The pool man came whilst Hannah, George and I were out in Oradour-sur-Vayres purchaysing breakfast items from Boulangerie Belleville on Rue Louis Pasteur. Afterwards we mosied along to Champagnac La Rivière for a cafe au lait at Chez Marcel and then swung by Intermarché in Cussac to fulfil some orders issued en route. We needed eggs, milk, Nutella and banana for the pancakes I am going to make later.
Anyway the pool man checked the water, declared it to be usable and left before we got back. He was a Brit. Last night’s chefs, Emma and Karen, were also Brits. The farm, La Broulie, is owned by a Brit. A lot of expats round ere.
Oradour-sur-Vayres btw is the place where in ww2 the French resistance killed an SS officer. The allies were advancing and the Germans in retreat and the SS took revenge by murdering the whole population of Oradur Sur Glane. They got the wrong Oradur. Tragic however you want to look at it.
We had a lovely 38th anniversary meal at the outside table where we have eaten every meal since we arrived. The weather has been fab and it even had the courtesy to only rain at night. Just two nights left here before we head back to the coast for a week of meandering north.
In the meantime a jaunt to Rochechouart has been planned for this afternoon with an early dinner there before getting back for perhaps an evening of games or sitting round the firepit. I had been somewhat reticent in considering the use of the firepit due to the very dry conditions but we have had two good overnight downpours and it feels as if it might be a bit safer to do now.
Coming out to the pool area I noticed the washing machine on again. With 8 adults in the house it’s been working flat out. There is a handy washing line at the back and in this weather it has been drying quickly.
Yesterday afternoon saw the inaugural Davies family boules tourney which saw Hannah narrowly defeat yours truly in the final. There was a magnificent prize in the form of a mug we bought from a bloke in the market at Piegut-Pluviers. I also bought a small ceramic carrot, as you do. 3 euros.
Anyway the story goes this ceramic seller, whose name was Joff, had lived near Machynllech in a place called Corris where he had done his apprenticeship in pottery. Corris as I recall is a bit of a dump (may be wrong here but that is my memory of the place) and my only ever stop there was en route from Bangor to the Eisteddfod ryng golegol in Aberystwyth. We had all started drinking early and by Dolgellau everyone needed a pee stop. The loos on the Marian in Dolgellau were however closed and the open public nature of the place meant there were no suitable hedges to use instead. The bus continued to Corris, the location of the next known public loos. Unfortunately those too were closed. By this time everyone was desperate. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen a bus full of people, blokes and girls, just drop their trousers and wee wherever they stood. It was dark, and secluded, but that is what happened.
Joff mentioned he had moved to the area with his dad to renovate a hotel that had been burned down in what he claimed had been an insurance job. Obvs I can’t confirm or deny the allegation. However the point is that this hotel was situated on a 4 mile stretch of salmon fishing. My dad had a story from our days living in Dolgellau. He had been called up for jury service and the last case on the Friday was one involving poaching. The accused had been stupid enough to try and sell the poached salmon to the hotel who owned the fishing rights. He was knobbled. Now the whole jury knew that the person in front of them was the local poacher and that he was almost certainly guilty. The judge however threw a spanner in the works by saying if the jury found him guilty they would return the next morning, a Saturday, to pronounce sentence. None of the jury liked this idea. Dad was refereeing a school rugby match, one woman had a hairdressers appointment etc. They found the defendant not guilty.
So when I related this story to Joff he totally understood. They had offered wild salmon on the hotel menu, as opposed to the farmed stuff. The only source of wild salmon locally was from the aforementioned river. His dad regularly paid cash for salmon at the back door. Whether the hotel had lost the fishing rights after the fire or not I have no idea. Must have to make the story work. I’m sure I’ve told this story before but it does merit repetition especially in the context of the trip to the market.
At around eleven a car load set off to see the market in the square in Cussac. There were three mobile stalls there. Took less than 30 seconds to walk around. We decided to head for the Bar Tabac and had some drinks out the back before returning to the farm whereupon I made everyone proper British pancakes. None of this thin French stuff. All good. I bought a paper at the bar tabac. Le Canard enchaîné. All good.