Sunday = flea market

So yesterday I toddled off early to the fab flea market in Marseillan. Bright sunny days tend to bring an early crowd, so the car park was pretty full when I arrived. Although I didn't buy anything wildly interesting, I did spot these two treasures:

Ouch!

For those long conversations that make your ears hurt.

A small tour around Le Couvent

Just recently we've had prospective guests ask for extra photos of the house. I'm not sure why. Maybe the photos on the website aren't good enough. I'll have to ask next time. I always find it slightly disquieting because, although the house is very beautiful, a stay at le Couvent is not just about the look of things. I'd like to think there's a good spirit here which is equally as memorable as a simple bedroom.

Nevertheless, here are some extra photos to lead you round.

This is Flynn the Husky waiting at the gate.

Entrance Hall

The first floor landing - yep, there's light in this old house.

Each bedroom has an en-suite, clean and modern bathroom - but simple, like you might expect in a former convent.

Beds are simple and comfortable

The sheets are pure cotton

You can have twin beds if you prefer

Breakfast is served in the 50 square metre kitchen

The garden is verdant

And the pool has pure, chemical-free water

Goodbye clank

For the last five years we've put up with a noisy gate. Guests have lived in fear and trembling of disturbing night-sleeps or afternoon-siestas whenever they return. But no longer. Thanks to the lovely Cyril and his side-kick we have quiet gates. It's great. Now we don't have to slither through a barely open gate hoping it won't drop on its hinges and produce a cannon shot.

You might ask why we didn't get it sorted out before. Good question. We didn't want to throw them away and buy new, but had no idea you could get people who'd come to repair things like gates. But in France they mend rather than replace; a philosophy we like very much.

The world of EdVon

Sometimes our lovely guests write about us. We hesitate to write about them as we'd like to let people have a discreet holiday. But these two young Americans won't mind at all. Edgar & Vonda are two of the most delightful people we've ever had to stay - here's their blog entry about their time here. Edgar & Vonda's stay at Le Couvent.
To them we say thank you for being such sweethearts. Come back soon & we'll find you more bush tucker.

Flea market treasures

On Sunday we took our fab guests K&C to the flea market in Marseillan. It's a colossal cross between a car boot sale and an antiques fair. Lots is complete tat, but occasionally you can find real treasure - which is what keeps us going to it.

Ali came across a wonderful huge black and green butter-dish. Ridiculously big and colourful. It was just before the stall-holder settled down to lunch and there were ominous spots of rain. Ali presented the dish to the woman and gently enquired the price. "I know what you're going to say - that at 15 euros it's too expensive so how about 5 euros?" said the stall-holder. Ali hadn't uttered a word. So she was thrilled. Today she's wearing a matching ensemble in its honour.


I, on the other hand, had reverse fortunes. Having spotted this sweet little dog-cart the following conversation ensued:

Me: C'est combien?
Seller: Cinquante euros
Me: Quarante?
Her: D'accord.

Foolishly I handed her a 50 euro note.

Her: Cinquante? (she's holding the dosh by now)
Ali: D'accord.

Ali to me: Were we just beaten up then?
Me: Yes, you were.

Our extended team

It occurs to me, as our beautiful electrician, Fabien Castan, installs the new door-entry system (with a little help from his Dad) , that it takes quite a gang of us to keep Le Couvent looking swell. Apart from Ali being chief housekeeper, laundrywoman and single-handed maintenance team (with star appearances from Alex, our wildly over-educated part-time chamber maid), I have the occasional dead-heading and web-site updating to do.

Then there's the lovely Pascal & Nadine Vie who cook all the luscious breads and pastries for guests' breakfasts, the hens who lay the breakfast eggs and Christian Andral who supplies the breakfast fruit. (I flatly refuse to buy any supermarket fruit - it's picked under-ripe and never reaches full ripeness, flavour or texture.) Big Frank Perez supplies the saucisson for aperitifs too. And they're all in Roujan.

The fantastic Maintenance Thermique in Beziers keep our boilers running so there's lots of hot water for guests' showers. If ever there's been a breakdown MT have sent an engineer within a couple of hours - they are saints. M. Lafitte coaxes his little oil delivery lorry backwards up our drive and complains that our Banksia rose will scratch his pristine truck, but he arrives in an instant should stocks get low.

Our red and rose wines for aperitifs and guests' bedrooms come from the wonderful Domaine Bourdic and is made with Swiss exactitude and love by the handsome Hans and divine Christa. For luscious white wine Jaques and Francoise Boyer from La Croix Belle supply us with their fantastic No7. When we need good quality quaffing wine in quantity we trundle off to the Cave Co-operative in Neffies.

Our guests need places to dine well and we count on our good friends Didier & Karen at Restaurant Les Goutailles in Neffies, the boys at L'Entre Pots in Pezenas and the team at Les Jardins de la Mer in Bouzigues. We have to thank the ever-welcoming staff at Apres Le Deluge for being open on Monday nights too. We'd like to say the bar in Roujan is as good as last year, but truthfully, since the divine Arielle left it in the hands of a manager, it isn't anywhere near as much fun.

And finally for the moment, I have to thank my lovely builder brother, Justin, for coming to the rescue every time the drains get blocked, something falls off a wall or water comes through the ceiling. Then there's ma belle soeur Michelle who's done everything from mixing concrete to wiping up litres of dropped gazpacho moments before an event - what a star. Where would we be without all these good people keeping Le Couvent in fine form?

I'm in love with The Butler

For the first two years of our life with a pool I struggled with an automatic flappy pool cleaner which glued itself to one end the second my back was turned. I reverted to using a long sucking tube attached to an unwieldy pole with a brush on the end, which was alright until I broke my shoulder falling out of a hammock. Ali's sick of hearing me whinge about it every day so we've bought a hideously expensive robot pool cleaner which has been named The Butler.
It came in a box which declared it 'Plug & Play' which filled me with dread since Microsoft uses the same term and I've fallen out with anything Windows since the advent of Vista. Anyway, unlike software The Butler really was P&P. I just lobbed it in the water, plugged in and went off to clean some windows. Two hours later the pool was absolutely spotless. As you can see.


Any debris swept up from the pool arrives in a removable filter in The Butler. This filter has to be removed and cleaned out - a quick and painless process, and all rather amusing since the filter bears a striking resemblance to a pair of bloomers. Below is a photo of The Butler's Bloomers.

Wildlife

Each morning I leave Le Couvent at 6.30 with a basket and our two dogs. We bundle into the old van and head off for the baker's and greengrocer's to pick up bread, pastries and fruit for the guests' breakfast. The dogs remain patiently in the car. Then we drive up into the vineyards where I cycle like a mad thing and they run like the clappers. I yell 'run away rabbits' all the time to give the stupid creatures time to escape before the dogs spot them. So far they've been lucky. The yelling startles the birds too and I have wonderful displays of fury from the hoopoes who fly off with their crests raised in warning.

This morning I spotted two magnificent hares too. Boy do they have big ears.

Virgins a go-go

What do you reckon? I stumbled across the top photo on someone's blog yesterday. Apparently the statue is somewhere close to Carcassonne. The Madonna below is sitting on our roof, right above me as I type. I'll guess there was a statue factory around here during the 1800's - we've never thought she was contemporary with the 1650's building she sits on. Do you suppose one just went along and said "I'll have that one if you can deliver by Sunday"? I'd love to know a bit more background.

Au revoir St Ivel of Roujan

Well poor old St Ivel the hen (Ivy) popped her claws today. Her comb was blue and she was having trouble breathing. Ali gave her swift injection of antibiotics but sadly it was too late. She struggled for a few minutes until I asked her to give it up and toddle off to another more beautiful hen-house elsewhere. So she did. Ivy was a good hen. She gave us many eggs and no trouble. I hope she felt she'd had a good life.

Uh-oh, the bees came back

They left our statue and made their hive in an albizia about a hundred metres from Le Couvent. Two men wearing space suits (with handy visors in the rear of the headpiece - presumably for when you need eyes in the back of your head) trotted up the tree and seemed to be brushing them out with a wallpaper brush. The bees dropped into a box primed with honey, then were tipped out onto a white sheet where they lay obediently until he opened a wooden hive and they flew in. All very quiet and unhurried. Meanwhile M. Descouens, the village honey man who thought he might have to crawl along our roof, stood by with only his cloth cap for protection. He was accompanied by an even braver bloke in shorts and a t-shirt.

The joys of cycling in Roujan

At the moment we have some lovely singers staying at Le Couvent. They're all on a singing course in the village - and they have a chunk of each afternoon off. Three of them decided to borrow the convent bikes for a sortie to the Chartreuse de Mougeres.

Within moments of leaving the village the were accompanied by a big Rottweiler puppy. Before you get too alarmed, she was a delightful, friendly and sweet dog. However, she wanted to go with them, and was relentless in her quest. Faced with no choice, they turned back to the convent. Ali took the willing dog off to the Mairie (town hall) where the staff all looked horrified and asked her why she'd taken it there. Presumably she was supposed to leave it in the street, despite the fact it liked charging at moving cars. At that moment another worker from the village came in, said he knew the owner and would take her to him. Phew.

Our intrepid cyclists had set off once more and had a wonderful, unaccompanied, ride through the vineyards.

The slow food movement

There exists in France a group of people who extol the virtues of slow eating. Flynn the husky has joined them. He never eats standing up. He just can't be bothered.

Divine jazz

Our lovely Aussie visitors went over to Pete Churchill’s jam session at La Maison Verte yesterday, on their last night here, and were rewarded by listening to two of Britain’s finest jazz pianists (possibly the world’s) letting rip just for us. (Pete’s wife , Nikki Isles, is one of Britain’s best current jazz composers – they were both up for an award last year for ‘Best Jazz Educator of the Year’ – he won. But all in the family so who cares.) Who needs the Festival or Albert Hall when you have a Roujan. Ain’t life sweet? I still gasp at it all.
We’re screening the fabulous Australian movie ‘The Castle’ here at the Roujan Roxy (aka Le Couvent) on Wednesday night for his singing course. What will the new Americans arriving on Wednesday think of all this? Lord, lord, our Trip Advisor ratings may plummet – or soar. Who knows, C’est la vie. We shall find out.

Phew, the bees have flown

After a few days' worry the bees have disappeared. I read on the internet that honey bees swarm, laden with honey, and scouts go off to find somewhere suitable to make their hive - a sort of B&B search. Once found the vast majority clutter off to establish their hive, along with the queen. A few dim and greedy bees get left behind, busily lapping up the honey drips in the arms the Madonna, but die over the subsequent few days, unable to survive without the rest of the colony. Sad but sweet.

Virgin honey

A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon;
A swarm of bees in July isn't worth a fly.

Oh dear, three days ago the skies blackened above the head of the statue of the Virgin Mary on our roof. I thought Roujan had suddenly become Surrey on a Sunday morning with every lawn-mower buzzing busily. But no, a huge swarm of bees was circling looking for a place to make their hive. I fear they've settled on the crook of Madonna's arm. I'm no expert so I really have no idea. The vast majority disappeared, but there is still quite a number of bees buzzing around.

I asked M Descouens, the village bee man, what I should do. He looked horrified and said he couldn't go on our roof. His wife concurred. He must be about 85. I hoped he might be able to give advice from the safety of the ground, but the best he could come up with was 'call the pompiers'.

I haven't called them yet. What am I going to do with a load of hay?

Feisty hen

Hooray. St Ivel proved mightier than Ali and I, resisting all attempts to continue with the injections. Despite two pairs of hands and a towel to wrap her up, Ivy managed to wrestle free, so we, rather pathetically, gave up. We figured that if she was strong enough to defeat us she was probably strong enough to live. They've all finished the water-borne antibiotics and are on splendid form, including Ivy. As soon as my camera battery's recharged (needs antibiotics too) I'll take a snap and whoosh it to this post.

Are there no doctors in the house?

We're just back from the vet's. Poor St Ivel the hen was looking rotten over the weekend and I thought she was egg-bound. We tried dunking her in warm water (trick given on the internet) to no avail. Not surprising really, as the vets decided she has peritonitis. She's had a shot and I've had instructions to inject her every day for five days. The other hens are being treated in their water too. Now I've never given an injection to anything before, so I approach this with trepidation.

The two guests who left this morning were doctors. I wish they were still here.

Wednesday means Clermont Market

At the moment we have some guests from Australia and the UK who are old friends and have met up here to share a week together. This morning they're off to the market in Clermont l'Herault and then on the St Guilhem le Desert. Of course they have no idea of the lusciousness that awaits them. The market will be full of strawberries, asparagus, cheeses, hams, sausages and fish, not to mention loads of dodgy clothes and handbags as seems the norm for all markets these days.

And when they arrive in St Guilhem they'll be in one of the most beautiful villages in France. Lucky them.

Cherries and Stoolball

Well the season has well and truly started. I'm up at 6.15 each day to take the dogs to the vineyards and prepare guests' breakfasts. This morning it is beautiful, like so often. It's still slightly cool at that time so I'm able to cycle the dogs without wrecking the work of the earlier shower. This morning I picked a bowl of wild cherries for breakfast from a tree in the vineyards.


Last weekend we had a fantastic team of Stoolball players here. We managed to haul together a team to play a couple of matches against them. I guess you may never have heard of this game as it's really only played in Kent and Sussex in England. But it's fantastic fun and playable by all ages. Have a look at the National Stoolball Association site for details, and here for a full match report. It was a noisy and jolly weekend as the team filled the house and they must have enjoyed it almost as much as us because they've already booked to come back next year.