Bear booked his trip to England today and he is going sooner than I had expected. He'll be away sixteen days from the middle of April.

Two stress-free, blissful weeks without him. Wonderful.

He's already asked what we are 'cooking up' during his absence but since we couldn't be sure he was actually going until the tickets were bought we haven't arranged anything yet.

It won't be difficult to come up with some ideas though.

Bear has been 'pottering' again. His attempts at D.I.Y. were never that good but they're a damn sight worse nowadays.

It started with a catch to keep the garage door closed properly. It took several shopping trips before he managed to find one and so when he eventually asked me if I still wanted him to fix it on the door I reluctantly agreed.

"It'll only take half and hour" he said. But I've heard that before. In fact, it took quite a few sessions over four days before everything was in place and then, I wouldn't like to say it was the neatest job I've ever seen.

Unfortunately, it gave him a taste for 'bricolage' and there was more hammering and screwing from the garage this morning. Then he appeared holding a scrappy looking mirror with double sided sticky tape on the back and asked where I'd like it put. As tactfully as I could I said I could do without it, and, to my surprise he didn't let fly with the usual "you never like my ideas" routine, and went upstairs to put his latest find away in the loft.

Then I went into the garage and realised what was going on. He had hung a metal ladder on the door (which leads from the garage into the house) so that it now makes a clunking noise every time you open or close it. His psychological game is that because he accepted my refusal of the mirror I am expected not to complain about the bloody ladder.

OK, I'm saying nothing today but I'm biding my time.

Today I've upset the Bear yet again by being selfish and inconsiderate.

Jay had an appointment with the dermatologist at 11.20 so CC and I rushed round doing the cleaning so that I would be ready to go with him. I put the joint in the oven and then left her in charge of preparing lunch.

We got back at about 1 o'clock because Dr. R. always runs late and before I could get my coat off the Bear insisted that I go and look at his computer because he couldn't get it to work. He was trying to watch a DVD about trains but was getting a Teach Yourself Greek lesson.

Despite the fact that lunch was ready, I fiddled about without really knowing what I was doing and, more by luck than judgement, got it to work. However, during the meal the Bear started to rant on about how he had spent two and a half hours getting nowhere with the bloody computer.

'Well, that's not my fault', I protested.

'Yes it is. You weren't here to help me.' was his reply.

'But Jay had an appointment..' I began.

'Bugger appointments,' roared Bear and continued to complain between mouthfuls of roast pork. By dessert he had gone off to sulk in the conservatory.

He appeared a bit calmer later so when he asked if I'd walk down to the Post Office with him I agreed. Maybe, just maybe, he was going to apologise and didn't want to do it in earshot of anyone else.

On the contary, we had only gone a few yards when he let fly again. It was all the usual insults. I know them by heart now. He got as far as telling me how selfish I was when I simply turned round and came back home.

He seems to be trying to arrange a trip to England to see his family.

Please, let it be soon. We all need a holiday from his tantrums.

Yesterday Elisabeth announced she was taking her stall to the 'Foire de Fromages' at a village about 20 miles away so we decided to go along and support her.

She showed Bear the poster and he wrote down the name of the place on a carrier bag, but when we were ready to set off he couldn't read his writing or remember what it was - except that it was a double-barrelled name. Unfortunately, every other town, village or hamlet you see has a long, involved title.

Anyway, we set off in the right general direction and every so often he stopped to pore over the map in the hopes that he would recognise where we were going. It was an interesting ride through very attractive country but after an hour my weak bladder began to complain and in the end I had to ask him to look for a suitable place to stop. As map reader I was able to take him down country lanes but there were farm houses round every bend and, although they looked deserted, I didn't fancy taking the risk of being caught 'mooning'. At just about desperation point we came to a woodland path and I set off to find a place out of view of the road. I had just crouched down - like you do - when I realised with horror that ever since my knee problem I had not been able to get up from this position without considerable difficulty. My relief was therefore mingled with uncertainty until I was able to get up with the help of a push off from  a nearby log on the ground.

At last we came to Chenois-Aubencourt and found the market with no problem. Elisabeth had not had much trade that morning and was quite downhearted. She left her stall in the care of her neighbour and we went for a coffee. The chap in charge of refreshments said coffee was free for stallholders but he didn't recommend it so, at his suggestion we tried the local beer, Ardwen, which had recently won a gold medal for it's new 'biere blanche' (white beer). The beer we tasted was 'blonde' as the 'blanche' was being introduced at the brewery during a special open day - today. It looked as though we would be going home via Launois-sur-Vence.

We toured the cheese market where we were offered various tastings, including an aperitif made from raspberries and rosé wine. It was very pleasant so we bought a couple of bottles. As we left, the chap said it was also good with champagne as a kir, instead of using blackcurrant liqueur.

We were overwhelmed by the choice of cheese but finally settled for three kinds of fresh goats' cheese - with pepper, with Italian herbs and 'nature' - from a local lady, some beaufort and tome de Savoie from a lady who explained that her cheeses were made by a co-operative of farmers in Savoie rather than a big factory, and four 'tartes au maroilles' (maroilles is a locally made strong, smelly cheese).

There were interesting stalls selling handcrafted jewellery, glassware, honey and beeswax products, local charcuterie, bread, produce from the southwest - foie gras, tins of duck fat, tapenade, sundried tomatoes etc - and so Elisabeth probably didn't stand a great deal of chance with her British food. It seems the French in this area are particularly suspicious of English cuisine.

We set off in the sunshine to find the brewery and arrived to find the carpark very full. People were having lunch in La Taverne, but we were greeted by a friendly young lady who asked where we were from and gave us two vouchers for a free tasting of the new beer. She explained that the next 'visite' was not till three o'clock but we could have our beer at the bar and look round the 'shop'. We decided that we wouldn't wait for the tour but we did taste the samples on offer and bought some bottles to bring home.

On the way back Bear was driving much more quickly than his usual very stately pace but I knew that even if I did get nervous I was in no fit state to take the wheel.

While we were staying with our friends in the South I noticed a jar on the windowsill. It contained a yellowish liquid and had things floating in it. I didn't like to ask what it was.

However, the next day N asked me if I'd like to taste her homemade 'lemonade' and after I'd drunk it she told me it was water kefir and pointed to the ominous looking jar.

Apparently there are two types of kefir crystals; one for fermenting milk and the other for use in water based drinks. The water variety are opaque white blobs. You keep them in sugar solution in the fridge for up to a fortnight when they are not in use but if you want to store them longer you have to dry them out. In their dehydrated state they ressemble brown sugar. 

She had dried some for me to bring home and after carefully reconstituting them over four days I went into production and soon had my own jars of bubbling liquids on the go.

No-one else in the family is prepared to taste the results despite the promised health benefits. It is said to be good for the digestion and stress, among other things. I have to admit it smells pretty strange but, honestly, it doesn't taste that bad, even if I have to admit I do need to refine my recipe.

The basic idea is to put the crystals in sugared water together with some dried fruit - preferably a fig - and a quarter of an organic (untreated) lemon. You give it a good stir every day and once the fruit has all risen to the surface it is ready to strain and drink.

I found a recipe for 'healthy champagne' made with freshly squeezed grape juice and water kefir, which promises a sparkling 'wine'. At the moment it looks cloudy and rather unappetising despite the lively fermentation.

Who knows how it might be transformed in the next 48 hours. One can but hope.

CC and I had physio appointments this afternoon and we were telling her about the Bear's latest sayings and doings. She knows him well and has experienced his explosions first hand.

She has been hinting that it might be a good idea for CC to meet her brother who is keen to practise his English but CC is in no fit state for a night of clubbing with her bad back - not to mention the fact that night clubs lost their appeal years ago - so a meal out one evening was proposed and CC was happy to accept.

Then it was my turn. "How would you like to meet a really nice friend of mine? He's 68 and he'd make you laugh."

I couldn't believe my ears. She couldn't be serious. I laughed and said "You must be joking," but she insisted she meant it.

"You're not shocked are you?" she asked CC.

"Not at all" grinned my daughter. "I think it's a great idea."

The rest of our physio sessions passed with lots of laughter and a promise to call CC for a dinner date.

Is this physiotherapy  'a la Francais'?

There is an excellent woodmerchant in the next village. The only problem is getting him to deliver wood. Last year I phoned many times and left messages on his answerphone - when it was working - but had no response. Eventually I started asking around and the chap at the local bar said the woodman was often there so he'd give him a message.

By magic, the woodman appeared at the door the next day and promised me a delivery the following morning. He stacked the logs in the garage (for an extra charge) and pattered on about me being a good customer and I only had to ring the next time etc.

So, just after Christmas, when we thought the stock was getting low, I phoned and was told by his daughter that the price had gone up from 32 to 36 euros a stere (cubic metre), minimum delivery was 5 steres (our garage holds four) and we would have to wait till February.

We thought we could eke out the supply till then, and, anway, the garage would have to be completely empty to get five steres in. So, at the beginning of February I phoned again for news. "My husband will ring you back" was madame's reply.

A week later he telephoned to say he would deliver the following week. I asked him to give me 24 hours notice as there were lots of medical appointments. He agreed but there was no call and no wood. It was time to look further afield.

The problem is that some wood suppliers are crooks and bring the kind of logs that burn up in a few minutes so you need a recommendation. By chance, our physio happened to mention that she had to be at home on Saturday for a wood delivery. My ears pricked up. She explained that he did it 'on the black' but it was good quality so I got his number. "Tell him you know me," she said. 

Feeling slightly under an obligation for my original order, I tried to get through to the first wood merchant but no-one picked up the phone and the answering machine didn't kick in either. So I rang the new man.

He promised to bring two and a half steres at 32 euros the following morning. He turned up on time, the logs were cut into a third of a metre, instead of the usual 50cm. which only just fit our fireplace, and he stacked them without extra charge. Although they took up more wall area, they left more room for the car because they didn't stick out so far. 'Black' or not we will make this man our regular supplier.

This morning at 7.45 the phone rang. It was the woodman from the next village.

"Is it OK if I deliver your wood this morning?"

"No thanks. I got fed up with waiting and had a delivery from someone else a month ago."

My friend was rather down when I saw her after the holiday. Her husband has declined recently and she feels that what little communication they had is fast slippng away.

Before we went away she had suggested that we all go to hers for lunch on Easter Sunday. Seeing her so tired and depressed I proposed that she and her husband come to us for Easter instead. 'Oh no', was her response, 'I've already done a menu', and she scuttled off to fetch it.

It was most impressive:

aperitif with asparagus and hollandaise sauce

roast lamb with flageolet beans

cheese

nougats

birthday cake

coffee and vodka

'Whose birthday is it?' I exclaimed.

'It's mine. I'll be 70.' she replied.

'In that case, I insist that you let us bring the cake', I said.

She had tears in her eyes when she expressed her pleasure at the idea because 'no-one has ever offered me a birthday cake before'.

CC, Jay and I ordered a special gateau from the best patissier in town yesterday.

The only problem is the Bear. He refuses to come if the Whale is invited. He made it plain that he expects me to tell the others to stay at home so that just he and I go. No way. If he wants to sit at home on his own and sulk he can stew in his own juice.

The Bear's 'bouquet' came in the form of  a severe ear bashing - several in fact.

The first was when I said I'd like to take the car to visit my friend in the next village who is off sick. Bear was still in bed but he insisted on coming with me so I had to wait while he got up. As I drove towards her house, feeling quite confident at the wheel, he said I was going too fast (40m.p.h.!!) and reminded me that I hadn't driven for ages and therfore I wouldn't be able to cope for some time. Huh!

We then went to the supermarket to look for a lead for his camera and do some other shopping and I wasn't allowed to drive. On the way out there is a roundabout and Bear drove straight out into the path of an oncoming car. Of course, being on the left hand side of the car, I got the dirty look from the other driver as he hooted angrily. 'Whatever are you doing', I exclaimed and Bear immediately launched into a tirade.

'I couldn't see because your head was in the way. You're always moving it about. If you want to drive you can. You'll soon find out how difficult it is to drive on the right side of the road with a RHD car'.

I pointed out that I did know what it was like and had driven in France in the past, albeit not for some time.

All the rest of the way home he went on and on about the Whale, CC and Jay and reminded me what a selfish cow I was. How I had hurried him out of bed that morning; how I had schemed to come and live in France; how I refused to see his point of view; how I wasn't even listening to him now.

My reply was that I was listening but it just wasn't worth responding (especially as I didn't want to risk another near miss - or worse).

It also made me think of something he told me about his own parents. His mother used to say that when his father ranted on 'He always knows that when I say nothing I'm thinking arseholes'.

"French 'fonctionaires' have a habit of making up the rules as they go along" I explained to CC as we sat in the waiting area of the CPAM (health insurance office) and I was proved right.

Our turn came and we went into office 'B' where there was a slightly harrassed looking chap. I explained that CC used to work in London but had been in France since Christmas and now wanted to stay here so how would we manage for reimboursement for the doctor's visits she had already had what should we do about registering her into the French system.

He launched into an explanation involving various forms to fill in and papers to produce but as I started asking questions about E111s and Cartes de Sejour he became less and less sure of himself and finally fled from the room muttering 'C'est compliqué', presumably to ask for help.

He returned some minutes later and ceremoniously ripped up the forms he had already given us and started again. This time he asked for an E104, full birth certificate and proof of address, but nothing could be put into action till CC had been here for three months - unless she found a job.

CC could not believe how hit and miss the system was but she ain't seen nothin' yet!