Supermarket sweep and airhead alert

Monday 19 January 2015

Nippy and wet


Down the rental unit to do final clean before guests arrive.  Substantial amounts of dust everywhere and two brand new shelves.  Discover one of the window blinds is off its runners and a small window won't shut.  Icy wind rattles through.  We restrain it with some wire and pull down the blind to hide it.   I didn't imagine coming out here would involve so much cleaning.  In the UK it wasn't OH who had a secret woman - it was me and she was my cleaner.  The joy of going into a pristine room that I havent had to do myself is something well worth paying for.

Back home and wrestle with paperwork and phone calls.  Busy for January!  Back down town again to meet the guests.  Five o'clock.  Five thirty.  They ring our home and say they have just arrived at the supermarket at the other end of town and are just doing a little shopping.

I get to the supermarket and do a quick sweep to see if I can spot them.  They are in matching Bargain Hunt red parkas and are dithering over which water to buy.  The man keeps on putting large sizes of things into the basket and the woman keeps taking them out. Every time I get them to the check out, they remember something else.  An hour goes by. I finally get them through the door, down to the rental unit and up the stairs.  They coo in a very Welsh way when they see the flat and I give them quick instruction on how to use the hot plate and put down the fold out bed.  The woman looks confused - is this the only toilet?The flat is 26m2 and has separate kitchen, living room, bedroom, shower room and loo. Resist urge to reply I have hidden extra toilet behind the door.

OH rings me at 7.30 to find out if I am still alive.   I inform him that I have aged more than the passage of two and a half hours and that I will need wine at the ready when I arrive back home.

Watch Notorious.  Glorious costumes.  Cary Grant is as wooden as ever.  Ingrid Bergman so classy.

Lazy Sunday and le désordre anglais

Sunday 18 January 2015

Frosty with sun later

Had a lovely long lazy morning lying in bed and writing.  Frost shining on the cars but my bed is warm and cosy with a big fluffy duvet and snuggly green and white chenille throw. Drink tea and edit for spelling and typing errors.  Am amazed to find I have written over 20000 words since the start of the Leaving Normal project.  I have always wanted to write a book and now I am doing it, one day at a time, at an average of 645 words a day.

I write between 8 and 9 am in the mornings, before OH is awake, and when the time is quiet and the brain is free of chatter.  A good time and conducive to thoughts about all sorts of things.

There is a visit on our house at the end of the week and the main courtyard is looking sad, full of dead plants.  We head to the one nursery which opens its doors on a Sunday.  There are a number of young families in there, enjoying the warmth and the opportunity to run around the aisles.  30% off polar bears, an offer I find very tempting, but OH says we are to keep focused.  Alas, no coffee shop.  OH stands in the middle of the house plant section and is horrified by the prices.  I take him by the elbow and steer him towards the bedding plant section.  I want to get something tasteful - some cyclamen and heather and ivy.  OH is more price driven and we end up getting a dozen garish plants which claim to be of the primrose family.  They are the plant versions of Jordan.  Oh look! I exclaim to OH, they have aquarium fish!   OH reminds me that we have bought two lots of goldfish from here.  Oh dear.  Must be the lack of coffee.  Must start taking ginkgo again.

We have a goldfish pond in the garden.  It measures about 3m2 and is the depth of half way up my thighs.  (more oh dear, I have just had to look up the word for upper half of legs - I blame learning so much French so quickly).  We put in 11 goldfish (the French version of a baker's dozen) and they bred with insane rapidity.  Before the arrival of the heron, they were very tame and would respond to our fingers, waving in the water.  Now they are fewer and very nervous.  Even so, there are well over 100 in there, varying from tiny brown slivers to fat, deep orange submarine original fish.  Over to Google Answers

Goldfish will grow faster if they are fed a higher protein food, or are fed more often, and, given an adequate food supply, they will grow faster the warmer the water temperature. In ponds, goldfish usually grow quite slowly, as their growth rate is minimal over winter. 
They may grow to around 6 to 8 inches (15 to 20 cm) but possibly more. If kept indoors in large, or heated, aquaria they will reach this size sooner and potentially grow even larger. Straight-tailed varieties will attain a greater length than twin-tailed types, but since twin-tails are fatter, their actual mass may be even more. 
Like the maximum size, the lifespan of goldfish is also variable. The record is 43 years, but it is uncommon for goldfish to live this long. Goldfish usually live quite long when kept in large aquaria or outdoor ponds, up to 15 to 20 years is not unheard of. In smaller or heated aquaria, a lifespan of five to ten years is quite achievable. 

Ours eat pond flakes but we don't tend to feed in the winter and the fish stay out of sight. We also have a wildlife pond which has returning generations of frogs and salamanders. OH has ongoing war against pond beetles which are bad for some reason or other and I can't be bothered looking up.



The ponds attract the velvet winged damsel flies with their shockingly iridescent bodies and massive eyes.  The wings are so dark purple as to appear almost black, until revealed by an angle of the light.



We also have many dragon flies.  There are some wonderful pictures of these complex and savage insects and if you want to find out more about their habits and talents, go here

http://listverse.com/2013/04/18/10-surprisingly-brutal-facts-about-dragonflies/

Take the dog around the lake.  All of the joggers are older than us and some go around the lake three times for our one.  I am never convinced all that running is good for you.  Must rejoin the swimming club.

Back home and rip out all the dead stuff and plant the little Jordans.  It is an improvement. Am suitably motivated to start cutting back the shorter long border.  I have not been in here since early Summer and it is a morass of old plant growth and weeds.  Gingerly hack at the immense brambles latticing their way over, under and through the mess.  You will get an idea of the chaos when I tell you that I came across a 6' tree sapling.  The Michaelmas daisy stalks were brittle enough to snap off but I had to get up close and personal with the Gaura Lindheimerai, a plant for which I had longed when in chillier climes, not knowing what a complete thug it is

Image Crocus.com

It ramps over the front of the borders and flowers for months, so I do appreciate it, but it does tend to throttle slower growing plants.  The Gaura battles it out with a variety of Evening Primrose, given to me by a passionate plant person, which has beautiful apricot buds before opening into the classic silky yellow flowers with their spicy evening perfume. The Evening Primrose is easily 6 feet tall and is a biennial which I leave to self seed.

Image Uniprot.com

I was also pleased to see many seedlings of Acanthus Mollis, a great structural plant and one which gives year round interest.  I let them seed and then move them in the Spring before they get time to put down their roots properly.

 Image +Robinsyard.blogspot.fr

My style is what the French call 'le désordre anglais'

OH came out and said he was turning off the electric in the house.  A lot of clanging and swearing ensued from my bedroom.  He emerged, flushed with success, an hour later and announced, with biblical overtones, that now I had light.  I used to have a lovely mini chandelier in my bedroom, with many sparkling little crystals.  RJ had hung it and had not attached it to the beams properly, with the result that the wiring always showed and it used to descend slowly over a period of weeks before I shoved it back into the ceiling.  Too heavy alas.  OH decided it looked bad for house visitors, and had just cut off the wire, meaning I had no main lighting for about six months.  I now had light and revelled in the luxury of it. The upstairs light circuits have decided to work again which is just as well, as the electrician says he is ill and can't come.  The thing with OH is not to nag, and to invite people to come and see the house.  

When the boys were small, and a visit from MIL was in the offing, we would make a big effort.  I used to say 'don't tell her we have spent a week, cleaning the mess'.  MIL would duly arrive and say to the boys 'well, what have you been up?' and the little rats used to exclaim 'we have been cleaning ALL week!'  I didn't think I did much cleaning, until I started writing this blog.  This is how I feel about cleaning

I do love watching Obsessive Compulsive Cleaners.  Must sign off, I seem to have done something to the text editor which means it is centring all text.

Market day, treats and progress

Thursday 15 January 2015 or 15 01 20 15  pleasing balance to the numbers

6 degrees rising to 14 degrees
Very windy later on in the day

OH (other half in case you were wondering) is 56 today.  He is in remarkably good condition - fine teeth, still quite a lot of hair and youthful skin.  Has does have bad feet and legs but I won't be shooting him just yet.  The Armagnac and chocolates are very well received and we have lazy breakfast before going down town to the market.   The sunny weather has brought out a lot of people and the stalls are bursting with good things.  As we walk around, gorgeous smells waft on the air - from the Indian stall, the dense aroma of onion bahjis and chickpea curry, the sharp spice of olives from the Provence stall, the sickly sweetness of fried batter balls from the Algerian stall.   

I am drawn to the coffee shop and we have café gourmand with a selection of tiny treats, surrounding a foaming mug of coffee - chocolate mousse, beaten to a sharp peak, a piquant apple crumble, a pale pink macarron, a white chocolate square.  Totally delicious.  We are joined by one of my sellers called TT and a lady whose house we rented when we first came over here.  She is a tiny lady and in her late 60's and her favourite word is fuck.   Her house has been for sale for five years now.  For five years I have been telling them that they need to put in a fabby kitchen instead of the small cupboard that they have at the moment. Again, it falls on deaf ears.  'I should never have let T (her husband) buy that effing house. We have spent an effing fortune on it.  We had some effing people over to view last week and they bought a small modern house near effing Orthez'.  (TT's house is over 200 years old with a massive plot of land)  Alas, I know who these people are and it transpires that the offer they made was 100k under the asking price.  Did that not give them a clue that the area is unsellable?

TT is with another lady who says that she is looking to rent over the summer so I take the pair of them and show them the rental units - all of them - just in case they express a sudden and irresistible urge to buy one of them.  TT's friend says she will have a word with her husband.  About renting.

Get phone call from partner agent who tells me that the visit today went really well and that his clients want lot more information.  My seller has gone off to sodding exotic island for three months.  Email him and spent three hours pulling weeds out of the stone flags of the patio.  Weather warm with a spirited wind.

The money transferred supposedly to my bank account from this week's sale has not been credited.  The notification that my bank had received it arrived at 12.30.  At 4.30 I ring the bank and the lady tells me that it should be there within 48 hours.  48 hours!!! I squeak (temporarily forgetting to be zen) How on earth can it be 48 hours - it is electronic!  It should be immediate! Where is the money now?  The woman gets rather het up and says I cant expect it immediately because it has to go via three computer systems.  I tell her that is ludicrous.   OH is outside, suppressing molehills, with a venom normally reserved for Billy Connolly or non peripatetic gypsies (he is not keen on peripatetic ones either).  He channels his inner TT and says fuck too.

The bank obviously hangs onto the money and, somewhere, someone will be earning interest on it.   I was once told by a notary that the funds from sales used to be kept by the receiving notaries for up to six months before they were released to the sellers.  The notary would then lend the money out, at huge rates of interest, which they would then keep for themselves.   I was stupefied.  The notary then had to reassure my sellers - whose eyes were at that point bulging out on stalks - that this no longer happened.  How on earth did people accept this practice?  I ask of the notary.  Ah, we were Gods back then, he said ruefully.

Listen to Alan Bennett's play about the lady who came to stay in a caravan in his garden for three months and ended up being there for 15 years.  Lady played, gloriously, by Maggie Smith.  What a treasure she is.  A real treat to listen to.

Being zen gets me let off the hook!

14 January 2015

Pale and clear skies 6 degrees rising to 16 degrees
Sahara air scooped up by weather systems and we are bathed in it

Wake up early and the oh crap monster is banging on my forehead.  I have to clean the house plus the rental unit and all by the end of tomorrow.   Start on the kitchen and get rapidly depressed.  Email client with rental details and feel grateful that some cash is coming into the bank account.

Decide to start on upstairs instead.  Steam the floors and then notice there are cobwebs everywhere so knock them off and then have to hoover them up.  Just starting to feel like I am making progress when I get a call from the notary telling me that she has seen the owner of property whose sale is due for June.  The seller has informed her that part of the retaining wall has collapsed.   I ring the seller and ask him if he can sort it out with his insurer.  He says, no, he has had problems with it for years.  I tell him he will have to get it fixed or it is very likely that the purchaser will back out.  He says he isn't bothered.  I ask him to send me a photo.  He then says kisses and hangs up.

This was a real 'oh crap buggery bastard' moment which if it had happened in 2014 would have led to me committing myself to a small white room.  Last year I would have ground my teeth and hated him intensely.  This year I am zen.  These problems will be overcome.  

This sale was one of two which drove me to tears and complete desperation last year.  The seller achieved what I would not have thought was possible, and found a buyer who is as obdurate as he.  Negotiation went on for four long months before we even got to the signing of the reservation contract.  The seller had 'omitted' to tell me that the local commune wanted significant repayment for the works carried out on the property and initially blocked the sale.  They argued over the price and the agency fees.  They argued over the delay before purchase.  They argued over furniture which was included in the price.  They argued over furniture which wasn't included in the price.  At the end, I was the intermediary down to arguing over the price of the piano.  My hair started dropping out with the stress and anxiety.  I am on commission only and once I get an offer, it is going to go through no matter how much pain and torment I am made to endure.  I was talking to a fellow agent and he said that estate agency was like offering one side of your body and saying 'kick it' and then presenting the other side and asking 'would you like to kick this side too'.

OH rings up to ask me something and I update him on the situation.  He is seriously not zen but at least he has got around the lake with the dog's ears in the same condition as at the start.  He arrives back an hour later and asks me what I have done about the situation. Apparently hoovering was not the correct response.   We decide we will wait for the photo and the quote to come in and deal with one day at a time.

More cleaning after lunch.  Ring client to ask what time she is arriving tomorrow.  She appears surprised to learn that I am expecting her tomorrow as she is not arriving until the 22nd.  This is news to me as I have been heading up all of my emails to her with this weekend's dates.   Breathe huge sigh of relief, change all the appointments for next weekend and then remember I have clients next Saturday to revisit our house.  A week's grace to clean up outside.

Down town to the gynaecologist to have my bits checked out.  The lady is about my age and, as in most medical professionals in France, doesn't wear a white coat.  She is nattily dressed in camouflage trousers.   Apparently I am all in working order.  She also squeezes my boobs.  Hers is not a job I would like to do.  OH says he would happily be paid 28 euros for 15 minutes looking at ladies' bits and squeezing their boobs.   Apparently I should have had a mammogram in 2014 - I dread these and worry that the machine will not stop and squash my boobs flat to my chest.  At least they are done locally and you get the results to take away with you within 10 minutes.

Ring one of my former sellers who has just signed on the sale of her house and find that she has already found a house and is about to sign on it.  It is in an area that you normally can't sell property for love nor money.  Oh well, I hope they are happy there and don't want to resell for a long time.   Lovely swimming pool.

Feel very tired and nose is bunged up.  Football on telly so go to bed early and read Queen Camilla by Sue Townsend.  Hilarious and highly recommended to y'all.