August 2007

Driving down to France is an endurance test relieved only by the astonishment of how good food can be. Last year Sarah drove with the dogs and I flew with Tom and Isobel, arm still recovering from Al Ain hospital tomfoolery. That excuse wasn’t going to wash this year so I kept Sarah company on the long drive down and Irish Granny was responsible for our delightful children on the Easy jet route to Lyon. Some people love driving huge distances, others enjoy watching cricket, listening to the Archers, or eating at Pizza Hut. They are all nuts.

Our friends who live very nearby in France have worked miracles on the ruin with a budget you might replace two windows in England with. It now has working bathroom and kitchen with enough hot water to keep 13 guests happy … or at least fairly clean. It has beds with duvets. It has new floors, ceilings and stairs that don’t unexpectedly give way with rot. You can now walk around the house without the serious risk of plunging to your death, except one hangar where we occasionally had to keep dragging young children back from a lethal precipice onto the garden below. It even had a woodburning stove with a temporary chimney out of a window. This came in useful in the first week when we remembered how cold it can be at 950 metres above sea level in freezing mist. One night we watched an old (fabulous) Chaplin talkie called Limelight and my mother who was wearing four jumpers and a coat as the fire crackled pathetically at the other end of the house said how much our house reminded her of life in rural Ireland in the 1950s.

This was the week when we were a little spooked by the sound of large country rats on our roof at night, or the discovery of several beautifully patterned grass snakes in the wilderness of nettles that was our back garden. The children also had fun chasing bats from the upper galley at night. We soon made short work of the nettles with a few days working the scythe and we decided that the snakes would keep the mice and rat population at a manageable level. Our biggest job was the colossal pile of wood at the back of the house which we sorted into slightly less massive piles of good wood to keep for the fire and rotten wood to burn. In the third week - with the help of unsuspecting friends who thought they had come to France to relax - we had a monstrous bonfire and burned a wicker man (sounds more occult than burning a 'guy'). A large gaggle of wild haired and dirty children laughed demonically as the guy’s stripey black and white French style t shirt and twig ribs burned with an unearthly roar.

I have painted a slightly alarming picture here but we had a really good month especially after the first week when the weather got much better. Despite working continuously moving piles of wood and walking in the countryside we came back fat as ever from the delicious wine and cheese and other food delights. The kids had great fun and we saw lots of friends and family. It’s a great place for reunions because there is so much space and it is so secluded – the kids call yell away. So if you have the nerve for roughing it in the hills of the Auvergne in August with unlimited supplies of baguettes, goats cheese and Ricard and two overweight hosts, you know where to apply.