Lost Time is Never Found Again.

Fourteen years ago we stumbled upon a shard of paradise, fallen to earth deep in the pyrenees. 

We instantly fell in love with the place, and it repaid us by providing us with a haven, whilst sucking my wallet dry. Worth (nearly) every penny.

However, changes crept upon us. The climate slowly (but not slowly enough) warmed, reducing winter's snow. Age reduced our ability to hide the painful cries resulting from every fall. Each and every tumble left its mark. 

Meanwhile our other responsibilities tied us more and more to our main abode, keeping us from our mountain retreat. Time's they were a'changin'. It was time to sell. Our Hydeaway, much valued and much financially draining, had to go. 

Onto the market it went. Bureaucracy knew no bounds. As much as I love France, I do occasionally wish its white collar workers could find alternative employment. Calling Mr Musk.

However, back in the real world (you know, the one Trump is trying to destroy), our caring responsibilities approached the point of overwhelming us. On gradually realising that we needed to recover our personal life, another hard decision had to be made, one that filled us both with guilt. 

All happened with surprising speed. The normal French version of 'mañana' was left behind us in our backdraft. Before we knew it, we were driving north with maman riding shotgun. Six hours of motorway driving interspersed with multiple prolonged toilet stops with the aid of our in-house wc, ending up at a nursing home near Paris. Very near many of our family. 

It's near Crécy-la-Chapelle if any of you wish to visit.

Watch out for flooding...

After initial adjustment, she appears happy. We are still racked with guilt.

Despite that guilt, in fact because of it, we intend making best use of our new time, and boring your pants off by keeping you informed.

For instance, on St Valentines day, instead of having a romantic meal in a hyper-expensive restaurant packed with heaving bodies, we sped off to Cordes-sur-ciel for a romantic yoghurt in the camper-van. No mention of heaving bodies...

A room with a view.

The view as mentioned above.

A typical street in Cordes.

Typical creatures found in Cordes.

Another typical creature.

And yet another.

Then, within days, Luke arrived with his entourage, and after a couple of days frolicking around the pool, and doing the French gourmand thing...

Chez Ernest, our favourite resto in Montauban.

...we all set off to the Pyrenees, visiting, of course, our favourite resto in the mountains.

La Soulan

Now please sit back and relax as, instead of boring you stiff with a load of photos of our stay in the mountains, I've chucked them all together in a glorious video:

It was a great week, reminding us of how much we love the place, as do our kids and their offspring.

So this got me thinking...

This is me, thinking...

We have taken the house off the market.

Result.

And to prove we're not losing any more time, we spent the last night of the month stargazing for lined-up planets close to Saint Cirq Lapopie. 

 Our van was close to it, not the planets themselves...

This thing all things devours,

Birds, beasts, trees, and flowers.

Gnaws iron, bites steel,

Grinds hard stones to meal,

Slays king, ruins town,

And beats high mountain down.

Gollum