor boats. Veritable speedboats in fact. They can achieve speeds of up to 100km/h! It’s yet another great photo opportunity that we’re too busy to attend, seeing as it’s usually held on one of our busiest summer Sundays. Changeovers are on Saturdays, so the day after we’re still tired, there are still new guests arriving, friends leaving, and all the washing and cleaning to be done. By the end of it all, we’re just too worn out to move far from the fridge! So, as I usually do, I informed guests that this fete was taking place, described how to get there (it’s only 10km or so from us) and they agreed it sounded a fun afternoon out! Off they went, with the promise that they’d take plenty of pics and report back on the event for us!

So, it’s with grateful thanks to Phil (photos), Elaine, Alex (video) & Becky for taking the time and the effort to record all of this for us. Here’s a few images of what you can expect to see next year!

Is it a car? Is it a boat?

Is it a car? Is it a boat?

Definitly a boat......car, no a boat!

Definitely a boat......car, no a boat!

It'll never catch on!

It'll never catch on!

Ever had that 'sinking feeling'?

Ever had that 'sinking feeling'?

Neck & neck! An exciting finish!

Neck & neck! An exciting finish!

I think that next year, we’ll have to make the effort to visit the Fete des Loges at Breille les Pins, it looks like lots of fun on a beautiful summer afternoon in rural France!

Thanks again to one of our lovely guests, Phil, for the loan of the cracking photos.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

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Ferry Rage!

What a fiasco. The first time I boarded an LD Lines ferry from Le Havre to Portsmouth with the laptop in tow, I was excited to be able to use the onboard wifi to contact clients, as well as family whilst on the move. So – I duly presented myself just a few short months ago to the Information Desk on board the Norman Spirit, and asked for the connection key. ” What operating system are you using, sir ? ”  Asked the lady receptionist, to which the answer was of course, Vista. It being a new laptop, and this being the 21st century. “I’m afraid that our network won’t work with Vista, sir, sorry.”  was the reply. Somewhat deflated, I volunteered to drown my sorrows in a couple of pints of Stella instead.

So, the last time I came to cross the most expensive stretch of water in the world, just a few weeks ago, I left the laptop in the car, opting instead for the relative ease of an MP3 player and a good book to pass the time instead. Out of curiosity though, I ventured up to the Information Desk simply to see if they’d rectified a glaringly obvious mistake in not being able to pander to the whims of the majority of the pc owning public. “Yes sir”  was the correct answer. “You can connect now using Vista, do you have your machine with you ?”  Grrrrr ! No, it’s in the bloody car, four decks below because the last time I was on board you told me it wouldn’t work !

Anyway, I’m typing this sat on the floor on the Norman Spirit on my way to angleterre once more to attends a family wedding. Why am I sat on the floor ? Why am I typing this on MS Word, instead of using my WordPress account ? I’ll tell you why. Having been told that there were no plugpoints available where I could charge up my laptop using my french plug, I parted with €8 for an adaptor. Only to walk out of the shop, and turn left to find a french plug socket ! That’s why I’m on the floor, cross-kegged, attracting the curious stares of passengers as they fight for the rear doors in order to fill their lungs with nicotine out on the poop deck !

Why am I typing this on MS Word instead of directly into my ‘blog on WordPress ? Because once again LD Lines have managed to leave me confused and baffled at their inability to provide a basic human right ! Internet access ! Having struggled to connect right there on the Information Desk, I was told with a sigh by the same receptionist that it was “probably down again”.  But, if I paid €7.50, I could go upstairs to the Cotton Club lounge and use their internet computers for free !  Result, except that I really need to use my own laptop, with all my various log-in information and passwords safely stored therein. “OK, no problem, simply unplug the connection from the pc up there and plug into your own laptop, sir!”  was again the correct answer. So, I duly stumped up, donned the little sticker that broadcast to the world (or just the bouncers on the door) that I was a fully paid up member of the ‘Cotton Club’ and away I went.

To tell the receptionist’s colleague that she’d sent me and that I could use my laptop up there, in comfort, and for free.

Except the colleague said “no, it wasn’t possible ! ” but only after ordering a coffee for €1.95 though. I told them that the lady downstairs, who’d just rang them to let them know I was coming up had said that “yes, it WAS possible!”

No, I had to use their own PC’s – there they are look, new and shiny. And Norwegian! Yes, for some bizzare reason, a Louis Dreyfus Armature’s ferry sailing from France to the UK, with a crew of mainly Spanish and Portugese has English 3-pin plugs everywhere, and Norwegian PC’s. Google Norway is the portal to ‘wherever you want to go today’, and the service was so interminably   s         l            o                   w   I’d drunk my coffee before I could even manage to load ‘Twitter’ to tell my Tweetfriends of my imminent landings on UK soil ! Pathetic really. Pathetic in that I really, I mean REALLY wanted to ‘blog live from the boat, and pathetic that we can put men on the moon, find cures for cancer, blast each other to kingdom come with WMD, but we can’t have internet access on an LD Lines ferry.

Come on Mr. Dreyfus – must do better !

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

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Sheila’s been feeling a bit unwell these past few weeks. Not quite herself. So, we arranged a trip to the doctor down in Mouliherne. Arranging a trip anywhere is like a military operation here. The back of the car has to be emptied of the EU shopping bag mountain, and all the car accessories before replacing them with the wheelchair. You see, I’m notorious for forgetting to take a bag into the supermarket when I go in. Well, it’s not that I forget, it’s just that the intention is only to buy one or two things, and carry them back to the car in my arms. But, French supermarkets being what they are, invariably I find I’ve over-stretched my resources, both fiscally and physically, and I need a bag (or three). So, I buy a bag (or three) and add them to the ever increasing pile in the boot! At the last count there were 29 in there! That’s not counting the ones we have dotted around the place – in the gites, in the shower block, in the lofts. We’ve even started giving them away to campers when we get their shopping in for them. “Do you want your bag back?” “Er, no – you keep it. Cadeau!”

Even Bernard now has a collection of our bags as we’ve donated kid’s cast off clothes to his ever increasing family and friends. There’s no ‘stigma’ attached to us giving our cast offs to a friend, rather than throwing them into the bowels of a skip destined for who-knows-where. Bernard’s grateful, as we once were as kids, when a distant relative came to our house with bags full of hardly worn clothes. And we’re happy in the knowledge that we’ve helped someone out. It’s cool.

So, once the boot was emptied and the wheelchair inserted where once had all been bags, it’s then time to get Sheila seated comfortably. She’s not walking too good these days, she’s 77 now, and 78 in a few months, so time’s beginning to take its toll on the old bones. So it’s less of a walk, and more of a studied ‘shuffle’ to the car. I have no idea how she manages to see anything out of the windows as she’s so tiny, she can barely see over the dashboard. Syb’s the same actually. It’s scary. You must have seen these tiny people get into cars, and drive them off, peering through the steering wheel, and then the windscreen? What amazes me more is that when Syb’s been driving, and I follow, is that I physically can’t get into the driving seat. She has the seat at its fullest extent forward, and I at its fullest extent backwards! The wing mirrors remain untouched, which I find bizzare, as I can’t see out of them if I crouch, and scrunch myself into Syb’s driving position! She does alter the rear-view mirror though. So, you have two dwarves driving along country lanes in rural France. Keep a look out for them.

The doctor’s has a few steps outside the bungalow leading into the surgery. So, it’s a bit difficult. The notice on the door says ‘Sans Réservation’ between the hours of 10 & 12, so it’s a given that the doctor will be there. Isn’t it? Ah, but this is France. And rural France to boot. The médécin is elsewhere today. The receptionist took Sheila’s details and promised she’d make a rendezvous for the day after. Then she offered to help Syb with Sheila getting her back down the steps and into the car. She was visibly shocked at the difficulty Sheila had, even with two helpers, negotiating the steps. So, very firmly, she insisted that the doctor would visit Sheila at home instead!

So, the following day, Dr. Annie Petit strolled into the grounds and proceeded to give Sheila a thorough going over. She took around half an hour, wrote out enough prescriptions to fill 29 carrier bags, explained that Sheila was troubled by aches and pains normal to her age and disability, and that it wasn’t too serious. The warmer weather will be arriving soon, and she’ll thrive a little more then!

The chemist happily dispensed various pills, potions and placebos into 29 carrier bags, we handed over the carte vitale and a small sum of cash, and all was well. Sheila’s had a visit this morning from the nurse to take a blood sample, bang on 9am as she said she would be on the ‘phone. That’s now gone off for testing, and the results will be sent here, to us. This is the most bizarre aspect though, as in the UK, the results would go to your GP? We’ll have to ask Annie to come out and explain to us!

Anyway, the costs? Well, for the nurse to visit this morning and take the sample was €10.30. The home visit by the doctor was €44.00, double what it costs for a consultation at the surgery. The 29 carrier bags of pills, potions and placebos came to around €15, after 70% or so had been reimbursed by the state via the carte vitale. The doctor gave us what’s known as a ‘fueille de soin’ to hand in at the CPAM office in Saumur. This details the care given, and the cost. There’ll be 70% or so of that reimbursed too. So, all in all we’re pretty impressed with the state of care over here. This isn’t the first time we’ve had need of the health service here in France, and I doubt it’ll be the last. But, what with so many forums decrying the state of the UK’s health service, and hearing about it on the news etc. I wanted to inject a little dose of reality about the healthcare system as we find it here. I’d say it’s probably different elsewhere in France, the big cities especially, but where we are, it’s a first-class service. Sheila even has a chiropodist make a home visit each six-weeks or so. That’s been going on almost since we arrived in France. marie is lovely, and looks after Sheila really well. Everyone is professional, and so very kind and gentle with Sheila. All she wants now is a bit of sunshine on the old bones. As do we all!

It IS coming – honest!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

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Via an Internet Forum I look in on from time to time, I discovered that today is ‘Earth Day’! Tonight, all over the globe, people will be turning off their electricity for one hour from 8:30.

You can find out more by having a look at the website.

It’s funny, because with all the electrical shenanigans that we’ve had in our time here at Le Chant, due to one thing and another, we must have saved France’s National Grid a bloody fortune! Ok, we’ve messed up a few times by having the dishwasher on at the same time as boiling a kettle, and heaven help us when we have three electrically powered water heaters on at the same time during the day, and we pop home for a cuppa…

It has to be said though, that three generations of owners of Le Chant, all adding their electrical ‘upgrades’ to what is essentially a large country farmhouse now, but was a two-roomed house with a couple of barns, has played havoc with ours (and our guest’s, bless ’em) lives! We decided that we’d bite the bullet and upgrade the three phase system, as some of it was a bit ‘iffy’, after no longer conforming to France’s ever-changing ‘lois’, and because we’d made Le Chant something it hadn’t been in quite a few years – a family home again, with all the needs of a family. Like hairdryers, stereos, tellies in bedrooms, PS1, 2’s and 3’s. All this is a huge drain on the leccy supply to the site, and it wasn’t being used in a rational way. So, quite a few thousand euro later, we had a more streamlined electrical system here, and a better working knowledge of what we can & can’t do with the supply that we have.

France themselves are crap at supplying a reliable supply too. The number of times we’ve been without leccy here because something’s fallen over, or snapped or just plain worn out is silly! The record was 4 days! That was because a huge pylon had fallen over in the forest! Seriously. In fact, it’s the next but one pylon after ours, and it’s situated right next to a lake, and the cables fell into the water! It’s a shame the French don’t go much for fried fish and chips.

So, there’s a good supply of candles on hand here. They’re used regularly throughout the winter too. But, we’ll be breaking a few out at 8:30 tonight to do our little bit for Mother Earth.

I’ll do a ‘live’ ‘blog too, on battery power, with a couple of pics (though it’ll be dark….) and upload ’em when the power comes back on!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

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It’s been cold here. Cold and wet now for as long as we can remember. The only sunshine we seem to have had has been reflected from my homepage via our Moroccan friends, or so it seems. I was chatting to Nelly, the lovely wife of our local boulanger in the village about it this morning, and she was asking if it’s affected bookings. I think it has this year, coming on top of a wet summer. People just don’t seem to have the enthusiasm yet for thinking about their summer holidays. We had a call from a company specialising in isolation a few days ago. Not as in making people feel lonely, no; ‘isolation’ is French for ‘insulation’. The nice lady asked quite a few questions “How old is your house?”, “Do you have double glazing?”, “What is the roof construction?”, “How do you heat the house?” All of these were answered, and then after the last one, the answer to which is “wood”, she asked how many steres of wood we used per year. Now, a stere is a metre cubed of wood. A cord is roughly 3 metres cubed of wood. We’ve used SIX cords this year! When faced with this outrageous example of wasteful Anglais, burning through French wood at the rate of an Amazonian bulldozer on speed, she exclaimed “Oh, la la!” This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this, as I’ve been a fan of ‘Allo, ‘Allo’ for years. It was just funny in the context that it was a real live French lady saying it on the telephone to me. There was a touch of the surreal about it. Anyway, she decided that we needed a visit from one of their salesmen to best advise us how to insulate (isolate) our maison! I’ll let you know how we get on.

Just coming back to the weather thing – we had a cracking few days last week, and one of the comments left in our visitors book was “…if the weather was like this all the time, we’d never go anywhere else!” How nice is that? It’s comments like that from people that we look forward to seeing again that make this worthwhile. Another case happened not 15 minutes ago. I’d happened to mention in passing to one of our caravan storing guests here, that I’d like to make Liam’s room my music room one day. As it stands, it’s in perpetual readiness for the Prodigal One to use as his French Retreat when he gets bored of living the highlife in Manchester, so it’s not going to happen anytime soon. But, as a first rung on the ladder, I received a parcel just now. I don’t get parcels. Well, I do. I got one from my mum once. She sent some custard powder from the UK. It would have been in one of those cardboard ‘tins’, but that was alot of postage, so my mum repackaged the contents of Mr Bird’s finest yellow powder into a small plastic food bag, along with some of Mr Jacob’s finest Orange flavour ‘Club’ biscuits. Needless to say that upon opening the package at this end after the rough passage it’d had from Angleterre, it exploded on my kitchen table! I looked as if I’d been pollenated!

Anyway, because I’d mentioned my ‘yen’ to hang my guitars on the wall here, a very lovely man called Paul has just sent me two of those very professional guitar hooks that you see in guitar shops the world over! Paul, if you’re reading this, you are a saint among men, and I thank you for brightening my day! Look forward to seeing you again soon.

You see, the sun may not always shine here in our part of France, but there are people we know who make our lives a much, much brighter place by their kindness.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

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