50 Shades Greyer. Remember Gollum Boy?

gollum
Gollum Boy working at his ‘precious’.

Gollum Boy is 50 shades greyer. You remember Gollum Boy, the teenage person who lives upstairs. He appears at mealtimes and hovers like ectoplasm, usually in doorways. That’s the one.

Well now, it seems he’s not content with the original 50 shades of grey brought about by lack of sleep, no exercise and poor diet, plus an unhealthy addiction to online gaming on his precious till 2 am and beyond. I think he’s going for vampire.

Let’s backtrack a little. I know I have a tendency to wander.

We’ve had school holidays. Two weeks of them. They’re different here in France from what you might expect. Spring holidays follow a regional rota so that schools are not on break all at the same time. The ski resorts couldn’t cope with all those kids arriving at once, you see. So, half-term in February and the ‘Easter’ break can vary considerably from region to region and from year to year. Everybody takes turns at early or late break. Late breakers got lucky this year and had fresh snow in the Pyrenees last Saturday. I know; I saw it on the way to Spain for himself’s birthday.

So where was Gollum Boy on himself’s birthday you might wonder?

In bed. Online.

Okay, so teenage boys don’t want to celebrate their father’s birthday with him. Understandable. I can go along with that. But, remember also I’m a wicked stepmother and have to guard what I say. When I criticise, it’s always going to sound wicked stepmotherish unless I choose my words very carefully. Remember the pirate lady who wasn’t going to let trouble creep up on her again? The one who was prepared for school holidays and whatever should happen?

femalepirate
ready for anything . . .

Her good intentions lasted a week.

She lost it during the second week.

Have you got a card for your dad’s birthday? she said.

No. Why?

The shop in the village has some, she offered. They don’t cost much.

Afterwards, himself made excuses when no birthday card appeared.

It’s just about being a teenager, himself said.

Actually, biological parent, no it isn’t. (This is where she lost it!) Some teenagers do think about other people, helping out, doing something for someone else. The kids who don’t are the ones who get away with only ever thinking about themselves because they’ve got parents who continually make excuses for them. (Great rattling of cutlasses here.)

The upshot of all this mutiny was withdrawal from theatre of battle by wicked stepmother.

And the result?

A second week spent entirely indoors by Gollum Boy. The weather is warm. The sky is so blue it sometimes looks purple. Down on the beaches, people are dipping their toes. But Gollum Boy says it’s too warm outside for him. Well it would be, she thinks, for anybody wearing thick jogging pants and a hoodie over a tee shirt.

And anyway, the sun hurts his eyes, Gollum Boy says.

I think it makes his skin sparkle too!

What makes a satisfying read?

What is it that makes a book satisfying for you? When you’re choosing your next read, do you look for some kind of guarantee it’s going to hit the spot?

satisfaction guarantee
can any book guarantee reader satisfaction?

Imagine – you’re in the zone – receptive to suggestions – you’re browsing genres – willing to take a little chance – open to new ideas. You spot an interesting cover – you read the blurb. Maybe you read the opening paragraphs, too. You’ve never heard of the author but you’re bookless and looking forward to your next read. But it’s got to be satisfying.

Chances are, what makes that book hit the spot for you won’t be the same as what makes a book satisfying for me.

satisfying read for a cat
do not disturb!

We like different things, don’t we, all of us? We’re attracted by different images and colours which make us choose to investigate book titles further. We might insist that we were open to new ideas and receptive to suggestions, but we were still subconsciously bound by our preferences. Those preferences grew out of our personal experiences with books and reading. You can’t prefer something you’ve never experienced.

Let me give you an example. If you asked me six years ago if I’d read any Cornwell, Reichs, Slaughter, Gerritsen etc. I would have said, I don’t think I’d enjoy that kind of book.
I had never been tempted to try titles in that genre. They simply didn’t appeal. Then a friend came to stay and left books behind. I was bookless and read them. Now I have a collection of aforementioned authors. It turned out I enjoyed the genre after all and I’ve since broadened my reading experience to include action thrillers. Who knew I’d turn out to be Jack Reacher’s #1 fan?

dogreading
a dog’s fave genre?

But then, as I’ve said elsewhere on my website, I love variety. My bookshelves comprise an unusual mix, some might say. Authors now have a better chance of attracting me to their titles because I’ve experienced a wider range of books.

But, I’m still not too easy to please. The writing has to transport me. I have to care what happens next. Characters have to be attractive to me in some way. I must want to see them attempt to reach their goal. Or the plot has to be fascinating. I have to want to turn the page.

But is satisfying enough to aim for when we’re writing? Would I be delighted if, when I eventually have my novels on sale, reviewers vote them a satisfying read?

Wow factorI don’t think I would. I guess I’m aiming for the Wow factor. I think I have to. As a novelist, I’m unpublished. It’s been hard enough to break through into magazine publication and I know that to achieve success with a debut novel, you have to come up with something really special.

My novel Trobairitz won’t please everybody. Neither will Patterns of Our Lives. They’re for different markets. You can’t please everybody. But I’d like to think I could burst the satisfaction meter for some readers.

What constitutes the difference between a satisfying read and the Wow factor for you?

Wednesday Vine Report #5

Vine report number five already. I can’t believe 5 weeks have passed since I began wondering what kind of grape our chosen vine was.

We know now: she’s a Merlot, and our baby is doing just fine. After rain through the week, our vine is showing vigorous growth.

Merlot vine
our Merlot shifting up a gear

There’s growth all along the leader in this midweek photograph. Here’s this morning’s picture.

Merlot in May
after a few days’ rain

Her sisters are doing nicely, too. Soon there’ll be more green than the brown of the earth.

Merlot vineyard
Merlot vineyard showing steady growth

Once these beauties get going, you can almost hear them growing. (I’m a writer, prone to fanciful thinking)

We’ve had a substantial amount of rain this week. The air cooled. There was fresh snow on the Pyrenees at the weekend, I’m told. Friends of friends couldn’t drive where they were supposed to be; they had no snow chains with them. When the wind blows from the southwest, over the peaks of the mountains, it cools everything down on our side. I had to rummage in my clothes storage boxes and drag out a couple of fleeces. We don’t expect cold winds at this time of year. But the walk through the vineyards is as lovely as ever and, even if you can’t actually hear the vines growing, you can smell the fresh green of them.

Across the lane, in the Chardonnay plantation, here’s the latest:

Chardonnay
Chardonnay grapevines growing fast

Don’t they look fantastic? Oh, I’m imagining paella cooked on our outside gas burner in one of those huge circular shallow pans; the sounds of bubbling juices; the smell of mussels and saffron and prawns, maybe a few scallops and some chicken on the bone for extra juiciness AND dewy glasses of chilled Chardonnay, crisp and dry and definitely more-ish. Summer heaven.

I walked a different way back to the house. There are so many lanes criss-crossing the vineyard plantations, you can vary your route every day. You get to see a different view each time you turn a corner. I took this picture of poppies planning to use it as a header. All the pictures at the head of my pages are from my own photographs.

April poppies
April poppies along the vineyard lanes

Last week, I spotted drifts of blue flowers on furry, mauve stalks and couldn’t put a name to them.

Borage flowers
Borage flowers and stalks taste like cucumber

 

 

 

 

 

It’s borage and you can eat it. The flowers and stalks taste like cucumber and the darker leaves can be cooked and used like spinach. You can find out more about edible wild flowers here at the Edible Wild Food website.

Himself was with me this morning. Fancies himself as a bit of a David Bailey from time to time. He took these:

poppies on May 1st
May poppies – a photo by himself

I think the boy done good.

Along the lanes, there’s always something new to see. Almond trees are showing off their new fruits in their furry cases. They are very bitter, though. I don’t know anybody who actually uses them.

almonds in their cases
almonds in their furry cases

The vineyards roll across this Herault hinterland. From above it looks like patchwork with all the rows going in different directions like stripes. Some vineyards have sea views.

picpoul de pinet
Picpoul de Pinet vines love sea breezes

At Pinet, not far from our own village, the vineyards run down to the Mediterranean coast.In this picture, you can make out the oyster beds in the bay. Oysters and white wine: is your mouth watering yet? Wait, there’s more.

Noilly Prat vermouth
a great aperitif

The white wine of Pinet is one of only three varieties used by the manufacturers of Noilly Prat, a world famous vermouth produced at Marseillan also nearby. Marseillan is now the only place producing this fabulous vermouth. No, it’s better than fabulous. It’s the best vermouth you’ll ever taste. There’s a great story behind the making of this famous aperitif, but there’s enough for a whole new post. In the meantime, take a look at their website. It has a cute entry page, but they won’t give away any production secrets.

Back to our own village vineyards. Because of the lie of the land, the vineyard lanes are sometimes below the level of the growing fields. Great camera angles.

elderly vines
old vines still producing

Elsewhere there are new plantations. The baby vines are protected from the ravages of winter winds.

young vines
young vines are protected

Young vines are not allowed to produce fruit for the first year or two. The vine’s job is to get itself established with a strong root system and build up nutrients for grape producing when it’s a grown-up. The wine grower keeps the vineyard free from weeds and pests during this time to give the young vines the best start.

Soon, these young vines will take their place in producing grapes that go into wine known and respected all over the world. Did you know that Languedoc is the biggest wine producing region in the world? Ah, what a place to live, huh? The pleasures of watching it grow, followed by the pleasures of drinking it.

Languedoc vines
vines of Languedoc

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I’d love to hear from you. I’m not an expert on wine, but you don’t have to be an expert to know what you enjoy. That’s my philosophy.

Cheers!

See you soon.

Addicted to success?

Addicted2Success-Logo-2013
discovered on Stumbleupon

While Stumbling, I found this website. Apparently, to be truly successful you must leave behind people who can’t help you achieve success.

“You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” – Jim Rohn

Blimey, I’m the average of myself, then. That’s who I spend most time with. Here on the computer. In my writing room. (following the advice of Virginia Woolf who said ‘a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction’) Well, I’ve got the room.

Celia's writing room
this is where I write – look on the screen- it’s this post!

I’m still waiting for the money. Selling short stories to women’s magazines is very nice, but isn’t going to keep me in Merlot, let alone make me rich. If I had the wherewithal, I’d upgrade my machine and have one that doesn’t keep switching itself off. That’s why the computer desk is pulled away from the wall. I have to keep unplugging the power supply to get my old Mac to fire up. Not ideal. My writing room doubles as guest bedroom. There’s a single bed behind the chair. Again, not ideal, especially when you’re up early in the morning and want to get an hour in before the rest of the house is looking for breakfast. Virginia Woolf had it easy. The only thing we would have had in common was a birthday in January.

I have theories about January girls, but there’s enough for a whole story so I won’t go into that here.

Now, I enjoy StumbleUpon. It can broaden your interests, show you things you never knew existed. We rarely search for websites by name; there would be too many to remember, so StumbleUpon remembers them for you and suggests new things you might like.

I enjoyed reading the post about successful people, but I don’t care for its recommendations. I’m all for curtailing time spent with people who drag you down, though. I call them emotional vampires, those people who suck the living daylights out of you with their whinging and complaining, or their constant carping and criticism. It makes much more sense to spend your time with people who make you feel good about yourself. I spend a lot of time by myself. Writers do. So, when I socialize, I want to be with people with whom I have something in common. It won’t necessarily be writing. I sing with a choir and enjoy spending time with others who love music as much as I do.

But, unlike this article on success suggests, I don’t choose people because they can be useful to me. How manipulative is that? What sort of a selfish bastard treats people like that? A SUCCESSFUL one apparently.

Perhaps this is why himself and I find ourselves well below the salt at certain dining tables. We have ceased to be useful. Hello? Up pops another idea for a short story. Good grief, how can I ever manage to follow through on a train of thought? Excuse me while I jot down some notes. . . .

. . . .  that’s better.

There’s an old saying about how you treat people when you’re on the way up, because you might meet them again on the way back down. Mixing with the right company does not appeal to me.

Mixing with compatible company suits me better. Perhaps it’s an age thing. I’m not hungry for the kind of success that means you give your time only to useful contacts. Bollocks to that, pardon my French. I have achieved an amount of success. The circulation of the magazine that publishes my short stories is over 200,000. That’s a lot of people who’ve read something I wrote sitting at that old machine in a back bedroom. Isn’t that fantastic? If I achieve success with my novels, it won’t be because I’ve chosen to ignore people who don’t fit the right categories.

Writing, Celia. Get on with it. A dialogue with myself.

Celia’s Head :  Writing must come first. I have to be blunt. You won’t listen otherwise. You’re spending far too long every morning doing other things: clicking a few likes on Stumbleupon, Re-Tweeting your faves, catching up with discussions on LinkedIn, sharing on Facebook etc. etc. You should be writing.

stumbling isn't writing
Stumbling takes time

Celia’s Heart : But social networking is important. Everybody says so.

Head: Who’s everybody?

Heart: Everybody on Twitter. If you don’t follow etiquette, something terrible will happen. And if you don’t Stumble regularly . .

retweet
spreading the message

 

Head: Don’t be ridiculous.

Heart: It’s true. You could get yourself black-balled or even ex-communicated. You’d be a pariah, a sinner, an undesirable.

Head: You’re being silly.

Heart: They are jealous gods, Head. You must pay homage. Worship every day. It’s a bit like writing, only different.

Head: I think you need a rest, Heart. You don’t sound yourself. Jealous gods, indeed.

Heart: They are. You must make regular sacrifices or they will bring down the wrath of the virtual heavens.  They know where you are. They know everything about you. Erich Schmidt said so just the other day. They know where you’ve been, what films you like. Everything.

handcloud
coming to get you . . .

Head: That’s because you’ve told them. You’ve Stumbled and Tweeted and Shared. You’ve spilled your guts, Heart. Of course they know everything about you. But this hand of God thing is going a bit far. Excommunicated? Grow up.

Heart: But it’s part of my life now, Head. What would I do without it?

Head: You know who you sound like, don’t you?

Heart: Who?

Head: Gollum Boy. You’re just the same, Heart. You’re addicted. You’ve turned into Gollum Woman.

Heart: But, it’s the way of the world now, Head. There’s no getting away from it. We can’t un-invent all these communication channels. You have to be in them. You must take part. You’re either with me or against me, Head. We’ll stand a better chance together – strength in unity and all that. You have to keep up. You can’t risk being dis-favoured with a thumbs down on Stumble or worse, Unfollowed on Twitter. Don’t you want to influence discussions on LinkedIn? You want to be known as a writer as much as I do, don’t you? You won’t stand a chance unless you’re being seen. Your name has got to be out there. You can’t risk excommunication. You’d be in the wilderness . . .

Head: Have you heard yourself?

erich schmidt
Google boss gazing into the future

Heart: . . . and your writing would be buried forever under a pile of essays about horizontal deadbolts. Buried alive you’d be, dead to the world, and all the while you’d be screaming to be heard, hammering against your prison walls to be let out into the Googlesphere and into the alms of our benefactor, the noble Erich.

But nobody would want to hear you.

Head: Would you like me to make you a nice cup of tea, dear?

Heart: It’s coming, you know. The new Trinity. The noble Erich and King Mike of Walmart will be joined by the god of Amazon. And if I knew how to do smart things with images in WordPress, I’d have these three photos conjoined like a triptych, you know, the sort of thing you see on an altar.

mikeduke
the boss of Walmart rubbing his hands at the future
jeffbezos
boss of Amazon smiling at the future

Head: What? Walmart, Amazon and Google? WAG?

Heart: You heard it here first.

Head: I’ll go and put the kettle on.

Wednesday Vine Report #4

sky circle
smart arse pilot made this perfect circle

On the day of vine report number 4, there was one hell of a bang. I’m just getting organized to walk up to visit our chosen vine for the next new photograph, when the almighty bang nearly knocked me off my feet. The house shook. Shutters rattled. My ears popped. Then I heard the distant scream of an aircraft engine. He was high. Very high. He’d come tearing in from the north, broken the sound barrier thingy and now he was playing games. I watched him draw this perfect circle in the sky above us. And I already had my camera to hand.

That was not Ryanair. That was no commercial flight. I don’t know what the pilot was practising for, but he/she had an admirer down here. I bet the boss knew nothing about it. Or, maybe he/she was the boss.

merlot vine
our Merlot has two leaves open!

Mademoiselle Merlot is enjoying the warmth. Here she is today. Two leaves open near the bole and the buds on the leader ready to pop. You’ll notice the ground looks different from previous photos where the land between the rows was filled with weed growth.

Here’s why:

 

tractor in the vines
special narrow tractors work the rows

The tractors are especially narrow so they can fit between the vines. They work the rows alternately to make for an easier turning circle at the end of each row. In some vineyards, the weeds are left to grow to maturity. This will depend on the type of grape and the balance of minerals in the soil. They actually want the weeds to take up some of the goodness from the soil if it’s too rich for the type of vine. You’ll see this particularly on vineyards specializing in organic wines where they use no chemicals at all.

tractor in the vines
preparing to turn at the end of a row
tractor in the vines
working on through the vineyard

 

 

 

 

 

Growth is just beginning steadily in our chosen field of Merlot. You remember that the field of Chardonnay just across the lane was romping on in the April sunshine. Take a look at it now.

Chardonnay in April
vigorous growth on the Chardonnay
grape flower spikes
these flower spikes will develop into bunches of grapes

The flower spikes (a bit blurred – I got too close) are clearly visible. These will develop into bunches of tiny grapes very soon.

Then they’ll soak up the sun and the odd shower till they’re fat and juicy. And himself and I will be filling the ice trays. Oh, yes!

The walk back along the vineyard lanes is a pleasure. The edges (you can’t really call them hedgerows) are full of spring colour.

 

vineyard lane
poppies already in the vineyard lane
wild garlic
white flowers of wild garlic

Wild garlic looks like it’s hiding in the grass. The leaves are good for cooking rather than the bulbs, but I won’t be disturbing them. I like looking at them just as they are.

Great drifts of blue flowers hang from mauve stalks.

wild flowers
huge drifts of blue flowers on mauve stalks

There are lots of other wild flowers I haven’t identified yet, but that’s okay. It’s another pleasant job for me to do.

Writing short stories. Success again.

Woman's Weekly
you can read some of my stories here

I sold another of my short stories. Naturally, I’m delighted. The fiction editor of the same magazine has another two of my short stories under consideration at the moment. Long may this relationship continue. It’s great to see my stories in print and available online in Woman’s Weekly Fiction Specials on Amazon.

Fiction Special ebook
Fiction Special available through Amazon

 

 

 

I love writing short stories. I really do. I have more ideas for short stories than I know what to do with. Some of them are ideal for women’s magazines because they are a match for the kinds of stories readers expect to find there.

Monthly Fiction Special
a happy home for some of my short stories

I think there have been changes in this market. At one time, short stories must feature married people happily finding happy solutions for a happy ending. Nowadays, women’s magazine fiction addresses more serious issues and is more realistic than it used to be. It isn’t always about a married couple. You can have divorced people. You can have people living together. You can have the problems of blended families so that stories in women’s magazines today are very different from, say, twenty years ago. You know there’s a but coming, don’t you?

Okay, but . . .

. . . You can’t have a story like Not Rodgers and Hammerstein which is my April short story of the month. (Read it here before I take it down) You can’t expect to read a story like my March short story of the month – My Turn to Speak- about a young stepmother struggling with a difficult stepson. The ending is too shocking.

I grieve for the pieces I haven’t sold.There’s a whole stack of them. Not meeting the women’s fiction criteria.

I write square peg stories more often than not. Stories about people who, for one reason or many more, don’t quite fit in. Sometimes the best these characters can hope for is resilience, acceptance of things being how they are. An it is what it is mentality. Dealing with life even if you can’t make it better.

But readers of women’s magazines don’t want to read about people like that. There has to be hope. There has to be an upbeat in the last few paragraphs. I can’t always give that.

Sometimes, then, my love of variety in the things I write causes me problems. To find the right places for these other short stories of mine would mean more time spent researching other magazine titles both in print and online. I’m spending so much time already with the social networking thing, there’s no time left for finding good homes for my poor, neglected misfits. I’m certain magazines exist for the off-the-wall-quirky-oddball, domestic horror and deeply dark comedy, but I don’t know any shortcuts.

Maybe, one day, there’ll be time to round my oddball stories up and bundle them together like mongrels in a stray dogs’ kennel.  Perhaps I could self -publish a collection and call it Mongrels and Misfits or something. We shall see.

Your comments are very welcome. I love to hear from readers of my Random Thoughts.

The online gamer, the father and the wicked stepmother

online gaming doctor
switched on young doctor

After taking the online gamer, Gollum Boy, to see the doctor,  we have witnessed a few changes around the house:

online gamer's breakfast
from ‘a daring adventure’ blog

+ the online gamer has been getting up in time for breakfast.

+ the father of online gamer has been making sure that online gamer has ceased online gaming by 10pm each night after his 2 hour session.

+ the partner of father of online gamer aka the wicked stepmother (me) has been making sure that their efforts are rewarded with appropriate amounts of appropriately age-sensitive (not too babyish) praise and encouragement to maintain this high standard of determination to take on board the recommendations made by the switched-on young doctor so that teenage online gamer can learn that self-control, personal hygiene etc. etc. are his own  responsibilities.

(Takes deep breath) That was all one sentence. I’ve noticed, lately, that whenever I begin to delve into the realms of everyday matters and how it is we ever manage to live with one another at all, I am swept away in a maelstrom. Thoughts begin circling, spiralling. Too many to deal with. A great whirlpool of them. They bring so much clutter in their wake, these thoughts. Baggage from former lives. Monsters and goblins. Shadows and shades. (No, I haven’t been reading Gothic tales or Joanne Harris)

maelstrom
whirlpools pull you in and down

The truth is we’re all haunted by what has gone before. You can’t ever really get away from it. Sometimes it’s good stuff you wouldn’t want to lose anyway. You keep those good things close by as you sail on. They are your stars to steer by.

But the bad stuff brings squalls. There’s always something from way back that’s never been properly dealt with, because you’ve been too busy dealing with what is current, what is happening now. Behind your back, those old pirates start rattling their cutlasses again, threatening mutiny on your good ship doing okay just now, thank you.

Just when you thought things were on an even keel, they have a way of swashbuckling back up again to bite you on the backside. And they always come when you know you should have expected it.

femalepirate
female pirate

So I shall keep my weather eye out for approaching storms. I shall be prepared. Them there scallies ain’t creeping up on me this time. Look, I’ve got my own pirate outfit and a big bread knife.

Avast there, me hearties, school holidays on the horizon. Splice the mainbrace! Mine’s a Merlot. Sorry, yes, you already knew that – you’ve been reading my posts.

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Mine’s a Merlot! Wednesday Vine Report#3

Well, of course she would have to be a Merlot, wouldn’t she? My all-time favourite red. Sensational perfume. Smooth, satisfying taste. Hits all the right notes. A symphony in a glass. Great legs. She’s a late developer. Bless.

Merlot vine
mine’s a Merlot!

Here’s what she looks like today.

Look above and slightly left of the central bole and there you’ll find the first leaf ready to unfurl. April 17th. You heard it here first. You could be looking at the next gold medallion winner.

Our wines from this region often rate very highly at the French nationals. And it’s not just the reds. The Viognier from Domaine La Baume just down the road from here came in at 13.5% and took gold last year. That was one belter of a white wine. Well, it would be at that strength, n’est-ce pas? Click on the link and take a look at their website (in English). Learn why they harvest at night. Watch the video for a brief introduction to their domaine. We always take all our visitors there for wine-tasting before you buy. Nobody has ever been disappointed.

The history of the Viognier grape is interesting. It was almost extinct in the 1960s. It’s prone to powdery mildew and might not produce high yields. Picking at exactly the right time is essential to achieve the best perfumes and strength. Here in Languedoc, Viognier tastes different from that produced further north. The vines like our heat retaining soil and dry summer. Here’s the current state of play with the whites in the next field to our Merlot.

Chardonnay vines
Chardonnay romping in April sunshine

Look more closely and you can see the tiny clusters of flowers developing.

grape flowers
tiny clusters of flowers

Grape flowers are so small you wonder how they can possibly develop into luscious fruits.

They are so inconspicuous you have to really look hard to find them.

But there they are, hiding underneath the leaves, quietly getting on with the business of growing beauties like these.

 

Viogniergrapes
Viognier grapes on the vine

Mmmm. I can taste it already. Nicely chilled. Make-your-mouth-water-juicy-fruity.

That reminds me. It’s time himself dragged out the barbecue and gave it a good clean. In fact, the sun is warm enough for sun loungers. Better make that my task while himself is occupied. When he gets back from his bike ride. (Trying to shift some weight)

Himself
himself

 

Cycling through the lanes is a great way to see the countryside. From the top of the hill there’s a sea view. Just. And the Pyrenees with Pic du Canigou the highest peak visible from here.

village cemetery
main gates
victim of WW2
never forgotten . . .

After taking this morning’s photo of my Merlot, I wandered through the gates into the cemetery. Birds were singing. There was a comfortable calm about the place. It’s always well-tended. Villagers visit their family mausoleums regularly to leave fresh flowers and messages. Everything is clean swept. Some of the mausoleums are very grand.

village cemetery
well-tended burial places

 

 

Outside the cemetery, Languedoc is bursting into life.Under cobalt skies, the land explodes into spring colour.

wild flowers
wild flowers

 

 

Between the vineyards, some fields are left uncultivated.

uncultivated fields
spring fields

 

 

 

 

 

And, looking over village houses, cemetery and vineyards, our unusual water tower.

water tower
painted water tower

Famous with Ryanair pilots. They often point it out to passengers about to land in Beziers.

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Market singers

oranges and singers
singers at the French market

Our local French market offers good prices on staple foods. One euro per kilo of juicy oranges. Don’t mention the suck word, though. We’ll start thinking about sexy food again.

So, we turn up to buy our fresh greens and crusty bread as usual and there’s music on the air. What could be nicer on a sunny April morning? Standing outside the town hall there’s a man with an old-fashioned, hand operated barrel organ. His tunes are jolly, toe-tapping melodies. Locals are joining in. Somebody has handed out plastic folders with the words and everybody seems to know the songs. Here’s a snatch.

http://youtu.be/wNwz9ZGdy7s

wood pigeon
wood pigeon – was he listening or waiting for it to stop?

The bird on the wire was not mightily impressed. Maybe he’d been stood up. Maybe his lady love had wandered off to inspect what some other guy was offering. Or maybe he was just waiting for the music to stop so he could begin his calling again.

We listened to the singers for a while, then took our purchases home and had another coffee. We bought some small spring onions. Would you like to see?

Such a shame we couldn’t find any big ones.

French market spring onions
we couldn’t find any large ones?

As I said already – the joys of living in France!

 

write from the heart