Down on the Farm - Part 6 - Painting the Farmhouse

Having used untold gallons of paint and varnish to tart up our new home, it seems only right and proper that I should spend some further time painting pictures of the aforementioned painted rooms for your viewing pleasure. Of course, my ability to put oil paints on canvas stopped at ‘paint by numbers’. Although I was pretty good at that…

So, as per usual, I’ve resorted to the dreaded photoshop. I’ve done this for two reasons other than being clearly appropriate. Firstly, it’s better than looking through endless boring photos of rooms and other exciting bits of houses. Secondly, and most importantly, it annoys the hell out of those of you who hate my ‘trafficking’ of photographs. I’m talking about you Luke, flesh of my flesh, and your acolytes Joe, Lyndsey and Marc. Others wishing to join this cult of anti-traffickers need to apply by postcard and be publicly flogged.

Anyway, back to my glorious attempts at high art…

Here’s a quick tour of the house. See how far you can get without nausea:

The hallway. Yes, really, a fine art painting of a hallway. Can it get any better?

Judging by the next painting of a kitchen, apparently not.

Then we step lightly into the lounge.

Next we lightly trip down a couple of steps to the study.

And cleverly placed next to the study, the main bathroom.

Now the tour guide will take you to the other side of the house, to view the main bedroom. Hopefully Annick has got up by now.

And next to this, some genius has placed an 'en suite’ bathroom, so called because, of course, it is in France…

Next there is the guest wing, cunningly called 'Le Snug’.

Escaping the farmhouse, we now trundle northwards to 'le Snook’. This is probably the most important area of the farmstead, containing, as it does, a snooker table, a bar, and a mezzanine to home those who have partaken too much of the contents of the bar.

Well, if you’ve managed to get this far, you probably should seek help. That ot try again on a larger screen…

Speed Kills

Spending time with John and Suzie is always a good laugh. John’s Irish wit and repartee falters only when he’s asleep, although this is tempered by the fact that sleeping is his favourite pastime. Well, that and bees. Yes, our visitors from the Emerald Isle have something of a penchant for the little buggers buzzers. It has even been known to overcome his urge to tell a joke.

John was here to ski. Despite his enormous…..talents, even he needs some snow to do it on.

Not much of that here.

The end of the previous week did provide a smidgin of the stuff, but most is still spewed out by snow canon.

Putting such minor quibbles to one side, off the three of us went (Susie remained at base-camp), ready to conquer all before us. The ‘Magnificent Three’.

To be fair, John’s ski technique is much like mine. Move slowly but surely from bar to bar. First stop, the 'Louzat’, just next to the top of the ski lift.

Then down to any bar of choice at the bottom. Then up to… well, you get the general idea. In recent years Annick has refined this by starting the day with a hot chocolate and rum. Smart woman.

That was a random picture of me by the way. Relaxing. Proud of my achievements. Pride comes before a fall.

Enter Kim and Mike.

Mike’s idea of skiing is not unlike something diametrically opposite to mine. Whereas I take my time by carefully sliding from one safe haven to another, Mike takes his time using an app on his iPhone. Each time striving to meet a faster target.

Needless to say, my vain attempts to keep up with him ended in disaster. After two falls, well, every photo tells a story…

Thankfully I was only temporarily disabled. My helmet saved me from a much more serious injury, as my first fall saw one ski go in one direction, me in another, and my other ski take off vertically, only to try impaling me through the head. Helmets are good things. I love my helmet. My helmet is my friend.

More importantly, my camera survived, thus allowing me to continue my career as a photoblogger and thus post this one of Sky, my faithful (ish) hound, who stopped eating poo long enough for me to snap:

Thus endeth another adventure. Stay tuned for the next episode where we see Luke & Marta attempt a 'pas de deux’ on the slopes and Lisa & Christian give Sienna, then aged 7 weeks, her first ski lesson. Should be interesting…

A week of wet snow

Winter has yet to arrive in the South of France. Our usual ski-fest has been somewhat thwarted this year. Temperatures of 17C do not lend themselves to the formation of fluffy white stuff.

This fine powdering of snow is all we found upon our arrival in the Pyrénées. At this time of year, a good covering of half a meter or so would be the norm around our little abode. Not this year.

At this point there is usually heard the cry (from certain quarters) of ‘Global Warming’. Well, maybe, but the Pyrénées is not renowned for its snow as is the Alps or maybe the ice-age bound Canada. Here, snow is not guaranteed and we have to make the best of what we get.

Thus along comes Geoff with daughter Jenny and boyfriend Alex. That’s not Geoff’s boyfriend btw. They arrived ready for skiing, so skiing we went.

This is Geoff looking for vague evidence of snow…

and this is Jenny and Alex coming over all romantic…

Only one of the slopes was open, off-piste being on-grass. The sprinkled soil was pretty but not of much use.

Well, off we went, the intrepid adventurers, to show our mastery of the elements. Both Geoff and I did ok for old farts. Here’s Annick showing a turn of speed, thanks to photoshop…

Us ‘Saga skiers’ can cope ok, but what really gets our hackles up is when young upstarts come along thinking they know it all. It gets our hackles up because normally the do know it all. Take young Alex for example. First time on snow and, after attempting a couple of back flips,

…he was comfortably parallel skiing like a pro. What kind of pro you ask? Don’t ask.

The weather was 'changeable’ as is its want. Upon achieving the summit on that first day, it decided to deteriorate to the point of vengeful wrath.

We were marooned atop a mountain, roughing it in, ahem, a qaint little restaurant. Tough break. Jenny and Alex were without fear and laughed in the face of danger….

After a couple of days of skiing and dog hugging…

…the conditions deteriorated due to water falling from the heavens in a non-white format. We returned early to Lamothe to discover the effects of that rain.

And so, another week passes in the varied and exciting life of the Hydes. Geoff and party left our shores, as John and Susie entered.

Thus another old farts team made ready to part to the Pyrénées, only this time, with added snow.

Stay alert for the next exciting episode…

A flying visit

A lot can happen in a month. Take January for instance (see this blog).

What didn’t happen during our carefully planned visit to Wales was the birth of Lisa’s sproggling, aka Sienna. Deciding not to start her decent down the painful bits to join us in the real, albeit less comfortable, world, was something of a pain. Well, probably more of a pain for Lisa. However, we decided to put things right.

We secretly booked a flight back to Wales. Well, secret to some. We did tell the airline about it.

The flight was somewhat later than usual, causing us to arrive at the cottage at midnight in a terminally exhausted state.

The next morning we dragged ourselves achingly out of bed to be welcomed by the new day.

The threat of rain hung heavy in the skies. A threat soon to be delivered in terrential style. Possibly nothing unusual for this border village, but unwelcome for those in travel mode.

As we were staying there but one night, provisions were at a minimum. Thus started a desperate search for coffee. On discovering only the abomination that is decaf, we left early on a Costa quest.

We settled on a quaint Tintern cafe, next to the old abbey. After a refreshing breakfast of poached egg on toast, accompanied by a real high caffeine coffee, we were ready to face the day.

Well, it was all worth it. The surprise and delight on Lisa’s face was worth its weight in air miles.

Although, to be honest, little Sienna didn’t seem to give a shit….

Our weary return, but a few hours later, found us happy to be home, happy to have seen our second grandchild, happy to have seen those tears of joy.

Good night

Phil's been trafficking again...

Having finished the renovation of the old farmhouse, and coating miles miles of walls with gallons and litres of paint, we’ve now arrived at the finishing touches. Hanging photos.

This has meant trawling through the stuff I’ve taken over the last few years and printing them up.

As the biggest I can print at home is super A3, for the larger spaces I’ve resorted to a few triptychs. Here is where you discover how few photos can be cut into three or how few photos work together as threes.

The other problem is that photos that look great on the old iPad, can look drab on the old wall. Enter photoshop, or, as the French say, Phil’s been trafficking photos again…

Here’s the final list…

Pontvieux - portrait style

Foggy bottom

Winter landscape watercolour

Hairy beasts

3 trees, 3 seasons, 1 mountain

I’m a gnu. How do you do?

The Mara Crossing

Pontvieux - landscape style

and enter the latest applicant from the non-snowy Pyrénées…