Of Mice and Puddings

12th December
Mme Bontette took me to a market that I'd not visited before and introduced me to her favourite butcher who had a splendid display of boudins. I had no idea what to do with the Boudin blanc so decided to buy a couple along with a section of boudin noir artisanale*, Mme B has never tried the boudin blanc either. I felt we should try them out and invited the Bontettes for lunch, Mme. B's previous meal experiences at my house have been a bit chaotic, she was looking apprehensive as she accepted this invitation

And she was correct; although I had a nice idea involving caramelising apples to serve with the boudins along with a salad and lemon mayonnaise. It all went horribly wrong, I was too busy chatting and my boudins burnt.

* whereas we Brits usually use 'black pudding' fried up as part of a greasy breakfast, my neighbours serve the boudin noir as it comes from the butcher, sliced up and cold as part of the hors d'oeuvres.

After lunch Zeppelin man turned up with my dishwasher. He's just repaired the mouse-chewed cables. I have now made some paper 'mice' attached to strings and the cats are on an intensive training programme.

Scary electrics

22nd August
The zeppelin-shaped electrician who lives nearby is my biggest challenge yet in the comprehension stakes. He talks incessantly in a strong southern accent while managing to simultaneously laugh and wheeze. I asked him to drop by the Lovely House to see if he can sort out a dodgy socket. While he’s here I persuade him to look at the leaky shower. He took one look at the shower and told me to get the original fitter back (I have now left at least a dozen phone messages for the original fitter). I pulled out the festering raffia flooring a few days ago and burned it - so at least it's not smelling now.

Once I’ve got the hang of zeppelin-man’s idiosyncrasies he's a mine of information, mainly village gossip but I also learn that the fuse box and electric meter for the Lovely House are locked in a bunker on the other side of the big lake – yes, and see how the wooden pole holding up the electric cable that leads from the bunker to our house is bending alarmingly towards the water.

Fabulous day yesterday, perfect for filming demoiselle damselflies. There’s a narrow canal running through a nearby wood, vegetation hangs over the water and the air is thick with flappy blue-black aeronauts. It’s the usual story; the lads stake out bits of territory and show off to the girls trying to persuade them to have sex. The girls look on unimpressed - but every now and again someone takes pity on one of them and gives it a go.