It's over a week since we made a start on wall-paper stripping and, so far, the house is still in chaos and Pascal has only put the first coat of paint on the ceiling.

Things are not going according to plan.

Firstly, because of Bear's bad back we couldn't get into the bedroom to wash the ceiling and finish off cleaning the walls - the unpleasant task of removing the last annoying bits of paper and then sanding the rough parts - as he spent most of the day in bed.

Eventually CC did the ceiling on Friday evening after he had got up but we didn't manage to do the walls before Pascal arrived on Saturday morning.

Bear had had the choice of sleeping downstairs and getting up early or struggling up to the spare room so he could stay in bed. He opted for the former but was sitting uncomfortably in his armchair when Pascal came to make a start.

However, we didn't have any usable rollers or brushes. The ones Bear had put away after the last decorating hadn't been cleaned properly. Pascal made us a shopping list which grew ever longer: rollers and brushes, sandpaper, tape to protect the edges, silicone for CC's leaking shower, another sort of silicone for the door and window in the bedroom, the French equivalent of polyfilla etc. and Jay and I went off to the shop while Pascal decided to start lookng at the electrical problem in his room.

The spotlights in the ceiling had gone out one by one and now none of them was working. Jay had been using a halogen lamp for some weeks and resisting Bear's offers to find the problem (which was more serious than simply changing the bulb I hasten to add).

The big D.I.Y. shop, Brico-Depot caters for the expert. If you know what you want and where to find it, all well and good. If you don't, it takes a good half an hour to track down a shop assistant only to find that it's not 'his department' and you'll have to 'wait over there to see my colleague'. Jay was in a hurry to get back and then go to the gym so we went to Leroy Merlin  where you can easily find someone to help and advise. With the approach of Hallowe'en half the salesforce were dressed as witches or ghosts but there were still alot of 'normal' assistants so we managed to get all our shopping done in less than twenty minutes - and that included waiting for the paint (for the walls) to be mixed as the colour mixing machine was broken down when went last time.

When we got home Pascal had found the problem. He had climbed on top of the bedrooms and discovered that the transformers for the spots had all burned out because they were underneath the fibreglass insulation. In addition, some of the wiring had overheated and there were burn marks on the fibreglass as well. The lights in CC's bedroom and the guest room are still working but there were the same signs of overheating on all of them. What a potential fire hazard!  And to think, the previous owner was an electrician.

Pascal asked Jay to help him with a bit of measuring and then came downstairs and made another shopping list for replacement lights and wiring.

After lunch he went to look at CC's leaking shower. That involved dismantling it, and putting it together again using silicone. But the leak had completely ruined the lino tiles. CC had been hoping to replace them with 'proper' tiles sooner or later. It now looks as though it's going to be sooner. Doing the floor means moving the sink unit. I have to admit it is an eyesore so we'll probably replace that as well.

This bedroom makeover is turning out to be far more expensive than I'd imagined. The savings I'd drawn out to cover that AND Christmas won't stretch that far. Looks like it'll have to be a scaled down celebration this year but everyone agrees it's more worthwhile to improve the house.

It looks as though we'll be living in chaos for much longer than anticipated too. Pascal is not coming back till Wednesday evening.

Update:  Pascal came to collect his toolbox on Tuesday evening and announced he'd see us on Saturday. Methinks progress is going to be very slow.

We were planning to move up to the spare room while our bedroom had a makeover but when Pascal (the local Jack of all trades) popped in to see how we had progressed with the paper stripping he informed me he was not planning to start painting till Saturday.

Oh great, I had spent ages today stripping the beds and moving out the last of the furniture ( all whilst feeling under the weather with a cold to beat all colds) only to have to start remaking beds so that we could sleep in our room for a few more nights.

(In case you are wondering why we don't just move to the guest room anyway there are three reasons:

1)CC and Jay value their privacy and 'upstairs' is their domain where they can play music to their hearts' content and generally feel stressfree.

2)Bear has a tendency to pee on the floor when he goes to the toilet and CC and Jay are not too keen on him using 'their' loo.

3) The cats are used to sleeping in or on our bed and they are not allowed upstairs.)

Anyway, I was trying to make the bed - with plenty of 'help' from a couple of cats - when I became aware of a burning smell. Jay had been roasting peppers and it smelled a bit like that so I went through to check that the grill was definitely off.

Meanwhile, Whale had a few problems: - he wanted me to check his mattress which had become 'lumpy' (a rucked up sheet) and then look at his bum where he had found a piece of dry skin that was sticking up (!?!)

When I eventually got back to bedmaking Jay came through.

"There's a burning smell in the kitchen. Do you know what it is?"

"I thought it was your peppers but I did check the grill was off"

"It was turned off over an hour ago but the smell is quite strong."

Of course, with a cold, one's sense of smell is impaired but I went through to the kitchen and the smoke was clearly visible while the smell was strong enough to permeate a pretty blocked nostril or two.

However, after a whisky with Pascal followed by a hot toddy provided by Jay, it took a while for the brain cells to register that the last of our homegrown beetroot - a dozen lovely little, sweet, tender roots rescued from the potager this afternoon were boiled dry in the saucepan.

"There's a notice in the paper here." said Bear, "The water won't be drinkable tomorrow between nine in the morning and three in the afternoon. It's something to do with the roadworks."

It's true, they have been digging and generally causing chaos for the last few months and getting in and out of the village has become increasingly frustrating but to deprive us of 'eau potable' - a nuisance but not that surprising.

It was unusual, however, that they didn't bother to put a note in the letterbox or come round with the loudspeaker.

Anyway, this morning I put bottled water out and warned people not to drink the tapwater - not that they would: it tastes awful.

Just before lunch something made me look through yesterday's paper to check exactly what was going on. Bear can usually be trusted to read French even if he refuses to speak it but I thought I'd make sure.

The notice translated as:

The drinking water will be turned off from 9a.m. till 3p.m. in Rue de la Gare

We don't live any where near there.

We met Marie and Michel last Sunday at an organ concert and invited them eat with us on Wednesday. Just a simple lunch - paté, fish and chips, cheese and Black Forest gateau to finish.

We had barely finished the starter when the phone rang. It was Yvette. She was in tears and obviously feeling ill. Naturally I dropped everything to go to her. Bear handed me the car keys but as I'd had a couple of drinks (a campari apero and a glass of Chablis) and the traffic lights at the roadworks keep you waiting for four minutes (we've timed it) I prefered to go on foot.

The door was open and Yvette was in her armchair, very distressed. I phoned her doctor and waited with her.

Meanwhile, 'back at the ranch' Bear had taken over the cooking and serving while Whale  undertook the converation as our friends do not speak English.

I did my best to comfort Yvette, holding her hand and trying to be reassuring until the doctor arrived. It seemed she had had a very bad reaction to the anti-inflammatory tablets prescribed for her painful knee. Thank goodness there was no question of being sent to hospital as she had feared. She agreed to go back to bed and try to sleep for a few hours so I tucked her up with an icepack on her knee.

The meal was over and Bear had just poured Michel a large brandy. Marie had gone to the post office to stretch her legs. Whale was back in bed. Everything seemed to have gone well.

But: Bear hadn't been able to find the peas in the top of the hostess trolley, he had not opened the red wine with the cheese, and he had given poor Michel a huge quantity of cooking brandy (which he couldn't finish and I don't blame him). Of course, he had left all the clearing up for me and I later discovered that the coffee he had made must have been far too strong for our guests.

All the same, Marie said everything had gone well. They were impressed with Bear's cooking and Whale's conversation and they were very pleased that I had been able to go and help Yvette. They weren't at all put out that I had 'deserted' them as they would have done the same for a friend in need.

Yvette is feeling a bit better today but she still needs to take it easy. I'm popping in to see her this afternoon.

Bear is feeling worn out after yesterday's exertion. He's still in bed.

On Saturday my friend from the next village rang. She and her husband ( aged 78 and 80) have just come back from another trip in their 'camping car'. This year they have been to Norway, the South of France and Brittany but they're not planning any more trips till 2008 as Michel is having his second cataract op next Monday.

Anyway, to get to the point, after the first few sentences Marie said bluntly, (but not unkindly)

"I can tell you haven't been speaking much French lately. You no longer speak fluently."

And she was dead right. Since we had our satellite redirected to receive all the British channels we haven't been watching  the News in French and continuing with the odd French film. There haven't been any social events in the village recently and so conversation has been limited to 'Bonjour', 'ca va', and 'bonne journée' when you meet someone in the street.

What little real conversation I've had has been in English. Even my English accent must be becoming more pronounced when I do speak French as Philippe at La Fontaine has been teasing me of late by speaking with an English accent. It's hilarious!

Perhaps it's due to my age but it's so true: if you don't use it, you lose it.