Today Egypt is in uproar. The news channels are showing what live pictures they can and tonight they have started to repeat themselves as they usually do when they run out of 'new news'.
We called our neighbour Soly to see what he thought and to ask after his father who lives in Alexandria. Soly popped round and joined us for a cup of tea and assisted in my pub-sorting; which is an impressive size this week.
It was interesting to listen to an Egyptian-born man express his thoughts. It would be good, he suggested, if Egypt came out of this with a real democracy. He considered that then whoever was voted into power would be subject to the checks and balances of a democracy thus limiting extremism. Then he thought a bit and said, if we do see democracy, then it is likely that Egypt will become hostile to Israel. I believe he is likely to be right.
A personal blog that I can edit from anywhere. Based on the Westoby family in England and France, and related families (Gasson, Martin and Roach).
Westoby meaning:- West : 'o (of) : by (town)
Friday, 28 January 2011
On a Hot Summer's Day
June and Clare in the Abbey grounds |
But coming over to France in January can have its drawbacks. Clare came for a rest with no expectations, and for the most part, that's what she got! 'Though we did go out a bit. For example, the river at Jarnac after the church service. It was bitterly cold! we exited the car to go down to the river's edge, and returned shortly after to warm up. "It is lovely on a hot summer's day" we said.
We said it again at La Mothe St Héray where there was a musical nativity in the church. And again at the Abbey gardens in Celles sur Belle. And because it wasn't 'a hot summer's day' the bakery was not serving drinks. Winter closing I suppose. But they did suggest the bar up the hill as a very friendly alternative.
Now the bar up the hill we have noticed before but never felt attracted to go in. This day there were several youths outside just to add to the atmosphere. A notice on the door was designed to ensure that no children under 7 would be admitted- not a family friendly bar then. On entering a helpful notice showed that toilets were on the right and the internet on the left. There was one person on the internet when we entered.
We went up to the bar and the internet activity was suspended whilst the user came to serve us. The place was full of curiosities, including books on the tables and a green mat on the floor by the wall with 2 deck-chairs on it. We ordered coffee which was delivered to us at our chosen table. Our man put Irish music on the sound system and provided us with plates and spoons for our pastries. It was indeed friendly. We took our time over our food and coffees, browsed the books, and the youths outside moved on. At last we paid our bill and left the man to his internet. We were his only guests and so he had it to himself again, but we vowed to be back; perhaps next time on a hot summer's day!
The week was all too short and Clare returned home on the train, this time via Paris and with a journey time of only 6 hours end to end. There are some photos on the web for those who are interested.
Monday, 17 January 2011
Time Out!
With sorting almost completed on Saturday, we took some time to enjoy the January sunshine with a walk round Javarzay lake.
We got half way.
Half way round Javarzay lake is quite close to Andy and Wanda's place. So we diverted there and were welcomed with champaign. So a short walk turned into a lazy afternoon chat over some bubbly liquid. Not to mention the cozy log fire in the corner.
And on the way home, back round the lake because that's where the car was, the sun treated us to a farewell light show.
This is what we came for. Well partly anyway!
We got half way.
Half way round Javarzay lake is quite close to Andy and Wanda's place. So we diverted there and were welcomed with champaign. So a short walk turned into a lazy afternoon chat over some bubbly liquid. Not to mention the cozy log fire in the corner.
And on the way home, back round the lake because that's where the car was, the sun treated us to a farewell light show.
This is what we came for. Well partly anyway!
Monday, 10 January 2011
6 times under the arch
Now the French people can be extraordinarily nice.
Monday, and it is publication distribution day. This Monday all was going well and the first round (a small one) finished without incident. The second round is much bigger, but this week the pub was lightweight so there should be no problem.
However, after a few km the bike started making funny noises. Sometimes it stalled (quite normal in the cold), once the oil warning light came on and then went off again moments later. Then it choked at one point and the motor stopped within 100m; I was just outside the next post-box.
Now this post box was a remote one. There are 2 on this stretch, both near each other, but a long way from any one else. I posted the pub and pressed the starter. It coughed reluctantly and refused to try again. I kicked the started pedal. It tried once and then locked solid and refused to move. Dead. Completely dead and 'miles' from anywhere.
I rang the 'Distribution Help Man', Christophe. "I'm ill" he said, and coughed into the phone to make the point. "Is there anyone who can help?" I pleaded. "No." "I'll walk then." Decision made and no option despite being miles from anywhere.
From anywhere except, that is, from the house I was at. A lady appeared. "Problems?" she asked. "Yes, the bike is broken" I replied in my best French, "can you show me the best way to walk to Melle?" She started to describe the route, about 6km if I found the old railway line and descended at the archway. Her husband appeared. A similar conversation resulted, but he said, "we need bread from Melle, we [actually meaning his wife] will give you a lift." And that she did; altering her day accordingly to make the Mell trip immediately just for me.
She drove me in a different way from the convoluted course I take to her house. It came out at a different part of Mell from my start point. "Do you deliver here?" she asked. I did, but in the afternoon. "Here is the arch under the old railway" she said as we drove under it.
I used her route under the arch to return to the bike for my rescue, then back again to swap it at the depot, and once more on the new bike to regain my distribution run. And then under the arch twice more in the afternoon as normal. That's 6 times under the arch this unusual Monday.
I think they saved me about 2 hours. What a nice couple.
Monday, and it is publication distribution day. This Monday all was going well and the first round (a small one) finished without incident. The second round is much bigger, but this week the pub was lightweight so there should be no problem.
However, after a few km the bike started making funny noises. Sometimes it stalled (quite normal in the cold), once the oil warning light came on and then went off again moments later. Then it choked at one point and the motor stopped within 100m; I was just outside the next post-box.
Now this post box was a remote one. There are 2 on this stretch, both near each other, but a long way from any one else. I posted the pub and pressed the starter. It coughed reluctantly and refused to try again. I kicked the started pedal. It tried once and then locked solid and refused to move. Dead. Completely dead and 'miles' from anywhere.
I rang the 'Distribution Help Man', Christophe. "I'm ill" he said, and coughed into the phone to make the point. "Is there anyone who can help?" I pleaded. "No." "I'll walk then." Decision made and no option despite being miles from anywhere.
From anywhere except, that is, from the house I was at. A lady appeared. "Problems?" she asked. "Yes, the bike is broken" I replied in my best French, "can you show me the best way to walk to Melle?" She started to describe the route, about 6km if I found the old railway line and descended at the archway. Her husband appeared. A similar conversation resulted, but he said, "we need bread from Melle, we [actually meaning his wife] will give you a lift." And that she did; altering her day accordingly to make the Mell trip immediately just for me.
She drove me in a different way from the convoluted course I take to her house. It came out at a different part of Mell from my start point. "Do you deliver here?" she asked. I did, but in the afternoon. "Here is the arch under the old railway" she said as we drove under it.
I used her route under the arch to return to the bike for my rescue, then back again to swap it at the depot, and once more on the new bike to regain my distribution run. And then under the arch twice more in the afternoon as normal. That's 6 times under the arch this unusual Monday.
I think they saved me about 2 hours. What a nice couple.
Monday, 3 January 2011
Dreams 40 years old
At some time in her childhood, June had a dream that has never left her. At the time she asked her mother if the things in the dream had ever happened. "No", she said, and June had to leave it at that.
Then yesterday she looked in the huguenot book we received at the Cevennes conference. In it was described how, during the desert years, huguenot children were taken from their families and placed with catholic nuns.
Now June's dream was of a nun holding a tray of sand. Something clicked! and June recalled the fear that was associated with the dream.
Readers should realise that many years ago June's sister Marion traced the family roots and found French huguenot connections. See John Gasson and Rachel Head. And we now live in France...
Then yesterday she looked in the huguenot book we received at the Cevennes conference. In it was described how, during the desert years, huguenot children were taken from their families and placed with catholic nuns.
Now June's dream was of a nun holding a tray of sand. Something clicked! and June recalled the fear that was associated with the dream.
Readers should realise that many years ago June's sister Marion traced the family roots and found French huguenot connections. See John Gasson and Rachel Head. And we now live in France...
Saturday, 1 January 2011
New Year French Style
Happy New Year, 2011 |
It is probably the very different culture, but seeing the new year in with a hall full of French people was a pleasantly strange experience.
A shot at the new year |
And the entertainment included worship but also drama and games. These latter were an eye-opener with pictionary being mysterious (it can be hard to hear over the hubub when it is fast French) with strange phrases that are keyed into the new culture we are being increasingly part of. "Little stomach, all my work is for you". What can I say?
The deserts were exotic to our eyes and were consumed nearer to 2am than midnight. Most were still eating as we left.
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