Mucking about in boats

In September we set off to Nottingham where Jack, Lesley and I embarked on our canalboat cruise. The beginning was not auspicious as the Trent was flooded and we had to be redirected to another base near Tamworth. However after the first of many pub dinners, we underwent our intensive training on the Friday and set off in what proved to be dismal rain. Lesley and I cowered in the cabin, while Jack valiantly steered the boat, dripping with rain despite his large black umbrella.

However Saturday and the subsequent days were fine and sunny (well most of the time)giving the lie to England's reputation as a wet miserable place. It was a very relaxing trip as the boat travelled at a slower rate than a casual walk. Lesley and I, however, flexed our muscles ably at every lock. With Captain Jack at the tiller, we rolled bravely forth. On about the fourth day, he agreed to relinquish control to me and Lesley occasionally, monitoring our progress carefully nevertheless. We could see into people's backyards, make small talk with other passing boaters and only occasionally lost control and rammed someone or something.

The best place we stopped at (apart from the pubs en route) was Shrugsborough which was the home of the Earl of Lichfield, a National Trust manor, a working farm and a beautiful garden. We spent about 5 hours there and then off again on our boat. At he end of the week, we found our land legs again, recuperating at Lesley's (and visiting a few more pubs) before our next adventure .

Am I having fun yet?

One of the well known joys of living in France is the infamous work ethic practised by most French tradesmen. It’s not that the work they do is bad: it’s just they take forever to do it. Of course this is worse in the summer (as it is in Australia) when everyone goes on holidays. So it’s with joy I announce that today M Cousinet came (as soon as he got his message on his return from holidays) and fixed up both our leaky bathrooms, M Flamand is coming tomorrow to finish this part of the work on the pool and M Da Ross (also returned from holidays) has assured us he will be here on Friday to complete the double glazing on the downstairs doors and windows. As time is running out, we are heaving sighs of relief. Still the proof of the pudding…. I won’t post this until after Friday.

This posting is about home repairs and reports on this summer’s activities. The pool that was actually begun in June last year and expected finished within a few weeks is still dragging on. However, if M Flamand holds to his word, the terrasse and plage surroundings should be completed tomorrow. That means we should be able to put the winter cover on this year. It’s been a frustrating experience from beginning to end. Had we realised at the beginning that WaterAir (pool manufacturer) and M Flamand, whom they introduced to us, were not directly associated (although he drives their car), we might have expected less. But as it is we have joined the queue of M Flamand’s clients all of whom seemingly have had more pressing needs than us. He’s a charming man with a ready smile and an even readier assurance that he will be back but now we’ve perfected the Gallic shrug too at whatever he undertakes to do.

Of course there’s still stage 3, but that doesn’t depend on M Flamand, it depends on the arrival of the tout a l’egout. It’s European law that the sewer will be everywhere in France by 2010 and we can’t really complete the terrasse close to the side of the house until that happens. Locals who understand how things work (or don’t) also demonstrate the same Gallic shrug when ever it is mentioned. It will be interesting to see who wins, the village push whose approach is just stonewalling, I think, or the regulations. Of course the Mairie assures us it is all coming soon but…. I shrug again.

One worker you can rely on is this limited work environment is Jack. In typical form, he has slaved away this summer on another mammoth task: rebuilding the hangar. Over the years he has spent much time, on temporary repairs but this year we decided that we would keep it (as opposed to pulling it down) so all the old tiles were carefully taken down, and a massive reconstruction of half of it undertaken. He and Matt, our friend, have laboured for weeks, much to the delight of Abby and Elliot who are drawn to an upright ladder, and love to help where possible. Ultimately the old tiles will be replaced to maintain the original appearance but for now the focus is on getting the old wood replaced and the roofing in place.

Posted photos show various stages in the rebuilding of the hangar roof (or half of it) and of the pool and the garden.

The pool

How to catch a mole

How to catch a mole

One of the many furry friends we have in Hure is a mole or colony of moles, I am never quite sure which. Until we started putting in the pool, we were resigned to a soggy and bumpy underfoot. However after taking the momentous decision to cut down our pine trees and put in a new pool, we have become more conscious of the pristine requirements of a lawn. Our pool man, M Flamand, who has become a regular visitor although his visits are more sporadic than we would like since the process of putting in our pool is seemingly going to span the decade, assured us that the sound of earthmoving and digging would scare away our little furry friends, but not so. Mole hills appear with regularity under mud, gravel and worst of all our new lawn.

Moles are unknown in Australia so considerable research was necessary in the animal eradication sector of the comprehensive Leclerc bricolage centre at Langon. This research unearthed (no pun intended) a wealth of procedures from the mechanical to the chemical, all offering to rid our garden of this invader. Putting all thoughts of Ratty and his semblables from our minds, we scrutinised the range of options intently.

We already knew that it was possible to employ a mole man who would come, armed inscrutably with his hunting kit and that there was also on the market a search and destroy subterranean missile which could be introduced into the mole gallery ( so the tunnels running between mole hills are termed) and which on contact with the object of prey would explode, leaving little evidence above ground of this nefarious activity. However neither of these solutions could be found in the aisles of Langon LeClerc.

A possible option was a moles trap, but what to do with the body, alive or dead, if the trap worked? Another option was to feel friendly garden worms (the diet of moles) a noxious compound, cut off the worm’s heads and tails to stop them escaping and drop them down the gallery to be eaten by our moles who would in turn be poisoned.

More kindly was lawn fertiliser containing an odorous addition which was “repulsive” to our little “taupes”. A similarly scented product in the form of a tablet which could be dropped down into the mole gallery was also available. The ma of the house preferred the battery operated device that emitted a soft but piercing whine, seemingly unpleasant for mole ears, which would send our friends scattering to other fields. Considering that overkill was perhaps the best option we opted for all three.

However uncomfortable as our moles found these devices, as could be seen by the alacrity with which they shifted camp, they did not shift camp out of our garden. Not for a moment. It was home and little mounds appeared in new and more challenging spots.

On our return from Italy last year Kathy, whose work in establishing our lawn is not to be underrated, and I decided to try the Ultimate Solution: the gas oven approach. Lit cartridges with wicks at both ends could be dropped down the mole hole into the gallery, once someone (Kathy) had forced her hand down the hole and identified the spot. We then placed heavy stones over the holes wherever smoke was seen to wisp out of the ground. The scene resembled a cross between an Enid Blyton tale of country animal life and a documentary reconstruction of Auschwitz in miniature. Pushing aside feelings of guilt, we hoped for a mole free future. Later we learned that a dead snake had been found: could one of those holes where Kathy gaily plunged her hand have been misdiagnosed?

At the moment we are at a standstill. No new holes seem to have appeared and we did find one mole corpse a couple of weeks ago. But in one part of our rather decimated garden, we have lawn, lovely green, soft lawn.

Social Life

Despite the diversions posed by child care, house maintenance and construction and the like, here we are at our house, Castets en Douthe and a local farm restaurant.