Let the children play

One of the features on TV this morning was a recent report which proclaims - wait for it - that it is a 'Good Idea' to let children play freely; as opposed to carting them around from one structured activity or another for the whole of their spare time. One has to wonder how many man hours, brain cells and milions of pounds were needed in order to come up with this world-shattering conclusion and what planet these 'experts' currently inhabit.
When I were a lass... yes, I know that is more than a few months ago, school holidays stretched before us as an endless source of pleasure and delight. OK, maybe there was the odd time when I complained of being bored, but it didn't happen often; of that I am sure.
Keith and I were talking this morning about the sort of things we used to get up to in our holidays and spare time. I recalled my sister and myself giving impromptu concerts to longsuffering parents and neighbours. (I taught myself to play the piano - badly and basically, it's true, but I enjoyed it.)
As we didn't have a car, the garage provided space for our museum, pride of place in which was taken by the stuffed red squirrel donated by a neighbour and I even used to produce a museum magazine. Heaven knows what I found to put in it, but it used to cover three sides of foolscap paper. (No A4 paper size then.) Then there was the allotment. Now I was never a keen gardener but I used to enjoy collecting minibeasts, especially the yellow striped snails, which then ended up in the museum as live exhibits.
When I was about eight, I had a much disapproved of friend, ( always in trouble) who came round to play in the summer holidays. On the first day, we took the hood off my sister's doll's pram and made a swing of it. The problem arose when we fixed it to the clothes line, which then completely collapsed when we tried to sit in it. The following day, my friend, Veronica went up to the bathroom and somehow dropped a glass jar into the wash basin. I did try to pretend that the resulting crack was really an indelible stain but the game was up when water started leaking the next time someone went to use it. After that, Veronica was banned.
Keith, of course, being a boy, went for bolder pursuits, like walking along the top of a hedge (how?) and making an underground den with his friends, in which they lit a fire and attempted to fry bacon and eggs, narrowly missing asphixiation, I'm sure.
These days, he'd probably be taken into care.

Floc Ferme, Coussa

Previously, when we have gone on holiday to France, we have wandered where the fancy took us and stayed in hotels wherever we decided to stop. Hotels in France can be much cheaper than in Britain, although prices are beginning to increase now and bargains are harder to find. This year, however, we came across this lovely spot just on the outskirts of a village called Coussa in the Ariege region of France, not far from the Pyrenees and only fifty miles from Andorra. It is owned and run by Robin, brother of the infamous Yorkshire Pudding, and his partner, Suzie. Check out the link and you can read all the details for yourself. Keith and I rented the smallest of the gites, which, like the others, boasted wonderful views and was very comfortable. Robin and Suzie were very welcoming and friendly and have obviously put in a lot of effort to ensure that guests have a comfortable stay.
Although we shot off over the Pyrenees into Spain one day, even Keith (who has a round bottom - he can't stay in one place for long) was more than content to spend the rest of the week visiting the local areas. We particularly liked the neighbouring towns of Mirepoix and Pamiers and there are are lots of activities available in the area, such as cycling, horse riding and even hang gliding or just walking and taking in the beautiful scenery and the peace and quiet.
Oh, there is a swimming pool too... but that's another story.

Chez nous

Well, we're back home once again. The wind is gusting and the rain falling as I look through the window. Have we really been away, I ask myself. Out of the fortnight of our holiday, most of it in the south west of France, mark you, we had five proper sunny, hot days. Global warming, obviously! French weather is becoming more like British weather and British weather? Who knows where that's going. It makes you wonder if the French will ever become so preoccupied by the weather that it makes an appearance in most of their conversations as it does here.
Bonjour, Jean.
Ah, bonjour, Michel
Ca va?
Oui, mais je n'aime pas ces nuages noirs dans le ciel la-bas.
(Both shake their heads as they ponder the potential significance of said clouds.)
Il va pleuvoir, ca c'est sur.
(With apologies for lack of appropriate accents)
Ah well, I'm off to Chester for a 'ladies who lunch' session.

On the road again

This morning we said good-bye to our wonderful hosts at the gite and set off once more, this time northward. We avoided the motorway as far as possible and drove towards Toulouse and from there to Limoges, where we are now. The weather was like the curate's egg, good in parts, which means that we had a mixture of rain and sun. 'Not like the endlessly hot and sunny days we used to have on holiday in France when we were young," Keith remarked, and he is right. In fact the only holiday we have had together which even approaches that happy scenario was our first, back in September 2003.

Still, we did stop about twenty miles south of Limoges and caught this beautiful view:

Hot!

Today it has been hot, very hot with more hot on top. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because here it's a dry heat, not humid like in the UK, so it's easier to cope with. However, we didn't go very far today even so. Yesterday we chased the mountains that we can see from the gite and travelled several winding, often narrow tracks in our quest to get ever higher. Today, we had a look at the town of Pamiers, having visited Foix yesterday morning and been quietly impressed. It seems such a lovely life, meeting up with friends on the square at one of the bars for coffee. Maybe that's why Keith is talking wistfully
about moving here and setting up the French branch of Keys-Direct, to be known as Cles-Directe and is scrutinising all the estate agencies that we happen to pass, as well as collecting armfuls of catalogues.
Watch this space!

Just popped into Spain

Yesterday, we went to Spain. It’s only a couple of hours from here but we took the scenic route, through the Pyrenees. We set off towards Foix and then left the main road to continue towards Ax les Thermes and the border town of Bourg-Madame, which then becomes the Spanish town of Puigcerda on the other side. Moving from one country to another within the E.U. these days is barely noticeable, apart from a sudden change in language on the signs; blink and you miss it. The scenery, as you will see from the photos, was magnificent, especially as the weather had improved and the sun was shining at last.
We had set our course for Barcelona, although we had no intention of going that far. We were really more interested in seeing the Spanish Pyrenees and a bit of the countryside further on. As it was, we got within forty miles of Barcelona and then headed back.
During our journey, I sent texts to Daughters and Elder Son and got a swift reply from Elder Daughter – “It’s all-right for some!” followed by a lengthier one from Elder Son: “Try and visit the Gugenheim Museum in Bilbao. It was paid for by our taxes, so it’s ours really” which sounded just like something his grandfather would have said and I did wonder if he realised we were only there for a couple of hours and not travelling in the Tardis!
And when we got back to the gite, we had forgotten to buy wine. Apart from that - a perfect day.

Yesterday

Yesterday we were mostly underneath the Range Rover. Well, Keith was. We got in at about 11am, Keith turned the ignition key and...nothing, nada, niente, rien. After a few minutes, he decided that the fuel pump was to blame but on our model, the fuel pump is practically inaccessible. Our kindly host, Robin came over to put his head under the bonnet, quickly followed by the French farmer from next door. It's amazing how much conversation and understanding can ensue from a mixture of French, English and gesticulation. I did try to keep up a running translation for Keith but was ignored by all. I am a wimmin, after all! What do I know about these things?
Anyway, to cut a long story three hours short, it finally transpired that, as Saturday, when we arrived, had been very hot, followed a yesterday which was more like a midwinter day in the antarctic (only a slight exaggeration here!), a vaccuum had been created in the fuel tank, and the diesel pump, which must be faulty to some extent, was not able to pull the fuel from the tank because of the vaccuum. It was solved by the use of an empty water bottle to prime the diesel pump manually.
Today we have been out and about locally and all (touch wood) has been fine.
But there is still no sun and it is still cold.

See, not such a slouch, am I!!