Perfect Harmony

What an extraordinary treat was in store for us and all we had to do was walk 5 minutes to the local church.  The internationally renown Hungarian girls' choir Cantemus sang for an unforgettable hour. They were en route to a choral competition in Spain. Lucky for us, they have connections to Anne and Francis, the owners of La maison verte, where they broke their journey for the night.

Here's a stock photo; I didn't have a camera. The age range is 11-16. One voice starts them off, then they file into the church singing in heavenly harmonies. Their joy, tuning, discipline, and vocal quality is sublime. They sing in various formations, sometimes surrounding you. This is goose bump inducing, you experience the glorious harmonics from within the chord. Each voice is beautiful, yet blends perfectly with the other 49. They finish the way they began, walking and singing, the last voice trailing away as they exit the church, leaving not a dry eye in the house. 

Who was that at the door?

The Happy Baker

I can't remember the last time I baked anything completely from scratch. Here's today's effort. Plum cake with streusel from a German recipe we googled. Can't tell you how heavenly the kitchen smells. We hope it tastes half as good!

An almost bygone taste

Lizzie and Ali picked their Muscat Petit Grain grapes today. They were ripe and ready, but as with many of life's fineries, they come in quality, not quantity. Not enough to make a meaningful amount of wine. And it would be a white wine at that, when Le Couvent specializes in reds.

The grapes were therefore pressed -- by feet, the old-fashioned I Love Lucy way -- and made into unfiltered organic grape juice. Absolutely no preservatives. It will only last a few days. An email went out offering it for free to mates. 2 bottles per household. Call after 3pm. Nicola,

Henny and I arrived at once, the gate-crasher specials. Ali handed us our prizes. Nectar from above. Well, actually, below. It was pressed just under the Virgin peaking out between the bottles and on our lips within the hour. Divine.

One of the things I miss from the States is freshly pressed apple cider. Non-alcoholic. You don't get it in Europe, the apples aren't the same, the process is different, you just don't. This beautiful grape juice reminded me of that, as delicious and more. Fresh, pure, cloudy, sweet in the finest sense, but not sugary. The taste of another era. A souvenir of childhood. Why would you want to spoil this heavenly nectar by turning it into wine anyway?? An amazing treat. Thank you.

The Hoppers

More new neighbours. Three rabbits. All allegedly female, or at least we hope. They obviously hate it next door; they're always in our garden. The relative cool of the oleander cuvettes is their fave hang-out. Or under a bush in the shade. They were even spotted in the compost heap, clear the other side of our garden. They've made themselves right at home. Pou once jumped from the terrace, all purposeful and defiant, to see one off. The rabbit couldn't care less, budged maybe a metre, so Pou gave up. Even though they're adorable, we fear plant devastation, burrowing, multiplying, so we cautiously mentioned our concerns to the rabbit owners. Their solution was to move the pathetic bunny enclosure into full sun during a heatwave. The rabbits looked miserable. We felt awful, but it didn't take long for them to break free. The little fugitives have again hopped across the frontier. The rabbits have chosen, who are we to argue?

Camping Wonders

Two years ago, the Goslings bought a three-bedroom tent with a large lounge. It happened to be Henny's birthday. They'd stopped by for an apéro in a pre-camping flourish of excitement, on their way to the wilds of the mazet for a trial-run, while we had a lovely meal at Les Goutailles. On our way home, we nodded up the hill hoping they were all right in a torrential downpour. The tent has been waiting ever since to see action again.

We'd been discussing a joint camping venture for so long, the notion was becoming a myth. Finally there came the perfect excuse. Freddie kindly bought 6 tickets to see Stevie Wonder in Nîmes the July 4th weekend. We found a shady campground near the beautiful town of Uzès. It was hotter than blazes, but an inviting 20 metre pool revived us after setting up.

On Sunday morning, a stop-off at the first Roman relic of the day, the nearby Pont du Gard...

...was followed by our pilgrimage to the 2000 year old Roman amphitheatre for the concert.

We scrambled up the ancient stones to find our places. While two warm-up acts played, you could see tarps covering mountains of instruments on the sidelines. When the roadies finally started to uncover it all, the crowd was buzzing in anticipation and Mexican waves. The man himself came on to the roar of ten thousand people. Stevie was, well, wonderful and the atmosphere was fantastic.

A fabulous weekend. So, where shall we go next?

Another Star is Born

We're steeped in the performing arts, we are. Freddie's debut in panto is well-documented. Many of us participated in the 3-day gospel-jazz singing workshop in May. And last night, Henny made her stage debut tapping with Michelle and Marc at the end-of-term Claquettes' recital. I was gutted to miss it. So thankfully Poppy's just sent through a couple of action shots. She had to be quick on the trigger. Henny said the whole exhausting routine only lasted 40 seconds. Well, you've gotta start somewhere to get to 42nd Street.

Belated Tribute

A few years ago, Lizzie and Ali bought several hectares of neglected grapevines on a hillside with beautiful views. It's nothing short of awe-inspiring how they've brought the vines back into good nick and are now producing excellent wines. Any armchair vigneron who dreams, yes, I'd like to have a vineyard in the south of France, be warned: it's muscle-aching, back-breaking hard work that can all be for nought if a tornado blows through your vineyard, which really happened in 2008. And it's similar to what they say about owning a boat, but it's a hole in the earth you throw money into. Still, never daunted, the grapes are flourishing and so are the girls.

It didn't surprise me that Lizzie would take to being a vigneronne. She's always had green thumbs, for which I'm grateful every morning. I wake up with a view of her oleanders. Once, when I'd just bought TopTop, I referred to some young shoots in my garden as "growths". Ali gleefully said, "Thank god there's someone who knows less about gardening than I do". So, Ali's the dark horse. Now a dedicated wine-maker, she's spent her last two birthdays like this, spraying vines because it's the best day weather-wise. This year we changed the lyrics to Happy Birth-spray.

The picture below was taken 18 August 2009. I'd helped Ali gather a sampling of grapes to determine the sugar content. Lizzie was shocked the figure was already at such a high level, so all the grapes had to be harvested within the next few days, weeks earlier than anticipated.

A de-stemming machine was late to arrive. So the first day, we did it all by hand. It took twice as long as the actual picking. Thankfully the machine came the next day, and in a matter of 3 days, all the grapes were harvested and in the cuves.

This spring, Lizzie and Ali announced the names of the wines, Cuvée Solèzio and Cuvée Chocolat (guess what it's delicious with). We were honoured to find ourselves on the Chocolat label, showing our grape-stained hands. Right up there with seeing my name on a poster outside a West End theatre. So delighted, though had I known, I possibly wouldn't have worn a luau shirt. Lizzie's just said they're down to the last 3 cases of Chocolat. Hardly surprising. It's sublime. Henny's hiding what we have left. Chapeau to you both.

Afternoon nap

Outdoor furniture has appeared on the terrace. We have a big table, chairs, an umbrella, and several sun loungers, not to mention the diving bench. I love just being able to wander in and out. The house feels so much bigger in summer. We made a recent discovery. Put two sun loungers together. Add the foam double-bed mattress we had from the first house, which fits perfectly. Position under the kaki or olive tree, grab a pillow, and have a perfect, secret siesta.

New Design Duo

Has anyone recently been shopping for curtains on the Ikea website noticed the new design collaboration between Henny and Jean de Pouzolles?

Heartbreaker

Backtrack to Saturday, 29 May 2010.

Josh, the little fellow I've known since he was 11, turned 18. Hardly believable. We celebrated in style. His sister and aunt (and indeed all Josh's extended aunties and uncles) beamed with joy.

His proud but shell-shocked parents were fabulous hosts, as ever, and so was Josh.

And...drumroll...here he is, the man himself, a talented apprentice landscaper and gorgeous rugby hunk in designer duds. Lock up your daughters. Happy 18th Josh, with all our love.

Summer's finally here

It's true the spring weather in the Languedoc hasn't been brilliant. In fact it's the worst June on record for about 50 years. Three days ago Michelle was over at our house complaining that she was wearing shoes and socks on the 20th of June. But since the summer solstice, things have improved and we're finally experiencing the glorious sunshine and fine temperatures we'd been expecting for the last month. It's time to find a nice place in the shade to relax and enjoy a siesta.

Weed Mower

For Henny's birthday, 30 people were on the terrace enjoying an apéro overlooking knee-high weeds in the garden. We'd just been on a 3-day gospel-singing workshop, so no time to tame the unruly garden beforehand and make 9 quiches and pizzas for our guests.

Our friend Teddy came to the rescue with his trusty lawnmower. When I was young, I mowed the lawns at home. Our finicky machine would never have dealt with our mini forest in Roujan, but Teddy had the weed-lawn looking better in no time while Henny and I raced to dump the off-cuts in double wheelbarrow tandem. What a difference!

Now we've bought Lizzie's mower second-hand, we hope to keep the weeds in check.

New View

The neighbour above recently invited Henny to her house. Henny cleverly packed her camera to take a photo of the house as we'd never seen it before.

Saluki Puppies!

On 1 February 2010 we were privileged to meet the latest batch of Saluki puppies bred by Shera Chuat. The Saluki is perhaps the oldest breed of dog, traced back to at least 2000 BC. There are representations of them in Egyptian tomb paintings. Shera's been breeding champion Salukis since 1977. They are in demand the world over. Interestingly, some puppies born just up the road from us have gone full-circle back to Middle Eastern royalty, where the breed originated.

Shera's Salukis live like sultans. They are ultra well-cared for. She has about 10 or so adult dogs, five of which can be seen here overlooking the heated puppy house. Dog beds abound, there are endless comfy places to stretch out for a nap. There's a huge fenced-in garden to roam, and twice each day Shera takes the whole pack for long walks in the countryside. It must be quite a spectacle; they're not exactly small dogs. Shera has complete control over them. She doesn't walk them on leashes. And boy, can they run! They're even more majestic when they do.

These two pups are from the litter born 17 December 2009. Saluki coats come in two ways, feathered or smooth. I love the smooth, which Shera says puts me in the minority; the feathered is more popular. These are both smooth-coated, but anyway the feathers get more pronounced as the dog grows up.

This young lady is definitely a smooth operator. Shera resolutely said she wouldn't keep a puppy from this litter, but this little one has completely stolen her heart. Guess who's staying? Click here to see more: Shera's Salukis.

Spare a thought...

11 February. A light dusting of snow on the terrace. In the south of France. Surely this can't be? People are lining up for refunds. We're in a gentler micro-climate than our surroundings, so it doesn't last long. Still, most everyone who's moved here will tell you it's colder than they thought it would be in winter.

On the other hand, here's what our dear friends Robin and Elina have been battling in Baltimore, Maryland. The worst winter on record: over 2 metres of snow so far.

The storm that crippled Washington, DC had its epicentre in Baltimore. The shovelling never ends. No one's going anywhere. Robin said a snow plow got stuck in their narrow street, so a bigger one came to the rescue. It also got stuck. Then arrived the mother of all plows, which did the trick, but brought to mind a Russian doll effect of ever-increasing monster snow-rescue machinery.

Baltimore is on the southern side of the Mason-Dixon line. It's not meant to get weather like this. When Robin first moved there almost 30 years ago, I was envious of her mild winters. She used to laugh at how badly the locals drove if an inch of snow fell. Now look. You begin to wonder if it's down to climate change, and if in years ahead, scary thought, we'll see similar scenes out our LFH windows?

But for now, intrepid souls, Robin and Elina haven't lost their senses of humour. Hope you can hang up the shovels soon!

Birthday Treats

My birthday in December was a marvellous day. We started by going to an exhibition of pretty watercolours, painted by a group of our friends. We snapped up Erszi's fish, which will look great in the kitchen. Pleased as punch, we headed to the coast in convoy. Eleven of us scoffed oysters and other foods of the sea, washed down with deliciously chilled Picpoul de pinet. It was so good to have Margaret along, Lizzie and Freddie's mum. We'd flown in together from the UK the day before. I'm Louise to her Thelma. Her birthday was just a few days prior, so it was a double celebration. Not the sunniest day, but how wonderful to be together!

Back: Ali, Lizzie, Freddie, Josh, J de P, Alex

Front: Poppy, Margaret, me, Henny, Michelle

Back in September, unbeknownst to me, Henny commissioned our friend, the sculptor Teddy Hutton, creator of beautiful things, to make a cutting board for me. In the shape of a pig; I'm rather fond of them. This little trio arrived in ascending size. Three little pigs. I love them.

So long, dear Kate

It was with great sadness that I read of the untimely passing of Kate McGarrigle last week, aged just 63.

When I was living in Toronto in the mid-70's, Kate and Anna McGarrigle burst on the folk scene with their tender, timeless harmonies, fiddles, accordions and bittersweet lyrics. I was smitten. It was love at first note. I never know what to say when people ask my favourite music, except that the McGarrigles have always, always been on my desert island list.

The sisters never courted stardom. Despite their first album being named Melody Maker's album of the year 1975, they eventually pissed off their record company because they preferred to stay home with their kids rather than go on promotional tours. There was once an 8 year gap between albums. In recent years, a new generation came to know Kate as the mother of Rufus and Martha Wainwright, but the McGarrigles have always had a loyal fan base. And from all over the place, because Henny knew and loved their music in the Netherlands.

I know this is off-topic, but in case they passed you by here's a little video: Petite announce amoureuse. At least it's in French. Thanks for everything Kate.

Wintering in Roujan

At TopTop on Boxing Day, Henny woke up and realized, we have a day and a half clear of engagements. We should move into this house for the rest of the holidays. Well, why not? I've been holding out on you...we have a kitchen! It was installed in late November. Not yet completely accessorized, but otherwise fully operational. Enough counterspace for tandem cooking, currently with noses buried deep in instruction manuals.

We packed up several car loads of belongings and groceries, the last featuring a maowing cat. Pou was finally coming to the new house for the first time. He popped out of his travel box, initially ecstatic he wasn't at the vet's. Then it quickly dawned this wasn't Kansas anymore. A lot of exploratory sniffing would be required, best alternated with hiding in the cupboard.


We're all getting used to staying here. Henny and Pou have been in residence ever since, enjoying new mod cons like heaters and a television. TopTop is becoming a home at last!

Happy 2010!

Will you ever forgive the long hiatus? New Year's resolution: I will blog harder. There's so much to tell as well. I'll have to do some retro-blogging to fill you in.

First of all, we hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. I think ours was the best ever! One glorious event after another. Carols at la Maison verte, Christmas eve in the cave at Hans and Christa's, the all-day fest at Lizzie and Ali's on the 25th complete with quick-fire rounds of "Who am I?" Our team kicked some butt. Competitive? Not much! New Year's eve we gathered round Alex's table for a splendid meal. I could go on. Warmest thanks to all our friends and loved ones for a golden fortnight.

There was a highly anticipated event this year. Cendrillon (Cinderella), the first-ever British pantomime in French. Written, conceived and produced by our powerhouse of a pal, Nicola Russell. It ran for 10 glorious performances in Pézenas with not one empty seat! Surely the most successful show the Théatre Illustre has ever presented. (Pou's claws were out when he heard mice were involved).

A star was born. Here he is folks, the Major Dome with the mostest at the ball, none other than Justin Gosling (aka Freddie) in his golden boots.

And signing autographs on the last night!

The French don't have a tradition of sending Christmas cards, but they do send them for the New Year. My French teacher Christiane says you can send them throughout the month of January, but then no more. Squeaking in just under the wire, Henny and I wish everyone nos meilleurs voeux pour le nouvel an. Much happiness and good health to all!

The Big Push

For Henny's birthday, a gang was going to celebrate at Les Goutailles, one of our favourite local restaurants. We decided to have an apéro at TopTop first, determined it would be a building site no more. An almighty push was on to get the place looking presentable for its thus-far biggest-ever audience.

Josh and Michelle tamed the weeds. The man with van we hired to move furniture stored in Henny's garage for the past 18 months, couldn't, at last minute. Teddy & Nicola kindly and ably stepped in with their trusty remorque. We held our breath as the huge couch bumped along country roads and then just about squeeked through the front gate. It was unveiled for the first time since leaving Devon two years ago, happily surviving unscathed.

J de P came to hang art which made an immediate impact. The painting by Dominque Caby was bought nearly 4 years ago. Lizzie & Ali have been safe-guarding it ever since, from dust and builders' mess, during both little French house renovations. Now in its new home at last.

A proper kitchen is still only a twinkle in our eyes, but here's looking into the living room from where it will be. Chairs bought before Kate & John had the sofa recovered, pure coincidence.

A splash of colour in the bedroom.

It took us forever to prepare the marble tiles in the bathroom. Now they're finally sealed, first showers were taken. Divine! The well-travelled fish that came from AL & Liz's ceramics gallery in Toronto so long ago have finally made it out of the bubble pack.

Seeing it all come together was thrilling. Thanks to everyone who helped, especially to Henny, who's done more than anyone, and who lent her birthday as the excuse. It felt like about 5 birthdays rolled into one for me.

Happy 15th Poppy

Poppy was whisked away from basketball practice for a quasi-surprise BBQ on Greg and Alex's glorious terrace. Wonder if Poppy, an ace-player, wouldn't rather have been shootin' hoops with her mates? Too bad. We selfishly kept her all to ourselves, savouring the moment. Now well into her teens, how much longer before she finds us all completely un-cool?

Living in the south of France, Poppy masterfully pops a champagne cork without spilling a drop.

Greg and Alex have an amazing wrap-around terrace. There's Alex manning the fire in the distance. Yes, that's still the same house!

What's the secret behind those deliciously tender chops? (Every possible pun intended.) The meal was yummy. Afterwards it was time for games. The devil himself was there.

Poppy's birthday on the 5th of May kicks off the summer birthday season. It was the first time we could comfortably sit out all evening under a starry sky. Thank you Poppy for giving up basketball for us, and thank you all for a marvellous evening.

The Diving Bench

The last time I dived was in the clear turquoise waters of the Seychelles over 5 years ago. Soon afterwards, I signed for the first Little French House. I didn't immediately realize the two would be mutually exclusive, but I haven't managed a dive since. My gear's been collecting dust. This year I decided it had to go before it became completely worthless.

Watching wistfully as, piece by piece, my kit went out the door, I was comforted by keeping my eyes on the prize -- transforming my diving equipment into garden furniture. So as my drysuit wended its way to Krakow, this bench was being delivered in Roujan.

And here we are. As Lizzie and Ali said, two old dears on a bench. A wonderful, sturdy teak bench which should bear a brass plaque: Kindly donated by my diving career.

Henny's Terrace

Flying in on the 1st of May, the pilot announced, "The weather in the Béziers area is, well, perfect." And he was right. Warm and sunny. Poppies everywhere. Fresh asparagus. May is one of my favourite months. Henny's terrace is an ideal place to enjoy spring.

That is until Pou brings a lizard into the house to play, the wriggly green legs and tail a stark contrast hanging out of his black mouth. Whenever possible, Henny operates a strict catch and release policy. I'm sorry there are no photos. It all happens lightning fast, in a controlled chaotic kind of way with a glass and a piece of paper. All recently stunned reptiles were rescued and returned to the safety of the thick ivy.

When lizard stalking is over, tranquility returns and it's time for a nap in a favourite chair.