Book review of Where Do We Go From Here by Nick Alexander

Where Do We Go From Here by Nick Alexander

Where Do We Go From Here by Nick Alexander

When all seems lost, can she find herself again?

For years, Wendy has put others first. A loving wife, mother and nurse, she has never taken time for herself. But now with her children flying the nest, she decides, alone, to rent a little house in a forgotten corner of the French Alps where she can try and answer the question: what next?

But when she arrives, Wendy starts to regret her decision. This retreat suddenly looks so very different from the dream. As she walks the hill paths alone, thoughts of her family leave her with a pang in her chest.

With no one else to care for, Wendy is suddenly forced to confront something she’s tried her best to hide: the real reason her family is falling apart. Is she strong enough to face it alone?

Then, just when she thinks she’s hit rock bottom, she discovers that help can come from the most unlikely places: a newfound friendship giving her the strength to start again. Wendy always thought she knew how her story would end but she’s learning that this is only the beginning.

An absolutely heartbreaking and uplifting story about love, loss, unlikely friendships and finding strength you never knew you had. Perfect for fans of Mike Gayle, Amanda Prowse and Matt Haig. 

My review

Wow, I have to admit that it has been a while since I read a Nick Alexander book and although they have never disappointed, this one turned out to be a much more powerful  read than I was expecting.

To begin with I felt sorry for Wendy, acclimatising to time alone in her mountain cabin, in the wilds of the Alps, just above Nice, although I enjoyed the memories the views of her vistas gave me of our holidays in the area. As her story was revealed, I felt hurt and angry for her, at the traumas she witnessed as a nurse in England during the pandemic and her family’s seemingly lack of understanding at what she experienced. Then things took a darker, more difficult twist. I don’t think this is a spoiler, but I do feel there should be a trigger warning for alcohol issues in the description of this book, meaning that at times it wasn’t an easy read.

Where Do We Go From Here by Nick Alexander

Wendy wasn’t always an easy character to like, but there was an ever-present optimism in my head that she would find the signs she was hoping for, and in doing so “find herself”. The people she met in France, or those from her past who she tried to reconnect with, all had interesting stories to throw into the mix of emotions that this book stirred within me. It was a page-turner, but not how I imagined it would be. 

If you are looking for something a bit grittier and more grown-up than cosy, and that is guaranteed to make you think, then add this book to your kindle today.

Purchase links

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Amazon link 

Book link 

 

Author Bio  

Nick Alexander is a bestselling British Author of nineteen novels. He has sold more than two million copies of his books to date. His works have been translated into nine different languages and he has had bestsellers in France, Germany and Norway.

Nick lives in a sleepy village in the southern French Alps with his partner, three cats and a mischief of screechy magpies that the cats just love to hate.

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Where Do We Go From Here by Nick Alexander

Advent Day Nineteen, Troussepinète

White Troussepinète Château de Javarzay

Advent Day Nineteen

We had a panicked moment this morning that saw us scuttling off to the shops, worried we hadn’t done enough Christmas shopping. It isn’t unusual for me to find myself in a December funk where the whole prospect of Christmas feels overwhelming, however getting out on the bike and keeping preparations low-key normally helps. Yesterday, I admitted to feeling better for having cycled twenty-six kilometres, following a week of no cycling that had left me angsty. Well, guess what – I also slept much better last night too, in fact I almost didn’t wake up early enough to get the head start on the chores like I’d planned.

 

I know they say you should never judge a book by its cover, or choose a bottle of wine for its label, but in the run-up to Christmas, I’m a sucker for a marketing gimmick. As soon as I saw this local aperitif, in a bottle with my the Château de Javarzay on the label, I knew I had to buy it, but what is Troussepinète?

 

Troussepinète

Thought to date from the 19^th century, troussepinète it is a wine-based aperitif drink that was commonly made in the Poitou region of France, although how exactly it came about remains a mystery. It is made by macerating young shoots from the blackthorn (épines noires), picked by hand in springtime, with sugar and white or red wine, and sometimes Cognac or eau-de-vie, but this very much depends on which area you buy it from. The blackthorn is a type of wild plum, and the drink has a fruity/almondy aroma to it. At 14% it has slightly less alcohol than the Pineau des Charentes (17.5%) which is usually our local aperitif of choice. Pineau is made by combining unfermented grape juice, or must, with Cognac that is then aged in oak barrels for around eighteen months to give a rich and flavoursome drink. It too can be made with red or white grapes.

Red Troussepinète Château de Javarzay

 

As well as every method and recipe being slightly different, I’ve also discovered there are many ways to spell troussepinète too. I’ve seen troussepinète, trouspinètte, troussepinètte and any other combination of single and/or double s’s or t’s. I’m sticking to two s’s and one t, as that is what is on my Château de Javarzay label. I won’t be opening my bottle tonight, but I will look forward to enjoying it over Christmas. 

Cheers. 

The last smile - an update on life

Dad, on his last visit to France, 2014

This blog has been neglected and I’m sorry. Looking back, I see my last Life in France post was 7^thAugust, sharing a day out in Poitiers on the bikes. Summer was in full swing, with endless days of sunshine, heatwaves and drought. Life was busy and cycling was mainly just my commute to the Château, although we did our best to enjoy days out, when we were lucky enough for our days off work to coincide. 

 

As anyone whose family spans more than one country will know, when life in the other ‘home’ throws a curved ball, catching it can feel a bit like juggling two lives in two locations. Fast forward to 7^thSeptember and Ed and I were in the departure lounge at La Rochelle airport, awaiting my first flight in almost six years. Our faces were glued to the window watching in disbelief as the rain poured down outside and pooled ominously on the tarmac. The plane we were hoping to board was circling above in an attempt to avoid the eye of the storm.

 

My head was already full of questions, would the rain ease, would the plane land and would we get to the UK, just added to them, and the sense of foreboding that arrives when you realise life is about to change forever. We were traveling for the saddest of reasons, hoping we’d make it back to be with my Dad before he died. The change in weather certainly reflected my troubled mood.

Stormy sky La Rochelle, 7th September 2022

 

After almost an hour and a half, Flight Radar showed a change in the plane’s overhead track, and it stopped circling, to head south. A little bit of me accepted that if this was it changing course for Bordeaux, the outgoing flight would be cancelled and we wouldn’t be going anywhere, except back home. However, the universe hadn’t given up on us, or Dad, and as the skies cleared a little, the pilot tried once more and this time, landed successfully. As we boarded, we messaged Adrian’s Mum who was waiting for us at Stansted, ready to drive us back to Mum and Dad’s. We were on our way.

 

Despite the predictions form the hospice district nurse, who was just one of a superb team visiting daily, Dad was not only still fighting when we arrived, but also when we left four days later. The time for real conversations had passed, but he was certainly aware that Ed and I were there, and I’ll never forget the cheeky grin I got from him as I said my final goodbye. A week later, on 17^th September, Dad died, in the house that has been the family home for almost fifty years. 

Dad, 1939-2022

 

We come into this life vulnerable, helpless and needing only that those around us love us and keep us comfortable, clean and calm. When age and illness conspire and a body slowly begins to shut down, we come full circle. No matter who we are, where we come from or what we have achieved, all that is important at the end is that we have those we love around us keeping us comfortable, clean and calm.

 

In years to come, people will ask where you were and what you were doing when the news broke that Queen Elizabeth II had died. My memories will be more poignant than most as I was sitting by Dad’s bedside, holding his hand, and watching his slow breathing. It was an odd feeling grieving for a personal loss as the country was joined in mourning for the Queen.

 

Chateau de Javarzay museum 

As I took time to come to terms with losing Dad, the seasons changed from summer to autumn. Overnight, the weather changed too, and October arrived in a swirl of heavy drizzle and gusty winds. It is now the 7^th October, the tourist season is almost over at the Château, and this Sunday will be my last day welcoming visitors and sharing our superb museum experience with them. In short, there have been so many recent changes, my mind has struggled to keep up, the words I want to write lost like the sun behind an autumn morning mist.

 

Thankfully, some things never change and life in the village provides plenty of distractions. With Ed and Pearl visiting last weekend we all went down to the village library for the dictée or afternoon of French dictation. This is always a crowd pleaser (I’m not joking) and we squeezed onto a table together, our pens poised over a new page. This was Ed and Pearl’s first dictée since college, seven years ago, and they were the youngest there by decades, but they entered into it with enthusiasm and a competitive edge too. While it was obvious that I would be the one with the most errors, even I couldn’t help laughing at the hilarity my written French caused Ed (in particular) and Pearl. My problem, they have diagnosed, is that my English ears just don’t hear the difference between the spoken vowels or the silent ‘s’ that everyone else seems to hear, however having just turned fifty-one, I’m not sure there is much I can do to change that now.

 

C’est la vie ! 

Winter warmers

Wrapped up warm on a winter bike ride

I’m with Ovo

If I mention UK news headlines this week and the phrases ‘embarrassing’, ‘poorly judged and unhelpful’, you might think I’d be referring to Boris’s ‘bring your own booze’ garden party, but you’d be wrong. The less said about that clown the better.

 

Ovo Energy, a UK based energy supplier, have also been in the news for a ‘keeping warm without upping your heating’ blog post, that they have now withdrawn. Their novel ideas included, putting on another jumper, eating porridge, doing the housework, hugging a pet or hula hooping with your kids. Well, no shit sherlock, this isn’t news - my wise old Dad said pretty much the same thing forty years ago, whenever I complained my bedroom was too cold. It was either “put another jumper on”, or “get outside and rake up some leaves, that will warm you up”.

 

Obviously, as a teenager I wasn’t interested in listening and I certainly wasn’t interested in moving my body to create heat. Back then I was much more into reading and complaining than exercising. Moving to a large, draughty house with a cantankerous old boiler, combined with the reality that France did get cold in the winter, meant I soon remembered Dad’s words and learned how to keep warm. If we heated our house to a constant 20º, not only would it cost many more thousands of euros than we have, but with only two of us floating around, mainly using one or two rooms at a time, it would be ever so wasteful. I don’t do wasteful. Most of what Ovo wrote in their blog, I’ve been practicing and writing about for many winters.

Hug a pet - Mini turns 14

 

Layer like an onion 

I am never to be found without a vest from October to May, and for most of the really cold months, I’ll wear a vest under a thermal long-sleeved vest and any number of additional layers on top, all carefully tucked in. Exciting editions to our wardrobe this season include fleecy lined walking trousers, from sports chain Decathlon, ideal for those extreme randonées with a wind chill well into the -ºc’s. Obviously, with Mini having celebrated her fourteenth birthday this week (that’s about 103 in equivalent years), if it’s that cold outside, we won’t be out walking, but these new buys have ensured we’ve kept warm indoors. Combined with the thermal socks (from Decathlon again) tucked into my fur-lined boot/slippers, my toes are toasty and I’ve no need for any E.On Energy socks – another UK news oops this weekend (it must be the week for it).

Winter vegetable soup

 

Porridge and soup 

I have been writing a regular five-hundred-word article for The Deux-Sèvres Monthly, a local English language magazine, for ten years now and looking back in my archives to January 2013, I was singing the praises of what I called ‘porridge and soup’ season.

 

“Winter has arrived, the days are short, the trees are bare and the temperatures have plummeted, but am I down? Well sometimes, I have to admit, yes, I am. It is at this time of year that my thoughts turn to comfort food. Gone are the vibrant coloured salads of summer that cheered up my plates with home grown delights but have no fear for we have arrived at what I call ‘porridge and soup’ season.”

 

Winter food should be different from summer food, that is the beauty of eating seasonally. The vegetables available now are perfect for thick soups made with homemade pork broth and warming curry spices, that put a fire in my belly all afternoon. Porridge oats are another favourite for us and I’m sure anyone who grew up in 1980’s Britain must remember the Ready Brek (finely milled porridge oat cereal) advert? Who didn’t want a warm orange glow around them as they walked to school on a cold and frosty morning?

Trying out my Hula Hoop for the first time in 2020

 

Hula hooping

In March 2020, just before you-know-what hit us, my Deux-Sèvres Monthly article was all about ‘hoop and soup’.

“Always happy to find a healthy distraction from the mundane monotony of life, I’ve got a new exercise obsession. Thanks to a couple of nutty friends, I am now the proud owner of a hefty hula hoop, and when I say hefty, I mean 1.2kg of weighty hoop that massages you (think thumps) as it rolls around. Once you have mastered the moves and get past the awkward stage where you look like you’ve stuck your fingers in a plug socket, it’s a really fun way to exercise.” 

Ovo are right, it's also a great way of keeping warm and I often use it as a pre-yoga warm up over winter. Our other top tip for keeping warm is to get out on the bikes. Even if I get home with cold, red cheeks and nose, the rest of me is nice and warm whatever the temperature outside, and the colours on crisp winter sunset bike rides are a tonic for the mind as well as the body.

 

If there is one thing I could have told my younger self, it would be ‘to be more active’, so I’m with Ovo and agree with what they were saying, even if they maybe could have phrased things better. Another positive of these ideas is Susie Kelly’s Best Foot Forward, one of the first books I read and reviewed on the blog and her story of a long-distance walk from La Rochelle to Geneva, inspired by the need to move to keep warm during cold French winters. To think this book wouldn’t have existed if she’d just turned up her heating, is quite sad.

A chilly morning view from the orchard

 

Temperatures have been below 0ºc these last few days, with crisp clear nights, heavy frosts and sunny days, but I’d much rather this than warmer, wetter weather.  

Fit into 50

Cycling the Cognac vineyards

It’s the little things

I know many of you have only ‘met’ me through my words here, but it is fair to say that at 155cm (5ft 2) and 47 kgs (seven and a half stone), ‘little’ sums me up quite nicely, so as I celebrate my fiftieth birthday, I thought a list of 50 little things I am thankful for would be a good idea, and something I can look back on in the years to come.

 

I started making the list and after the first ten, my ideas slowed down, until I stumbled on the word courage. I don’t generally think of myself as a brave person. I can’t sleep during a thunderstorm (unlike Adrian) and if it’s forecast to bring strong gale force winds with it, I’m a wreck. However, it soon became apparent that most of the little things I’m thankful for have occurred because I’ve had the courage to step out of my comfort zone and choose a different, and often difficult path. 

 

Long before we moved to France as a family, I’d had the courage to realise the relationship I’d been in for seven years wasn’t one that was going make either of us happy in the long run. The easy option would have been to stay and see what happened, the brave one was what I chose, to go my separate way and risk everything on a feeling that my friend Adrian could offer me happiness. A year later we were married.

 

It was another brave move to leave the UK and our family behind, when Ed was only three years old, and start again in France, where we knew no one and only had a basic grasp of the language. With Adrian working away a lot of the time, I had to be brave and take myself out of the house, creating a life for me outside of being wife and mother. Stepping out of my comfort zone and saying yes to new things opened so many doors and took courage I didn’t realise I had. In our first few years in France, as well as helping out at Ed’s school, I’d become involved in the village monthly magazine, even though the meetings with rapid fire French were incomprehensible to begin with. Then I agreed to help out at the village library, which ultimately, many years later, led to me getting paid to work at the Chef-Boutonne library on two maternity replacement contracts. Becoming known in the village also led to me being asked to stand for election onto the local council, and get elected in 2014, for a six-year term, that if Brexit hadn’t have happened, might well have been extended for another six years.

 

Starting a blog about our life here in France and putting everything out there for anyone in the world to read, took courage (or madness), but again it is something positive that has given me so much. Not only has it led to new experiences that have boosted my confidence, like writing for a monthly magazine, but it’s also helped me to connect with some lovely people, from every continent. 

 

Before and after cycling became my thing

Having the courage to get on my first ever drop handle-bar road bike, aged thirty-nine (and three quarters), was terrifying, but ultimately led to a love of cycling and cycle touring, so that I now can’t imagine not owning a bike. I might never have natural grace or balance on a bike, but that doesn’t stop me turning the pedals and following on behind Adrian, whether we are cycling into town, touring around France or climbing mountains in the Pyrenees. The fact that I’ve also managed to encourage others to use their bikes is something I’m really proud of.

 

The French word for ‘courage’ is courage, but the French for ‘good luck’ is bon courage, which I think is actually pretty accurate. I’ve been so lucky in so many ways; to marry a good man, for our family to live a fantastic life in France and to have the health and fitness to cycle over 100km in a day, or climb mountains on my bike, but it’s taken many courageous steps to get to where I am today. As I pour a glass of champagne to celebrate my birthday, I see now that I’m braver than I thought.

 

We all need a reminder every so often of how brave we’ve been and how strong we really are. It is all too easy for our heads to get lost in the myriad of stuff we’ve messed up, or that we’ve not managed to achieve or that is on a wish list for the future. Not every success needs to be a huge one, or one that reaps financial reward; it’s the little things that make us (and those around us) smile that need to be celebrated.

 

My twenties were when I met and married Adrian, and Ed arrived in our lives.

 

My thirties were when we moved to France and I began to shed those excess kilos that had always been with me.

 

My forties were when I really discovered cycling and fitness.

 

As I ‘Fit into 50’ bien dans ma peau (to be comfortable in my skin), I’m ready to embrace whatever adventures my fifties have to offer.

 

Covid-19 vaccinations

At the Civray vaccination centre

Social media can be a funny old thing. Some people rant, some boast, some just seem to be out for a fight, but we all share and, from my experience this week, many people out there also care.

 

I had a bit of a wobble this week, caused by the frustration around booking my covid-19 vaccination. As Adrian is over fifty, I was able to look for a date and time that suited his work schedule and book his appointment a week in advance. As I’ve not yet reached that golden age, I was only allowed to book last minute, for an available slot in the coming twenty-four hours. I naively assumed, with three centres within twenty-five kilometres from home, I would find a slot and pop out, possibly even while Adrian was working, and be home to pour his morning coffee. I was wrong. I soon found myself caught in a negative loop of continually refreshing the online booking platform, so much so that by Wednesday the phrase “Aucun rendez-vous de vaccination n'est disponible dans ce lieu d'ici demain soir” began to play on a loop in my head. (No vaccination appointments are available here between now and tomorrow evening.) Every now and then an appointment or two would appear, but they were in places like Rochefort, Royan, Poitiers or Chauvigny, all over eighty kilometres from home. The only ones more local were at a time that clashed with Adrian’s appointment, and at a centre in the opposite direction.

 

The weather certainly didn’t help as it was either raining, threating to rain, or dry and sunny, but with a fierce wind. Getting out on the bike is a great way to clear my head and put things into perspective, not being able to get out just added to my vaccination frustrations and made me cranky. Having rolled my eyes at a particularly heated post on Facebook, where a fight had broken out over whether our department of the Deux Sèvres was or wasn’t far enough south to be classified as south-west France, I took to Instagram with a vaccination whinge. 

 

I was quite bowled over by how many people commented on my post with advice, ideas and generally trying their best to help and make me feel better. Thank you it really did help. As luck would have it, on Thursday morning I found myself an appointment for Friday afternoon, at the same centre in Civray Adrian was headed to on Thursday afternoon. This did mean two eighty-kilometre round trips in two days, which is not ideal for people who rarely take the car out these days, but it did mean I was able to book our second slots at the end of June for the same place, on the same day, one hour apart. 

Getting my Pfizer shot

 

The centre in Civray, who are vaccinating around one thousand four hundred people with the Pfizer vaccine every week, was superb and worth the drive. The spacious double hall is well laid out, and the Red Cross volunteers who run it are friendly, helpful and efficient. The form you fill in prior to vaccination was available in English and French and everything was calm and organised. It is a real relief that we are both now part of the 22,587,920 people in France who have had their first injection. Reports from the UK today claim that the Pfizer vaccination looks to give 88% protection from the latest Indian variant, once both doses have been administered.

 

As Ed is twenty, I could go back to the continual searching for a last-minute appointment for him, but this week the government announced that from 31^st May, anyone over eighteen will be eligible to book a time that suits. He has quite a bit going on at the moment, so I think it will be much less stressful for both of us, to wait a week.

Adrian's morning coffee at Les Gours

 

With the excitement of vaccinations, the reopening of bar, café and restaurant terraces on Wednesday, seemed to pass me by. Adrian did stop for a coffee on his Thursday morning bike ride, while I was on my yoga mat, but it’s been five days now and I haven’t yet managed to partake. Every evening, when we’ve witnessed clear skies and no wind, we’ve planned a morning coffee ride for the following day. Every morning, we’ve woken up to rain once again. Let’s hope this week brings a bit more warmth, a lot less wind and rain and the chance to get out on the bikes, stretch our legs, clear our heads and enjoy a coffee with a spot of people-watching. It’s the simple things.

 

Keep safe and sane, it will get better.  

Doctolib.fr the site to use to book your vaccinations here in France.

Smile, it's World Naked Gardening Day 2021

A spot of weeding in the sun for World Naked Gardening Day 2021 

Smile

Welcome to May, where there is plenty to celebrate today; May Day, Fête du Travail and World Naked Gardening Day, plus the sun is out and I can almost smell the freedom of deconfinement.

 

A bunch of lily of the valley to bring you happiness

May Day

On 1^st May, in France, there is a lovely tradition of offering a small bunch of Lily of the Valley to your friends, to bring happiness or bonheur for the coming year. Since 1^st May last year we have lived through eighty-four days of confinement and over a hundred days of nightly curfews, so anything that offers the promise of happiness or raises a smile, works for me.

Stepping out naturally for World Naked Gardening Day 2021

 

World Naked Gardening Day #WNGD

The first Saturday in May is World Naked Gardening Day #WNGD, when gardeners are encouraged to step outside a little more naturally than they normally would. It is day to remind us to be kinder to the planet and the natural environment and to encourage us to reduce the amount of chemicals we use. It is also a day to remember to be kinder to ourselves (and each other) and accept who we are and what we look like. To stop obsessing about having a perfect body shape and love the skin you are in.

 

Enjoying the May sunshine for World Naked Gardening Day 2021

This year marks my ninth year of celebrating WNGD and I may have more grey hairs, wrinkles and saggy bits than I did back in 2013, but with so many rules, regulations and restrictions on our daily lives at the moment, the rebel in me was overjoyed at the chance to throw off my clothes and step outside to feel the warmth of the sun on my back. Here’s to carefree fun and silliness, that raises our spirits and makes us smile.

 

Deconfinement

As of Monday, our restrictions on movement will begin to ease. There will be no more attestations required for leaving home (outside of the curfew hours) and we will be free to travel where we like in France, for whatever reason we want. 

Deconfinement graphic from BFMTV

From 19^th May, non-essential shops, cinemas, museums and theatres, plus cafés, bars and restaurant terraces will be allowed to reopen and the curfew will be put back to nine o’clock in the evening. A sunny café terrace with a coffee and croissant and a spot of people watching, or a sunset bike ride; the things we’ve been dreaming of for so long, are now so tantalising close I can’t help but smile.

 

Keep smiling, stay safe and have fun.  

For Ben; One Year on, The road to Bangkok (and back)

#ForBen The Road to Bangkok

Today is the day we should have been heading south east to the Correze for a few days away to celebrate our wedding anniversary this weekend. Thanks to current restrictions, the furthest we got was twenty kilometres to the nearest Lidl for the weekly shop. The fields of bright yellow colza, the blossom in the apple orchards and the wisteria dripping from stone cottages, certainly brightened up the drive, but left me wondering what sights and colours we’d have seen on our way to the Correze.

 

Instead of the routes Adrian had planned for us while away, our cycling will have to stay closer to home, but for the next fortnight it’s the kilometres that will count, not where we go.

 

Last April we lost our nephew Ben, and in his memory, we took part in a virtual challenge with teams logging their kilometres as they covered the distance from Loughborough in the UK to Istanbul in Turkey, and back again. This event reached thousands of people and raised over £30,000 for mental health charities working towards suicide prevention in young people.

 

#ForBen The Road to Bangkok

This year, Ben’s squadron friends and family set their virtual sights on Bangkok and walkers and runners have been logging the kilometres since Ben’s birthday on 2^nd April. They are now halfway there and have opened up the challenge to cyclists too, in the hope we can get them there and back again before 27^th April, the first anniversary of Ben’s death.

 

There are no teams this year, just a link to log your activity, on foot or two wheels. If you’d like to join us, here is the link to use.

 

To check on the progress of the challenge, click here.

 

To read more about the challenge and follow the regular updates, see the For Ben Facebook page here.

 

Finally, here is the link to the Virgin Money page, which has already got a total of almost £5,000 which will be split between Papyrus, Shout and CALM.

#ForBen The Road to Bangkok

 

We are living in extraordinary times that have put a lot of pressure and stress on us all. Mental health issues, now more than ever, need to be talked about and addressed, not ignored or stigmatised.

Covid-19 confinement, part three, week one

Moody skies during lockdown

One week into confinement, part three.

We’ve survived the first week of the current four-week confinement period, although I’m finding things are feeling rather different this time. Last year, there was something reassuring, and almost refreshing about the enforced pause to our hectic lives, and the knowledge that the three of us were together and safe. My daily lockdown diary gave me focus and we caught up with lots of chores we never seemed to have time for in life before Covid-19. One of the things that has been bothering me this week is that the words for a daily diary just weren’t there. I know the idea of the diary is to document how I’m feeling, living through these mesures de freinage nationales, as the French government are referring to this period of confinement, but with no mojo, it wouldn’t have made inspiring reading. There is something quite fatiguing about living through 101 days in confinement followed by 110 under curfew and now another 7 locked to within ten kilometres from home and subject to a 19h curfew every evening.

 

Ed has chosen to stay in Poitiers for some of this confinement, not quite ready to relinquish the independence he has only recently regained. While I don’t begrudge him this glimmer of normality, letting him go back to Poitiers last weekend was a worry, but he still managed to put a smile on my face. I’d texted him to ask if he’d seen any Gendarmes on his eighty-kilometre journey to the neighbouring department. His reply, “None, do you imagine a war zone or the occupation when there’s a lockdown?”. Well, yes, Ed, I absolutely do, and knowing I’m over-thinking things is beginning to do my head in.

 

In the bluebell woods

This lockdown isn’t even as severe or restrictive as the previous ones, more shops and services are now deemed essential and we have no time limit on our exercise. We are limited to a ten-kilometre radius for exercise and if I’m nit-picking, which I am, ours is a reduced-size, squashed circle as it crosses into the Charente and Charente-Maritime departments, and crossing a border is a no-no for exercise under the current rules. Luckily Adrian can be quite creative with his route planning and it certainly put big smiles on our faces when we found our first flowering bluebell wood, within our 10km, on our Friday evening bike ride.

 

I’m still very much enjoying having Adrian home all the time, but let’s just say you have no idea how ridiculously excited I was, in fact it could even have been the highlight of this first week of confinement, when I cleared the crap that constantly accumulates on the kitchen table and created enough space for my breakfast preparation area. No longer will Adrian and I be tripping over each other as he puts the coffee pot on while I prepare the breakfast. My jars of oats, berries, nuts, dried fruits and honey, are safely in their own zone far away from his sugar bowl and coffee tray. It’s the little things that make all the difference.

 

Source: MoneyTransfers.com

Another boost to my mood this week was the email from MoneyTransfers letting me know that French Village Diaries had been included in their Top 20 Expat blogs in France, up there with names like France Media Group’s FrenchEntree, as well as many other successful blogs I’ve been following for years (see here for the full list). Adrian would like his QA/proofreading skills to get the mention they deserve at this point too. Thanks darling, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Onwards and upwards, together we can do this.