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.

Excuse me butting in here, but in a recent email I received someone pointed out that although they read this page they don't comment because they can't "sign in".

There is no need to sign in, it's not really a "members only" page. Just do the word verification bit and skip the part that says "Login information", it's not necessary. Fill in the part that says "Contact Information" though. Isn't that right Sandy?

I have just tried to put a comment on the last post, but it didn't show for some reason, so I tried again, still no luck. I think there must be a fault "back at the ranch".

Yes, it must be the Goblins, Keith. I found both your comments 'waiting for approval' and marked as possible spam!

You are quite right about how to comment. I think you can ignore the contact information boxes as well but your comment will come up as anonymous. However, I can't explain why some comments go straight 'on' and others have to wait for me to put them on. Even my own replies have been subject to approval on a couple of occasions. Weird eh.

You are not butting in Keith. You know you are more than welcome to post at any time

"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.

Thanks to Elderbloggers (see As time goes by) I heard that Olive is celebrating her 108th birthday this weekend so I hope you will all join in and pay her a visit at her place to say:

HAPPY

BIRTHDAY

OLIVE

AND LONG MAY YOU CONTINUE

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.

As I slowly came to at about six in the morning I became aware of the windows rattling rather noisily.

Still half asleep I got up, showered and dressed and then the phone rang. It was my headmaster.

"Don't bother trying to get to school today", he said, "you won't be able to get through. Oh, and could you pop down the road and tell the caretaker not to come in as well. His phone isn't working"

The caretaker lived a few hundred yards away from us so I duly went out and found that devastation had hit the village. It was still very windy but I made it to his house and passed on the message.

Back home we put the television on and watched in amazement as the havoc of the night before unfolded before our eyes. The worst storm in over 300 years had uprooted trees and damaged property.

Later that day the children and I went for a walk to see what had happened in the village. The route we normally took to school was completely cut off by about a dozen large trees, uprooted and laying across the road in an untidy heap. We were able to climb over them and found that what used to be a wood was now almost an open piece of ground.

However, the main thing that has stuck in my mind, and maybe I should feel a twinge of guilt over this, is that, thanks to the gales of 1987 we had four days of unexpected holiday from school.

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.

The 13th October is the day, twenty three years ago when Bear and I got married. (In case you were wondering, no, it wasn't a Friday!)

My children were not sure whether or not they wanted to attend. In the end CC came to support me but Jay stayed with his dad. My parents actually came this time. (They didn't when I married Whale) and my sister was my witness. Bear's brother was his.

The only time I'd been to a Registry Office ceremony before was when my mum married my stepfather. That was a pretty downbeat  day too.

Anyway, we did the deed and came out to a grey, Autumnal day. The guests were coming back to the house - the house where Bear had lived with his first wife but he had bought her share - for a drink and a snack. We got in his car and CC came to the rear door.

"You can't come with us. Your mum belongs to me now." said Bear.

Those were the words that cut into my heart  - the only words I remember from that day and that was the beginning of the end.

Unfortunately I was so shocked I didn't react as I should have done. Looking back, how I regret not walking out there and then, telling him to get stuffed and having the strength to start again on my own.

But I was a coward, an idiot, selfish because it would have been so hard to give up on the marriage I had been hoping for ( yes I really did love him then ) - call it what you will. I took CC to our friends' car  'because they don't know where the house is and you can show them.' and then I got back into the car with him to start our life as man and 'acquisition.'

Actually, there was no question of a honeymoon as I was accompanist to a choir and they had a concert that everning, and, of course, it was back to school on Monday.

Bear managed to delay putting beds in the rooms for CC and Jay for over a fortnight but they eventually joined us.

My dreams of making a real home for the four of us were thwarted at every turn by Bear's jealousy. Although I had full custody of the children it was up to them when they wanted to visit or stay with their dad and as the years went by they chose to spend more and more time with him because they felt so unwelcome under our roof.

At the age of sixteen CC could stand it no more. Bear had read some of her comments about him in her diary and had trashed it. Despite the fact that she is claustrophobic and hated having her bedroom door shut he had put a spring on it. . . . .

She said she wanted to move to dad's and would just come for a meal once or twice a week with us. That was when the little stone in my heart got bigger and any love I had left for Bear was pretty well crushed.

Not long after Jay too moved in with his dad and I became a very part-time mum. Bear couldn't disguise his pleasure but  I did hide my heartbreak and my resentment.However it  festered and grew, finally destroying what remained of my love for him.

You may well wonder why I stuck it out for so long and why we are still 'together' and the answer is I honestly don't know.

Yes, I did leave him on quite a few occasions but without thinking it through, and with nowhere to go except to Whale's or my mum's and neither of them had room for the children and me longterm.

All I know is that I feel terribly guilty because of the effect it has had - and is still having on my son and daughter. At the same time, perhaps inexplicably, I do feel sorry for Bear. There have been good times and no-one will ever know how much his bad temperament may be due to a mental problem. He went to see a psychiatrist before he even knew me but apparently he gave up on him.

On October 6th 2002 I walked out but he begged and pleaded to come and help me look after Whale. Although I felt his tears were due more to the fact that he wanted to be looked after himself I gave in.

Despite his promises things haven't changed but he's an old man, and it shows, and his health is not so good. There's no question of  deserting him now.

That's why today I don't feel much like celebrating.

Whale has great difficulty describing exactly how and where it hurts in English so it is far from easy to explain his problems to French doctors.

After five years I get the impression that they are running out of ideas but since his last fall the pain has certainly got worse. Our GP decided to send him to see the rheumatologist at the hospital. He's a strange man with a nervous tic. He keeps his head down and mutters and grunts to himself rarely bothering to look up and ask a question or make a statement. In a way that's fortunate because it is difficult to understand him.

He had a huge file of papers and x-rays from Whale's previous trips to hospital and spent ages poring over them, underlining parts and adding new bits. After looking at several x-rays he prodded Whale briefly to ascertain where it hurt and then decided to send him to the oncologist at the Polyclinique to see if he needed some more radiotherapy.

Of course, that upset Whale but we didn't have long to wait for an appointment.

"Is it urgent?" asked the secretary when I phoned.

"No, Dr. C didn't say it was."

"In that case next Tuesday at 3. Would that be alright?"

We duly booked an ambulance and attended the surgery of Dr J. He spoke a little English and was keen to practise it on us. After we had explained the problem he sent Whale for an x-ray and asked us to go back on Friday.

So off to hospital again and Dr J explained that the x-ray showed  that certain vertebrae had been 'squashed' - maybe when he fell, and that would account for the increase in pain. He said that radiotherapy was certainly not necessary - much to Whale's relief -and passed the ball back firmly in Dr C's court, saying that he should give him an 'infiltration' (which, I think,translates as a cortisone injection).

So, I duly made an appointment, checked whether he'd be better on a stretcher than in a wheelchair for his injection and booked an ambulance, warning them that he would need to stay on their 'brancard'.

Dr C examined the x-rays, counted the vertebrae not once but umpteen times, hmmmmed and grunted, wrote notes, put all the x-rays away carefully, took them out again, counted vertebrae again and finally gave his verdict.

No, an 'infiltration' was not the answer. If he were to give one it would only last about a week. He suspected osteo-porosis - a possibility after years of treatment with Zoladex - so he wanted Whale to have a 'densiometrie'.

The appointment was made for Tuesday (yesterday). We discussed the difficulty of getting Whale from a stretcher onto the x-ray table and Dr C asked the ambulancemen if they would stay and lift him. Fortuately they agreed it would be possible.

After all those trips to hospital costing around 120 euros each time for the ambulance alone (which we don't have to pay upfront thank goodness) the conclusion was that he does not have osteoporosis, it is not a return of cancer and all they can do is increase the medication.

So we're right back where we started. What a waste of time and money.