There is a nasty smell somewhere.....

Tuesday 10 March 2014

Sunny

With Easter coming up fast on the rails and the Euro now just brushing 1.40 against the Pound Sterling, I am on the hunt for fresh stock to fill my pages.

The first property is at the lower end of the price spectrum and is in a very pretty market town.  The owner is lurking in the ground floor shop when I arrive and flicking dust off the faux Tiffany lamps.  We go via a side passage and into the tiny courtyard.  The walls of the surrounding houses rise high above us and I ask when, during the day, the sunlight arrives. Between midday and 2 is good apparently.  It feels dank and cold and the owner says it is easier to appreciate in the heat of Summer.  Sad plants etiolate towards the light.  

Into the house and there is a small kitchen, leading into a large living area with beautiful exposed stone walls, oak floors and full height patio windows leading out onto the balcony. Two excitable small dogs bounce out to meet us - a King Charles cocker spaniel and a Chihuahua.  They are evidently the source of the terrible odour in the building.  I don't have much of a sense of smell but it is making my eyes water.  I throw open the patio doors to 'enjoy' the view and get a couple of lungfuls of fresh air.  The chihuahua tries to throw himself off the balcony so, alas, the doors are closed.  I get the chance to see the new roof that was put on my rental units building, opposite and normally too steep to see from the street, and realise that the roofer has not put on traditional tiles on the facade side, but has covered the entire roof in new ones.  What has he done with the thousands of old and valuable tiles which he took off?  Fortunately the local technical services have not said anything but normally new is not allowed right down in the centre.

There are two more floors and more bedrooms though only one bathroom.  In the corner of the bathroom is a toilet, with no visible means of flushing it.  In response to my question of how do you flush it, the owner lifts the lid and presses a button.  To my absolute horror, there is a deposit in the bowl and a lot of filthy paper.  We both watch, me in ghastly fascination, as the contents circulate and are then sucked out.  Voila!  says the owner happily.

I escape as soon as possible.  Perhaps the smell is in the furnishings?  Perhaps one of the dogs had just had an accident.  Everywhere.

I get back in the car and drive to the next appointment, windows wide open and gasping in lungfuls of non malodorous air.   The road rises above the town and the panorama of rolling hills and valleys opens up, the grass sparkling and fresh in the afternoon sun.  A buzzard circles high overhead and tiny fluffy clouds mackerel the upper skies.

The next house is 18th century and a thing of beauty.  I recognise it as one I had on sale many years ago in a previous terrible existence as an agent in a national French chain.  The interior arrangement of rooms have been completely reworked into a more logical sequence.  Everything is in nickel order and smells absolutely wonderful - pine and vanilla and cinnamon.  It is typical of the area with its hewn stone window encadrements, orange tiled roof and great arched entrance.

A satisfactory end to the afternoon and I go home and still have no news from the would be buyers.  I wonder what they are trying on now?

Culture, kippers and Nanci Griffith (and OH does his best Jeremy Clarkson impression)

Saturday 28 February 2015

Guess what, yes....  am about to develop webbed feet

OH surprised me by leaping out of bed early and saying he had cabin fever and we needed to go to the coast and get some culture.  It was a bit of a shock to be on the road for 9.30 am and driving through the thick drizzle.  Not a lot of other people had had the same idea. We arrived and parked by the shore.  There is quite some reach before the water reaches this shore, so immense cubes of concrete have been piled up in a random style against the promenade.  The massive waves were rolling in at speed, the spray shooting back from their crests, and they burst explosively on the cubes.  The spumy, foaming water shot easily ten metres into the air and the black clothed photographers were periodically hidden from view as it landed on the promenade and road nearby.  Some cars owners were hovering, enjoying the prospect of a free car wash, and wondering how to get back into their vehicles without being soaked to the skin.

We went for a quick shop in the market and discovered the Lidl has different stuff to our local one.  I was delighted to find some Master Crumble, described as muesli, but nothing a Swiss person would recognise.  I have a complete addition to its strange clusters and fruity chewy bits.

  apparently it is full of saturated acids but I don't care

We then took a turn around the fish market.  A woman was poking a stick into an aquarium and trying to separate the lobsters and the crabs, who were establishing territory and waving their claws at one another.  The lobsters were iridescent blue and had a lower waving curtain from which they scooted around the tanks.  Such lobsters are very rare and the colour is produced because some crustaceans are better at processing an antioxidant known as astaxanthin and it was amazing to see them

this is an US blue lobster taken from http://webecoist.momtastic.com/2009/09/18/altered-evolution-strange-animal-deformities/

The range of fish in a Spanish market is truly mind boggling - from massive sharks to pop eyed red snapper, John Dory, hake (merluza), salt cod (baccalao), gleaming spotted turbot, enormous langoustines (cigales) and shoals of silver anchovies (anchoas).  What did take my eye were the mackerel.  Have you ever looked closely and in its natural state, the fish which provides your kipper.  Each mackerel has its own individual maze like pattern running over the top and middle of the body and a faint mother of pearl sheen illuminates all of the scales.  

We then went for some 'culcha' in the large art museum.  OH picked up the audio guides and marched off, saying 'follow me'.  This is what he does in museums.  He marched into a door and seemed to have trouble getting through it, so an aged museum guide got off her stool and opened it for him.

The first exhibit was called Japanese Garden.  It was moss sprayed in various garish colours.  'This is crap', exclaimed OH, loudly.  I prayed that no one in the room understood 'basic' English.  The guide let us back out again and we went into the cloisters.  OH peered at the signs on the wall and then marched off decisively.  I arrived and had to open the door for us into the church.  I hope he is not going to start having these problems at home.  There were a lot of ancient tombstones.  The audio guide was somewhat verbose and OH charged around the room shouting 'get on with it!'.  Fortunately we were alone.  After a battle, when he insisted on opening the door himself, we found an exhibition of alpinisme which was quite interesting and then some modern art which was actually crap and then, oh joy, found a costume display from which I took quite a few photos.  OH stopped shouting at the audio guide briefly to shout at me to get a move on.  As usual, I ignored him and took lots of images of the exquisite detail on the bodices and jackets.  There was also some really crazy headgear.  Haven't downloaded them from iPhone yet, but will put them on for your entertainment, dear reader, at a later point.

Back home and the car aquaplaned twice, again.  These days out are rather bad for my nerves.  The new Ikea is coming on apace, they are up to roof level and have electricity.  We could go there for lunch, says OH.  I would be going there for, in the words of Nanci Griffiths, for unnecessary plastic items

(Love at the Five and Dime) Nancy Griffiths

If you dont know her, listen and love.