It’s been a beautiful week, the sun has been shining and it’s been quite hot during the day. The sun gets up earlier now and goes to bed at around 9.30 pm. We wake, look out of the window to see mist rolling across the lake and hanging in organza-like trails across the trees. It’s like living in a bird avery. Not a car to be heard – just a cacophony of bird calls. Low ones, high ones, long ones, twitters and warbles interspersed with a cuckoo straight out of a Swiss clock.
The dearest man in my life brings me tea and cereals every morning and we sit on the bed and look out the window mulling over what led us here and just how fortunate we are. With some of my senses still sleeping, you can imagine how surprised I was when I heard..”is that a horse?” Sure enough, ambling through the mist in the field opposite the lake was a beautiful white horse! I thought…”No, you’re dreaming (or been imbibing a bit on White Horse Whiskey in your sleep) but there it was, large as life. And then we heard a car frantically driving past, turning, hurriedly going down the next road…and we watched this horse almost hide behind the stone buildings while it’s owners looked for it. When the car had gone..it quickly trotted down the road they had just come from and dashed behind our own little cottage.
We shot out of bed, grabbed some carrots and once again I appeared outside in my nightshirt. There it stood, regal, beautifully groomed, it’s tail trimmed and brushed with a gleam in it’s eye of pure mischief. It spotted me, looked at my outstretched carrot, twitched it’s ears toward the distant noise of the car again and trotted down the road towards the open fields. The dear one, dressed by now, took the carrots and set after it.
Seems he caught up with it, fed it carrots and showed it the last piece in a hope that it would follow. Not a chance! With a smirk and a flick of it’s mane it cantered off to eat the barley on the neighbouring farm. It was having a lovely time! We heard the car going up an down a few more times like a skit from Inspector Cluso and the Pink Panther, then it slowed down in the right area so we gathered all was well and the “outing” had come to an end.
I have never seen so many Camper Vans on the road in all my life. The English have arrived! This seems to be a cheap and easy way of crossing the Channel and taking a holiday for a quite a large portion of the British population. Some friends of the folk who own the property we take care of popped in hoping to find them but they hadn’t arrived yet. We found them aimlessly standing at the front door of the main house and invited them over for tea. She is very french, he is from Irak and having paper/passport issues.
We had a good laugh because she told us that the French like the tourist trade but they find the English quite funny. They seem to believe that everything that they are used to eating in England, should be here as well and the French find this quite irritating. Why would you want to come to France and eat British food? Surely when you come to another country, you eat the food of that country. Because there are now quite a few English that not only come on holiday, but also come for the summer…the Super Markets have decided that if you “can’t fight ’em, join ’em” so they clear a sizable corner and stock all the foods that the British like. This causes quite a stir among the French and they go to visit this section, not to buy, but to look with interest.
“Do you know”, I was told by this dear french lady as she sat in the garden drinking tea, “they eat very big portions? They mainly eat a lot of sheeps and you can see a lot of chips and pizza as well! There is also so much different sausage and food that you don’t cook! You just put in a…what’s that thing? That machine that cooks fast and goes “Ping”.
“A microwave?” (I have since realised that microwaves are not hugely used by the french.)
“That’s it – they cook in that..and have chips with lots and lots of sauce of the tomato!”
“The one thing,” she added with a laugh, ” we look forward to is marmalade. We buy this and stock it in our cupboard. They like marmalade and now the french do too.”
She was really cute to listen to and I look forward to visiting the “English Section” of the super market too.