I awoke, which is always a good sign. It makes the days so much more predictable.
Today I sorted out the wheat from the chaff. I’ve never really known what chaff is but I’m willing to guess that it’s the bit of wheat you don’t want. So I sorted through everything that hadn’t already been sorted and looked a bit chaffy. There wasn’t much left to decide on fortunately, but it was nice to have the time to decide that the metaphorical wheat should be packed in the van, and the metaphorical chaff should be hidden.
I hid things in the same places that the previous owners had hid things, in the depths of the barn in the darkness that hides the concrete feeding troughs. I found a few things as well while I was hiding things, like a proper coal scuttle of the type my nan used to use.
At French lunchtime I noticed that I would have a lot of time on my hands. This is unprecedented and shows that I have been paying attention this week because I am ahead of schedule. I had a desire to do the boy scout thing and walk round the campsite as it were. It was a perfect time to beat the bounds, walk around the perimeter of my land while the weather was perfect and all the French were busy apertifing or souping or hor derfing or plat du jouring. Haha! I had got them at their weakness, For me it just a half hour spent ambling round my land without being observed (and thus act weird if I wanted to) but for my neighbours it was stringently lunchtime.
Enjoying the freedom and the warmth and the light, and probably some intangibles that are too tangible to mention, I wandered round much of the field, which includes my bit although I’ve never been too certain where my bit goes. It’s there somewhere and that’s the main thing. I took some pictures.
I went into town. Went to Louise at the Estate Agent’s and printed off my complaint letter for the council then posted it. Went to the bank to put in 300 euros that I’d taken out when I was cashless. I seem to have lots of cash in my wallet lately because everyone keeps giving me it. Even after I got home I counted over 700 euros in it. That’s means I’ve been walking around with over 1000 euros in my pocket. Even in these non-inflationary times that seems excessive.
The house is pretty-much clear now. The only things I’ll be leaving forever here are one double-bed with mattress, one single mattress, one calor gas cooker, two chairs, one table, one rug, 4 very large yellow cups, a hand-decorated mirror, two calor gas bottles, a new frying pan, some cake tins, a plant stand, a candle stick, some cuddly toys, and some books. And an old rusty van now rebranded as 748 EW 19. Oh yes and a couple of barns full of junk – but that was inherited by me when I took on the ownership of the house, so that is just being passed down the ownership line ad infinitum. I guess the most valuable thing I’m leaving is 500 litres of fuel in the oil tank. At pump prices that’s about 700 euros worth. The thought flittered briefly through me that I should siphon off a few litres – but that’s taking things a bit far n’est-ce-pas?
Packing-wise the van is probably three-quarters full. So I decided that the wheelbarrow would be making it through to the next round with me and popped that in the back. I also put in a bit of tree trunk that Ilka & I had found on a canoeing trip on the banks of the Dordogne last year. It has an interesting shape and needs something arty done to it so I’m glad I managed to fit it in. After all the effort we’d made paddling down the river with a large bit of tree balancing on our canoe it would have been a tearful moment indeed to have left it behind.
It was about 3 o’clock and there really wasn’t much left to do. I scoured around checking that nothing had been left, and nothing else needed hiding or tidying further. In the house I swept and delittered, and even vacuumed the rug and the carpet and the bits in the corners of the rooms that a broom doesn’t reach.
I took the vacuum cleaner next door to Les Tronches because the girlfriend of their grandson wanted it. I found Madame in the vegetable garden looking a little worn out because she’d been turning the soil, ripping out old leeks, and burning the rubbish. Not bad for an eighty year old I suppose. I chatted for a while and then Monsieur Tronche returned from taking the dog for a walk in the car. I chatted for a while and then their daughter-in-law turned up and we chatted some more until it was aperitif time again.
The day began to run out of my control. I was ushered into the kitchen and a very large glass of Pastis was put in front of me. I added some water and drank it with the obligatory mini ‘Tuc’ biscuits that the French insist on calling cakes. It didn’t take long for the Pastis to work its magic, and within a few minutes I was talking fluently and passionately about everything.
Le Professeur turned-up on his motor-mower. He was looking for me because he wanted to let me know that he couldn’t get hold of a copy of the book that was a pictorial history of the region. He joined us for an aperitif and another large measure was given to me. We all chatted convivially and I found out some gossip about some of the other people I’d seen around the neighbourhood but never met. The man who walks like Charlie Chaplin and passes the house every night. Why do the dogs always bark at him? Why does he not stop to chat? Apparently he’s a bit of a tippler, and he’s prone to sneak into people’s cellars when their out and steal bottles of wine, or drain their casks. What a scandal!
Presently, I found myself drunk. It was now dark outside and Monsieur Tronche junior arrived fresh from the farm. He was the first one I’d met when I first arrived in the region, and so it seemed apt that he would be the last one to say goodbye. I took one small further glass of Pastis to toast him and everyone else in the room. I finished off the Tuc cakes and realised that I really should be getting back home.
I told them they had been wonderful neighbours and they agreed I had too (probably because I was only here four weeks in a year). I don’t go in for long goodbyes, so I smiled and said something profound which they laughed at. Time to leave while the going’s good.
Back at the house I opened a bottle of wine and cooked a lovely pasta dish then sat down to contemplate over everything that had happened that day. As the wine went down I contemplated on other things that had happened here over the last few years. As the wine went down further, I had an overwhelming desire to lay on the floor where I found the ceiling spinning quite quickly above me. I didn’t finish the bottle of wine because I split the last few drops on the rug. The only decent rug that was being left for the new owners. The red stain formed a perfect question-mark shape, so I didn’t make any effort to clean it. At that time of night it looked purposeful.
The next morning, I got up early, washed-up, packed a few last things, and crept out of the house before daybreak. Adieu then.
