Now it’s not for the want of the conversation that I found myself a prop at the bar. Indeed there were so many people in the house that I could have been a part of as many conversations as there are fingers and thumbs on these two hands of mine. As to why the hubbub at the house – its of no account, but I had to be away from it and when I saw a parting in the crush I grabbed my hat and made the escape out of the back kitchen door. A brisk walk in the clear air soon put me to rights and I entered ‘The Weary Plough’ with as near a smile on my face and a song in my heart as is possible to have – without actually having either you understand. ‘No man wants to be seen so loose as to be in such a mood as he enters the place, though when leaving such things can be condoned’ said O’Shaunessy to me some little time ago and I think he’s right. 

Better to look a little glum and in need of the pick-me-up than happy giving the assembly the appearance of mere wanteness when it comes to the ale, your fellows will appreciate your effort and be comfortable with your converse.

I’m just saying it as it is.

 ‘Now, that gardening is a wild and difficult sport’, I was holding forth to the assembly just the other night, there were nods as the beer was taken. ‘ I was watching the Spanish one on the box the other day and there he’ll be with the dogs for the collecting and the tools like you’ve not seen in your life and the gumboots and the protection of wool, on my mothers eyes it could set you to a gibbering wreck to do it. Five different forks he said and not including the one you’d eat with, it did fair turn me over with the multiplicity of it’. Sip, nods all around. ‘ it’s as if there were some fecund God of toolry out there creating all these bits and parts – I swear to God’. Sip more nods.’ saw a bloke yesterday going mad for the Orobanche alba’ pipes the youngster from the back of the crowd, ‘ I pick it out like a weed I says to him, can’t get rid of the stuff no matter how hard I try. He went almost white as I said it’. 

‘Aye the Spaniard don’t half ramble on from time to time, with his jewels of this and that. Saw him before waxing rhapsodic on the state of his Solanum lycopersicum, some nonsense he spoke’ pause, sip, nods.

 ‘Still it was a very fair looking jumper he had on’ said I and the room warmed to that and someone in the throng mentioned he was liking the return to the braces as a fashion statement, which gained a cool ascent and a general silence.

‘Every action has a reaction’ thus said some chap a while ago, or as O’Shaunessy put it to me the other night in the bar ‘you smack me in the chops I’ll take my fist to you’re ‘ed’.

Wise words from the both but I like my sayings earthy so it’s O’Shaunessy for me every time.
It was only the other day when the true meaning and consequence of such a thing came to me and that after a long day at the yard, but I could have been in the field or about any other buiseness the situation might have been the same.

Along comes a Masters, jaunty cap and well used jacket and says to me ‘what’ll you take for one of the dogs?’ Well as it happens we’ve recently been blessed with a litter from our Meg, the retriever, a very fine animal if ever you saw one and by Mullins champion dog no less.
‘They’re spoken for the lot of ’em’ I says, he comes up coy, ‘surely I can persuade you with some notes of the queens head’, a handsome package from that jacket appears but the litters for family and Mullins so there’s no debate to be had and I tells him. On hearing the news he cuts up nasty, and this is the thing:
‘And if I reported you for that piece of work the other day?’ Says he
‘And if I reported to the widow where her prize duck ended? Says I
‘And what about that salmon at the pub?’ comes back at me
‘There’d be a question over the bacon standard’ I fire back
We’re red in the face now and the bloods a stirred:
‘Let’s talk of yer brothers habits’ says the weasel
‘We’ll talk of you’re Uncle first and you’re nephew the organist’ I’d hit the nerve and the fists were out.
And that’s why I’m hear with this bruising around the eyes and the cracked nose and Masters is doing trade with Flint the dentist with the bandage around the ear.
It’s a funny thing that action and reaction, and that’s what I was saying to O’Shannessy, how a pup ends up with a trip to the dentist or a saw face, ‘there must be a better way’ I said
‘Laissez le mot en colère répondre seulement par un baise’ says he as the puts down the pint.
‘Tricky’ I said looking ascance at the fire in the grate.

We saw two hares boxing today

And Cedric scared one up the day before which ran off, the coal black tips of the ears the most noticeable point.

I love hares.  I’ve seen them too often hanging lifeless from a hunters’ sac.  A terrible shame but part of the culture here and destined to be gutted and ‘jugged ‘ in the local manner.

But hares, man!  Mystical creatures.  Listen to this from Valentine Warner

Apparently they are the same family as rabbits, but not the same species.   In my view they are a million million miles from rabbits.   Creatures of the dusk and dawn.  Crepusular.  Mystical. Beautiful 

When we decided to get married (a mere 16 weeks after we first met), we had a brief discussion about where (England or France) and agreed that if it were possible then we would much prefer that it took place in France.

So we pootled off to see Laurence down at the Mairie, just to see if it was possible to get married in the village.  ‘Bien sur’ she said “when do you want to do it?’

I leapt into the breach and suggested (gulp) ‘Juillet?’.

‘Bien sur’ she said again ‘when, in July?’.

‘Is it possible to do it on a Saturday?’, I asked, wondering if she might say ‘non’ or ‘arrete’!’.

But – ‘Bien sur’ again – which Saturday?

The 26th appears to be the latest Saturday available in July so let’s go for that.

“Bien sur”. And it is written in ink into the diary.

We returned home with a list of documents and evidence that we would need to provide in the coming months, and retreated to our own solitary places in the house to contemplate what we had done.   If there had been cartoons drawn of us, the caption above our heads would have read ‘WTF??’.

And on we went.   Told everyone that was the weekend we were plannin’ on marryin’ and asked them to book local chambres d’hôtes.

I booked in my bridesmaids – best friend Andrew and his best mate David.    You will hear more about them.

Ok then – we’re off.    Now to assemble ‘le dossier’.

When you finally get married, the official Napoleonic code requires that the first words uttered by M le Maire at the ceremony are ‘we have assembled all the necessary documents…’.  Not veryromantic but entirely reflective of the hours and sodding hours you have spent on the undertaking, for both of you you need proof of residence, existence, birth, heritage, children, parentage plus similar for your witnesses.   I was eventually reduced to tears by the EDF English speaking line.  EDF is France’s main bureaucratic means of proving you exist, so the jobsworths on the line wield their power like Nazis.   Expect no mercy or understanding.  In the end I took my pre wedding hysterical face off to Laurence at the Mairie who kindly rang them herself and sorted out what we needed.

So, the great day approaches.  Naturally the dress I had ordered off the internet was a totally disastrous non fitting monstrosity, so I had two weeks to order a new one which arrived in the uk when I was in France and then despite best efforts of saintly Ruth in Angleterre did not get delivered to France,  resulting in a hysterical phone message being left (ok, by me) at La Poste regarding mon robe de mariage.   I had to wear my third best dress, from Debenhams.   It looked ok I suppose but not what I wanted.  Girls – get your act together on the dress – it’s important.

The actual wedding was performed by M le Maire, Jean-Claude and assisted by Laurence.  We also had the Chief Bridesmaid, Andrew, translating it all, including an unscripted speech by Jean Claude saying how welcome we were – truly wonderful

After it was all over, we went back to our house for a glass of champagne before our wedding lunch.   

It was the start of a perfect day. 

We decided to create a circle in yew.  Large enough for us to sit in, or for one person to sit in and contemplate whatever it is they want to – to mediate, or pray or simply enjoy the space.  
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, 

Withdraws into its happiness; 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does straight its own resemblance find, 

Yet it creates, transcending these, 

Far other worlds, and other seas; 

Annihilating all that’s made 

To a green thought in a green shade. 

Andrew Marvell

We used the money I was kindly given as a leaving gift from work, for 36 yew plants, (we bought a crab apple ‘Golden Hornet’ as well, that is in the potager).

So we had the plants over the summer and they were irresistible to a certain puppy dog who loved nothing more than tearing around the garden with one in his mouth, pulling apart the roots.  Although we moved them to somewhere dog proof they were in small posts and dried out really easily, and were desperate to get them in the ground, which we did do in October when the weather turned from scorching.  But all we were able to do was delineate the circle by me standing in the middle with a string and John walking around me with a can of spray paint.   We needed an entrance to the circle and decided to put a ‘baffle’ in front of the entrance, so that it was private.

Aaaaaanyway…months later and the little yew plants are becoming completely submerged by the grass and weeds around them.  Here is one almost submerged:

So on Friday we decided to excavate all around them and put a thick layer of compost on to suppress the weeds. God but it was hard work. We only did half the circle and some of that we had had a go at previously so were not starting from scratch but it was exhausting. Each spadeful of weeds weighed what felt like a ton and had to be dug down and prised unwillingly out of the ground. Each spadeful of compost had to be unloaded from the trailer and put into the barrow and wheeled over. Each sod we lifted out was carried over to a dent in the field and laid down to compost.

We only managed just under half of it when we collapsed in sweaty heaps – early March and 20 degrees in south west France

So you can see the semi circle and the plants nicely mulched.  Next week we will finish it off.
‘A green thought in a green shade’

Feels like spring is here.

A few photos from the garden this morning.

These daffs are in “Audrey’s garden” named for John’s mum.  Full of white roses, for Yorkshire.
The grape hyacinths with their lovely pale frill at the bottom of the bells,(below) are planted at the base of a fig tree ‘Rouge de Bordeaux’ (apt) that John’s sister, Ann and her husband gave us as a wedding present. The figs have a really beautiful taste.  

This is peach blossom, for those flat white peaches you get in summer.  We had them every day on honeymoon in Nimes. The tree is in the gravel garden that we are putting together, inspired by Beth Chatto.  If only we could afford more gravel! 

The irises have got very congested and are about to be moved into the iris bed we are making in the Japanese garden, the climbing rose on the left is a gorgeous deep deep red, variety unknown, and the one hardly seen on the right is a rambler ‘Wedding Day’ that my mum and dad got us for Christmas.  We are going to train it around the front door.   We also got ‘kiftsgate’ – going over a pergola (as yet not made/bought) at the entrance to the potager, ‘veichenblau’ – going along the front fence, and a Rosa Spinissismosa (probably spelt that wrong) – in the cardoon border by the potager. 

 N

The sky it forms a leaden grey
The rains a sheeting down,
Be honest though the forecast did rightly say
Tomorrow you’ll be wearing a frown.

For that day you’ll be cutting bamboo in a storm
On a slope that will get muddier,
Although you’d prefer your arse on a form
It’s better than mulching the Buddlia.

And as it comes down from heaven like stair-rods
And the whole garden resembles a lake
Remember, you’re not moving sods
Or weeding or tying your plants to a stake.

You’re sat in the kitchen, with tea in your hand
It’s warm, it’s pleasant, you know where your at
The wines in the box, so it’s a little bit bland
At least it’s not missing like the kit-Kat.

O for the hob nob it’s golden brown
O for the rich tea a-sinking down,
That silts up my cup and sugars my teeth
À dentists friend and a workers relief.

Give me your kit-Kat. Give me your wispa
Your midget gems and that heavenly mars ba’.
O suck not the gob-stoppers tangy ball
It’s better that I remove them all.

It’ll save you from sin if I take all the biscuits
The vienesse fingers, the shortbread, the thing is
I’ll help you stop eating these sweet confections
By salving my current sad recollections!

O bring me your hobnobs of golden brown
The rich- tea that’s sinking down.
O give me the Jaffa, the custard cream
The bourbon pack tell me it’s not a dream.
I’ll be good till Christmas on vegetable bakes
Eat salads and tuna that comes in flakes
But on that day let Saint Nick be on time
With chocolates and sweeties and the odd glass of wine.

Are you a dog owner?

Ever had a dog or looked after one?

Yes – then carry on reading, the rest of you can, as monopoly would have it – advance to Mayfair, before picking up £200 and having another turn around the board.
OK now they’ve gone we can all wipe those fixed grins off our faces and admit that we all just landed on ‘supertax’.
This is not to say that we all don’t love our dogs to death. I have particular warm feelings about my dog, as an instance last week when I found him on the table eating my turkey, or the other morning when on our walk in a howling gale – warm, even very warm feelings.
But today let’s talk ‘woofs’.
Is your little chap or chapess a single or multiple woofer?
It needs to be said that Cedric ( Mr Cedric unless you’ve been formally introduced) is a quiet dog up to a point. Chase around like a nutter, dig holes where you don’t want them, yep all of that but when is the first ‘ woof’ of the day?
Well to be fair it varies. There is the chase down to the bottom of the garden when the two old dogs from the village drag their old boy around, but I’m not sure it really counts.
The ‘tug of war’ sessions, that’s more grunting and groaning and possibly whinning, in fact Cedric does a good line in whining.
Nope, I think that Cedders is more of an ‘announcer’ you know the sort, it’s a kind of ‘This is Cedric reporting from the garden for the BBC’ or ‘ere, get off my land’ thing. And to that extent he’s definitely a serial woofer.

But when?

Well for us I think it a fairly late in the day, Cedders is much more likely to start up early evening and that seems to be when all the others in the village start as well. It’s so noticeable I think they’ve got it written into some private contract, and that’s the woof that I think really counts, solid on all four legs, load up the diaphragm, point nose into the air at a good forty five degree angle and ……

Woof, woof, woof ……….woof.