I've been unable to post for the past few days as the computer eventually crashed in a definitive manner. I shipped it off to the local IT shop, who kindly wiped the hard drive and reinstalled a load of software I don't want. On the other hand the computer is now working. On the other, other hand, directly I turned it on I got the blue screen of death, so whatever the problem was hasn't necessarily been fixed - possibly it actually is a hardware problem. We'll see.
In the meantime I have been busy honing what passes for my skills as a tiler and general bathroom installer. I've put up the carreaux de platre round the bath and along the wall, tiled the floor and almost all the rest of the room, and all I have to do (a mere nothing) is grout this bathroom - and start all over again on the second one. Oh, and wait until the fittings are installed, and box in the pipes, and tile over the boxed-in pipes, and grout that, and ....... you get the picture I'm sure. My back certainly feels it's been working, and I've got those nice clean tilers' hands (a week immersed in cement, tile adhesive, and grout - it's a very effective exfoliation treatment). However I do quite like the results in the bathroom - I'll post pictures once the grouting is done, probably after Thursday afternoon.
The weather is wonderful - clear skies, light winds, warm sunshine, no rain, lovely sunsets - I couldn't ask for better. And my figs are ripe too - the first I've had off this tree.
I've got as far as the first part of The Guermantes Way - the fifth volume in the Proust edition I have. As some modern authors' first editions are more valuable if you can find one that hasn't been signed by the author, this first (English) edition turns out to have uncut pages. The ones with cut pages are probably more valuable, as few people get around to reading this far into the Recherche du Temps Perdu (my copy has a previous owner's rubber stamp in the back - and so, Mr M.M. Toland - what was YOUR excuse for not reading this book which you bought 84 years ago? But all the same,his name is a curious echo of the character in A Dance to the Music of Time, Powell's frankly more readable attempt at rivalling Marcel)
Tuesday 29 September 2009
Saturday 19 September 2009
not really a blog today
The last few days have been spent working with the tiler and as a result we do now have a bathroom that is finished. "Finished" is a relative term here, as we ran out of some of the tiles (my inability to use a tape-measure) but it's all sufficiently finished for the plumber to install the fittings. Regrettably this won't be until the week after next. We'll finish off the tiling later.
In the meantime I've started work on the upstairs bathrooms, hoping to remember to do things the way our professional showed me. So today it was creative work with "carreaux de platre", and the effect is that the bathroom now looks really rather odd, with mysterious cavities where eventually there will be tiled surfaces. It's a good thing that it's best to wait until the cement dries before trying to put the horizontal slabs on. Because I haven't got any - they are on order at the builders merchant, and should arrive on Monday afternoon.
After months of dry weather the rain has arrived - an impressive thunderstorm last night, and rain on and off today. But it hasn't been a lot of rain - the ground is still quite dry below the surface.
Still reading through Proust (now in the middle of the third book), after a brief digression into Jasper Fforde ("The Fourth Bear"). I found a small link with Ernest Sheperd, another near contemporary of Proust's. Proust mentions disliking being taken "bathing" at the seaside, and mentions the man whose job it was to dip him. From Shepard I knew this simply meant a succession of duckings for the child, firmly held by the bathing man whose job it was to do so, after wading out into the sea, sometimes with a child under each arm. No wonder it wasn't regarded as fun.
In the meantime I've started work on the upstairs bathrooms, hoping to remember to do things the way our professional showed me. So today it was creative work with "carreaux de platre", and the effect is that the bathroom now looks really rather odd, with mysterious cavities where eventually there will be tiled surfaces. It's a good thing that it's best to wait until the cement dries before trying to put the horizontal slabs on. Because I haven't got any - they are on order at the builders merchant, and should arrive on Monday afternoon.
After months of dry weather the rain has arrived - an impressive thunderstorm last night, and rain on and off today. But it hasn't been a lot of rain - the ground is still quite dry below the surface.
Still reading through Proust (now in the middle of the third book), after a brief digression into Jasper Fforde ("The Fourth Bear"). I found a small link with Ernest Sheperd, another near contemporary of Proust's. Proust mentions disliking being taken "bathing" at the seaside, and mentions the man whose job it was to dip him. From Shepard I knew this simply meant a succession of duckings for the child, firmly held by the bathing man whose job it was to do so, after wading out into the sea, sometimes with a child under each arm. No wonder it wasn't regarded as fun.
Tuesday 15 September 2009
still tiling
Our tiler was back today and so we got on with - er - the tiling. No real point in putting up any pictures until it's looking a bit more finished. Right now it's just messy.
I finished both Edgar Wallace and volume 2 of Proust (I wonder how many other people can make that claim?). Bulboro was in the end a bit of a disappointment, though I quite liked the fulsome praise for Mr Harmsworth (Wallace's employer at the time). The book remains something of a puzzle. As far as I have been able to find out it was first published in 1918. But all the internal evidence suggests it was written at some time between maybe 1910 and 1914 - a precarious Liberal government where the loss of a single seat in a by-election could cause the fall of the government. And where the by-election in an industrial town, shortly after a strike by mill workers that is immediately followed by closure of the mill (and the loss of 3000 jobs), is fought solely between the Tories and the "radicals", ie the Liberals who are then in power.
Proust is less of a disappointment - well, you might say it is almost a pleasure. Though I am worried about the nice young man who is telling the story. He seems rather too much attached to his mother, he can't sleep at night without a goodnight kiss from her and goes to any lengths to get one, he has a keen interest in the details of women's clothing, and is said to be "much too good-looking for a boy". I am anxious about what he might grow up to be.
Rain is forecast. There has been virtually none - barring the odd short thunderstorm - since June. But it hasn't arrived yet.
I finished both Edgar Wallace and volume 2 of Proust (I wonder how many other people can make that claim?). Bulboro was in the end a bit of a disappointment, though I quite liked the fulsome praise for Mr Harmsworth (Wallace's employer at the time). The book remains something of a puzzle. As far as I have been able to find out it was first published in 1918. But all the internal evidence suggests it was written at some time between maybe 1910 and 1914 - a precarious Liberal government where the loss of a single seat in a by-election could cause the fall of the government. And where the by-election in an industrial town, shortly after a strike by mill workers that is immediately followed by closure of the mill (and the loss of 3000 jobs), is fought solely between the Tories and the "radicals", ie the Liberals who are then in power.
Proust is less of a disappointment - well, you might say it is almost a pleasure. Though I am worried about the nice young man who is telling the story. He seems rather too much attached to his mother, he can't sleep at night without a goodnight kiss from her and goes to any lengths to get one, he has a keen interest in the details of women's clothing, and is said to be "much too good-looking for a boy". I am anxious about what he might grow up to be.
Rain is forecast. There has been virtually none - barring the odd short thunderstorm - since June. But it hasn't arrived yet.
Monday 14 September 2009
Monday and it's back to work
so it's just like not being retired, in fact.
Our tiler turned up at 8am - just as he had said he would - so I had to get out of bed pretty quickly and go out and say hello. I managed to have a bite of breakfast before starting work with him, putting in the "carreaux de platre" round the bath. As before, he did all the skilful work and I carried the heavy stuff, cleaned the tools, made coffee, etc. What are carreaux de platre you ask? It's a lot easier just to post a picture:
On the left of the bath there will be a flat surface at bath level, with a small cubby-hole underneath at child-accessible level for shampoo, bleach, rat poison, caustic soda etc (just joking). In the left foreground are a couple of the carreaux, which will eventually (tomorrow?) form the tiled surface there. On the right we've left a gap so that there will be access to the taps and drains afterwards. It will have a removable tiled panel there, held in with magnets. We are now making grandiose plans for the extensive use of this newly-discovered material upstairs: tiled surfaces, shelves, boxed-in pipes - just about everywhere, in fact. As I plan to be doing it myself we can possibly expect something a bit rustic.
Here is the hearth, as finally finished. The tile propped against the wall shows what colour the terra-cotta was before the layers of linseed oil went on. And maybe the grout stained it a bit too. The tiler said it was OK. Now all we have to do is get the stove carted back from Sellindge to France and installed here.
The electrician was hard at work all day, and - almost a miracle after such a long time running everything in the barn from a single extension lead - we now have working plug points in two of the rooms, lights in the same rooms, and a power supply to the kitchen too, all of them fused and safe. The rest, he said, will follow fairly soon: he didn't want anything live before fitting lamps, spotlights, sockets in the appropriate places. But as he's now gone off to lay a 200 sq meter heated floor elsewhere, we shan't see him for a while. On the other hand the boss turned up unexpectedly to see how the work was going on - and, I think, to apologise for the heated floor interruption to it all - and we were able to get him to agree to install the cooker hood for us. That was good news.
And Caro went down to the Tresor Public in the local town to pay our income taxes. She said she was the only paying customer there, which was something of a surprise, as tomorrow is the deadline for final payments for the year. The man behind the counter was really charming and helpful. He even wrote out the cheque for her ("it's not often I get a chance to write a cheque this big" he said, but with luck he was joking). Next year it will be monthly instalments, much less painful.
Edgar Wallace's Bulboro is proving to be a better book than I'd thought, not that I've had much time for reading today. I now find myself wondering how this particular copy got where it was: the people selling it clearly spoke very little English. Next time I buy an English-language book here I'll remember to ask. Or more likely, forget.
Our tiler turned up at 8am - just as he had said he would - so I had to get out of bed pretty quickly and go out and say hello. I managed to have a bite of breakfast before starting work with him, putting in the "carreaux de platre" round the bath. As before, he did all the skilful work and I carried the heavy stuff, cleaned the tools, made coffee, etc. What are carreaux de platre you ask? It's a lot easier just to post a picture:
On the left of the bath there will be a flat surface at bath level, with a small cubby-hole underneath at child-accessible level for shampoo, bleach, rat poison, caustic soda etc (just joking). In the left foreground are a couple of the carreaux, which will eventually (tomorrow?) form the tiled surface there. On the right we've left a gap so that there will be access to the taps and drains afterwards. It will have a removable tiled panel there, held in with magnets. We are now making grandiose plans for the extensive use of this newly-discovered material upstairs: tiled surfaces, shelves, boxed-in pipes - just about everywhere, in fact. As I plan to be doing it myself we can possibly expect something a bit rustic.
Here is the hearth, as finally finished. The tile propped against the wall shows what colour the terra-cotta was before the layers of linseed oil went on. And maybe the grout stained it a bit too. The tiler said it was OK. Now all we have to do is get the stove carted back from Sellindge to France and installed here.
The electrician was hard at work all day, and - almost a miracle after such a long time running everything in the barn from a single extension lead - we now have working plug points in two of the rooms, lights in the same rooms, and a power supply to the kitchen too, all of them fused and safe. The rest, he said, will follow fairly soon: he didn't want anything live before fitting lamps, spotlights, sockets in the appropriate places. But as he's now gone off to lay a 200 sq meter heated floor elsewhere, we shan't see him for a while. On the other hand the boss turned up unexpectedly to see how the work was going on - and, I think, to apologise for the heated floor interruption to it all - and we were able to get him to agree to install the cooker hood for us. That was good news.
And Caro went down to the Tresor Public in the local town to pay our income taxes. She said she was the only paying customer there, which was something of a surprise, as tomorrow is the deadline for final payments for the year. The man behind the counter was really charming and helpful. He even wrote out the cheque for her ("it's not often I get a chance to write a cheque this big" he said, but with luck he was joking). Next year it will be monthly instalments, much less painful.
Edgar Wallace's Bulboro is proving to be a better book than I'd thought, not that I've had much time for reading today. I now find myself wondering how this particular copy got where it was: the people selling it clearly spoke very little English. Next time I buy an English-language book here I'll remember to ask. Or more likely, forget.
Sunday 13 September 2009
a day of rest?
Well, Sunday anyway.
We went to Le Trioulou, just down the hill (and up again) where it's there fete Sunday: lots of boot sale people and professional antique dealers. In fact a surprising number as the commune is very small, less than 150 people, but a good hundred or so stalls. But not a lot worth buying! I found myself some books - French translations of Philip Pullman, Larry Niven, and Frank Herbert, and an old Edgar Wallace (in English), first published in 1918, though this is an undated reprint from about ten years later. I couldn't resist the dustjacket:
And the publisher's blurb was pretty good too, if perhaps lacking in confidence about the literary qualities of detective fiction in general:
It's that "deeply interesting" bit I'm waiting for: Wallace has interrupted his close contemporary, Proust (in the middle of volume two, poor old Swann having such a hard time with that girl Odette, she is really no better than she should be). In a book written in the momentous year 1918, it's curious how Wallace fails to mention the first world war at all.
Another surprise at Le Trioulou was to find our joiner (or on this evidence, cabinet-maker) with his home-made "orgue de barbarie", playing punched card tunes for very little by way of cash returns:
Then, lunch served by the commune's volunteers, surprisingly good, with table service, a lot better than standing in a queue for half an hour, particularly as the wine was already on the tables (the water was too, to be fair) when we sat down.
Finally back to the barn to grout the hearth. And it looks OK, maybe better than that, so hopefully a picture tomorrow after a final clean-up.
We went to Le Trioulou, just down the hill (and up again) where it's there fete Sunday: lots of boot sale people and professional antique dealers. In fact a surprising number as the commune is very small, less than 150 people, but a good hundred or so stalls. But not a lot worth buying! I found myself some books - French translations of Philip Pullman, Larry Niven, and Frank Herbert, and an old Edgar Wallace (in English), first published in 1918, though this is an undated reprint from about ten years later. I couldn't resist the dustjacket:
And the publisher's blurb was pretty good too, if perhaps lacking in confidence about the literary qualities of detective fiction in general:
It's that "deeply interesting" bit I'm waiting for: Wallace has interrupted his close contemporary, Proust (in the middle of volume two, poor old Swann having such a hard time with that girl Odette, she is really no better than she should be). In a book written in the momentous year 1918, it's curious how Wallace fails to mention the first world war at all.
Another surprise at Le Trioulou was to find our joiner (or on this evidence, cabinet-maker) with his home-made "orgue de barbarie", playing punched card tunes for very little by way of cash returns:
Then, lunch served by the commune's volunteers, surprisingly good, with table service, a lot better than standing in a queue for half an hour, particularly as the wine was already on the tables (the water was too, to be fair) when we sat down.
Finally back to the barn to grout the hearth. And it looks OK, maybe better than that, so hopefully a picture tomorrow after a final clean-up.
Saturday 12 September 2009
Complementary activities
Today I've been making a hole in one wall, and filling in holes in another wall.
We are in a ridiculous situation with the cooker hood. On the kitchen-fitters advice we bought it, cheaply, on the internet. But since he didn't supply it, he's reluctant to fit it for us. He says the hole through the wall (70cm long) is something he can't do. Our plumber should do it, he says, as plumbers have the required long drills. Our plumber says a long drill won't do for a hole that needs to be 130mm diameter: it needs a special machine, which he can borrow, that cuts, from the outside, using high-pressure water. It's true, he says, that the water will spoil the plasterboard on the kitchen wall when it reaches it, and that, as the hole has to be cut from the outside, he can't do it easily. It's fifteen feet up the wall, and he'll need to find a farmer with a tractor and a forklift fitting, to get him high enough. His special machine has to be fastened to the wall before it can start cutting, and he can't work from a ladder. But we know from prior experience with the balcony that a large tractor won't fit down the lane beside the wall where the hole is to be cut, so it's a special narrow tractor that is needed - does one of our neighbours have one? Oh, and would the kitchen fitter please come back and mark precisely where the hole has to go?
I went up a ladder myself, removed a large stone that was conveniently just where the hole needs to go. True, this took a while as it had to be split up with a cold chisel to get it out. After that the rest of the masonry was only held in place with really soft lime mortar - the kind of stuff the man in the condemned cell needs, if he's to escape using only his fingernails - and I had a hole through and reasonably well supported (the rest of the wall didn't fall down) thanks to the large stone having been in the right place. The stones around it formed enough of an arch-shaped hole to stay in place.
This morning I'd fetched from the builders merchant two 35kg bags of white hydrated lime, which I hope will make a mortar that matches in colour and texture what has been used all round the farmhouse. I made a cement-free (lime and sand only) mortar and had a go at repointing part of the farmhouse wall. It has been attacked by either birds or insects - or more likely both - that have removed the pointing to a depth of five or six inches. The mortar seems to have worked pretty well, and I'll be able to judge the appearance tomorrow when it will be reasonably dry. However I've only done a small area and there is perhaps ten times as much still to do later. Fortunately (and curiously) all the worst areas are within easy reach of the ground. Low flying birds?
I also had a go at mortaring-in the metal frame of our electricity meter box, on the outside wall of the farmhouse. It is fairly agricultural anyway (I mean it is a large and ugly piece of galvanised ironwork) and it was also never very well installed from the start. Then successive electricians, fitting first a new earth, then replacing the meters, and finally putting in the three-phase cable for the barn, have made it a lot worse. It looks a lot more secure now. If I am able to get it completely watertight, I may be able to avoid the colonisation by hornets that seems to take place every other summer - a fine surprise when checking the mains trip switch or reading the meter.
Also put a coat of linseed oil on the balcony (and dripped all over the tiles by the pool, oh dear), and two coats on the hearth tiles. They are now dark and shiny (pictures to follow) and it should be possible to grout them tomorrow.
Leontine came to visit, and said she'd been kept awake by the cows. Yesterday her nephew's veal calves had been sold - they are raised outside in the fields around her house, and ours too, but with their mothers, the right way to do it. But the cows were very upset (Leontine said) and they still had milk, so they lowed all night. As they are all Salers cows, with impressive sharp horns, there's no chance of milking them even if anyone was inclined to try. This seemed rather a "Silence of the Lambs" moment for someone we'd always regarded as inured to agricultural life.
We are in a ridiculous situation with the cooker hood. On the kitchen-fitters advice we bought it, cheaply, on the internet. But since he didn't supply it, he's reluctant to fit it for us. He says the hole through the wall (70cm long) is something he can't do. Our plumber should do it, he says, as plumbers have the required long drills. Our plumber says a long drill won't do for a hole that needs to be 130mm diameter: it needs a special machine, which he can borrow, that cuts, from the outside, using high-pressure water. It's true, he says, that the water will spoil the plasterboard on the kitchen wall when it reaches it, and that, as the hole has to be cut from the outside, he can't do it easily. It's fifteen feet up the wall, and he'll need to find a farmer with a tractor and a forklift fitting, to get him high enough. His special machine has to be fastened to the wall before it can start cutting, and he can't work from a ladder. But we know from prior experience with the balcony that a large tractor won't fit down the lane beside the wall where the hole is to be cut, so it's a special narrow tractor that is needed - does one of our neighbours have one? Oh, and would the kitchen fitter please come back and mark precisely where the hole has to go?
I went up a ladder myself, removed a large stone that was conveniently just where the hole needs to go. True, this took a while as it had to be split up with a cold chisel to get it out. After that the rest of the masonry was only held in place with really soft lime mortar - the kind of stuff the man in the condemned cell needs, if he's to escape using only his fingernails - and I had a hole through and reasonably well supported (the rest of the wall didn't fall down) thanks to the large stone having been in the right place. The stones around it formed enough of an arch-shaped hole to stay in place.
This morning I'd fetched from the builders merchant two 35kg bags of white hydrated lime, which I hope will make a mortar that matches in colour and texture what has been used all round the farmhouse. I made a cement-free (lime and sand only) mortar and had a go at repointing part of the farmhouse wall. It has been attacked by either birds or insects - or more likely both - that have removed the pointing to a depth of five or six inches. The mortar seems to have worked pretty well, and I'll be able to judge the appearance tomorrow when it will be reasonably dry. However I've only done a small area and there is perhaps ten times as much still to do later. Fortunately (and curiously) all the worst areas are within easy reach of the ground. Low flying birds?
I also had a go at mortaring-in the metal frame of our electricity meter box, on the outside wall of the farmhouse. It is fairly agricultural anyway (I mean it is a large and ugly piece of galvanised ironwork) and it was also never very well installed from the start. Then successive electricians, fitting first a new earth, then replacing the meters, and finally putting in the three-phase cable for the barn, have made it a lot worse. It looks a lot more secure now. If I am able to get it completely watertight, I may be able to avoid the colonisation by hornets that seems to take place every other summer - a fine surprise when checking the mains trip switch or reading the meter.
Also put a coat of linseed oil on the balcony (and dripped all over the tiles by the pool, oh dear), and two coats on the hearth tiles. They are now dark and shiny (pictures to follow) and it should be possible to grout them tomorrow.
Leontine came to visit, and said she'd been kept awake by the cows. Yesterday her nephew's veal calves had been sold - they are raised outside in the fields around her house, and ours too, but with their mothers, the right way to do it. But the cows were very upset (Leontine said) and they still had milk, so they lowed all night. As they are all Salers cows, with impressive sharp horns, there's no chance of milking them even if anyone was inclined to try. This seemed rather a "Silence of the Lambs" moment for someone we'd always regarded as inured to agricultural life.
Friday 11 September 2009
Friday and we're still working
Another hot sunny day, and after a trip into town, I've been working on the interior - I laid a hearth of terra-cotta tiles yesterday, and today I treated them with a lot of coats of linseed oil (to seal them) with a view to getting them grouted on Sunday. The last time we worked with similar tiles which we hadn't treated enough, the grout stained the tiles which were still very porous.
The trip into town was to ask at the bank why the money I had transferred to pay my year's French taxes - due next Tuesday - hadn't arrived. An unhelpful man said he had no idea. I asked whether it was being held up so they could do their "money-laundering" checks (a phone call asking me what I intend to spend the money on) - this has happened half a dozen times before. No, he said. But mysteriously the cash arrived in my account later in the day. As it turns out, I wouldn't have been able to pay the tax bill - the Tresor Public is only open Monday to Thursday, so the Republique will have to wait until Monday for my money.
Here are some pictures of the barn interior, complete with builders bric-a-brac and cartons, bathroom fittings, tile cement etc.
The first shows the downstairs entrance, with the shower for people using the pool on the right - the only bathroom tiled so far - and our bedroom door on the left.
The next shows the interior of the bedroom, with the tiler's equipment (and his trousers) waiting for his return after a month's break, hopefully this coming Monday.
The next is a view of the main floor, looking towards the kitchen area (the whole floor is open plan, and we hope it isn't too drafty)
The next shows a view further round to what will be the dining area, and also the hearth that has just been tiled (lots of plastic to protect the floor from cement stains)
Then a view across the balcony: there is no handrail yet but we are hoping that we'll get something fairly soon. It will probably be a bit of rope netting fixed to those temporary builders' posts, but eventually it should be mostly glass.
Finally the upstairs landing. I haven't posted any pictures of the upstairs bedrooms as they are hard to photograph, and they look pretty odd as the eaves slope right down to the floor and none of the walls look as if they are vertical. Stacked along by the rail over the lightwell are tiles and bathroom fittings, which one day, maybe soon, will be in the bathrooms.
The electrician has put in all the switches and plug points, but they are all protected against paint by temporary red plastic covers. The lights and sockets will probably be working early next week: the electrician (Claude) has been getting the distribution board organised today. He expects it all to work first off. I have never seen quite so many wires, but hopefully he does actually know which is which.
The trip into town was to ask at the bank why the money I had transferred to pay my year's French taxes - due next Tuesday - hadn't arrived. An unhelpful man said he had no idea. I asked whether it was being held up so they could do their "money-laundering" checks (a phone call asking me what I intend to spend the money on) - this has happened half a dozen times before. No, he said. But mysteriously the cash arrived in my account later in the day. As it turns out, I wouldn't have been able to pay the tax bill - the Tresor Public is only open Monday to Thursday, so the Republique will have to wait until Monday for my money.
Here are some pictures of the barn interior, complete with builders bric-a-brac and cartons, bathroom fittings, tile cement etc.
The first shows the downstairs entrance, with the shower for people using the pool on the right - the only bathroom tiled so far - and our bedroom door on the left.
The next shows the interior of the bedroom, with the tiler's equipment (and his trousers) waiting for his return after a month's break, hopefully this coming Monday.
The next is a view of the main floor, looking towards the kitchen area (the whole floor is open plan, and we hope it isn't too drafty)
The next shows a view further round to what will be the dining area, and also the hearth that has just been tiled (lots of plastic to protect the floor from cement stains)
Then a view across the balcony: there is no handrail yet but we are hoping that we'll get something fairly soon. It will probably be a bit of rope netting fixed to those temporary builders' posts, but eventually it should be mostly glass.
Finally the upstairs landing. I haven't posted any pictures of the upstairs bedrooms as they are hard to photograph, and they look pretty odd as the eaves slope right down to the floor and none of the walls look as if they are vertical. Stacked along by the rail over the lightwell are tiles and bathroom fittings, which one day, maybe soon, will be in the bathrooms.
The electrician has put in all the switches and plug points, but they are all protected against paint by temporary red plastic covers. The lights and sockets will probably be working early next week: the electrician (Claude) has been getting the distribution board organised today. He expects it all to work first off. I have never seen quite so many wires, but hopefully he does actually know which is which.
Wednesday 9 September 2009
down the Lot
After getting back from the long weekend out west near Bordeaux, we have two friends staying for a couple of days. As it was fine sunny weather, we decided that Mike and I would take the canoe trip down the Lot.
It's out of season now, so the operation is a bit basic - just two employees, both at the base at Vieillevie. The first of these has the job of taking your money and acting reassuring. We asked about the time for the trip back down the 10km run of the river, and he said that with the water level as it is at the end of the summer we could reckon on two hours if we paddled hard, and two and a half if we took it easy. The other employee drove us up to Entraygues in a small minibus, and opened up the canoe base there. He found us life jackets, paddles, and canoes, and told us that we were welcome to have one of the many brand new and unused crash helmets, but nobody else used them. He gave us "un briefing", telling us to take the first cataract, the weir, on the left, the next two on the right, though when we get to "La Pierre Plate" we could if we wished go over the top of the flat stone for a bit of amusement.
There were just the six of us, a young couple, and old couple of bikers, and us 60-year olds. We pushed off first. I was in some doubt about getting through without a ducking, as my one previous trip had had me in the water at the first major cascade. This time, though, we were expecting much less in the way of white water so I felt I ought to be confident. We sailed over the weir, no trouble in doing it but I was surprised at the flow of water there. Then we approached the place where I had had previously gone in, and it was pretty vigorous but we stayed upright and got pretty wet with waves over the bows. We reached the Pierre Plate - we could see the rapids but there was no sign of the stone, so we picked a route and went down the roller-coaster, again just keeping in the canoe. The remaining rapids were all pretty entertaining too, but we stayed onboard all the way down. In between, the scenery was a delight, the water was cool and the sun was hot, the banks of the Lot towered above us with low oak woods all the way up (and a very occasional house lost in the trees), and we either paddled or relaxed and let the stream take us.
We got back to the Viellevie base feeling the journey had been quicker than we'd expected, and had a little trouble beaching the canoe as the current past the landing place was quite strong.
The reassuring young man asked if we'd enjoyed ourselves (we certainly had). He then said that when we had left Vieillevie to go upstream to start the trip, the river had been flowing at 25 cubic meters a second, but that shortly afterwards EDF had turned on the electricity at one of their dams upstream and by the time we got back the river was doing 90 cubic meters a second - a good springtime flow. We'd got back after an hour and a half, as the flow was twice as fast as normal for the time of year. Oh - we said. Maybe that was why we hadn't seen the Pierre Plate - it was under a meter of (fast) water. So we'd had a proper descent in good vigorous conditions, and had a really good time too.
Here are the two navigators enjoying a rest afterwards, in front of a couple of inflatables (must be the easy way?):
and here just me, with a gentle bit of the river behind:
I am sure no future summer visitor will be able to escape a canoe trip with me - it was that much fun. On a two-person canoe there's much less by way of paddling hard to keep up with others who are themselves paddling hard to keep up with you. And it's a great way to see the river and its banks in comfort (if it's warm enough) and with the occasional adrenaline rush thrown in.
It's out of season now, so the operation is a bit basic - just two employees, both at the base at Vieillevie. The first of these has the job of taking your money and acting reassuring. We asked about the time for the trip back down the 10km run of the river, and he said that with the water level as it is at the end of the summer we could reckon on two hours if we paddled hard, and two and a half if we took it easy. The other employee drove us up to Entraygues in a small minibus, and opened up the canoe base there. He found us life jackets, paddles, and canoes, and told us that we were welcome to have one of the many brand new and unused crash helmets, but nobody else used them. He gave us "un briefing", telling us to take the first cataract, the weir, on the left, the next two on the right, though when we get to "La Pierre Plate" we could if we wished go over the top of the flat stone for a bit of amusement.
There were just the six of us, a young couple, and old couple of bikers, and us 60-year olds. We pushed off first. I was in some doubt about getting through without a ducking, as my one previous trip had had me in the water at the first major cascade. This time, though, we were expecting much less in the way of white water so I felt I ought to be confident. We sailed over the weir, no trouble in doing it but I was surprised at the flow of water there. Then we approached the place where I had had previously gone in, and it was pretty vigorous but we stayed upright and got pretty wet with waves over the bows. We reached the Pierre Plate - we could see the rapids but there was no sign of the stone, so we picked a route and went down the roller-coaster, again just keeping in the canoe. The remaining rapids were all pretty entertaining too, but we stayed onboard all the way down. In between, the scenery was a delight, the water was cool and the sun was hot, the banks of the Lot towered above us with low oak woods all the way up (and a very occasional house lost in the trees), and we either paddled or relaxed and let the stream take us.
We got back to the Viellevie base feeling the journey had been quicker than we'd expected, and had a little trouble beaching the canoe as the current past the landing place was quite strong.
The reassuring young man asked if we'd enjoyed ourselves (we certainly had). He then said that when we had left Vieillevie to go upstream to start the trip, the river had been flowing at 25 cubic meters a second, but that shortly afterwards EDF had turned on the electricity at one of their dams upstream and by the time we got back the river was doing 90 cubic meters a second - a good springtime flow. We'd got back after an hour and a half, as the flow was twice as fast as normal for the time of year. Oh - we said. Maybe that was why we hadn't seen the Pierre Plate - it was under a meter of (fast) water. So we'd had a proper descent in good vigorous conditions, and had a really good time too.
Here are the two navigators enjoying a rest afterwards, in front of a couple of inflatables (must be the easy way?):
and here just me, with a gentle bit of the river behind:
I am sure no future summer visitor will be able to escape a canoe trip with me - it was that much fun. On a two-person canoe there's much less by way of paddling hard to keep up with others who are themselves paddling hard to keep up with you. And it's a great way to see the river and its banks in comfort (if it's warm enough) and with the occasional adrenaline rush thrown in.
Saturday 5 September 2009
out for the weekend
Up early this morning and heading west, for Roger's 60th birthday and a visit to Jean.
And still getting on with odd bits of work in the barn, while waiting for the electrician.
On Thursday night we were woken by the sound of horses hooves in the night, and got out of bed to put up the string (thick binder twine) that serves as a gate and sometimes keeps out cattle. It turned out not to be Jean-Pierre's horses, but the Piganiol donkeys instead, who had got everywhere - on top of Jean-Louis P's silo, to his annoyance. I think the main problem is that the donkeys share a field with the cows, so if they start pushing through the electric fence, many litres of milk will follow.
Read an interesting find, Ernest Shepard's "Drawn from Memory", a perfect small book and an example to us all of how to write autobiography - it covers only the author's seventh year (1887). The illustrations are lovely. I'd long known what a crossing sweeper was, but Shepard shows what the swept crossing looked like (in summer). The pictures of the great Whiteley's fire prompted me to sign up in Wikipedia and correct their article. And I've started again on Proust. Last time I became becalmed about four volumes in. We'll see if this time I can manage the lot.
And still getting on with odd bits of work in the barn, while waiting for the electrician.
On Thursday night we were woken by the sound of horses hooves in the night, and got out of bed to put up the string (thick binder twine) that serves as a gate and sometimes keeps out cattle. It turned out not to be Jean-Pierre's horses, but the Piganiol donkeys instead, who had got everywhere - on top of Jean-Louis P's silo, to his annoyance. I think the main problem is that the donkeys share a field with the cows, so if they start pushing through the electric fence, many litres of milk will follow.
Read an interesting find, Ernest Shepard's "Drawn from Memory", a perfect small book and an example to us all of how to write autobiography - it covers only the author's seventh year (1887). The illustrations are lovely. I'd long known what a crossing sweeper was, but Shepard shows what the swept crossing looked like (in summer). The pictures of the great Whiteley's fire prompted me to sign up in Wikipedia and correct their article. And I've started again on Proust. Last time I became becalmed about four volumes in. We'll see if this time I can manage the lot.
Wednesday 2 September 2009
September already
and only four months to Christmas. Will the barn be ready by then? I've no idea...
The electrican came to say that he'd not be starting this week, but next Monday instead. A lively woman came from the other side of Aurillac to measure up for the lino in the upstairs bedrooms, real retro stuff in several alarming shades of yellow, orange, red and blue, but she isn't sure she can get what we want here in France, so she'll also quote for getting a finish on the walls that the Moroccans left a bit rough.
In between times I got a third and final coat of linseed oil on the doors, without scalding either myself or any passer-by, and finished off the glassfibre wallpaper. That was a nasty job so I'm very pleased it's finished.
I'm possibly giving the impression it's been all work and no play lately, so here's a list of what I've been reading in the last three weeks:
Two Niven/Pournelles (Lucifer's Hammer, and the Mote in God's Eye), re-reads, obviously,
Niven's Rainbow Mars - I'd not read this before and I shouldn't have bothered
Two William Boyd's, The New Confessions and Any Human Heart, rather similar in that both are birth to death narratives set in the 20th century - I preferred the second
Griff Rees Jones' Semi Detached (I only later thought of Manfred Man)
Robert Harris' Ghost - hmm, he doesn't think much of Blair, does he?
Floyd V Filson - A New Testament History, very very badly written but fascinating
and a slim book about the J Lyons lithographs
One reason for getting the barn habitable is that it will let me get more books out of cardboard boxes, though quite where they will actually go will depend on how I get on with building the barn-floorboard bookshelves. However, I have marked down for future use (as the front of the computer desk) a large new oak truss, left over from the balcony, just slightly too heavy for me to carry. I'd just better get it inside to dry out a little more - it is supposedly already seasoned.
The electrican came to say that he'd not be starting this week, but next Monday instead. A lively woman came from the other side of Aurillac to measure up for the lino in the upstairs bedrooms, real retro stuff in several alarming shades of yellow, orange, red and blue, but she isn't sure she can get what we want here in France, so she'll also quote for getting a finish on the walls that the Moroccans left a bit rough.
In between times I got a third and final coat of linseed oil on the doors, without scalding either myself or any passer-by, and finished off the glassfibre wallpaper. That was a nasty job so I'm very pleased it's finished.
I'm possibly giving the impression it's been all work and no play lately, so here's a list of what I've been reading in the last three weeks:
Two Niven/Pournelles (Lucifer's Hammer, and the Mote in God's Eye), re-reads, obviously,
Niven's Rainbow Mars - I'd not read this before and I shouldn't have bothered
Two William Boyd's, The New Confessions and Any Human Heart, rather similar in that both are birth to death narratives set in the 20th century - I preferred the second
Griff Rees Jones' Semi Detached (I only later thought of Manfred Man)
Robert Harris' Ghost - hmm, he doesn't think much of Blair, does he?
Floyd V Filson - A New Testament History, very very badly written but fascinating
and a slim book about the J Lyons lithographs
One reason for getting the barn habitable is that it will let me get more books out of cardboard boxes, though quite where they will actually go will depend on how I get on with building the barn-floorboard bookshelves. However, I have marked down for future use (as the front of the computer desk) a large new oak truss, left over from the balcony, just slightly too heavy for me to carry. I'd just better get it inside to dry out a little more - it is supposedly already seasoned.
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