I feel is if I have spent the last few days permanently looking at a computer screen. Following on from my last post about people following me, I feel as if I owe these imaginary people something. I must add new content. I must add new content. I am trapped in a content writing sweat shop and I don't know when enough is enough. Just when I feel I have had enough, another idea pops into my head and away we go again. These people are relying on me to supply them with new content and I cannot let them down.
I have promised myself that this will be the last piece of content I will write for the next few days. My eyes are strained from the hammer I am putting them through. I don't know if eyes can bleed but I feel as if I might find out if I don't stop soon!
I read somewhere that to make your site successful, you need content. As they say, content is king! How can we attract more guests of our gites in Normandy? I have thought about almost every possible keyword combination and tried to write content to target them. There comes a point where the ideas dry up; just like my eyes!
I need to sleep!
Monday 27 September 2010
Sunday 26 September 2010
Following me following you
I am very computer literate but it is only in the last month or so that I have capitulated and started using facebook, twitter and blogs. I had always been skeptical as to what benefit this would give me. I have to be honest and say that I still don't know!
With this social networking, I feel as if people are watching me; or following me as they say. I find this concept very strange. Does this mean that by the time I have written this, posted it, shared it, tweeted it and god only knows what else happens when I press the publish button, there will be people reading it. Will people be judging me on what I am thinking? Will I be on the next news bulletin for saying something controversial? I think not but who knows!
A good friend of mine convinced me to create a Facebook page for our Normandy gites. He convinced me that if I use Facebook, the bookings at Ivy House will increase. I can see the potential with this viral marketing but how can we gauge it. I look at the faces on my page and yes, they are increasing but will this keep us in business; or are these faces just ships that pass in the night? Are these faces waiting for us to fail to then have there chance to say, "we told you not to do it!"
I am starting to realise what it must be like to have an imaginary friend. I write these entries, update content on our site and add facebook posts; all the time thinking that there is an army of people reading them. Perhaps even showing some interest in our business. All this conversation but no reply. Surely this social networking is just one big imaginary friend!
If it is true that people are reading my thoughts and looking at our site and facebook pages, why does it feel so empty. Perhaps there comes a time when things start taking off and this one way street of communication becomes two way. As a clairvoyant once said, "is there anybody there?"
With this social networking, I feel as if people are watching me; or following me as they say. I find this concept very strange. Does this mean that by the time I have written this, posted it, shared it, tweeted it and god only knows what else happens when I press the publish button, there will be people reading it. Will people be judging me on what I am thinking? Will I be on the next news bulletin for saying something controversial? I think not but who knows!
A good friend of mine convinced me to create a Facebook page for our Normandy gites. He convinced me that if I use Facebook, the bookings at Ivy House will increase. I can see the potential with this viral marketing but how can we gauge it. I look at the faces on my page and yes, they are increasing but will this keep us in business; or are these faces just ships that pass in the night? Are these faces waiting for us to fail to then have there chance to say, "we told you not to do it!"
I am starting to realise what it must be like to have an imaginary friend. I write these entries, update content on our site and add facebook posts; all the time thinking that there is an army of people reading them. Perhaps even showing some interest in our business. All this conversation but no reply. Surely this social networking is just one big imaginary friend!
If it is true that people are reading my thoughts and looking at our site and facebook pages, why does it feel so empty. Perhaps there comes a time when things start taking off and this one way street of communication becomes two way. As a clairvoyant once said, "is there anybody there?"
Saturday 25 September 2010
Junk Food
I have been back in England for a few days now and I am starting to realise the incredible difference in food compared to France. Having spent the previous three weeks in France, I had lost four kilos in weight. This was without even trying! This was just by eating nice food, at regular intervals and doing the gardening.
I wouldn't say that I was a fussy eater. On the contrary; I like most of the food that fast food addicts would cringe at. I like salads, fruit and all the other stuff that is supposedly good for you. I know that this exists in England but so does all the other convenience food. It is astonishing how easy it is to find fast food here. It exists in France of course, but in my opinion, on a very smaller scale. The downside to finding this convenience food is that it is very convenient to eat it! It is not that convenient when you have to buy bigger clothes to accommodate it though!
I have had that feel good time just lately and my belt should be thanked for that. I am at least one hole smaller than I was before I left for France a few weeks ago. It is an amazing feeling when people tell you that you have lost weight! Compare that to the comments you get when you put weight on: "Jesus, you've banged the weight on", "I didn't recognise you with that extra chin" or the classic, "has your thyroid packed up". I have found that the tried and tested excuse to explain this weight gain does not work. The "I have a slow metabolism", does not seem as effective as it once was.
When you are managing to use holes on your belt that you didn't realise existed, you can't help feeling good. Except of course when you hear the words, "are you alright? You have lost loads of weight; are you ill?"
Since I arrived in England on Monday, I can honestly say that I feel like I have less energy. Why is that? Do I feel better in France because of the food, the wine or just the almost stress free life? At this moment in time, I don't know and I am too tired to think about it. I am starting to get hungry and as I am tired, I cannot be bothered to cook. Maybe I should try some of that convenience food? That new hole on the belt I have discovered is starting to strain so I might just give it a miss! Not eating by not having to cook; now that is very convenient!
I wouldn't say that I was a fussy eater. On the contrary; I like most of the food that fast food addicts would cringe at. I like salads, fruit and all the other stuff that is supposedly good for you. I know that this exists in England but so does all the other convenience food. It is astonishing how easy it is to find fast food here. It exists in France of course, but in my opinion, on a very smaller scale. The downside to finding this convenience food is that it is very convenient to eat it! It is not that convenient when you have to buy bigger clothes to accommodate it though!
I have had that feel good time just lately and my belt should be thanked for that. I am at least one hole smaller than I was before I left for France a few weeks ago. It is an amazing feeling when people tell you that you have lost weight! Compare that to the comments you get when you put weight on: "Jesus, you've banged the weight on", "I didn't recognise you with that extra chin" or the classic, "has your thyroid packed up". I have found that the tried and tested excuse to explain this weight gain does not work. The "I have a slow metabolism", does not seem as effective as it once was.
When you are managing to use holes on your belt that you didn't realise existed, you can't help feeling good. Except of course when you hear the words, "are you alright? You have lost loads of weight; are you ill?"
Since I arrived in England on Monday, I can honestly say that I feel like I have less energy. Why is that? Do I feel better in France because of the food, the wine or just the almost stress free life? At this moment in time, I don't know and I am too tired to think about it. I am starting to get hungry and as I am tired, I cannot be bothered to cook. Maybe I should try some of that convenience food? That new hole on the belt I have discovered is starting to strain so I might just give it a miss! Not eating by not having to cook; now that is very convenient!
Wednesday 22 September 2010
Just like a blind date
Now I am in England, I have had time to reflect on what has happened over the last few weeks. It has not been easy to come back here and settle back in to the English routine. Perhaps Normandy has changed me and life will never be the same in England.
After the English and American guests left, we sat wondering whether they truly enjoyed there stay at Ivy House. A bit of paranoia rearing its ugly head again, but it was me and the wife wondering this time. It was almost like a blind date; you didn't know what to expect when they turned up and certainly were left wondering when they departed. To make the analogy: we wondered if they would call us for another date or whether they thought we were bunny boilers.
Having returned from work today, I was greeted by an email from TripAdvisor, the accommodation review site. This was it, did they want to see us again, or was it back to the lonely heart columns? Wow! I was so touched by the response from the Canadian gentlemen who came for one night with his young family and also from the English family. What they wrote was very touching and it has made a difficult day finish with a ray of sunshine. We say thanks to both of you for taking the time to share your experiences and we are grateful for your kind words. They mean a lot to us!
After the English and American guests left, we sat wondering whether they truly enjoyed there stay at Ivy House. A bit of paranoia rearing its ugly head again, but it was me and the wife wondering this time. It was almost like a blind date; you didn't know what to expect when they turned up and certainly were left wondering when they departed. To make the analogy: we wondered if they would call us for another date or whether they thought we were bunny boilers.
Having returned from work today, I was greeted by an email from TripAdvisor, the accommodation review site. This was it, did they want to see us again, or was it back to the lonely heart columns? Wow! I was so touched by the response from the Canadian gentlemen who came for one night with his young family and also from the English family. What they wrote was very touching and it has made a difficult day finish with a ray of sunshine. We say thanks to both of you for taking the time to share your experiences and we are grateful for your kind words. They mean a lot to us!
Monday 20 September 2010
By train out of Normandy
Having been of the front lines in Normandy for the last three weeks sorting out the gite accommodation and the new business, the time had come for me to return to England for some rest and relaxation. It wouldn’t be rest and relaxation but I can’t help using the military expressions now I am living in Normandy.
I had the tickets booked to travel by train from Carentan, via Paris and London to get to our English home in the Midlands. Actually, over the last few days, I am starting to wonder where home is. I never thought that I would feel this mixed up so soon. My dad always said that when you make your bed, you must lie in it. I have made two beds and this makes the whole story that bit more complicated.
I have a daughter from a previous long term relationship called Georgia and this is the second bed I am referring to. It is extremely difficult for us to be separate and I try my best see her as much as possible. Now that I am in Normandy with my wife and other children, this has become even harder. Never the less, I have made the beds and I have to lie in them as much as I can.
Last night, I explained to my two boys that I had to leave for England and my eldest son, Yoann, found this hard to accept. He is very sensitive and was very close to tears. I had to try hard not to shed a tear myself, especially when he gave me so many convincing arguments to stay. I explained that I need to see Georgia and his answer was to let her come here; good point. I explained that I need to go back to work to earn money, to which he replied, the man who stayed in the gite just gave us some money; good point. I tried to make him understand that we need the money for clothes and food; to which he replied, we have just eaten and we have got some clothes already. His responses made me think more and more about what is important in life. His naivety made life seem so simple and I started thinking that I wish it was this simple.
Just before 6am the next morning, it was time to leave for the station. I went up stairs to give my sleeping boys a kiss before I left and this made me very emotional. I think my wife was feeling the same too.
The journey from Carentan to Paris was really uneventful; however, I am sure that I would have found some funny things to write about if I were in a better mood.
The Eurostar train from Paris to London was quite busy for a Monday morning and I found myself sitting at a table seat with three other women; probably in their early twenties. I couldn’t help listen to the conversation and it was funny to listen to their stories and their experiences. I am sure I was the same at their age and already knew most things about life. I couldn’t help thinking that they were a little deluded about life and that they would be in for a few shocks as they got older. Anyway, who am I to say, so I just sat there taking it all in. It is a bit hard not to when you have three excitable young ladies putting the world to rights right in your ear hole.
One of the young ladies had one of those annoying sympathetic voices and every time one of the others made a point, she would say “yeahhhhhhhhhhhh” and “uuuummmmmmmmm”. These two pronunciations were that long, to occupy the time and to stop myself from screaming in pain, I would count how many seconds each “yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” would last; I had suddenly become autistic. I was now analysing the words to find trends in the length of there duration. By the time we had exited the tunnel and arrived back on English soil, the word “yeahhhhhhh”, now started to sound like someone dragging their fingers down a chalk board. I couldn’t stand it any longer and wished them a good day and went to sit somewhere else. This was greeted with a, “uuuuuummmmmmmmmm, yeahhhhhhhh. Byeeeeeeeeeeee”. Now the other words had caught this disease!
The train from London to the Midlands from St.Pancras, arrived near enough the time it should have departed. As the time for departure grew nearer, you could sense the atmosphere; the passengers starting to get into the siege mentality mind set. People would nudge closer and closer to the ticket barrier and you could hear other people muttering, they are pushing in. “George, do something about it”, an old lady whined. By the look on George’s face, it looked as if that something he would have liked to do would be to leave his wife.
When we were finally allowed to board the train, it was like a gigantic funnel and this hoard of people were trying to fit through one ticket barrier. The siege mentality had changed to sheep mentality. There were about four or five barriers but everyone seemed hell bent on passing through just one; at the same time! I thought the idea of the ticket barriers was to keep people without tickets from boarding trains. The sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed the one man on the barrier and I imagined that he would be trampled to near death if he had tried to stop anyone.
As I had suddenly become autistic, I started doing a survey of how much luggage people were carrying. In my carriage, it appeared that the average for each person was 2 super size suitcases, 1 arctic exploration rucksack with integrated tent and camping stove, a wide screen laptop and an Ipod.
Watching people trying to store luggage on a train would make great TV. The scene in my carriage resembled the barricade in Les Miserables. At each end of the coach, there were passengers struggling to force their super size cases into the over head luggage racks. Anything bigger than a packet of cigarettes would not fit; however, these brave travellers were not deterred.
To add insult to injury, the Train Manager made an announcement. The monotone voice stated “welcome on board. I kindly ask all passengers to store their luggage in the space provided”. I wondered where this space was. Perhaps there was a removals truck on the platform that was waiting to whisk the bags of to their home addresses. This was followed by, “please keep all isles clear of luggage to allow our at seat trolley service to pass through the train”. I couldn’t help thinking that this trolley must at least be four wheel drive and equipped with a battering ram. It would certainly need that to get through Jean Val Jean and his barricade in coach D.
After about 30 minutes into the journey, the anti suitcase assault vehicle, or at seat trolley service as it is better known as, passed through the train. The poor man pulling it had his work cut out and already had a sweat on. Sensing the resentment from the passengers as he asked them to move the cases, he made no offer to sell anything. I think he wanted to abort the mission and returned to base; however, it appeared that he crashed and burned. His May Day alert advised us that, “due to the trolley being unable to pass through the train, the trolley service has been terminated at coach C”. I half expected to hear the words “a replacement bus trolley service will be provided”. To top it all, we were kindly told that, “The trolley is now stuck in coach C so if you would like any refreshments, please rendezvous there. May Day, May Day, we have a man down in coach C”.
At least all this action has made the journey pass by quicker. I am almost at my destination, 8 hours after leaving Carentan. I had better get used to this as it looks as if I will be doing this journey and the one back to Carentan, every week from now on in! “Bon voyage” as they say in French, or in English, “are you bloody mad!”
I had the tickets booked to travel by train from Carentan, via Paris and London to get to our English home in the Midlands. Actually, over the last few days, I am starting to wonder where home is. I never thought that I would feel this mixed up so soon. My dad always said that when you make your bed, you must lie in it. I have made two beds and this makes the whole story that bit more complicated.
I have a daughter from a previous long term relationship called Georgia and this is the second bed I am referring to. It is extremely difficult for us to be separate and I try my best see her as much as possible. Now that I am in Normandy with my wife and other children, this has become even harder. Never the less, I have made the beds and I have to lie in them as much as I can.
Last night, I explained to my two boys that I had to leave for England and my eldest son, Yoann, found this hard to accept. He is very sensitive and was very close to tears. I had to try hard not to shed a tear myself, especially when he gave me so many convincing arguments to stay. I explained that I need to see Georgia and his answer was to let her come here; good point. I explained that I need to go back to work to earn money, to which he replied, the man who stayed in the gite just gave us some money; good point. I tried to make him understand that we need the money for clothes and food; to which he replied, we have just eaten and we have got some clothes already. His responses made me think more and more about what is important in life. His naivety made life seem so simple and I started thinking that I wish it was this simple.
Just before 6am the next morning, it was time to leave for the station. I went up stairs to give my sleeping boys a kiss before I left and this made me very emotional. I think my wife was feeling the same too.
The journey from Carentan to Paris was really uneventful; however, I am sure that I would have found some funny things to write about if I were in a better mood.
The Eurostar train from Paris to London was quite busy for a Monday morning and I found myself sitting at a table seat with three other women; probably in their early twenties. I couldn’t help listen to the conversation and it was funny to listen to their stories and their experiences. I am sure I was the same at their age and already knew most things about life. I couldn’t help thinking that they were a little deluded about life and that they would be in for a few shocks as they got older. Anyway, who am I to say, so I just sat there taking it all in. It is a bit hard not to when you have three excitable young ladies putting the world to rights right in your ear hole.
One of the young ladies had one of those annoying sympathetic voices and every time one of the others made a point, she would say “yeahhhhhhhhhhhh” and “uuuummmmmmmmm”. These two pronunciations were that long, to occupy the time and to stop myself from screaming in pain, I would count how many seconds each “yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” would last; I had suddenly become autistic. I was now analysing the words to find trends in the length of there duration. By the time we had exited the tunnel and arrived back on English soil, the word “yeahhhhhhh”, now started to sound like someone dragging their fingers down a chalk board. I couldn’t stand it any longer and wished them a good day and went to sit somewhere else. This was greeted with a, “uuuuuummmmmmmmmm, yeahhhhhhhh. Byeeeeeeeeeeee”. Now the other words had caught this disease!
The train from London to the Midlands from St.Pancras, arrived near enough the time it should have departed. As the time for departure grew nearer, you could sense the atmosphere; the passengers starting to get into the siege mentality mind set. People would nudge closer and closer to the ticket barrier and you could hear other people muttering, they are pushing in. “George, do something about it”, an old lady whined. By the look on George’s face, it looked as if that something he would have liked to do would be to leave his wife.
When we were finally allowed to board the train, it was like a gigantic funnel and this hoard of people were trying to fit through one ticket barrier. The siege mentality had changed to sheep mentality. There were about four or five barriers but everyone seemed hell bent on passing through just one; at the same time! I thought the idea of the ticket barriers was to keep people without tickets from boarding trains. The sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed the one man on the barrier and I imagined that he would be trampled to near death if he had tried to stop anyone.
As I had suddenly become autistic, I started doing a survey of how much luggage people were carrying. In my carriage, it appeared that the average for each person was 2 super size suitcases, 1 arctic exploration rucksack with integrated tent and camping stove, a wide screen laptop and an Ipod.
Watching people trying to store luggage on a train would make great TV. The scene in my carriage resembled the barricade in Les Miserables. At each end of the coach, there were passengers struggling to force their super size cases into the over head luggage racks. Anything bigger than a packet of cigarettes would not fit; however, these brave travellers were not deterred.
To add insult to injury, the Train Manager made an announcement. The monotone voice stated “welcome on board. I kindly ask all passengers to store their luggage in the space provided”. I wondered where this space was. Perhaps there was a removals truck on the platform that was waiting to whisk the bags of to their home addresses. This was followed by, “please keep all isles clear of luggage to allow our at seat trolley service to pass through the train”. I couldn’t help thinking that this trolley must at least be four wheel drive and equipped with a battering ram. It would certainly need that to get through Jean Val Jean and his barricade in coach D.
After about 30 minutes into the journey, the anti suitcase assault vehicle, or at seat trolley service as it is better known as, passed through the train. The poor man pulling it had his work cut out and already had a sweat on. Sensing the resentment from the passengers as he asked them to move the cases, he made no offer to sell anything. I think he wanted to abort the mission and returned to base; however, it appeared that he crashed and burned. His May Day alert advised us that, “due to the trolley being unable to pass through the train, the trolley service has been terminated at coach C”. I half expected to hear the words “a replacement bus trolley service will be provided”. To top it all, we were kindly told that, “The trolley is now stuck in coach C so if you would like any refreshments, please rendezvous there. May Day, May Day, we have a man down in coach C”.
At least all this action has made the journey pass by quicker. I am almost at my destination, 8 hours after leaving Carentan. I had better get used to this as it looks as if I will be doing this journey and the one back to Carentan, every week from now on in! “Bon voyage” as they say in French, or in English, “are you bloody mad!”
Friday 17 September 2010
If only I could bottle it
The Americans left today for the long trip back to the United States. I am still in awe of Curt; he is definitely larger than life. We were sad to see them leave; no doubt like the people of Normandy were at the end of the war. The buzz that they brought with them has gone and it's back to reality.
The friendly English family invited me round for a game of cards. I suspect it was out of sympathy as earlier, I had proposed a game of Risk with them. They looked at me strangely when I mentioned "would you like to play a game of risk". From the look in their eyes, I imagined that they thought that they had booked a holiday at a swingers convention. When I explained that it was the board game based on world domination, they seemed more at ease.
I have been missing speaking English and my wife knew that. She suggested that I ask them but I sensed that they did not want to play. I started thinking about the garlic sausage once more and took the hint and retired to the house. To my surprise, a little later, there was a knock at the door. "Would you like to come to the gite for a game of cards?", the English lady asked. Having had the knock back earlier with the offer of a game of risk, I thought about cutting my nose off to spite my face. Should I tell her that I was washing my hair? The fact that I have very little hair wouldn't have washed with her; me neither, so I accepted the offer.
I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things. I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things.I can't even remember the last time I played cards!
They explained the rules to me and sensing that I did not understand, they began to speak slower and louder; as people do with foreigners or people with learning difficulties. I probably seemed to fit the criteria in their eyes no doubt!
After the explanation, they asked if I understood. I seemed to have had the same feeling when I visited the Notaire the other week when I signed the legal papers for the house. She asked the same question; in French of course. "Do you understand?". I am sure I heard one of the English people mutter, "is he still breathing", as I had the blank look accross my face. "Oh, yes, of course. I understand". I am probably not a convincing liar as well as having a bad memory, learning difficulties and smelling of garlic sausage.
Beginners luck! After being explained the rules over and over again, I won the first round; or do they call it game? Perhaps they felt sorry for me and let the fat kid win to make his onlooking parents feel proud.
As the night went on, the conversation got funnier and funnier. We seemed to bounce of one another and before long, we were laughing uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I laughed this much. I seem to forget a lot of things; however, I wanted to write this in my blog to help me remember this great time I had with them. I just wish I could bottle this humour as I am sure it would be great for a stand up routine. One of the big draw backs for being a comedian is that you have to remember the punch lines. For that, I am not destined for a life on stage.
The English people leave tomorrow. I wont mention their names but if they read this blog entry, I want to say thanks for coming to stay with us. It has been an absolute pleasure to have them stay with us and they are welcome back to our home anytime.
Having had great guests, it made me think about that awful Tripadvisor review that was wrongly aimed at Emma and me. Perhaps I should start a website where the owners of gites, hotels and bed & breakfast establishments could review their guests. That way, we could vet them before we allow them to reserve. It that site existed right now, I would certainly leave a review for the English family as follows:
5 stars out of 5
Adorable English family that are ambassadors for Great Britain. Very respectful, honest and very witty. Would I recommend them to other establishments? Yes; however, I would much prefer if they came back and stayed with us. As Curt would say: "They are amazing!"
The friendly English family invited me round for a game of cards. I suspect it was out of sympathy as earlier, I had proposed a game of Risk with them. They looked at me strangely when I mentioned "would you like to play a game of risk". From the look in their eyes, I imagined that they thought that they had booked a holiday at a swingers convention. When I explained that it was the board game based on world domination, they seemed more at ease.
I have been missing speaking English and my wife knew that. She suggested that I ask them but I sensed that they did not want to play. I started thinking about the garlic sausage once more and took the hint and retired to the house. To my surprise, a little later, there was a knock at the door. "Would you like to come to the gite for a game of cards?", the English lady asked. Having had the knock back earlier with the offer of a game of risk, I thought about cutting my nose off to spite my face. Should I tell her that I was washing my hair? The fact that I have very little hair wouldn't have washed with her; me neither, so I accepted the offer.
I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things. I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things.I can't even remember the last time I played cards!
They explained the rules to me and sensing that I did not understand, they began to speak slower and louder; as people do with foreigners or people with learning difficulties. I probably seemed to fit the criteria in their eyes no doubt!
After the explanation, they asked if I understood. I seemed to have had the same feeling when I visited the Notaire the other week when I signed the legal papers for the house. She asked the same question; in French of course. "Do you understand?". I am sure I heard one of the English people mutter, "is he still breathing", as I had the blank look accross my face. "Oh, yes, of course. I understand". I am probably not a convincing liar as well as having a bad memory, learning difficulties and smelling of garlic sausage.
Beginners luck! After being explained the rules over and over again, I won the first round; or do they call it game? Perhaps they felt sorry for me and let the fat kid win to make his onlooking parents feel proud.
As the night went on, the conversation got funnier and funnier. We seemed to bounce of one another and before long, we were laughing uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I laughed this much. I seem to forget a lot of things; however, I wanted to write this in my blog to help me remember this great time I had with them. I just wish I could bottle this humour as I am sure it would be great for a stand up routine. One of the big draw backs for being a comedian is that you have to remember the punch lines. For that, I am not destined for a life on stage.
The English people leave tomorrow. I wont mention their names but if they read this blog entry, I want to say thanks for coming to stay with us. It has been an absolute pleasure to have them stay with us and they are welcome back to our home anytime.
Having had great guests, it made me think about that awful Tripadvisor review that was wrongly aimed at Emma and me. Perhaps I should start a website where the owners of gites, hotels and bed & breakfast establishments could review their guests. That way, we could vet them before we allow them to reserve. It that site existed right now, I would certainly leave a review for the English family as follows:
5 stars out of 5
Adorable English family that are ambassadors for Great Britain. Very respectful, honest and very witty. Would I recommend them to other establishments? Yes; however, I would much prefer if they came back and stayed with us. As Curt would say: "They are amazing!"
Thursday 16 September 2010
Battle of the bulge
I can't quite remember when I last wrote about cutting the grass. From what I remember, it wasn't that long ago. Where is all this grass coming from then? I glanced over at the land behind the house and it looks like the grass mounted a counter offensive and re-took the ground I had captured from the last offensive (Operation green grass).
The weather was good to mount my offensive to capture the terrain. After last nights soiree, I was feeling very fragile and all I really wanted to do was lie on the sofa and take a nap. I managed to motivate myself and fired up panzer Tom for the major attack.
This offensive was planned better than the last and it was all guns blazing; no prisoners taken today! All was going well until Tom started spluttering . It would appear that just like in the Battle of the Bulge, we had insufficient fuel to finish the attack. I'm not sure I would have found any American fuel dumps nearby, so I had no choice but to to pull back. I thought about destroying Tom so it could not fall into the hands of the enemy, but finally decided to push it back to the shed. I can imagine how those German tank commanders must have felt in the Ardennes in 1944. They had the tools to do the job but no fuel to finish it!
The weather was good to mount my offensive to capture the terrain. After last nights soiree, I was feeling very fragile and all I really wanted to do was lie on the sofa and take a nap. I managed to motivate myself and fired up panzer Tom for the major attack.
This offensive was planned better than the last and it was all guns blazing; no prisoners taken today! All was going well until Tom started spluttering . It would appear that just like in the Battle of the Bulge, we had insufficient fuel to finish the attack. I'm not sure I would have found any American fuel dumps nearby, so I had no choice but to to pull back. I thought about destroying Tom so it could not fall into the hands of the enemy, but finally decided to push it back to the shed. I can imagine how those German tank commanders must have felt in the Ardennes in 1944. They had the tools to do the job but no fuel to finish it!
Wednesday 15 September 2010
Beats working for a living
Paranoia paid us a visit this morning. My wife had seen our English guests before they left for their day trip and she said that they didn't look happy. I wonder what is wrong with them? Is it the accommodation, is it us, had I brushed my teeth before I spoke with them; all that and a million other negative thoughts ran through my head. Just as the millionth negative thought entered my mind, my wife asked if I had brushed my teeth this morning; according to her, it smelt of garlic sausage. We had that last night so it made me think that I had found the culprit for their distant reaction this morning.
We are fully booked this week and have one English family and two American families. I had organised a soiree for the evening and asked if they would attend. My master plan was to bring us all together to chat and discuss the differences between our great nations. The only differences that I could think about after my wife told me the news of my garlic sausage breath, was that the American's probably spent more time with a toothbrush.
In the afternoon, I was invited to have a chat by the English family and as paranoia was still shadowing me, I was sure that it would be negative. In fact, it was the opposite. They were very positive about their holiday, the accommodation and didn't once mention the strange smell of garlic sausage that was following me.
Later that evening, having been shopping again for the bits and bobs for our evening party, true to their word, the guests started to arrive. After the obligatory pleasantries and wooden stances, we started to relax and started sharing stories. One of the American men, Curt, was a larger than life character. He would have not looked out of place in a holywood action movie; and yes, he had the perfect white teeth that makes all English people envious.
One of the major talking points for the evening was the lack of guns in England. The Americans sat on one side of the table scratching their heads, wondering why we do not have anti-tank weapons, proximity mines and 50mm machine guns in our living rooms. On the other side of the table, the English were mesmorised by the shiny white teeth of the Americans. Curt mentioned that he has a safe full of ammunition at his home in the United States and another full of weapons. I mentioned the fact that the British Army has insufficient money and materials to supply its soldiers fighting in Afghanistan. Perhaps he could help out and ship some equipment from his ranch.
As the beer flowed and the conversation moved from topic to guns and back to other topics, I couldn't help thinking that this beats working for a living!
We are fully booked this week and have one English family and two American families. I had organised a soiree for the evening and asked if they would attend. My master plan was to bring us all together to chat and discuss the differences between our great nations. The only differences that I could think about after my wife told me the news of my garlic sausage breath, was that the American's probably spent more time with a toothbrush.
In the afternoon, I was invited to have a chat by the English family and as paranoia was still shadowing me, I was sure that it would be negative. In fact, it was the opposite. They were very positive about their holiday, the accommodation and didn't once mention the strange smell of garlic sausage that was following me.
Later that evening, having been shopping again for the bits and bobs for our evening party, true to their word, the guests started to arrive. After the obligatory pleasantries and wooden stances, we started to relax and started sharing stories. One of the American men, Curt, was a larger than life character. He would have not looked out of place in a holywood action movie; and yes, he had the perfect white teeth that makes all English people envious.
One of the major talking points for the evening was the lack of guns in England. The Americans sat on one side of the table scratching their heads, wondering why we do not have anti-tank weapons, proximity mines and 50mm machine guns in our living rooms. On the other side of the table, the English were mesmorised by the shiny white teeth of the Americans. Curt mentioned that he has a safe full of ammunition at his home in the United States and another full of weapons. I mentioned the fact that the British Army has insufficient money and materials to supply its soldiers fighting in Afghanistan. Perhaps he could help out and ship some equipment from his ranch.
As the beer flowed and the conversation moved from topic to guns and back to other topics, I couldn't help thinking that this beats working for a living!
Tuesday 14 September 2010
Normandy Battlefield Stories
Our house is surrounded by history and it is very easy to forget. All these years after the Normandy invasion, the countryside is now peaceful. In fact, if you didn't know that the biggest invasion in human history happened in the fields surrounding our house, it could just be any countryside. The fact is, it is not and it is steeped in history.
As I have been shopping almost everyday, I had began to forget that we are living in a special place. I had a conversation with one of our American guests and this made me realise that I was getting side tracked; this helped to relight my enthusiasm for the history and the place where I am now living.
In all of the fields around our home, the bunkers and Utah Beach itself, there is a story to tell from the Normandy invasion. In the land behind our house, there was a field hospital and a prisoner of war camp. When I told the American gent about this, I could see the amazement in his eyes. This made me think that we should never forget what happened here all those years ago. I just hope that I can do my bit to share this important history lesson with the guests who come to stay.
As I have been shopping almost everyday, I had began to forget that we are living in a special place. I had a conversation with one of our American guests and this made me realise that I was getting side tracked; this helped to relight my enthusiasm for the history and the place where I am now living.
In all of the fields around our home, the bunkers and Utah Beach itself, there is a story to tell from the Normandy invasion. In the land behind our house, there was a field hospital and a prisoner of war camp. When I told the American gent about this, I could see the amazement in his eyes. This made me think that we should never forget what happened here all those years ago. I just hope that I can do my bit to share this important history lesson with the guests who come to stay.
Monday 13 September 2010
The Americans have landed
Another positive day today as we have finally been connected to the outside world. Our telephone and ADSL line started working today. I have never taken drugs but I imagine the sensation must be similar to how I felt when I finally established a high speed internet connection. What a relief to have a fast connection and a proper telephone line!
I didn't want to keep this sensation just for myself. I immediately went about checking the signal strength in our gites to allow us to offer our guests free WIFI. Luckily, the signal was strong enough to reach to the furthest gite so now we are happy to offer this to our guests.
We have welcomed our first American guests this evening. I don't know what it is with Americans but I can't help feeling in awe of them. I like the larger than life aura that they bring with them and I was really happy to talk with them about the history of the war. Many Americans come here on a sort of pilgrimage and many have lost loved ones on that fateful day in June 1944. I am hoping that our guests will share their D-Day stories and allow me to have them on our site.
One of the Americans asked how why we have come to Normandy to live. That is a difficult question to answer; however, I told him that we are simply carrying the baton of history for some years after which, we plan to pass onto someone else. We want to do our bit to keep the history of this great war alive for future generations to come.
I didn't want to keep this sensation just for myself. I immediately went about checking the signal strength in our gites to allow us to offer our guests free WIFI. Luckily, the signal was strong enough to reach to the furthest gite so now we are happy to offer this to our guests.
We have welcomed our first American guests this evening. I don't know what it is with Americans but I can't help feeling in awe of them. I like the larger than life aura that they bring with them and I was really happy to talk with them about the history of the war. Many Americans come here on a sort of pilgrimage and many have lost loved ones on that fateful day in June 1944. I am hoping that our guests will share their D-Day stories and allow me to have them on our site.
One of the Americans asked how why we have come to Normandy to live. That is a difficult question to answer; however, I told him that we are simply carrying the baton of history for some years after which, we plan to pass onto someone else. We want to do our bit to keep the history of this great war alive for future generations to come.
Saturday 11 September 2010
A new front opens
En fin! Our first guests have arrived. Can we call them our first guests? As the previous owners took the reservation, are we in a position to say that? I guess the most important is that they have arrived and we have done our best to make them feel welcome.
They would have been our first guests, even if they had been booked by the previous owner; however, this morning we received a telephone call from a Canadian gentleman who lives in Paris. He decided that he wanted to come to Normandy and spend a night with his wife and children at our house. I like spontanaity and I was impressed that he woke up in the morning, decided that he wanted to come and by 1600 hours, he was in Carentan. I had arranged to pick him up and loan him the use of our second car. I realise that I was probably damaging the car rental economy in Normandy; but it seemed much simpler to do this than for him to go through process of renting.
I had planned a special surprise for our guests that would arrive later in the evening. I have made some friends in the area and they are fanatical about the war. They are also do parachute jumps all over Europe to celebrate D-Day and other airbourne operations that took place during the war. I had planned for them to greet my new guests, dressed in their full authentic world war 2 American Airborne uniforms.
Our guests had indicated that they would arrive at 1915 and true to their word, they turned up. Where were my paratroopers? This was a disappointment for me and the show did not start well. As they say though, the show must go on.
A little later, my new friends in their uniforms arrived. My children are in awe of them, but also very scared. Just like in the war, the G.I's offered sweets and chocolate to my kids. My children were very happy with this, but not with me telling them that they can't have it as it was almost dinner time. I don't suppose that happened during the war.
I retired to the garden area to have a beer with my allies and they explained that they had been to Carentan to sort out some paperwork and that they had been delayed. French beauracracy getting in the way of plans once more. Never the less, our guests had seen the soldiers pass by their window and no doubt were very intrigued. I was very happy when the decided to come outside and join us for a beer.
As it stared to get dark, my paratrooper friend suggested that we take a look at his equipment. Luckily, he had brought his collection of world war 2 items and my guests had the opportunity of handling some weapons. I am not sure how much they enjoyed this experience; however, by the looks on their faces, I would say that it went down well.
All's well that ends well; at least that is what they say. It appears that their is a new front opening and I am feeling a little over stretched. Despite being in a new country, speaking a different language and running a new business, it appears that my wife is not feeling too good either. As a result of the pregnancy and the change of life, she is feeling really low. I just hope that we can live to fight another day and not be missing in action after just one week in Normandy.
They would have been our first guests, even if they had been booked by the previous owner; however, this morning we received a telephone call from a Canadian gentleman who lives in Paris. He decided that he wanted to come to Normandy and spend a night with his wife and children at our house. I like spontanaity and I was impressed that he woke up in the morning, decided that he wanted to come and by 1600 hours, he was in Carentan. I had arranged to pick him up and loan him the use of our second car. I realise that I was probably damaging the car rental economy in Normandy; but it seemed much simpler to do this than for him to go through process of renting.
I had planned a special surprise for our guests that would arrive later in the evening. I have made some friends in the area and they are fanatical about the war. They are also do parachute jumps all over Europe to celebrate D-Day and other airbourne operations that took place during the war. I had planned for them to greet my new guests, dressed in their full authentic world war 2 American Airborne uniforms.
Our guests had indicated that they would arrive at 1915 and true to their word, they turned up. Where were my paratroopers? This was a disappointment for me and the show did not start well. As they say though, the show must go on.
A little later, my new friends in their uniforms arrived. My children are in awe of them, but also very scared. Just like in the war, the G.I's offered sweets and chocolate to my kids. My children were very happy with this, but not with me telling them that they can't have it as it was almost dinner time. I don't suppose that happened during the war.
I retired to the garden area to have a beer with my allies and they explained that they had been to Carentan to sort out some paperwork and that they had been delayed. French beauracracy getting in the way of plans once more. Never the less, our guests had seen the soldiers pass by their window and no doubt were very intrigued. I was very happy when the decided to come outside and join us for a beer.
As it stared to get dark, my paratrooper friend suggested that we take a look at his equipment. Luckily, he had brought his collection of world war 2 items and my guests had the opportunity of handling some weapons. I am not sure how much they enjoyed this experience; however, by the looks on their faces, I would say that it went down well.
All's well that ends well; at least that is what they say. It appears that their is a new front opening and I am feeling a little over stretched. Despite being in a new country, speaking a different language and running a new business, it appears that my wife is not feeling too good either. As a result of the pregnancy and the change of life, she is feeling really low. I just hope that we can live to fight another day and not be missing in action after just one week in Normandy.
Thursday 9 September 2010
Biting the hand that feeds us
After my post yesterday, I had a great piece of news. The Doctor has told my wife that she should stop working and rest until the baby is born. As a result, she arrived late last night to surprise us all. What a relief; reinforcements had arrived!
Her first request the next day was to go shopping. So here we go again off to Carentan. Luckily, today it was only for a few small items. We managed to find a store that was something like the pound shops in England. I was very relived to see that the total for todays shopping was less than 10 euros. This did make too much of a dent into our finances, unlike the previous few days.
We had parked across the road and as a result, we had to cross over the main road leading into Carentan. My hands were full with our new purchases and as I ran across the road, I dropped a small brush that we had bought. A lady driving a car had noticed this and stopped and sounded her horn. By this time, both lanes of traffic had stopped to see the spectacle. The look on the ladies face in the car was of pity. I had my heavily pregnant wife on one side of the road and she must have thought we were romanian gypsies who were walking back to their caravan. Of the few items I had, this included a bottle of mayonaise for Alice the au pair, some batteries and a pizza cutter, and of course the brush that was causing the hold up.
A little later that night, we received an email from a client who has booked to stay with us next week. He had been told that despite not staying for a full week, he would have to pay the for the full week. This is something that the previous owners of Ivy House had insisted on. We are trying to run a business and need to make a living; however, we decided to reduce the price for the gentleman to the price that we thought was fairer. I guess we are biting the hand that feeds us and as we are in business, we should make as much as we can. We don't see it quite like that and we want our clients to feel that they have been treated fairly. Will this mean we will fail in our Normandy adventure? We will have to wait and see!
Her first request the next day was to go shopping. So here we go again off to Carentan. Luckily, today it was only for a few small items. We managed to find a store that was something like the pound shops in England. I was very relived to see that the total for todays shopping was less than 10 euros. This did make too much of a dent into our finances, unlike the previous few days.
We had parked across the road and as a result, we had to cross over the main road leading into Carentan. My hands were full with our new purchases and as I ran across the road, I dropped a small brush that we had bought. A lady driving a car had noticed this and stopped and sounded her horn. By this time, both lanes of traffic had stopped to see the spectacle. The look on the ladies face in the car was of pity. I had my heavily pregnant wife on one side of the road and she must have thought we were romanian gypsies who were walking back to their caravan. Of the few items I had, this included a bottle of mayonaise for Alice the au pair, some batteries and a pizza cutter, and of course the brush that was causing the hold up.
A little later that night, we received an email from a client who has booked to stay with us next week. He had been told that despite not staying for a full week, he would have to pay the for the full week. This is something that the previous owners of Ivy House had insisted on. We are trying to run a business and need to make a living; however, we decided to reduce the price for the gentleman to the price that we thought was fairer. I guess we are biting the hand that feeds us and as we are in business, we should make as much as we can. We don't see it quite like that and we want our clients to feel that they have been treated fairly. Will this mean we will fail in our Normandy adventure? We will have to wait and see!
Wednesday 8 September 2010
It all ended in tears
Another day and more purchases. The garden is taking some breaking down and without the proper tools, it is a nightmare. I can imagine how the Germans felt at Stalingrad; heavy resistance and bogged down in unforgiving terrain.
So here I go again; off to the local gardening store in Carentan to buy a petrol strimmer. I must be getting better at planning the shopping as I arrived thirty minutes before it closed for there two hour lunch break. I wonder what they must eat to take two hours to do it in.
Buying the strimmer was yet another strange experience. My memories of buying something from the big DIY stores in England are totally different to today. I had to get a receipt from a man in the store, take it to the till and then drive round the back to pick it up. In England, it seems a lot simpler; but probably no where as near interesting.
Having done the formalities and then driven round the back of store, I had the pleasure of being served by a really pleasant young man. He explained that he had opened the box and was now going to give me a demonstration of how it worked. Not only did he demonstrate, he put some petrol in it and told me where I should take the grass that I was going to cut. He seemed to be able to read my mind and for that, I was truly impressed. It could have been the fact that it was almost midday and he wanted to get rid of me for his two hour meal.
Once we had got back home and had our 30 minute lunch break, I set about firing up the new wonder weapon. I followed the instructions of the guy from the store and all worked as planned. Re-equipped and having had some rest and relaxation, the offensive, code named green grass, was back on.
After about 30 or 40 minutes of the offensive, my arm was starting to feel the strain of the weight and vibration from the small engine. I felt like had suddenly developed Parkinsons disease and white finger as an added bonus. I decided it was time for a tea break and switched off this contraption that was making me shake like a jelly. I turned round to go back to the house and nearly had a heart attack. There was a strange looking man standing just behind me grinning like a cheshire cat without teeth. Jesus wept! I hadn't heard him as I was wearing ear defenders. I have Parkinsons, white finger and now a nervous disposition.
The man turned out to be one of my new neighbours. It didn't take him more than a minute to tell me that one of my trees was obscuring the sun and that his vegetable plot was suffering as a result. Following his orders, I went to look for myself and acting as if I knew what he was talking about, I agreed and did the face of anguish on behalf of his vegetables. This seem to do the trick and it wasn't long before he insisted on helping me finish cutting my grass. An allie in the war on grass should not be turned away so I accepted his kind offer.
With his help, we managed to get the job done and as a thank you, I invited him to join me for a beer. As I am interested in the history of the war, I asked him about our new house. Apparently it was occupied by the Germans during the occupation. He started to tell me that his relatives owned the house previously but before he finished the sentance, he burst into tears. What a strange situation to find yourself in. In a foreign country, in a new house, with a strange man who is now in tears. I didn't know what to say to him, other than it is OK to cry. It wasn't OK, but what can you do?
I'm sure I have made a friend and I am interested to know more about his life and what he and his family endured during the war. I just hope that if the subject is mentioned again, it doesn't all end in tears.
So here I go again; off to the local gardening store in Carentan to buy a petrol strimmer. I must be getting better at planning the shopping as I arrived thirty minutes before it closed for there two hour lunch break. I wonder what they must eat to take two hours to do it in.
Buying the strimmer was yet another strange experience. My memories of buying something from the big DIY stores in England are totally different to today. I had to get a receipt from a man in the store, take it to the till and then drive round the back to pick it up. In England, it seems a lot simpler; but probably no where as near interesting.
Having done the formalities and then driven round the back of store, I had the pleasure of being served by a really pleasant young man. He explained that he had opened the box and was now going to give me a demonstration of how it worked. Not only did he demonstrate, he put some petrol in it and told me where I should take the grass that I was going to cut. He seemed to be able to read my mind and for that, I was truly impressed. It could have been the fact that it was almost midday and he wanted to get rid of me for his two hour meal.
Once we had got back home and had our 30 minute lunch break, I set about firing up the new wonder weapon. I followed the instructions of the guy from the store and all worked as planned. Re-equipped and having had some rest and relaxation, the offensive, code named green grass, was back on.
After about 30 or 40 minutes of the offensive, my arm was starting to feel the strain of the weight and vibration from the small engine. I felt like had suddenly developed Parkinsons disease and white finger as an added bonus. I decided it was time for a tea break and switched off this contraption that was making me shake like a jelly. I turned round to go back to the house and nearly had a heart attack. There was a strange looking man standing just behind me grinning like a cheshire cat without teeth. Jesus wept! I hadn't heard him as I was wearing ear defenders. I have Parkinsons, white finger and now a nervous disposition.
The man turned out to be one of my new neighbours. It didn't take him more than a minute to tell me that one of my trees was obscuring the sun and that his vegetable plot was suffering as a result. Following his orders, I went to look for myself and acting as if I knew what he was talking about, I agreed and did the face of anguish on behalf of his vegetables. This seem to do the trick and it wasn't long before he insisted on helping me finish cutting my grass. An allie in the war on grass should not be turned away so I accepted his kind offer.
With his help, we managed to get the job done and as a thank you, I invited him to join me for a beer. As I am interested in the history of the war, I asked him about our new house. Apparently it was occupied by the Germans during the occupation. He started to tell me that his relatives owned the house previously but before he finished the sentance, he burst into tears. What a strange situation to find yourself in. In a foreign country, in a new house, with a strange man who is now in tears. I didn't know what to say to him, other than it is OK to cry. It wasn't OK, but what can you do?
I'm sure I have made a friend and I am interested to know more about his life and what he and his family endured during the war. I just hope that if the subject is mentioned again, it doesn't all end in tears.
Tuesday 7 September 2010
Ride em cowboy
Before I took over running Ivy House, I mentioned to friends and colleagues back in England the fact that we will have a ride on lawn mower. To my amazement, almost all of my male friends and colleagues said that it was their dream to have one. Strange really, as I had not given it any thought.
I decided to leave the kids in school all day today. I followed the strange system of buying canteen tickets at the Mayors office and consequently put them in a box at the school. Don't ask me why it is like that; all I can assume is that it is yet another form of bureaucracy. As we had a lot of things to do today, the extra time without the kids is a blessing.
I had planned to try the ride on lawm mower to try and spruce the place up a bit before our first guests arrive on Saturday. There seem to be a window of decent weather so I took this opportunity to fire up Tom. My kids had christened the mower Tom after a French TV programme they watch: Tracteur Tom. In French, a ride on lawn mower is called a moteur tracteur; hence tractor Tom.
There is not much call for a ride on lawn mower when you live in a city with a garden of about 30m2. I am being brainwashed little by little as I talk in meters now. I am not sure how big that is in old money, but I dare say that there would not be a big enough turning circle for Tom back in England. Compare that with the acre we have now and as you can imagine, it's game on!
After reading the basic instruction stickers, I was an immediate expert. Like most men, I didn't really take enough time to read them properly and nearly killed myself by starting it in the shed. As I was too busy trying to work out the controls, I didn't realise that I was choking on petrol fumes.
When I had recovered from my near death experience, I drove Tom as if I was lord of the manner. Lord of the manner who was churning up the driveway as he had not realised that the cutting blades were engaged.
After about 30 minutes, I had just about mastered it and was racing around like a German in a panzer during the invasion of France. Just like in the blitzkrieg, I was terrorising this french soil and I was not about to take any prisoners. Until of course I see Alice the au pair looking at me; the look of longing to have a go on Tom. Panzer Tom was not a forgiving beast and I made this point to Alice as if I knew what I was talking about. She knew that I didn't know what I was talking about but didn't want me to know it. Being a typical man, I did not know that she knew it and felt all alpha male for a few minutes. In french, I told her to go easy with her and to not let the revs die down. She looked at me and acknowledged my new found expertise of ride on lawn mowers with an OK, whatever sort of expression.
What I hadn't realised was that Alice only has short legs. To slow Tom down, it is necessary to press a pedal but as she could not fully depress it, Tom shot off like a horse bolting. She screamed as Tom raced across the terrain to recommence the blitzkrieg. As there seemed to be no apparent danger, in French I shouted "ride em cowboy". When we finally got Tom under control, she looked at me very strangely. Apparently, my French version of "ride em cowboy", was more like "ride me you cow". Probably not the best thing to say to your au pair; especially when your wife is working four hours away!
I decided to leave the kids in school all day today. I followed the strange system of buying canteen tickets at the Mayors office and consequently put them in a box at the school. Don't ask me why it is like that; all I can assume is that it is yet another form of bureaucracy. As we had a lot of things to do today, the extra time without the kids is a blessing.
I had planned to try the ride on lawm mower to try and spruce the place up a bit before our first guests arrive on Saturday. There seem to be a window of decent weather so I took this opportunity to fire up Tom. My kids had christened the mower Tom after a French TV programme they watch: Tracteur Tom. In French, a ride on lawn mower is called a moteur tracteur; hence tractor Tom.
There is not much call for a ride on lawn mower when you live in a city with a garden of about 30m2. I am being brainwashed little by little as I talk in meters now. I am not sure how big that is in old money, but I dare say that there would not be a big enough turning circle for Tom back in England. Compare that with the acre we have now and as you can imagine, it's game on!
After reading the basic instruction stickers, I was an immediate expert. Like most men, I didn't really take enough time to read them properly and nearly killed myself by starting it in the shed. As I was too busy trying to work out the controls, I didn't realise that I was choking on petrol fumes.
When I had recovered from my near death experience, I drove Tom as if I was lord of the manner. Lord of the manner who was churning up the driveway as he had not realised that the cutting blades were engaged.
After about 30 minutes, I had just about mastered it and was racing around like a German in a panzer during the invasion of France. Just like in the blitzkrieg, I was terrorising this french soil and I was not about to take any prisoners. Until of course I see Alice the au pair looking at me; the look of longing to have a go on Tom. Panzer Tom was not a forgiving beast and I made this point to Alice as if I knew what I was talking about. She knew that I didn't know what I was talking about but didn't want me to know it. Being a typical man, I did not know that she knew it and felt all alpha male for a few minutes. In french, I told her to go easy with her and to not let the revs die down. She looked at me and acknowledged my new found expertise of ride on lawn mowers with an OK, whatever sort of expression.
What I hadn't realised was that Alice only has short legs. To slow Tom down, it is necessary to press a pedal but as she could not fully depress it, Tom shot off like a horse bolting. She screamed as Tom raced across the terrain to recommence the blitzkrieg. As there seemed to be no apparent danger, in French I shouted "ride em cowboy". When we finally got Tom under control, she looked at me very strangely. Apparently, my French version of "ride em cowboy", was more like "ride me you cow". Probably not the best thing to say to your au pair; especially when your wife is working four hours away!
Monday 6 September 2010
God helped us!
It's an up day today! As I am not religious, I wont thank that certain someone. I thank my parents instead for making me resilient.
After a short rest, Monday morning is here and the start of a new school week. In fact, not a school week; more of a school four days. As the kids do not go to school in France on a Wednesday, we have one more full day to entertain them. If my wife was not a teacher, I would write to Sarkozy to demand that the teachers work more and help us parents. The fact that my wife is a teacher and only has to work four days per week means that I keep my mouth shut!
I have a plan today. After we drop the kids off at school, I have promised Alice that we will go to Carentan to buy a television. Living in a house without a television is like torture for us. More for her than me, but torture all the same. When I tell her the news, she is filled with joy and there is no doubt that my credibility has just hit an all time high.
Some hours later, we return to the house with two boxes of joy. My wife ordered me to buy her a television for her room to allow her some privacy and freedom. Never mind me then! I am not exactly happy to sit on my own in this half empty living room watching French television.
To accompany these two new televisions, I purchased a shiny new aerial. God only knows how I am going to install it without any tools. I left Alice to assemble the aerial and I started planning how this would work. Fortuneately, there is a satellite already installed that is pointing to English TV. Unfortuneately, I am not in possession of a receiver to allow me to watch it. I feel like a am trapped in a sweet shop but have diabetes, I'm morbidly obese and I have an allergy to sugar.
My plan was to splice the link from this dish and connect the shiny new aerial to the cable that had already been installed. Great news; no splicing required. There is a cable joint with the necessary connectors that will allow me to join my aerial. I am beginning to feel like I am part of the A-Team. I'm not sure which one, but I love it when a plan comes together.
Before long, we are up and running and have two boxes of joy, connected to a shiny new aerial, pumping out Secret Story. This is a French version of Big Brother and I am greeted with the sight of an homaphrodite rolling around on a bed fighting with a homosexual and a weired looking black woman laughing her head off. 750 euros out of pocket to watch this garbage. At least it seems to make Alice happy! I guess I better get used to being on my own until the wife gets back.
A Normandy Adventure is our story of moving to France to run a bed & breakfast and self catering gite complex. Ivy House, Utah Beach Normandy, is our new home and is only five minutes walk from the D-Day Utah Beach.
After a short rest, Monday morning is here and the start of a new school week. In fact, not a school week; more of a school four days. As the kids do not go to school in France on a Wednesday, we have one more full day to entertain them. If my wife was not a teacher, I would write to Sarkozy to demand that the teachers work more and help us parents. The fact that my wife is a teacher and only has to work four days per week means that I keep my mouth shut!
I have a plan today. After we drop the kids off at school, I have promised Alice that we will go to Carentan to buy a television. Living in a house without a television is like torture for us. More for her than me, but torture all the same. When I tell her the news, she is filled with joy and there is no doubt that my credibility has just hit an all time high.
Some hours later, we return to the house with two boxes of joy. My wife ordered me to buy her a television for her room to allow her some privacy and freedom. Never mind me then! I am not exactly happy to sit on my own in this half empty living room watching French television.
To accompany these two new televisions, I purchased a shiny new aerial. God only knows how I am going to install it without any tools. I left Alice to assemble the aerial and I started planning how this would work. Fortuneately, there is a satellite already installed that is pointing to English TV. Unfortuneately, I am not in possession of a receiver to allow me to watch it. I feel like a am trapped in a sweet shop but have diabetes, I'm morbidly obese and I have an allergy to sugar.
My plan was to splice the link from this dish and connect the shiny new aerial to the cable that had already been installed. Great news; no splicing required. There is a cable joint with the necessary connectors that will allow me to join my aerial. I am beginning to feel like I am part of the A-Team. I'm not sure which one, but I love it when a plan comes together.
Before long, we are up and running and have two boxes of joy, connected to a shiny new aerial, pumping out Secret Story. This is a French version of Big Brother and I am greeted with the sight of an homaphrodite rolling around on a bed fighting with a homosexual and a weired looking black woman laughing her head off. 750 euros out of pocket to watch this garbage. At least it seems to make Alice happy! I guess I better get used to being on my own until the wife gets back.
A Normandy Adventure is our story of moving to France to run a bed & breakfast and self catering gite complex. Ivy House, Utah Beach Normandy, is our new home and is only five minutes walk from the D-Day Utah Beach.
Sunday 5 September 2010
Sunday bloody Sunday
Having spent a nice weekend together, the misery cloud seemed to descend on me once more. My wife would leave for Saint Nazaire today in order for her to work tomorrow. This means that it is just me, Alice the au pair and the kids in the new house. This was a daunting prospect.
When it was time for my wife to leave, I had to put a brave face on for the boys. Surely they are mixed up enough as it is. The last thing they need right now is there mum and dad crying. I managed a British stiff upper lip; however, being French, my wife capitulated and shed some tears. I'm sure there is a link there for World War 2.
The boys are probably more resilient than I thought. They were not happy to see their mum leave, but before long, it was normal service resumed. Making the most of their new space, they were running around without a care in the world; unlike me of course.
The day finished on a low and I had trouble sleeping. A million things buzzing through my brain; a million things that I could have done without thinking about really. Stupid things like fly killing machines, a fly killing napalm air strike and other associated things related to flies.
My life, and no doubt the lives of most people, are made up of ups and downs. If I can finally get some sleep, I will embrace tomorrow and hope that it will be an up. If it's a down, God help us!
When it was time for my wife to leave, I had to put a brave face on for the boys. Surely they are mixed up enough as it is. The last thing they need right now is there mum and dad crying. I managed a British stiff upper lip; however, being French, my wife capitulated and shed some tears. I'm sure there is a link there for World War 2.
The boys are probably more resilient than I thought. They were not happy to see their mum leave, but before long, it was normal service resumed. Making the most of their new space, they were running around without a care in the world; unlike me of course.
The day finished on a low and I had trouble sleeping. A million things buzzing through my brain; a million things that I could have done without thinking about really. Stupid things like fly killing machines, a fly killing napalm air strike and other associated things related to flies.
My life, and no doubt the lives of most people, are made up of ups and downs. If I can finally get some sleep, I will embrace tomorrow and hope that it will be an up. If it's a down, God help us!
Lord of the flies
One of the things I hadn't thought about with a life in the countryside was the insects. Having lived in a city for all of my life thus far, it shocked me to discover that the countryside, as beautiful as it is, has it's fair share of insects. You never see that written in holiday brochures or travel guides.
If you look at reviews of Ivy House on TripAdvisor, you will see a less than complimentary review for the previous owners of Ivy House that mentioned the flies. As we have stated in previous blog entries, this review should have been aimed at the previous owners, Steve and Sarah Lee. However, I can sympathise with the writer of the review, especially if they had not experienced living in the countryside like I hadn't.
I spoke with our new neighbour today and I asked if it is always like this in Normandy. She laughed when I told her that I had never seen more than one or two flies at any one time in a room. She made the point that it is the countryside; however, this year has been the worst that she can remember for flies. She seems to think that it is a result of a very wet July and a hot end to August. It was reassuring to hear that she thinks the flies will die off in the next couple of weeks.
I have decided that I am now the lord of the flies and starting tomorrow, I will visit the stores in Carentan to find a way to banish these pesky things from our house and our gites. There will be no expense spared to make our accommodation irratant free for our next guests this weekend.
I am probably exagerating the problem but I have been brought up to tell the truth. The truth is that our house and gites are in beautiful countryside just opposite the D-Day Utah Beach. The small price we have to pay to languish in this peaceful setting is no doubt the same for all homes in the countryside. This price is called nature. We have to accept that nature has its way of testing us; however, I will fight back with a few crafty insect killing gadgets. They say that nature will always find a way. Let's just say that I intend to stand in its way on this occasion.
If you look at reviews of Ivy House on TripAdvisor, you will see a less than complimentary review for the previous owners of Ivy House that mentioned the flies. As we have stated in previous blog entries, this review should have been aimed at the previous owners, Steve and Sarah Lee. However, I can sympathise with the writer of the review, especially if they had not experienced living in the countryside like I hadn't.
I spoke with our new neighbour today and I asked if it is always like this in Normandy. She laughed when I told her that I had never seen more than one or two flies at any one time in a room. She made the point that it is the countryside; however, this year has been the worst that she can remember for flies. She seems to think that it is a result of a very wet July and a hot end to August. It was reassuring to hear that she thinks the flies will die off in the next couple of weeks.
I have decided that I am now the lord of the flies and starting tomorrow, I will visit the stores in Carentan to find a way to banish these pesky things from our house and our gites. There will be no expense spared to make our accommodation irratant free for our next guests this weekend.
I am probably exagerating the problem but I have been brought up to tell the truth. The truth is that our house and gites are in beautiful countryside just opposite the D-Day Utah Beach. The small price we have to pay to languish in this peaceful setting is no doubt the same for all homes in the countryside. This price is called nature. We have to accept that nature has its way of testing us; however, I will fight back with a few crafty insect killing gadgets. They say that nature will always find a way. Let's just say that I intend to stand in its way on this occasion.
Thursday 2 September 2010
Day of days for the kids
It is children’s first day at their new school in Sainte Marie Du Mont. For my eldest son Yoann, it is not his first time in school; however, it is for Peyo.
Shortly before 9, we arrive at the school and I have to say, I probably had more apprehension than them. I don’t understand why but perhaps it is a long lost memory of my first day at school.
We seem to be some of the first people to arrive but a few minutes later, numerous cars pull up and before I know it, there are kids everywhere. Some seem excited but most have the same expression as my children.
I took some time to observe the parents and most seem to know each other and kiss in the typical French manner. I was aware that some of the parents noticed my English registered car arrive and no doubt, we will be a topic of discussion at some point. For the moment, I am not involved with this morning kissing ritual. It is probably not a bad thing either! As I was rushing to get to get the kids ready, I did not have enough time to brush my teeth. I am sure my breath smelt bad that morning so kissing strangers was the last thing I would have wanted to do. Probably the last thing the strangers would have wanted to do as well! Perhaps the comparison between my breath and Camembert would have also been a topic of conversation. As the French have a love affair with cheese, this actually may have worked in my favour.
My eldest son is very sensitive and it was extremely difficult for him that morning. Peyo did not have a care in the world and took to school like a duck to water. Despite their apprehension and suffering, it gives me a few hours to get on with organising the house move. A little later today, I will visit Ivy House to ensure that everything is in order. We trust the current owners but we have been instructed to do this by our Notaire; French bureaucracy rearing its ugly head once more.
Later that day, just before 5 O’clock, I returned to the school to pick the kids up. Just like in the morning, the kissing ritual started again. I had brushed my teeth by then but as I was still a complete stranger, there was no kissing for me. Just as well really as there seemed to be more men than women.
The kids looked happy to see me but also wanted me to suffer for making them endure this experience. I tried to make a fuss and ask them lots of questions about what they had done and learned. As this was met with complete silence, I decided to keep my mouth shut for the short journey back to the gite.
Alice, our au pair, understood that it was a difficult day for them and tried her best to console them both with some balloons. As you can see from the photo, I don’t think it helped really.
Let’s see what their faces are like after the second day at school!
Shortly before 9, we arrive at the school and I have to say, I probably had more apprehension than them. I don’t understand why but perhaps it is a long lost memory of my first day at school.
We seem to be some of the first people to arrive but a few minutes later, numerous cars pull up and before I know it, there are kids everywhere. Some seem excited but most have the same expression as my children.
I took some time to observe the parents and most seem to know each other and kiss in the typical French manner. I was aware that some of the parents noticed my English registered car arrive and no doubt, we will be a topic of discussion at some point. For the moment, I am not involved with this morning kissing ritual. It is probably not a bad thing either! As I was rushing to get to get the kids ready, I did not have enough time to brush my teeth. I am sure my breath smelt bad that morning so kissing strangers was the last thing I would have wanted to do. Probably the last thing the strangers would have wanted to do as well! Perhaps the comparison between my breath and Camembert would have also been a topic of conversation. As the French have a love affair with cheese, this actually may have worked in my favour.
My eldest son is very sensitive and it was extremely difficult for him that morning. Peyo did not have a care in the world and took to school like a duck to water. Despite their apprehension and suffering, it gives me a few hours to get on with organising the house move. A little later today, I will visit Ivy House to ensure that everything is in order. We trust the current owners but we have been instructed to do this by our Notaire; French bureaucracy rearing its ugly head once more.
Later that day, just before 5 O’clock, I returned to the school to pick the kids up. Just like in the morning, the kissing ritual started again. I had brushed my teeth by then but as I was still a complete stranger, there was no kissing for me. Just as well really as there seemed to be more men than women.
Alice, our au pair, understood that it was a difficult day for them and tried her best to console them both with some balloons. As you can see from the photo, I don’t think it helped really.
Let’s see what their faces are like after the second day at school!
Wednesday 1 September 2010
Lines of Communication Severed
To try and stay connected with the outside world, we decided to buy a wireless 3G internet key. Due to the rural location of our temporary accommodation, it is not possible to obtain a signal. Our connection to the outside world which drains 40 euros per month is not much of a lifeline. It works, but you need to find a sweet spot. The sweet spot normally means that we have to drive to certain locations to pick up a signal. A bargain for only 40 euros per month and 2 litres of diesel each time you connect.
Despite what was written in the TripAdvisor review, our au pair does exist and as this is the first time she has left home, she has started to feel a little home sick. To make her feel better, I suggested using the Internet to make contact with her friends and family. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised what this would mean. I could see that this suggestion made her happy so who am I to ruin this enjoyment.
After a short drive to the village of Sainte Marie Du Mont, we managed to achieve a 40% 3G connection. I dare say that it must have been a strange sight for the residents of the village to see an English car pull up outside at ten O’clock at night. Never mind the sight of an older man and a young girl in the car. I agree that it looked a little perverse when the windows start steaming up; however, the windows were not steaming up for the perverse reason! It was out of frustration at the speed in which she could update her status on Facebook. I suggested that she update her status to depressed; however, before we could even get that far, the connection dropped out.
My wife tells me that I am a nice man and to keep this charade going, I made the decision to drive to Utah Beach. The day before, I had managed a half decent signal so I thought it might do the trick. Voila, ca marche! We managed a huge 60% connection and Alice managed to get her message to her friends. I could not help look at what she was writing and when I read her thoughts, I could have cried. Roughly translated, it read: Internet connection is not great, will write more another time.
Merde alors!
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