A busy time for all.......

Well, it has been a week since I last put pen to paper. That is not to say that we have been idle. Not for one moment.

Val and the folks at Fontfroide

Au revoir Bill and Sandra.........Fontfroide revisited.........

This week saw the departure of Bill and Sandra, Val's eldest brother and his significant other half. They had been with us for the better part of three bottles of gin and another of Cognac and we had a really great time with them. It was lovely to be able to take them to many of the wonderful places we have to visit in the region - a few of which we have not visited ourselves previously. One of the highlights was a day out to the beautiful medieval Abbaye de Fontfroide - a stunningly lovely 12th century Cistercian pile, in private hands for some years now and very nicely restored. Just an hour from the house, it is well worth a visit. We had been there before but each time we go there is a new discovery.

Local heroes

As well as B&S, we went with some good friends, Lynne and Aubrey Saunders, who have been living in the village for about 5 years now. These two guys are my heroes. They have thrown themselves into life here with total commitment to the 'local' way and have even, thus far anyway, resisted the installation of satellite TV. They can tell you precisely who won the French X-Factor but haven't got a clue who 'Subo' is. I love that!

The beautiful abbey cloister at Fontfroide

As the rest of our party (and the official guided tour) shuffled obediently outside to the cloister, I managed to linger a while longer in the chapel. I found the 20m high, vaulted ceiling just too much to resist and offered a bass solo of Byrd's Ave Verum Corpus to the two house martins and a swallow who had summoned up the courage to stay while the tour passed through this year's chosen home. What a buzz! I felt good being so flattered by the amazing acoustics. The birds however, being local, clearly preferred the Saint-Saens version as they flew off into the sunny courtyard after the first four bars. Philistines! I do hope they came back later to attend their nesting young.

The day was completed by a very civilised picnic lunch on the banks of the Canal du Midi and a slow, very happy meander home to Margon through the St Chinian hills.

The XVIth Century windmills at Faugères

From flour to flowers - in abundance

On Friday, we went to buy some wine at our favourite local vineyard. Bill and Sandra wanted to take some back for friends and family. As they were spending a week driving back through northern Spain, before taking the 24 hour cruise from Santander to Plymouth, I fancy not all of it will make it home. It is good stuff though and one needs to check from time to time to ensure that it is travelling well.

We took a short diversion on the way home to visit the 16th century windmills at Faugères, just 15 minutes drive from the house. Apart from the restored mills, one of which is now fully working and open to the public, the view is quite extraordinary. It is by far the highest point in the area, from which one can see forever. The best time to visit is on one of our crispy cold, sunny winter's days when the view is crystal clear and everything for miles around is perfectly visible. A local map is a good idea as it will save great lumps of time spent arguing over whether that distant place on the horizon is Agde, Marseillan or Florensac and other such significant trivia. There is an orientation table there but, rather than help decide what lies where, it merely serves to increase the doubt.

The broom ('genesta') on the Faugères garrigue

The glorious Pyramidal Orchid

It's a pleasant drive up the hill and, at this time of the year it is full of the sight and smell of broom - the bushy kind, that is. The whole landscape is daubed with great canary yellow blotches of colour and the perfume is heavenly. There is a risk that, in such 'heady' atmospheres, being too smitten by the overall splendour of the scene, one misses much of what is lurking, so often unnoticed, around and beneath it. A veritable, visual banquet of cistus (rock rose), speedwell, vetches of all kinds and dozens of other wonderful plants topped off with the 'creme de la creme' - the wild orchids. It's some show, I tell you!

But it's always nice to come home....

The 'Big Old house with the pointy roofs'

It has been a hive of activity, locally, today (Friday). This weekend sees the village's biggest festival days of the year. The Count and Countess of Margon ( they live in the big old house with the pointy roofs pictured above) open their gardens and, more importantly, their winery to a host of local producers of all things gastronomical. Something around 630 people will travel from all around the Hérault and neighbouring Departments (counties), to pay their 35 Euros and have a wonderful day sampling this that and whatever, taking a guided walking tour of the Count's vineyards being treated to a very nice 10 course lunch on the way. We have yet to book ourselves in, due entirely to other commitments and, every time, the Countess asks me where we were. Nice to be missed I guess. We WILL get there one year for sure.

I'll tell you all about the Chateau de Margon and its resident 'toffs' next time. For now then, suffice to say that they are lovely people and their beautiful home is one of the few remaining 'real' chateaux still occupied in the region.

It is late, approaching 1 a.m., and I need my beauty sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. My beloved Manchester United take on the mighty Barcelona at Wembley for the European Club Championship trophy. Many of us are meeting to barbecue and watch the match and then celebrate (or drown our sorrows as appropriate). Whatever the result, I will have to be up bright and early on Sunday to get the bread and pastries for our guests' breakfast. Fingers crossed for the right result.

Hasta pronto.

Local characters – an ongoing feature.

Who ate all the pies?
She calls us more or less on a daily basis at the moment. Not that we mind of course because she's a real 'sweetheart' and we love her dearly.

I am talking about Dani, our neighbour - patissière extraordinaire (retired) and wife of Henri Boulanger extraordinaire (also retired). Henri is also a former deputy mayor of the village and, together, they are just the most wonderful couple and the best of neighbours.

It is true to say that Henri is not the man he was a couple of years ago before he fell off his ladder and landed on his head on the concrete below. This is not best practise when you are young and fit let alone when one is in one's 70's and carrying enough excess weight (dare I suggest) to make the 32ft per second per second seem a little underestimated as a rate of acceleration. He spent quite a while in hospital and has had to slow down a bit since then but he is, nonetheless a great character for all that. Many years ago, my mother in law - a collector of all things 'tacky' - gave Val and me a biscuit barrel whic I swear must have been modelled on Henri.I can't look at either without smiling about the other.

Having spent the best part of 50 years getting up at before the birds to bake their bread and their cakes in Béziers, the habit has remained with them into retirement. During whatever growing season is current (and there is invariably something edible coming out of the vegetable garden) we awake often to find a black bag of vegetables, fruit, or whatever hanging on the front door handle all freshly culled, pulled, dug or picked that very morning. It could be anything from aubergines to marrows, tomatoes to artichokes and the one thing that can be guaranteed, apart from their 'morning' freshness of course, is the quantity is as generous and ample as both the girth and the spirit of the donors. This ritual has been going on since we first arrived her in the village

Occasionally, we even get a black bag full of ……….well……..black bags. The local Mairie provides them free of charge to bag up our rubbish for the bin men – who collect three times a week by the way. Dani collects them for all her friends and neighbours and distributes them on her way home.

Le temps des cerises..........

The reason she is calling us at the moment is because the cherry tree, planted by Dani's parents and of similarly ample proportions as its current owners, is heavily laden with the most beautiful black cherries. Judging by the yield of our own, recently planted and much smaller tree, there must be upwards of 60kgs of cherries to be picked. Since his fall, Henri, not surprisingly, does not do ladders any more. The first call of invitation was almost a couple of weeks ago, at which time the fruit had barely ripened. It was a bit of a chore picking the ripe one from a hundred others, not yet ready for eating. We (Nick & I) did our duty, nevertheless and went home grateful for the few we had harvested. It took us an hour or so - ten minutes to pick the cherries and the rest of the time 'chewing the fat' with Henri on the merits of one variety of tomato against another or whether to pick the courgettes young and firm, whilst still in flower or to let them fatten up a little. The flower of course is both vital to the pollination of the other plants but it can also be eaten as part of a 'green' salad.

In fact, there seems little in a traditional French country garden (or outside for that matter), which cannot be eaten - including the snails, which will eat almost any crop of freshly grown seedlings. It is partly for this reason that the call to harvest is as early as it is each year. The thought of the birds and the insects sharing the fruits of her parents' labours is anathema to any self-respecting French woman. Therefore it is essential to harvest before the birds have their share. Of course it is a hopeless task as they can access those parts of the tree we mere humans can only dream of reaching with our pathetic climbing skills and ladders. And, frankly, having seen the consequences of falling just two metres from a ladder the birds are welcome to the upper branches.

Knit one, purl one

Dani’s other great passion is knitting. She will knit anything and everything and is oft seen modelling her latest needlework. However, she is best known locally for her prolific output of ‘patchwork’ blankets or plaids as they are known in these parts. Had she been around in Napoleon's times and ‘knitting for victory’ (to steal an image from the Land Girls of wartime Britain), the Little Emperor’s troops may have faired rather better in Moscow and the world since 1812 would have been a somewhat different place.

In France, each year, there is an event known as ‘le Telethon’. It is, essentially, a national fundraising exercise, carried out throughout the land, over the course of the first weekend in December. It is supported by the French TV (Channel 2) and the national radio network. Its main support comes from the millions of small groups and individuals in cities, towns and villages, the length and breadth of France, who ‘do something’ to help the cause. The cause in this case is the research and treatment of muscular dystrophy. I am told, there are about 200 different types of this debilitating disease. 

Margon, of course, does its bit and Dani and her friends have long been leading lights in the struggle to raise charitable funds in an increasingly difficult economic climate. This year, some bright spark in the neighbouring village of Alignan du Vent, had the even brighter idea of ‘linking’ the two villages with a woollen scarf - the idea being for people to knit it in lengths of one metre and then sell it for the charity. Alignan du Vent is almost three kilometres from Margon - centre to centre - although from village name panel to village name panel it is, mercifully, only 2.4kms. 

The ladies of both villages set about knitting and YES! We made it and the incredible Dani managed 400m all on her own. It was an amazing achievement by the teams and an even more remarkable effort by the wonderful Danielle – God bless her!

The National Pastime(s)

Sunset over the Etang de Thau at Balaruc

Tired but happy, we managed to survive yet another weekend of fun, laughter and good company and the occasional glass of the local tipple to wash it all down with.

The local red wine is well known to have strong medicinal powers. It needs to taken in moderation of course as, like all things, too much can have unpleasant side effects. When we first arrived here, our local doctor told me that all I would need was two glasses of red wine and four tablespoons of olive oil per day and I would never need to visit him. Great advice I thought. It was two years later before I discovered that, as well as being a (wonderful) doctor, he also owned 8 hectares of vineyards and a couple of thousand olive trees. Something of a conflict of interests perhaps? This did not deter me from following his prescription, I am bound to say.

A trip through the centuries old Pezenas market on Saturday (still held weekly since medieval times) was followed by a couple of hours in front of the TV to watch my beloved Manchester United (a life-long fan since 1952) win their record 19th league title and a game of petanque.

Petanque, more commonly called 'boules' is the national pastime of France and is played by throughout the country and most towns and villages will have a dedicated 'boulodrome'. This is an important venue for many local people to get together and solve the ills of the world whilst lobbing a one and a half pound steel ball ball at a defenceless 'little pig'. The 'little pig' in question is what, in petanque parlance, is called the 'cochonet' and is the small jack which, like in regular green bowls,  is the target of their bombs. 

To watch the game being played by the likes of me and my friends on a fairly rough patch of land, one would be forgiven for thinking there is little or no skill attached. Nothing could be further from the truth. Some of these guys could hit a fly from 30 feet with awesome regularity and practice for many hours into the warm, balmy summer nights to achieve this standard of excellence.

We have some very good players locally and Pezenas hosts some top class competitions during the summer, including a round of the national championships. It is a pleasant way to spend a few hours, just sitting and chewing the fat with the senior locals, picking their brains about the history of the village - both recent and more distant - and getting their views on just about everything going on in the world. They may live in a small village in the middle of 'Sleepy Hollow' but they know what is going on around the place and, being French, they not only have a firm, often unshakeable, opinion on the subject but will share it with you at the drop of a beret.

Sunday was more relaxed with a trip to the local airport to decant some parting friends and then a gentle drive to Marseillan, a lovely little harbour town from where we walked around the Etang de Thau, had a pleasant drink in a portside cafe and finished off at the Noilly Prat winery opposite to re-stock with their wonderful vermouth - having sampled it first of course to ensure the quality remains constant.

Happy days.

Bonjour tout le monde

Now the diary has been fully installed on the web site, I can start the task of catching up with the past 13 years of life here.

I suppose the first thing to say is that we are both British, that is, Val and I. I was born and brought up in Edgware, Middlesex and Val hails from a large family in Plymouth, Devon. We have two grown up children, four grandchildren and one beautiful great granddaughter all of whom we see occasionally but all to rarely. We have spent several years living and working abroad (Germany, Holland, Algeria, Iran - and even Scotland!) and finally settled in our little bit of paradise here in Margon.

I know I said previously that we had been here for eight and a half years – and this is perfectly true. That is the time we have been RESIDENT here in the Languedoc.

However, we bought the land in 1998 together with our best friends and now next-door neighbours, Nick & Sue. Nick and I worked together in Algeria from 1974 – 81 and we have all remained the closest of friends ever since. Finding the plots was a question of right place at right time, for once in our lives. We discovered them by chance while visiting a friend in the village and were immediately convinced this was where we wanted to be. It just felt so right.

New 5 year plan
With the help of architect David Newton-Williams of Porthcawl, a mutual friend of the four of us, we set to, designing the two houses built and enjoyed today. I can tell you now that, if you ever think to do something similar, do not be surprised when your retirement plan flies out the window. Having completed the design and submitted it, locally, for planning approval, we set about doing and re-doing the budgets. Together with our retirement plan, I must have revised them a hundred times over the next two and a half years. I eventually managed to convince a rather more reticent Val that we could cut our ten years waiting in half. She eventually lost the argument; after all, hers was based purely on common sense for goodness sake – well, OK, a few financial considerations as well perhaps - and we made a new 5 year plan, then further shortened it to four.

Good decision...
This evening, dining on the terrace with friends, just arrived today from the UK, listening to the nightingales singing in the nearby wood, simply reinforced what a good decision it was to come here sooner rather than later. 

The early evening sun on the nearby River Orb

Lots going on around the place at the moment and with the summer coming there will be even more fun to be had with all kinds of wonderful festivals and traditions to be maintained – most of them centred around some form of gastronomy.

More of those anon. For now, though, time to catch up with a few e-mails.

A bientot,

Today will be a good day. Our close friends arrived from the UK yesterday. They have a house in Roujan, the next village and have decided to pop down for a few days R & R. Why not? We await the arrival, this afternoon, of Val's eldest Brother,Bill, and his wife who are coming to stay for ten days or so. They arrived from Plymouth by car via Santander and have spent a few days exploring the northern Spanish coast, basing themselves in San Sebastien. Having done this route last year ourselves on the way to Portugal, we can thoroughly recommed it.

One of the great things about living where we do is that the Spanish border is just 90 minutes away in the car while four and a half hours in the opposite direction will get us to Italy. Switzerland is much the same. We pop into Spain occsionally for lunch. The northern part of the Costa Brava is so lovely and it is a wonderful way to 'waste' a day, simply driving along the coast road, through little adobe'd villages and ports to a favourite restaurant by the sea. After lunch, a turn inland and up over the coastal mountains to the autovia at Figueres and home with a big, satisfied smile on our faces. If we don't spend too long over lunch, we might have time to stop at the fantastic (in the real sense of the word) Dali Museum. Figueres is his birthplace and the exhibitions there are quite stunning. They say genius is inevitably flawed. If that is so, this bloke was the Daddy of them all - absolutely barking mad but what a talent. Love him or loathe him, one can but marvel at some of his creations.

Margon in the 1950's. A great view of the Chateau

This Saturday, in Margon, sees the first of our summer village 'do's'. One of the local groups is holding a 'paella night' in the village hall. I have no doubt it will be well attended, the paella will be enormous and packed with fresh produce, the wine will flow and the dancing will be the merrier for it. We have a number of these occasions throughout the year but they are somehow nicer in the warm weather - so very.............Mediterranean, I suppose - and long may it continue to be so. After all, that is what we came here for.

Val's off to the shops, I am cooking devilled kidneys (of all things) for a Dutch neighbour who has just had a knee operation and is milking the sympathy that accrues and then it is off to Roujan later today with the in-laws for drinks with friends. This life is a killer, I tell ya!

A votre sante!

At last it’s done!

Poppies in a nearby field, just outside Margon

At last it’s done! Our inaugural blog. After many years of thinking about it we have finally allowed our selves to be dragged into the twentieth century; the 21st C is a further step yet to be taken. Our grateful thanks go to David and Cristina at www.newton-smith.com our wonderful web site designers and managers. For a couple of old sceptical technophobes this is a major achievement and I hope we can do them justice by making our blog interesting to our readers.


Our aim will be to impart interesting aspects of life here in France our home for the past eight and a half years. As you see, we have some catching up to do on the story, which can be done in instalments over the next few weeks. Suffice to say, we have never once regretted our move to this beautiful area, close to Pézénas, in the Hérault Department of the Languedoc-Rousillon region.

One effect of living here is that one becomes very quickly intolerant of inclement weather and seriously impatient for the passing of what is a relatively pleasant, short winter. We await, eagerly, the arrival of the first signs of spring and then of summer. The area seems, suddenly, to come alive with the colour of spring wild flowers. And then come the birds – first the great spotted cuckoo, then the wonderfully polychrome bee-eaters and finally the golden oriole, who really does announce that warmer weather is here.

As good as it gets...
But more of them and others later. For now the sun is shining, the air is warm, the birds are singing and life is, simply, as GOOD AS IT GETS! Val & I are looking forward greatly to welcoming this year’s visitors, many of who will be first timers at the house and from far away places such as Canada, USA and Australia. For now, repair to the terrace with an evening drink and listen to the nightingale as he calls perpetually for a mate. We wish him luck.

More soon...