Bienvenue a Ventenac!

Dave O got my message – “Bring earplugs. Seriously.” – and complied. We pinged and ponged beside la cave as we talked over the problems he’d had buying his flat in Catford. A beer, two beers and a third, and the holiday had started. The fun had been organised thus:

On the top floor: Dave O and me; Vin and Olly; Dom and Julia.
On the middle floor: Hannah and Tom; the Lovely Colin and the Lovely Jane; Anna Mc, Chaz, Clarkey and Sally.
On the ground floor: Rob

The slow march of the leaves

Another day, another hangover. Nothing too severe for me, but some of the team were really suffering. Loose ends were tied up over the course of the morning: Vin and I finished writing the quiz; Skinner had been found, and would be with us in the afternoon; Charlene was on her way; Audrey and Tani were about to leave; my team decided on its Come Dine With Me meal. It was a Monday morning when things got done.

“Mate, let’s go out on the bikes and find somewhere to buy a beer.”
“That sounds perfect. We can sort out teams for the quiz as we ride.”
“On y va!”

We rode west along the canal, towards Carcassone. We searched for and failed to find a beer in Paraza, and then the English bar in Roubia was closed. We pressed on, and found a house by the side of lock. A tanned man in his mid-fifties, the lock keeper, greeted us. I asked for two beers, at a euro each, offering him a five. “Pas de monnaie,” he said – no change. He offered me the pair for free. I shook my head, and asked for five beers. He smiled at me, and handed them over.

We found chairs at the side of the lock, and drank our beers in the sunshine, smiling at passing boats. We were here:


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The lock keeper wandered in front of us, carrying a plastic crate of old bread. He put his hands into it, and took out the larger lumps. He stamped on them, crunching their ends, and put them back into the crate. I shared a raised eyebrow with Vin. Obviously we were in the company of a mentalist. It got worse: we watched, amazed, as he threw a bucket on a rope into the canal, drew it up, and poured its contents into the crate. He rolled up his sleeves, put his arms into the mushy mix, and stirred. Sloppy breadcrumbs dripped from his elbows. Surely this is not how the French make their famous baguettes? He took the bread slurry, and scattered it up and down one bank of the canal, slowly, calmly, deliberately. I can’t remember if Vin worked it out, or if I did: he was feeding the ducks.

We watched the slow march of the sunken leaves in the canal and caught up in the warm lunchtime sun. A few more beers. Family talk. Private, intimate conversation. We talked about balancing holidays with work, about pleasure and effort and their relationship. The leaves were golden down both sides of the canal, as we watched the ducks have their fill.

"I'm-a Wario, I'm-a gonna splatt-a this-a pie in your face"

After a failed attempt at making its guts into a pie, we carved Wario into this pumpkin to the sound of Disney tunes, then Kate splatted the pie in my face. Good times.

This sucks beyond belief

I have a coldsore. Hello autumn.

NTS 16

The tree out of my window, month long portrait

27th September

4th October

9th October

11th October

12th October

14th October

16th October

25th October

Allotment, a requiem until Spring

I felt a bit sad at the allotment today. It's been a long time since my first visit. We started to prepare for the winter. I really love the place.



We dug up the rows where we'd planted the garlic. We turned over the soil where we'd built the nets to protect the cauliflour. I broke down the path that I'd stood on at the start of the summer, the non-summer that is, and used the hosepipe on the potatoes.



We took the nets off the cabbage. This coke can was one of our fenders, broadening the contact point with between the net and the cane holding it up. We planted the cabbages back in April. It feels like a long time ago.



The cabbage looked beautiful inside. And it tasted great.

Road rage?! They'll put you in a cage!

Rock Radio got back to us, and we've agreed on a couple of things

We're voicing:

* * * * * Driving with no seatbelt... is a highway to hell
* * * * * Shut up! Belt Up! Put your seatbelt on!
* * * * * Before you set off... turn that phone off.
* * * * * The faster you fly the quicker you'll die.
* * * * * Slow down and enjoy the rock!
* * * * * Road rage?! They'll put you in a cage!

Pervy pointed out that Lucinda had said "...they'll throw you in a cage!" rather than "...they'll put you in a cage!" - I feel like I've let her down terribly.

Liz and I went for a quiet pint in the Railway later on. It was freezing outside. So long summertime!

Temptation is...

The last day of summer

This tree is outside my bedroom window. It will turn a glorious crimson as the autumn progresses, as it did last year. Poor Liz is very ill. Sickness and a minging headache. Bless her, she still drove me to Chorlton to see Kate and Dunk. What a trooper! We went to the brilliant Pi and had an excellent evening. I enjoyed my first ever Pieminister pie, and a few pints of the most wonderful, light, summer ale, a Blueberry Bitter. We sat outside in the fading sunshine, and chatted. Kate had also taken a photo of the tree outside her bedroom window as its leaves began to turn. What a funny coincidence.