Last week it was France. We made it door to door in three and a half hours, which is as good as it gets. Brilliant sunshine every day. Not a cloud in sight but bitterly cold. In the flat countryside of the Pas de Calais, our house is in the Boulonnais, a wonderfully hilly and scenic area, more reminiscent of Kent than of Northern France. In fact the village next to ours has a sign as you enter it :
le village le plus pres du ciel. All of 144 metres! But, there is no doubt about it as you drive up the road towards our village, your ears can pop. So, we are relatively high and we do have fantastic views - of just fields. The tractor there is a frequent visitor. First it ploughed, then it spread manure. What will come next? Maize, sugar beet, wheat? Who can tell.
Much time wasted talking to paysagistes in an effort to get the path from the house to the lane, resurfaced. Workmen are as problematical there as here. Don't turn up or turn up and don't give the promised quote. Weird! Are they in business or not?
Too cold to walk along the (always) deserted beach. Stick to reading - V.S. Naipaul's House for Mr Biswas which I loved when I first read it about 25 years ago. Not so thrilled this time round. 500 dense pages but had to read it for my book group.
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