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Window seat anyone?

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After a month-long absence, we’ve returned to find spring in full swing in Normandy. The birds are singing relentlessly and buds are popping up everywhere. One of my favourite sights is the bluebells in the woods behind the house. From a distance, they look like a deep violet-blue carpet (though it wouldn’t look so good in your living room!). Did you know that the drooping, bell-shaped blossoms of the bluebell have long been celebrated as symbols of fresh starts and personal renewal? I suspect that after our cruise, my liver could use just such a renewal. Apparently, we drank the ship dry of rosé— not out of gluttony but simply making sure we were getting our money’s worth. I do so hate waste. We have a very old cherry tree that looks lifeless most of the time but blossoms in the spring. Over the winter, it started to lean precariously and we watched nervously for any new signs of life. I had to wrestle the chainsaw out of Tim’s grip—he’s always itching to reduce things to firewood but...
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Catastrophe!

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  Wine woes Our plumber Yves recently visited Athens. When I inquired about his trip his face broke into a big smile. "Beautiful city," he said, though he lamented the crush of camera-wielding tourists and café prices along the Plaka. But when I mentioned Greek wine, his entire demeanour transformed, his shoulders slumped as if beneath an invisible weight, he exhaled a deep sigh, shook his head with the gravity of a man who had witnessed something truly tragic and muttered "catastrophe, never again." The French approach their wine with a reverence bordering on religious devotion; you'll never catch a Parisian gulping a vintage Bordeaux. Instead, they savour each drop with deliberate patience, allowing it to unfold on their palates and almost always alongside a three-course meal. I've cautioned readers previously, but I would not advise arriving at a French host's doorstep clutching a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, as they've probably spent conside...
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Sailing away!

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          Oh, the intoxicating chaos of renovating an old property, whose walls whisper stories from generations long gone! Well, the earliest records we have show someone applied to convert it into a mill back in 1874 so it’s fairly old.  Finders keepers  Over the past five years Tim and I have earnestly thrown away more unwanted items out of the window than I ever imagined possible. Unlike Dick and Angel on Escape to the Chateau, we haven’t unearthed any hand-printed wallpaper, our haul has included: An orange bidet—because really, who in their right mind wants that in their bathroom? Musty, decrepit wardrobes whose mouldy interiors laughed mockingly at every cleaner we tried on them.   A kitchen that deserved its own health warning: the previous owner proudly demonstrated a hidden crumb-catcher drawer designed to trap baguette scraps. Ingenious? hardly! I can live without a drawer ...
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