‘Il ne pleut jamais ici’. (It never rains here) That’s what they told me when I first arrived in the South of France in 1963. Next morning, I stuck my little head out of my little tent and found – drizzle! ‘Quand même’, they said, ‘on n’a jamais froid’. (Well, you’re never cold). Two days later – Mistral!

 

And so it’s carried on, whenever I turn up down here, the weather becomes ‘exceptional’; so those ‘hot dry summers’ we learned about in Geography lessons will have to be seen as a thing of the past. True to form – the form of my disruptive influence, that is – Friday (20^th July) started grey, got greyer and ended up wet. And people were complaining of being cold! Lovely!

 

We hear the UK is at last heading for a heatwave even as Winning Wiggins heads for the Champs Elysées – enjoy!

 

After a day ‘at home’ on Friday, we went out yesterday (Sat.) to explore the area round the newly-discovered house. As well as the covered pool (very small!) and the soalar panels, the big attraction is the nearby Lac Montbel. –

 

Laissez-moi, laissez-moi! Je n’ai rien dit la dernière fois ! You didn’t let me say anything last time ! Yes, I took THEM out through the little town of Chalabre – c’est un peu moche, quand même – a bit sad looking – then past the house and on to the lake. It was a bit hard to find at first, apparently it’s not reckoned to be a ‘tourist’ lake, but then I found a picnic spot where there was an école de voile and SHE got excited about learning to sail.

It was a bit like Ullswater, really, and HE had a little fit of homesickness, but he got over it. A little further on there was an area with a made beach with supervised swimming,

and I think having all that close to the house may have settled which one THEY go for, but they’re still dithering for all I know ….

 

You’re not wrong!

 

We went on round the lake and found another spot with a little bar-restau and HE had a drink while SHE had an ice-cream.

Back at Chalabre we parked up and THEY went into the tourist office where a nice young man gave them lots of leaflets and then THEY found a little shop where another nice young man served them some fruit and veg, not to mention fresh milk, so they came away with a better impression of the town than just driving through.

 

When we got back to Harry some noisy people were playing boules (pétanque) in the roadway just beside our pitch, but I just mowed them down –

 

No, you didn’t, you little fibber! You just stalled while parking up.

 

I prefer my version.

 

Hmmm … The evening was spent at one of this site’s regular ‘specials’ : a moules-frites do. Apperitifs followed by all the mussels and chips you could eat, with a seemingly endless supply of red or rosé wine, then dessert and coffee. We were lucky enough to link up with immediate neighbours (French) and a Dutch couple, so conversation flowed all evening and it was well enjoyable – Carol had to choose an alternative main course because of her allergy to mussels, but that was OK. Unfortunately, the noisy people, camped opposite us, across the through road, carried on being noisy well into the small hours, but it didn’t bother us too much. Carol was more bothered by noises within our van than those from outside. ….

 

This morning the pétanque started again almost before breakfast, but somebody said something, we think, and they moved to a more suitable spot. Now they’ve packed up and gone, having stayed only one night. I tidied the ‘garage’ while Carol prepared a lovely Sunday lunch, then we walked round the lake – the little one just here, not Montbel.

Soon we’ll have a boyle degg. Some traditions aren’t going to change!