Sunday - the day of rest.

The magnificent 13th. C Chateau de Margon 

The plan was to stroll into the village, visit the chateau gardens and take in the annual Patchwork and 3D Club exhibition and sale of work, being held on the village hall. Things didn't go quite according to plan. However, as is often the way of these things, it all turned out rather well.

Gardens open day

Today, as on every first weekend in June it is the National Remarkable Gardens weekend - a couple of days when gardens of note, across France, open their gates for the public to wander around, trample on the lawns, take illicit cuttings of interesting plants they might like to have in their own gardens and scrump the occasional piece of fruit while passing a nearby tree. Cherries are the favourites for this time of year as they are ripe, generally easily accessible and sufficiently numerous for the odd handful not to be missed by anyone but old Mr Grump - the gardener to whom this sort of event is anathema.

You can imagine our chagrin when we read the sign on the main entrance gate telling us that the opening hours had been restricted to the afternoon from 3pm – 7 pm. Just the time when we would not be available due to me having to sing in a concert.

 

'Les Banastes'

Down but not out

We wandered off somewhat dejectedly but, as we walked under the ‘banastes’ (see later), there was a friendly little “Cou cou” from above. ‘Cou cou’ for those sufficiently interested in advanced linguistics, is the French equivalent of the English ‘coooeee’ - a word sung by gentlewomen of a certain generation and standing to attract the attention of an (inattentive) passer-by, usually of one’s acquaintance, of course. Inevitably, we looked around for our ‘little dove’ to find, standing above us was Madame Delphine Marie-Paule Henrietta Lemoine de Margon - the Countess no less. It was a bit like a scene from Romeo and Juliet; she standing on the arching garden steps, I below gazing up at her, hanging on her every cou Except that, rather than a lace gown and a rose, she was resplendent in her ankle length bottle-green butler’s apron and wellie boots and clutching a baby trug containing freshly harvested courgettes (zucchini for our north American readers).

A courgette in the making

Not one of my personal favourites

“Would you like some courgettes, Robin?” she offered. Now, I am not the world’s greatest amateur of courgettes, marrows or any form of squash, frankly, but I will eat them – especially if offered by the Countess of Margon. “Stay there!” she continued, “I’ll open the small gate.” at which point the small gate opened on to the lane and we were ushered into the gardens. After exchanging the usual pleasantries and thanking her for the generous gift, (“I want the basket back”) I explained that we had hoped to visit the gardens with Kirsty and Sam. “That’s fine!” she said, “Just go ahead, you know the way and if Mr. Robin (coincidentally the name of her gardener) asks, tell him I said it was OK. I’ll leave you to it as I have to go and get ready to go to lunch.” At that point Baron Michel Maurice Marie-Joseph René Lemoine de Margon, the Count of Margon - appeared at the top of the (rather magnificent) garden stairs and bid us all “Good day” with a smile and a wave.  

Such nice people. We had a lovely private visit around the gardens with me the guide and it was a delight.

I just hope they didn’t miss that small handful of cherries.

 

For an in-depth account of the history of Margon and the chateau and to discover the meaning of 'Les Banastes' click here
http://www.lacardabela.com/images01/margon_history_120v3.pdf
or visit our website.

Welcome Kirsty and Sam

Kirsty and Samantha - too early for a couple of students apparently

Kirsty and Sam arrived with us today. Kirsty, at 21, is the elder of our two granddaughters. Sam is her friend. It is important to have Kirsty with us from time to time to test the tolerance levels of the generations.She is a lovely girl but in common with many of her age, she talks incessantly and is largely beyond the comprehension of we old 'uns. Apart from a head of hair the colour of which is rarely seen outisde a French Ladies' Sexagenarian Convention, a large tattoo in the small of her back, a miniature sort of dumbell thing stuck through her tongue (which she plays with constantly) and a quarter carat sparkling 'zit' on the side of her nose, she is, seemingly, unremarkable - by today's standards of course.

Miss Bionics 2011

She is, however, a very remarkable young lady.

Two years ago last November, whilst waiting for a train to take her to work in Reading, she fainted on the platform and fell under the oncoming train. A really horrific accident which left her hospitalised for months having had her lower right arm amputated and the rest of her body pretty broken up. Val and I were on holiday in Southern Spain when we had the call from younger daughter Kerrie (Kirsty's aunt) to tell us what had happened.

The long drive back to the UK
Having driven home to Margon, we changed bags and set off in the car, driving overnight to the UK, to be there. This is the kind of thing that only happens to other people of course and we were in a state of some shock all the way back. Not knowing what to find when we got there we inevitably feared the worst.We arrived barely 48 hours after the incident to find her laying in traction, surrounded by a dozen friends and family, and chatting happily to them all whilst answering innumerable well-wishing text messages with her 'wrong' hand. I could have done with some of whatever she was on right then, I can tell you.

In the ensuing 30 months, she has made, virtually, a full recover, not just physically (apart from her arm and some occasional pelvic pain) and learned to write with her left hand. At least we have that much in common. Most extraordinary is her mental recovery, the aspect about which I was most concerned, I am bound to say. I would not have thought her achievements possible in such a short time and we are all in awe of her powers of recovery. She is now training as a counsellor for young trauma vistims. She's an amazing girl. She still talks too much though. 

Samantha - future social worker

Sam is lovely too. She has just finished her first year of her degree course in soical work. She'll get plenty of practice in Bracknell, her home town. Having just met her today, it is difficult to comment other than to say she seems a very sensible and pleasant young lady. I'll know more in a week but they are both 'As welcome as the flowers in May' as they say.

Cherry picking tomorrow, ooooh!

A turn for the worse

Having had not rain for over a month, the past couple of days have been a little damp to say the least. We did need the rain but it is so infrequent at this time of the year that when it happens it is quite depressing. A few days ago, we were thinking that we might be in for a repeat of 2003 when, almost overnight, the late-May temperatures shot up from the pleasant mid 20's C to a very warm mid thirties, gradually increasing to over 40 Celsius, daily, as the summer progressed. It finally broke in mid-September but not before a large number of older folk around the country had perished prematurely. It was our first summer here and thank goodness we had the pool to wallow in during the heat of the day and at night to cool down before sleeping.

Well, that idea proved to be completely wrong as, just as suddenly, it has turned wet and DROPPED ten degrees to a very chilly 14 today. The good thing is that it won't last. Once we get the wind back to west-north-west it will fine again.

So who's to blame then?

Indeed, who IS to blame? Nowadays, we have no-one to hang these things on. I remember as a kid, my Dad and his generation blamed every such aberration on the Russians. It didn't matter what went wrong with the weather; be it a heat wave, torrential rain and consequent flooding, unusually high spring tides - they got the blame for all of it. Any extreme of weather and the 'Russkies'copped for the sharp end of his tongue. "It was all that bloody dog's fault", he would say referring to poor old Laika, the unassuming canine mutt who had the misfortune to be the first dog to orbit the Earth in Sputnik 2. When Yuri Gagarin replaced the dogs, well! It's simply unprintable what he said then. But he was happy that we could all pin the blame on someone.

Nowadays, it is not so easy. We all hear of global warming, holes in the ozone layer and and stuff like that but it isn't nearly as satisfying as having some 'unfriendly' alien power chucking stuff into space and messing up the balance of nature.

So, thank goodness for Micheal O'Leary. He, or at least his company Ryanair, can and does regularly these days, take the full credit for any sort of infectious nasty that might do the rounds of these parts. We now have the 'Ryanair cold' Packing in all those common people into one aircraft and flying 'em down here for next to nothing - well, it just isn't natural, is it?  Be it a cold, flu, chest infection or any similar or related ailment, then Moikael's yer man! Thank you Michael for restoring a little bit of rationality to our lives.

I look forward to the sun shining tomorrow as it inevitably will.