This was the idyllic setting for a barbeque. The hedge has grown since our last visit to this house so you can no longer see the Meuse but the towering hills of the Ardennes are a wonderful sight to enjoy as you have an al fresco meal.

We were invited for Sunday lunch because they had a favour to ask; would we help their younger son with his English during August?

After a champagne aperitif and plenty of food and friendly conversation it was impossible to say no. But when I realised they meant Quentin to stay with us for several days at a time I began to see a few problems.

As far as I'm concerned it would be a pleasure. This young man, now 17, was the tiny baby we looked after when his uncle had a heart attack almost at the same time as we arrived in the village to stay in the holiday home belonging to another of his aunts.

The whole family went into shock. People rushed hither and thither and his mum pushed the baby into my arms  with breathless instructions for finding bottles and nappies etc. and disappeared in the car.

Sadly the uncle died and we went to stay in our friends'  'real' house in Charleville, leaving the family to grieve and organise the funeral in the village.

So now, we are going to be left 'holding the baby' again, so to speak. Bear is a bit grumpy about it, especially as I don't know how long he's going to be with us. We kind of arranged that they would bring him next Sunday evening and we'd 'see how it goes'. . . . . .

CC and Jay are sympathetic as they realise the poor lad probably doesn't want to come and live with an English family whom he doesn't know very well but they do feel it is a bit of an imposition.

As far as I'm concerned, I enjoy having visitors but am aware that some of the work will fall on CC and Jay's shoulders if my knee doesn't improve soon. We are all looking forward to meeting Sophie with Chris and Chaddy on Friday and some more friends are coming to stay at the end of August. Trouble is, I can't be sure what will happen with Quentin in between.

It looks as though next month is going to be 'interesting'.

Some time ago I discovered Susie Vereker's blog and was intrigued by the title of one of her books - 'Pond Lane and Paris'.

Yesterday the package from Amazon was delivered and I was hooked. In the first couple of pages I was immediately drawn to the heroine, Laura, and couldn't put the book down till it was finished.

If you like Joanna Trollope you'll like Susie Vereker but I'm not going to give away any more details about the story.

Having a book in English completely distracted me from my resolve to read in French. I've borrowed Gerald Durrell's "Ma Famille et Autres Animaux" from the library (in large print) but it's slow going. 

Yvette has lent me Caligula (Camus) and another play, Clerambard, by Marcel Aymé (whom I'd never heard of), so, you see, that's why I haven't had so much time to write or read blogs recently.

Meanwhile, I apologise for the lack of anything interesting to report regarding daily life chez-nous.

Pascal rang on Friday evening to say he'd be round on Saturday.

Wow, we might get a full day's work done!

His 8 o'clock arrival was more like 25 past and he has come to expect a coffee laced with whisky before embarking on his labours.

By lunchtime he was saying he hoped to finish by the evening.

But - during the afternoon there were sounds of swearing.  He came to find me, looking a bit sheepish.

"You have got more of those pink tiles in the attic haven't you?"

Now the pink tiles were left over from a previous job (by the original owner) and Pascal had calculated that there were enough to do the top part of the walls. As it was no longer possible to buy more I had chosen blue for the lower half and 'shelves'  with a pink and blue freize in between - also left overs found in the attic.

I distinctly remember suggesting to Pascal that if there was a danger of running out of pink tiles, maybe he could do a second row of freize and finish with blue again at the top.

"No, I've counted them. There will be enough." he said, dismissively.

Now it was a different story. He was three short. And he had used up all the frieze to decorate the shelves.

We searched the attic in vain for matching pink tiles.

"I thought you had counted them." I ventured.

Yes, but he hadn't taken into account the fact that the understairs cupboard  new loo is not symmetrical and therefore the left side is longer than the right side.

"Well, we'll just have to finish off with blue". I said.

Pascal was all for ripping off the top row from the other side as well but as that would involve lots of cutting minute fragments to fit I couldn't bear the thought of all that extra time and mess (and money).

"Non!" I protested. "We'll live with it. People won't notice."

Pascal gave an exhasperated shrug and muttered something about "Vous anglais...."

At least, by 5.30 the tiling was finished and he graciously gave me the opportunity to clean all the mess off the walls and floor while he washed his tools in the garage.

(Bear is, at this moment, trying to unblock the sink which is solid with a kind of concrete resulting from that little operation).

Pascal then spent quite a long time repairing the flush mechanism when he put the toilet back. (I'm convinced it stopped working as a result of his constant removing it to the garage).

It was then time for an 'apero' of beer and whisky before he wandered off home.

"I'll be back to do the grouting." were his parting words.

Pity he didn't say when that might be.

A few days ago we were walking round town, minding our own business when a young lady approached us, stuck a microphone on my face and asked,

"Do you live locally? Have you heard about the Fourniret trial?"

I told her we lived near and, yes, we knew about the trial. The local paper has been full of it. Two notorious serial murderers moved to the prison  to be tried in Mezieres from tomorrow: the resultant disruption to parking has already been well broadcast and they estimate the total cost could be over a billion euros.

She held the microphone closer to my face.

"Can you tell me what you think about it then?"

I wanted to let rip with my feelings about a lifelong rapist and murderer whose first conviction dates back to when he was 25 (he's now in his 60's) and how he could be allowed to get away with it for so long - and how, if he's proved guilty, they should lock him up in a deep dark cellar and throw away the key. . . . . .

But my French deserted me and I could only babble about how terrible it must be for the victim's parents to have to sit through this all over again, listening to such a monster going over his crimes.

Hopefully, it was not a live programme and no-one will actually hear what I said.

But, tomorrow, Michel Founiret starts his trial for the kidnap, rape and murder of about seven of his victims.

His wife, Monique Olivier, in an attempt to make things easier for herself, has accused him of twelve murders but, since she was a party to 'befriending' and enticing some of the victims into their trap, she is also on trial.

Fourniret himself has already 'helped' the police by explaining where certain remains were hidden but, so far, he has been a difficult, slippery and crafty customer.

In some of his previous convictions he actually had suspended sentences (!!!) but, if French justice is to retain any credibility I should think they will have to keep him behind bars for the rest of his life.

The people of Charleville can't be too happy about this high profile case unfolding on their doorstep but they'll have to put up with it for the next few months.

It is mentioned on the BBC website here.

"Can I borrow your foot?"

This has become a Whale-ism.

Every time he needs to transfer from bed to wheelchair someone has to put their weight on the walking frame as a counterbalance. This is because he has problems bending at the knees and he maintains the floor is slippery.

It's true his right leg has become stiffer of late but I'm not so sure about the floor.

Anyway, whereas Whale used to be fairly independent about getting in and out of bed or wheelchair there is now the shout

"Can I borrow your foot?"    umpteen times a day.

It's not that it's a strenuous task but his timing can be a bit inconvenient. Of course, he's not to know what I'm doing all the time but when I've just sat down with a cup of coffee to read  my favourite blogs or I'm enjoying a TV programme with a cat curled up on my lap I can't help inwardly sighing.

But when he can see I'm in the middle of cooking or washing up (his bedroom adjoins the kitchen area) then it does get a bit exhasperating.

There was small piece in the local paper:_ the library in our village was going to open soon and the librarian was holding a meeting at 16h 00 for anyone interested in offering to help.

It must be nearly a year since they announced that the former school was going to become a 'bibliothèque'. I was beginning to wonder if the idea would ever become reality, so the chance to see what was going on appealed to my curiousity.

Knowing that meetings don't usually start on time I left the house at two minutes to four and arrived just after (it's in the next road). Even so I was the first one there. I walked in and had a choice of three doors,  none of which bore a label. Just as I was wondering which door to try first the one on the right was opened by the librarian.

"I thought I heard someone," she said, "Come in."

By this time a second lady had arrived and by ten past there were six of us.

There were mixed reactions to the progress. The room was small but freshly decorated and there was a colourful children's corner with pictures, mini armchairs and a low settee. But there was a serious lack of books.

The bright new shelves were shining with white emptiness. One or two of the ladies expressed their amazement at the shortage.

"Oh, but there are more in here," said Isabelle (the librarian) leading us into the small room on the left where a table held a few piles of books.

"These are the ones that need covering and classifying" she said.

We went back into the main room and gathered round the table. There were now nine ladies, (seven of whom were retired teachers) and one man, the chairman, who is one of the mayor's deputies and also the retired head of the local school.

During the course of this meeting  we learned that the library does not 'belong' to our village but is sponsored by a group of surrounding 'communes'. But no-one was sure which villages were included - or even how many!

When was it due to open? Well, maybe in February - or March - but, hopefully before the local elections on March 9th.

Opening hours? Not sure yet: the librarian is paid to work 35 hours a week but she is also expected to tour the other villages. So that's where the volunteers come in - to man the premises in her absence.

The door opened again and in came Madame S - another retired teacher well known for her appreciation of a tipple. She sat down breathing fumes over us. I'm not sure what she had been drinking but I wouldn't have risked lighting a match near her.

"Sorry I'm late. Last minute phonecall - you know how it is."

She beamed in my direction - "Ahh, the little English lady. How nice of you to come." -  shook hands with everyone, someone produced another chair and she joined the circle.

Other problems came to light,  like the fact that the software for keeping track of the books and borrowers would not be available till September so all the information would have to be entered on one system and then re-entered on the new system in the Autumn. No wonder she wants to keep the stock down for the time being!

Meanwhile the library will be run with  cards. The lady next to me, who came from a nearby village, was most put out about this ( there's too much room for error) but it seemed there was no option.

I asked if there would be scope for a section of books in English and other languages.

"Yes, of course. We already have some," Isabelle said and went to fetch an example from the children's section. It was Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit.

We were asked to write our names, addresses and phone numbers, together with times we would be free to help, on a sheet of paper.

Then came the big question: - what was the library to be called?

Well, it couldn't be called by the name of our village because it belonged to the group. My vociferous neighbour was adamant about this.

Someone came up with 'La Bibliothèque Intercommunale des Plaines et Forets de l'ouest Ardennes.' (what a mouthful!) The librarian pointed out that it wouldn't tell people where to return lost books. The meeting deteriorated into three different discussions.

By now it was 5.30. Two ladies had already departed. I felt it was time I left them to it as well. I wonder how much longer they went on and whether they decided on a reasonable name - or whether they came to any conclusions at all . . . . . .

John-G started it and then Keith upstaged him.

"What's in your dresser?"

Well. I can't even begin to compete on contents - the top half contains (very ordinary) crockery and the bottom half is a drinks cabinet (some good brandy and a nice calvados though) - but the dresser itself has an interesting story.

When I came over to househunt five years ago two very dear friends took me in and helped organise just about everything.

We had barely a week to furnish and prepare the house before Jay brought Whale over. Marie  and Michel took me to the attic above the workshop - an immense barn of a place, filled with all sorts of furniture and farm equipment in various states of repair.

"Some of this furniture belongs to a relative who is in a home" explained Marie. She thinks it has all been sold so you are welcome to borrow anything you need.

There was a large kitchen table and six chairs that would be most useful but the beds were rusty and, frankly, past it.

Then she showed me the 'buffet'. It was all in pieces and covered in dust and cobwebs but  I fell in love with it.

"It's in the style Henri Quatre," explained Marie, "and it's not very popular because it's too fussy and ornate and people don't like polishing it."

"I love it." was my response.

So Marie supplied me with rags, brushes and old fashioned liquid polish and left me to provide the elbow grease necessary to restore the bits and pieces to something resembling their former glory.

Eventually, with the help of a couple of younger chaps, the parts were put together in the living room of our rented house. The lower doors didn't close easily but it didn't matter. I was thrilled with it.

When we found our present house I asked if we would be allowed to bring the dresser with us.

"Of course," was the reply.

It was dismantled and reassembled in the dining area where it only just fitted - barely a couple of centimetres to spare.

You have to feel 'in the mood' and then polishing it is a very satisfying experience. I admit, I don't do it all that often but it looks better than it did when I first saw it.

Way back in October we started on the bedroom makeover and soon discovered that it was going to be a long drawn out process.

Little did I suspect that it would also lead to Bear falling out of a makeshift bed, spending nearly a week in hospital, coming out with an infected hand and fractured shoulder, being indisposed for Christmas and beyond and then going down with bronchitis.

But, although we still have various medical appointments to attend he is, at last, beginning to feel better. In fact, yesterday he drove into town and we did some shopping to finish off the bedroom.

Before, there was pink wallpaper and a frieze - mostly in good condition but with very noticeable 'cat-scratch' areas. Bear's attempts to protect them with plastic looked terrible so the wallpaper had to go.

The 'meringue' colour paint looks fresh and clean but somewhat bare so we needed more pictures than the ones we already had. I chose some cat pictures from the 2006 and 2007 calendars and we bought  frames at 6 euros each from ' Mille Choses'.

Now the bedroom is about as finished as it's going to be for the time being. New curtains and bedlinen are out of the question but we did have to have a new wardrobe because the old one fell apart.

So what do you think?

This morning I woke late, not as hung-over as I deserved,  and  decided that New Year's Resolutions were no more likely to be kept this year than in previous years. 

However, I did find this on As Time Goes By and thought I'd pinch the idea in an attempt to get my thoughts and intentions together:

Still Loving: my daughter, my son  - and the cats.

Still Not: in love with anyone.

Still Glad: I live in France

Still Enjoying: retirement.

Still Doing: mostly what I like when I like. Even the task of looking after two menfolk is not too restricting.

Still Proud: of no longer 'belonging' to Bear - of learning to stand up for myself.

Still Amazed: at how quickly time passes.

Still Hoping: Life will bring some happiness to CC and Jay.

Still Grateful: for all the people I know and friends I have made - both face to face and via blogging.

Still Wanting: to find a house with more doors to close and a smaller garden.

Still Trying: to speak French better.

Still Failing: to improve my French

Still Passionate: about blogging.

Still Dating: no one.

Still Working: on getting this bl***y knee to get better.

Still Reading: Harry Potter 7 in French.

Still Worried: about the potentially explosive  nature of our household.

Still Wondering: if we will move house this year.

Still Wishing: for a solution to life's problems and enough optimism to carry us through if one isn't forthcoming.

So, apart from a fairly determined decision to eat more slowly and stop when I'm full I'm not going to make any promises to myself that I won't be able to keep.

Let's hope 2008 will bring good things - health , happiness and a sense of achievement.

Bonne Année to one and all.

As the 25th draws near I'm not sure whether I'm feeling calm or frantic or a mixture of both.It can best be described as feeling kind of laid back but also worrying that I'm not going to be organised in time.

Fortunately Jay and CC are here to help and they are going to do most of the cooking this year. We didn't make Christmas puddings but I did bake a rich fruit cake a couple of months ago and we have been dosing it with brandy at regular intervals. Then CC decorated it with marzipan, figs, dates, apricots and nuts.

Yesterday we thought we'd do a Winter Solstice celebration starting with mulled wine and mince pies and going on to vegetable chilli later in the evening. However, it was ruined by Bear and television. You can't have a relaxed meal with Eastenders blaring out full blast only yards away.

Bear has, however, been quite poorly since his fall. An x-ray revealed that he has a small fracture at the tip of his shoulder. There is nothing they can do for it so he just has to wait and put up with the pain till it heals itself. The doctor will only prescribe paracetamol which doesn't help. He's not allowed anti-inflammatories because of kidney problems.

As he is out of action he hasn't been able to protest about me going shopping with Jay. It's difficult to judge how to avoid the crowds at this time of year but Jay went to the supermarket during the lunch break a few days ago and found it relatively quiet.

Today was a different matter. We went to Cora and the carpark was full. We managed to nip into a spot as another car left and then we braved the throng of shoppers playing dodgems with their trolleys. Getting around was not quite as bad as I'd feared but it was a relief to come to the end of the shopping list and make for the checkout.

Of course, there were long queues but Jay steered me to a shorter one. The chap behind us was pushing forward so that he was almost sitting in our trolley. He was carrying his shopping in his arms - a lamp, some socks, a scarf and other items like DVDs or computer games. His little boy was also holding a DVD and growing more and more impatient.

"Should we let them go before us?" asked Jay.

"I don't know." I replied. "If he wasn't pushing so hard to get in front I wouldn't mind."

But then it was our turn to unload so we went ahead. At the checkout there were two items which wouldn't register on the till. The cashier telephoned and we waited for a young lady on roller skates to appear. After another eternity the phone rang and she was given the barcode for the cheese but they had no idea about the wine. A long conversation ensued and, eventually she asked us if we knew the price.

"6.70," said Jay, "the same as the red". She asked for the bottle of red which we'd already packed and passed that through again. By this time the queue at our checkout was growing and the poor man behind  must have been thinking some pretty uncomplimentary things about us. I paid the bill and we left hurriedly, trying not to look back.

There remains one more shopping trip for the last minute items. Everywhere is opening on Sunday but we'll  probably wait till Monday. We have planned our unconventional menus and I'll let you know, later, if they were successful.

Meanwhile, would you all spare a thought for poor Keith who has gone down with a nasty virus. He can't eat anything at present so I hope he's better by Christmas.

Are you all prepared for the coming week? Hope so.