It's been a long winter, this week

Frosty trees at Javarzay
photo credit Edward Brown

It’s been a long winter, this week

A week ago, we arrived back in France having spent Christmas and New Year in England with our families. We had been spoiled rotten, meals out, centrally heated houses with plush carpeted floors, and weather kind enough to allow us to wrap up warmly and walk regularly. France hasn’t been so gentle on us; in fact, this week has been a bit of a shock to the system.

With Mum on New Year's Eve

Our journey home was rather exciting with a ferry full to bursting and way more French being spoken around us than English, followed by a dark drive in Normandy on roads that were edged in white and glowed ominously in the car headlights. As we made our way to a hotel just north of Rouen, the satnav, that has ideas of intelligence way above reality, sent us deep into the undulating countryside, where we crept along deserted roads whose surfaces resembled ice-rinks, all to avoid a one-way system on the final approach to the hotel car park. 

The drive home the following day began at -6º and alternated between freezing cold with sunshine, and freezing fog which decorated the trees in a beautiful, sparkling hoary frost. You could say it was a day where everything was freezing, but on our arrival home, the fridge-freezer in the kitchen was anything but freezing. I guess after over twenty-one years of sterling service, it was bound to pack up at some point, but to choose a week when we weren’t here was a little unfair. The first task having unpacked the car, was to throw most of the contents of the freezer into bin bags and to make up a soup with what could be saved. The second task was to call the water company, fill up as many pans of water as possible and then turn the water back off as while the fountain from the stopcock tap was pretty, it wasn’t a feature we needed. Welcome home and Happy New Year!

Snow on the back gate

The week then threw us from one challenging meteorological state to another as we lunged from an orange alert for snow on Tuesday, that became an ice-rain warning on Wednesday, only to be replaced with the strong winds and rain warning on Thursday and Friday as storm Goretti appeared from the Bay of Biscay. Deep joy. The bikes were left untouched and the car too on Tuesday and Wednesday, as I set up office on the dining room table and clicked away on my laptop preparing the spreadsheets for the 2026 season at the château as well as some promotional bits and bobs for upcoming château and library events.

New fridge-freezer safely loaded onto lovely friend's trailer

It was a relief to get to the weekend having survived 48 hours with no running water, a week using the porch as a fridge and thankfully missed the worst of storm Goretti, whose full force hit further north. Saturday was an exciting outing to buy a new fridge-freezer, and Sunday was celebrated with our first bike ride of the year. It is unusual for us to go so long without cycling as we are not generally only fair-weather cyclists, but the winter this week was intense. I’m crossing my fingers for a calmer second half to January and as I spotted some snowdrops this morning, the signs of spring won’t be far behind.

The first bike ride of 2026

Don’t forget, if you want to know the dates for the public and school holidays in France this year, and how other notable dates are celebrated, click here to read my traditional 1^st of January post. 

The magic of words

A colourful hello from France

I am sorry I have neglected you this year, the often-unseen faces who take your time to read my words. To ghost you with my silence was unforgivable, as was losing sight of the fact that you might need a smile or a hug from France to brighten your day.

A recent chance meeting at work has made me realise that this blog was so much more than just my words and waffle.

“You’re the lady who writes the blog that kept me sane during lockdown” 

Uttered by a stranger as she walked into the Château de Javarzay this September, and wow, what an opening sentence that was. As is so often the way, the universe had aligned to ensure her unannounced visit to the museum I so often talk about here, fell on a day I was working.

Thanks to my daily blogs, written over five years ago, she knew all about me, our family life and how we’d spent those weird months of lockdown. From day one it had felt important to record our time during those extraordinary months, but I had little idea of the importance they would have on those who were looking in from their own topsy turvy lives. I still don’t even know this lady’s name, but she did share some of her lockdown story with me this week. Hers was so far removed from the blissful family bubble we emersed ourselves in, so to learn that my diary helped her through a traumatic time was humbling and I shall treasure her words forever. Her visit has inspired me to open a fresh notebook, pick up my trusted pen and let the words flow once more. 

Finding the time to write is now more of an issue for me than it’s ever been, as life has changed direction again. When I began blogging, over eighteen years ago, it was my way of remembering those early years of our family adventure in France. I was a stay-at-home mum, with a husband who worked away from home, and even with a vegetable garden, orchard and a small menagerie of chickens and ducks, there were many lonely hours when Ed was at school or tucked up in bed of an evening. Blogging filled the gap, giving me somewhere to release my thoughts, and putting a humorous spin on things that hadn’t gone to plan became like a kind of therapy. Connecting with readers all over the world as I shared our life was an unexpected bonus.

Since March of this year, I have been working at both the château and the library in Chef-Boutonne, a dream combination of roles that I still have to pinch myself to believe is true. However, with no two weeks being the same, life can feel a little crazy sometimes with no routine to follow. It is a great memory exercise for my brain though; what day is it? Where am I working today? What time do I start and what time do I finish? So far, so good – I’ve always arrived at the right place for the right time. In an almost complete role reversal of our early years in France, it is now Adrian who is spending more time home alone than I do. This has been a huge learning curve for him, especially this autumn where he has mastered the art of preparing windfall apples for the freezer, ensuring our winter breakfasts will be just as delicious as our summer ones. I’ll even admit that his method is much more efficient than mine, although it does produce more washing up.

Today, as I celebrate my 54^th birthday (if I say that quickly it doesn’t have time to register how old I am), it seems the perfect opportunity to hit publish on this blog once more and to say thank you for reading. I will be back soon, sharing some of our camping mini adventures from this summer. 

Jacqui

Photoshoot, take one, take two

Enjoying the Marais Poitevin photo credit ©S.Bonnet

As I hinted in my last post, the week of our twentieth anniversary of arriving in France, was a busy week, even by our standards, but one full of fun and laughter too.

 

When I think ‘model’, images of long-legged beauties, immaculately made up, not a hair out of place and coordinated couture, come to mind. I certainly don’t think model when I catch a glimpse of myself in my sweaty cycling gear and helmet hair. It’s as much as surprise to me as anyone, that not once, but twice this summer I have been filmed and photographed cycling on the local bike routes.

 

Take one

My first experience of pretend modelling was back in June. This mission was to produce promotional material for the Vélidéale, the new cycle route that starts on the Atlantic coast in Saint-Nazaire, before crossing the departments of the Vendée, the Deux-Sèvres, the Charente, the Haute-Vienne and finishing up in the Creuse, at Lac Vassivière in central France. 

La Vélidéale

This journey also takes it through five regional parks, as well as passing right outside the Château de Javarzay. When the Deux-Sèvres department put out a call on social media looking for volunteers to be photographed along the section that passes from Niort to the Château de Javarzay, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. I might not be that comfortable being photographed but will do all I can to help promote this area, and especially to fellow cyclo-tourists. One of the most important things I’ve learned in the last twenty years is that saying yes to things that initially seem outside of my comfort zone, often leads to fabulous experiences.

Photoshoot, take one, Niort

 

At half past eight one June morning, in the carpark of the Château, our long day of filming began with introductions, instructions on how to ride the e-bikes we had been provided with for the day, and a bag of pastries from the local boulangerie to tuck into. The Vélidéale had employed a photographer to visit all the departments and take a mix of stills, video and drone footage to highlight the sights the cycle tourists will see over the six hundred and sixty-five kilometres. Our day consisted of lots of short rides up to or past châteaux, churches, an abbey and a silver mine, where we’d stop, look up or around us, laugh, smile, and then repeat, until the photographer was happy. This was interspersed with driving between locations and lots of waiting around for the clouds to clear and the sun to shine (June wasn’t the best month for good weather this year). I probably pedalled less than two kilometres over the eleven hours we were out, but it was still as exhausting as it was fun, as well as being a fascinating behind the scenes glimpse into how tourist brochures are put together.

 

 

Take two

At the beginning of August, I received a phone call from the lady who works for the promotion of tourist sites in the Deux-Sèvres department, and who had accompanied us on our June day out. They were looking for a couple to cycle the twenty kilometres between Niort and Coulon on the Vélo Francette, for a social media campaign, and would we be interested. This well-established long-distance route from the ferry point in Ouistreham in Normandy to La Rochelle on the Atlantic coast, just happens to be one of our favourites, especially this section that passes through the Marais Poitevin, so how could I refuse. 

 

The bronze dragons of Niort

It was a totally different day out to the first one, but even more fun. We met up in the centre of Niort and our first task was to cycle through Place de la Brèche, somewhere that has changed dramatically in the last twenty years, before passing the famous bronze dragons and taking a pause at the market halles. Recently voted the best market in France, I am ashamed to admit that this was our first visit, my lame excuse being it is only open in the mornings and is over an hour from home. While our bikes were guarded, we were filmed wandering from stall to stall, admiring the fresh produce before stopping underneath the nine-hundred-year-old Donjon, once home to Alienor of Aquitaine, Queen of France and then of England in the 1100’s.

 

The real cycling began as we left Niort and followed the meandering Sèvre Niortais river towards the Atlantic. This is where things got a bit tricky. We are both in our fifties and were on our Bromptons (small wheeled, folding bikes, powered by legs). Our ‘film crew’ were on e-bikes and the girl whose project it was, was younger than Ed, but as we set off with her filming from behind, it soon became apparent, she couldn’t keep up with us. I am taking this as a middle-aged win!

 

Once we’d got into a comfortable rhythm for everyone, we made good progress, stopping at various points for extra shots/close ups and action clips. One of these was on the chain ferry that is a self-operated, floating bridge to get up to five people (or two and two bikes) from one bank to the other and was yet another first for us and great fun. 

Getting the best shot

 

As we relaxed into having the cameras follow us, we laughed, pulled silly faces when asked to hold hands for a touch of romance, and enjoyed the looks we got from passers-by no doubt wondering who this odd couple were being filmed crossing the pretty bridge in Magné, dangling their feet over the jetty in Coulon and sitting at the terrace of the Hôtel au Marais. 

 

To give the impression of it being a mini-break to Coulon by bike, we also enjoyed a delicious two-course meal at L’Atelier Gourmand and a special visit to the Maison du Marais Poitevin museum in Coulon, another first for us and somewhere that has been on my wish list for a while. What a treat it was learning all about the history of the marshland that goes back hundreds of years, and the people who lived and worked here. I certainly recommend a visit, especially as there is an English headset available to accompany the film that explains the various projects that have reclaimed the land from the sea.

 

Before we returned to Niort, there was just enough time for a few photos back at the Hotel au Marais, including a sneaky kiss on the balcony of the best room. We have promised ourselves that we will return for a real night away, and hopefully we can book ‘our’ room with the balcony.

 

Hotel au Marais, Coulon photo credit ©S.Bonnet

As if this wasn’t enough, we were not only welcomed by Parc Naturel Régional du Marais Poitevin (who kept our bikes safe as we wandered) but they also gave us a book of watercolour images from the Baie de l’Aiguillon, the muddy estuary where the Sèvre Niortais joins the Atlantic. We might not have gone that far today, but in 2022 when we followed the river from its source in Sepvret, near Melle, to Niort and through the Marais Poitevin, we dipped our wheels in the shallows of the bay as we neared the end of the second day of our cycle tour. Luckily for me, Adrian was happy to squeeze a large hardback book into the bike bag on the front of his Brompton for the final twenty kilometres, isn’t he a star. 

 

At the end of the day, Niort photo credit ©S.Bonnet

I can’t think of a better way to have spent the eve of our anniversary of moving into our house in France. We were treated like celebrities, the sun shone, and memories were made with smiles on our faces. It turned out to be a win-win situation for everyone as alongside a fabulous day out on the bikes, our participation helped their work placement student with her final project - putting together a promotional film of a couple on a cycling holiday in the Marais Poitevin. 

The Sèvre Niortais photo credit ©S.Bonnet

The finished film won’t be available for a while, but I have been given permission to use some of the photos that were taken, and I love them. Merci mille fois S et J. 

A film crew at the château

A film crew at the Château de Javarzay

A bit like the misty mornings of Autumn, my head is a little clouded at the prospect of the rapidly approaching end of the summer season at the Château de Javarzay. It has been a blast once more, welcoming over three-thousand visitors, including almost a thousand international tourists, from thirteen different countries, and rescuing two species of bat from the spiral staircase.

 

A long-eared bat, rescued from the staircase

Some of the visitors will stand out more in my memory than others. One Monday evening, just as we were closing up, two men appeared by the door and started to read the opening times. I could hear them speaking in English, so picked up one of our English flyers and popped outside to explain they were a bit late for a visit today, but that we’d love to see them on Wednesday. We chatted for a bit about the château and the museum, and when they asked about things like vintage car rallies, I was able to regale them with tales of 75 Porsches parked within the courtyard to the rear of the château and the MG car club lined up at the front. However, sadly there was nothing else in the calendar for the two weeks they said they were in the area. They then revealed they were a film crew for A Place in the Sun, a long running UK television programme finding holiday homes abroad for sun-deprived Brits. As I may well have watched an episode or two over the years, this certainly piqued my interest.

 

Some of the 75 Porsche parked in the courtyard

They asked about filming the outside of the château to use as one of their postcard shots for an episode to be set in our area, and I happily gave out the contact details for the Mairie (mayor) to get the required permission, as well as waxing lyrical about life here and all the fantastic events that are organised over the summer. Almost as a last-minute parting thought, they asked for my phone number, to let me know when they would be back to film. A few days later, they called, with a question – would I be happy being filmed, talking to their house-hunters about what it’s like living here?

 

Two thoughts instantly flew into my head. The first was the wooden freeze pose that automatically descends as soon as someone points a camera in my face. The second was that this is an experience that will put me way out of my comfort zone, so I obviously have to say yes. Adrian and Ed thought it was hilarious, but I am a firm believer in pushing my comfort boundaries and I’m also quite used to chatting away to holiday makers at the château who are keen to find out how a British woman gets a job in a château in rural France – in short, by saying yes to new opportunities.

 

It is fair to say that the weather this summer has been mixed, so when I opened my shutters on the morning of the filming and it was chilly and misty, it was difficult to predict whether it would be overcast all day or follow the normal September pattern of misty mornings and warm, sunny afternoons. Luckily, the mist was already lifting by the time I cycled to the château, with my favourite dress rolled up in my bag and by the time we set up by the lake at the back of the château, the grass was still damp with dew, but the sky was an incredible shade of blue, that complemented my dress nicely. 

 

I did have a brief fan-girl moment/flicker of panic, when I recognised the presenter of the show, Lucy, who was the face of Homes Under the Hammer for fourteen years, and I was rather in awe of how easy she made talking to the camera seem. Happily the team were very gentle with me as a total TV newbie. The soundman was discrete as he attached a box to my bra strap and dropped a little fluffy microphone into my cleavage, reminding me that just four days earlier I had worn the same dress to work (on my birthday) and had suffered an epic underwear fail. Despite bringing a change of clothes to work with me, swapping cycling gear for something smarter, I don’t normally bother with two bras. It was just bad luck that it poured with rain on my way in, soaking me (and my padded bra) to the skin, so I had no option but to spend my birthday wearing my dress with nothing on underneath. I was rather grateful that I was appropriately dressed today. 

 

The cameraman, who I’d met on the steps of the château, was patient, relaxed and put me at ease, so I was almost able to forget he had a camera in front of him. Lucy was chatty and friendly, and made me feel like we’d known each other for years. The house hunters had already had a few days experience of life on camera and were keen to hear my take on life here in the Deux-Sèvres. In the days before filming, I’d come up with a plan to ignore the camera and just pretend I was talking to tourists who had walked into the château. It worked and it was a great fun experience, although having to have the same (or at least similar) conversations over and over again, to ensure different angles and close-ups were all covered, did seem rather weird.

A Place in the Sun - the château, the house hunters, the presenter and me 

Almost as quickly as they’d arrived and set up, they were gone, off to view their third property, a thirteen-minute drive from Javarzay. It was interesting to learn that filming one episode takes them five days on location, where they must wear the same outfit every day and the location of each property is kept a secret from the couple, until they arrive. I have obviously been following Lucy on Instagram to see where else they have been this week (Cognac and the Charente Maritime) and now it’s just a waiting game for the new series to hit the screens.

 

They have probably already forgotten meeting little old me, but I will remember them and be grateful for another memorable experience that came my way thanks to working at the château.

 

I know it’s been way too long since my last proper blog, so now I’ve got more free time, I’ll do my best to catch up with some of the other memorable moments from our busy summer. 

Magazine news

La Plume, our village magazine

It has been a while since I’ve blogged, but now we have emerged from our winter funk and life has accelerated to full summer speed, I have lots to share. First up is some magazine news, as I’ve still been writing, even if I have neglected my blog a little.

 

La Plume

Since 2001, our village (of under four hundred people) has had a monthly information magazine that was one of the first things I got involved in when we arrived here back in 2004. It is run entirely by a small group of volunteers who meet each month to decide what to put in, including announcing and reporting on village events, sharing public service information like council meeting minutes and a Mot du Maire (word from the mayor – that we translate into English). 

 

Until recently, my involvement has been to help come up with ideas, translate the important things into English, and once it’s printed, join in with the stapling and distribution around the village. That was until May, when our friend and ex-Maire of the village Gérard, who had done all the editing, page layout and printing, got taken into hospital. Without him at the helm, the future of La Plume looked uncertain, so along with our friend Lesley, Adrian and I put together an emergency edition at the end of May. We are now just about to print a bumper 20-page edition for the summer that will be delivered at the end of the week. How brave of our French friends to entrust our Englishness on their French magazine, but at least we can rely on them to correct any grammatical issues and it’s certainly helping to raise my written French level. Gérard is now back home, but happy to step back and let La Plume continue in our hands. Merci mes amis.

 

The Deux-Sèvres Monthly Magazine

Up until the end of last year, I had been writing a regular 500-word column for The Deux-Sèvres Monthly magazine since 2012, or 121 issues, and under three different owners. It was totally understandable that back in January, Tony and Lynne made the decision to stop the magazine and focus on their health issues, but it was sad to think this part of my writing life was over. 

 

Happily, for all of us Anglophones living in this tucked away gem of west France, a little bit too north to be the real southwest and a little bit too south to be the Loire valley, new owners were found. In March of this year, Kathleen and Chris Butler-Donnelly took on the editorship and have been busy behind the scenes designing a new logo and website, as well as putting together their first edition. The July 2023 issue is back from the printers and ready for delivery at the usual drop offs in supermarkets, bars and restaurants in the Deux-Sèvres. I can’t wait to get my hands on a copy, and from Saturday 1^stJuly you will be able to read an online version here. I’m now off to finish my August piece before the deadline this weekend.

 

French Property News July/August 2023

French Property News

Earlier this year I was contacted by a journalist for the UK based magazine French Property News, that we used to subscribe to and devour, over twenty years ago before we made France our home. She wanted to interview me for the My Village feature where someone who has embraced French life shares a little bit about their life.

 

I always enjoy things like this as the questions about where we live, what I do for work etc allow me to stop and think about our life and how it has changed over the years. It is always nice to be reminded about what a fantastic adventure we are on. I am delighted by the full page (p146) article in the July/August edition that is available to buy in the UK now.

 

A link to the blog was included and I’ve already had a lovely email from Monique Jackman who enjoyed reading it and has offered me review copies of her books aimed at getting intermediate French speakers to the next level. This summer more than last, I am feeling frustrated with my level of French as I’d love to be able to wax lyrical about the history of the Château de Javarzay and the themes of our musuem to the French visitors, in the same way I do for the English ones. Monique’s books, along with a training session in French from our local Pays d’art and histoire heritage association, should really help. 

Time is a funny thing

Early morning light in Melle, Deux-Sevres

Time is a funny thing

 

Before the blackbirds began their pre-dawn chorus this morning, we were both up, showered and breakfasted. I’d rummaged in the freezer for a soup for lunch and a quick peek outside revealed just how dark it is before the village streetlights flicker into life. The washing machine and dishwasher had both run before the overnight cheaper electric ended at seven o’clock and the washing was hung out, albeit in the dark. 

Fresh off the ferry in Dieppe

 

We have only been home from the UK for a few days, so we lost an hour last Friday lunchtime as our ferry crossed into French time. We then gained an hour in the early hours of Sunday morning as we said goodbye to European summertime and our early start today was because Adrian is working with clients from Abu Dhabi who are three hours ahead of us, or four hours ahead of the UK. By the time the village church bells rang the midday Angelus, his working day was almost over, even if our body clocks had no idea whether it was lunchtime, dinnertime or siesta time. 

 

One thing I do know is that I need to make time for my yoga class this evening, even if it means more juggling of mealtimes. Time spent in the UK meant time away from the yoga mat, and yesterday was an off-the-scale busy day that saw us leave the house before seven thirty in the morning (for Adrian’s annual fasting blood test in Melle), followed by my last day at the Château, and I didn’t get home until fifteen minutes before my quarter to nine (in the evening) class was due to begin. Funnily enough I opted for time with Adrian, dinner, and a glass of wine, instead of yoga.

 

Halloween

When we arrived in France eighteen years ago, Halloween was low key. Our village had a few enthusiastic mums and lots of elderly mamies keen to see the dressed-up little ones and ply them with sweets. Everyone met outside the village hall early in the afternoon and together with our little monsters we would traipse around the streets filling up on bonbons. Long before darkness had fallen, we were all safely home where the fatigue of a long afternoon walking, fought against the inevitable sugar-rush from the Carambars. Time has moved on; Ed has grown up and I’ve realised just how out of touch I am with Halloween. 

A hidden pumpkin at Château de Javarzay

 

A few months ago, Halloween at the Château de Javarzay was mentioned. Should we close the season on a high with something special on Halloween for the children? It falls during the school holidays here in France and from November, the château will be closed until next spring. The answer was a unanimous YES. We found Halloween colouring sheets, all featuring castles with turrets and towers, just like our château. Decorations were hung in the entrance, and we teamed up with the library to end the day with a fun story time for the four-to-six-year-olds. Following on from the success of our Easter egg hunt, we hid twenty numbered paper pumpkins in and around the château, and each group were given an answer sheet to fill in where they’d found the pumpkins. Sweets and colouring sheets were given to all successful hunters. 

Halloween at the Château de Javarzay

 

I was expecting a slow trickle of families throughout the afternoon, the children dressed up in simple outfits, like Ed and his friends had over fifteen years ago. I was wrong. From the moment we opened the doors at two o’clock, until we cashed up at half past six and let the librarians take over, we were inundated with families and groups. There were witches, devils, skeletons, mad scientists, super heroes and more, plus it wasn’t just the children who were dressed up, the mums and dads had 100% entered into the spirit of Halloween with outfits, face paints and accessories. It proved to be one of our busiest days of the season with the only downside being we massively underestimated the quantity of sweets needed. Some of our visitors had driven over an hour just to join in our Halloween experience and although it was an activity aimed at the children, there were plenty of triumphant parent faces too when they’d successfully found all the pumpkins, especially our golden pumpkin. We had so many positive comments on the château visit and the fun they’d had, I was blown away.

Our village cemetery on Toussaint

 

Yesterday was All Hallows’ Eve, today is a public holiday in France for Toussaint, All Saints’ Day and tomorrow is All Souls’ Day, a day to remember those we have lost. Nothing quite says Autumn to me like the carpet of flowering chrysanthemums we see outside florists and garden centres, destined to add colour to the cemeteries here in France. Family members will have made time over the last few days to tidy graves and leave their potted chrysanthemums to remember their loved ones. 

A carpet of chrysanthemums

Our UK visit was for Dad’s funeral, which despite the circumstances, was a day filled with family, friends and a lot of laughter, just as he would have wanted it to be. Ed was nothing short of awesome as he played the guitar and sang one of Dad’s favourite Irish songs during the service and we couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s certainly come a long way since the timid little pumpkin of 2004, not too keen on scary costumes and always the last one in the doorstep sweetie grab. How time flies.

Our little pumpkin 2006

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 !