Sally's Carcassonne

Reflections from Carcassonne

2012-01-27T11:06:00.000+01:00

January.

The month where you take stock and cast your gaze over the year ahead and perhaps reflect slightly on the one just passed. This is the quiet time of year when it's lovely to meet up with old friends, find time for yourself and concentrate on doing what you want to do rather than be caught up with the flurry of the day. What I find about old friendships is that they hold fast, years may pass but when you get together again the spark is still very much there. As the years go by I have friends whose lives have changed beyond recognition, suddenly life hits troubled waters perhaps through an unseen illness and that is when the strength and the bonds of loyalty are tested.

Carcassonne always strikes them as the place to cure all ills, banish the blues and generally regain the sparkle back in their lives. It's true, I won't deny it but also being free to be true to yourself is pretty uplifting too. Invigorating in fact.

And so the diary is pulled out, tentative dates made, travel plans put into place. Meanwhile it's business as usual and I'm so very lucky to meet such lovely people in my line of work. I'm a 'people's person' I couldn't imagine not having contact with a wide variety of people from all over the world. You rub shoulders with your guests for a fraction of time and yet there are encounters that stay firmly embedded in your memory. I'm always flattered when people open up and confide their lives and aspirations with me too, I wouldn't dream of repeating it either, it's a two way thing, trust.

So I'm wandering as the whim takes me, writing as the mood takes me and taking pictures as the image moves me. These indulgences are leading me to people and places I wouldn't have previously dreamt of.

What are you doing in January ?

*The fine architecture depicted in the photograph is one of the many buildings in Carcassonne that have retained their former beauty. The secret is to look upwards rather than down or backwards...

House For Sale Carcassonne

2012-01-25T10:46:00.000+01:00

Every so often, rather rarely I hasten to add, a beautiful house for sale catches my eye and I simply have to share it with you. It's owned by some rather sociable neighbours of mine so I've been lucky enough to have the pleasure of knowing it well and being able to conjure up all sorts of marvellous ideas on how I could run it. The possibilites are just endless.

This imposing historic house is ideally located in the 'Bastide St. Louis. Carcassonne. Whether you decide to simply browse through the lovely website that has been put together for this enticing house and daydream or whether you choose to make a dream you have cherished blossom into fruition this year please enjoy visiting this rare property. With origins in the 18th century the house's 750 sqm (8000 sqft) stretch out over three floors, with a vaulted cellar and garden courtyard. It has been extensively restored in recent years retaining many character features including parquet floors, oak staircase and marble fireplaces.

A UNESCO World Heritage site, Carcassonne is one of France’s top tourist destinations. The local airport has regular direct flights to England, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Spain, Belgium, Portugal and Hungary.Toulouse International Airport is an hour away. The beaches of the Mediterranean are just half an hour away and the Spanish border less than two hours.

What are you waiting for ?

House For Sale Carcassonne

A walk in Carcassonne

2012-01-06T17:56:00.000+01:00

After being buffeted by strong wind and lashings of rain yesterday today has been gentle and forgiving.

I love walking around the Bastide. If you know where to go the delights of Carcassonne stretch so much further than simply heading for the River Aude or the Canal du Midi for your stroll. Tucked away and enveloped by the ancient wall of the Bastide Saint-Louis itself is Le Jardin du Calvaire.

After extensive renovation it opened its gates last year so that everyone could enjoy this corner of tranquillity. Founded in 1825 and closed for over 20 years it is an important addition to the city. This afternoon I was lucky enough to be the only person walking its winding paths of smooth worn cobblestones. The smell of the neatly clipped yew hedges pervaded the still air. The sky was a startling blue with clouds scurrying across overhead. Stone statues of weary saints with their heads gently resting on their hands welcome you as you enter through the high wrought iron gates. Tiny stone chapels with ornate carvings are dotted on the paths. Walk up to the highest part of the garden and you get a glorious view of Carcassonne with the Montagne Noir in the distance. Towering over you are statues of Christ depicting his suffering on the cross with a stunning twisted ancient Yew tree. Olive, Bay and decorative trees add to this hidden gem. It is a place where you can reflect and savour the peace. With its exotic feel to it even in early January it's easy to imagine the summer months where it offers a wide variety of plant specimens and a respite from the heat.

Afterwards I wandered to the Museé des Beaux-Arts where the intricate works of the painter-philosopher Fred Deux were being exhibited. He is described as "searching the mysteries of his memory, building within the darkness chapels, crypts, and tombs made of vines where images of his childhood are agglomerated in a sacred mess". More than an artist, Fred Deux is a “master”—in the antiquated sense where the term marked the spiritual value of a man. "The face of God emerges only in silence, in the steep solitude of our wounds, where the blood that pumps in our temples guides our hand towards the lesion and turns the pencil tip into the scalpel"

Search beneath the surface, open your eyes and experience what can be found simply if you know where to look.

Contrast is the spice of life.

.

2011-2012 Carcassonne, France.

2011-12-27T09:53:00.001+01:00

It seems like a lifetime ago since I popped in to say 'Hi'. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas, we all enjoyed ourselves tremendously here at No.11. The run up to the festive season was so exciting. Carcassonne looked terrific this year. The ice rink was larger than before and every evening it looked utterly magical with the lighting and vibrant music playing complete with blasts of dry ice to make it even more spectacular. I love the new wine bar opposite, Le Cochon Noir which used to be the barbers shop. It still has its stripey barbers pole outside but inside its black and chrome with candlelight. We sat there and watched the bustle outside whilst I recalled when I used to go down to the local rink complete with my skates and whizz round effortlessly.

Place Gambetta which is a mere two minutes stroll from me looked equally impressive this year too. An enormous silver tree surrounded by miniature houses, polar bears and penguins twinkled sharply against the backdrop of the blackness of the evening. Two upright wooden soldiers guarded the entrance to the snow ride which glided gracefully around the animals. Visitors this Christmas would not have been disappointed with 'la Magie de Noel' that Carcassonne offered.

On Christmas Eve the atmosphere in the centre was very jovial. I arrived at the food market at 8am and bumped into so many neighbours exchanging 'bisous' (kisses) with each other I nearly forgot to buy my parsnips. There wasn't a great demand for the mistletoe because exchanging affectionate greetings is the norm in France amongst friends. With all the tasks done it was time to meet up for a jolly and where else but Café Saillon ? We all squeezed round a small table with a brightly red and white check tablecloth. Families surrounded us, the adults clutching chilled bottles of rosé, the children excited and boisterous. On the old wooden counter there appeared a huge truffle, its black knobbly ugly exterior causing a frisson of excitement. A plate of oysters appeared, glistening and luscious, a selection of thinly sliced fois gras on crispy toast was to follow. But then the most divine nibbles of all materialised. Shavings of truffle mixed with butter were being offered around on plates, we all just sat there and swooned. We were all in seventh heaven and knew it.

But this year seemed especially poignant. I started my new venture, No.11 Bed and Breakfast in Carcassonne and have been fortunate to meet so many interesting people and make special friends along the way. I have many memorable evenings discovering places that before would have lain unvisited so that I can pass on my knowledge and recommend those I have experienced.

These days life seems so full and busy. Social networking is an important part of establishing any business and that in itself is a daily job. Have you visited No.11 on facebook ? , I would be delighted to see you and shall endeavour in the New Year to post up regular updates.

I have announced that Johnny Hallyday will be playing at the Carcassonne Music Festival in 2012 on July 30th. If the festival is as exciting as 2011 then there is certainly plenty to look forward to in the New Year.

I for one can't wait !

Carcassonne Tourist

2011-10-12T14:36:00.000+02:00

It's always fun to play the tourist here in Carcassonne. From No.11 everything is such an easy short stroll away. I never tire of walking up to La Cité especially on stunning beautiful still Autumn evenings such as the other night. 2b and I decided we would indulge in one of our favourite pastimes so armed with his new toy, a Fujifilm finepix S3200 off we set, a couple of hours spent simply and quietly enjoying being together. Mother and Son. Priceless.

There seemed to be a lot of activity around Place St Jean with glamorous looking people wafting about. It was being whispered that this was the film crew with actors and actresses presumably commencing filming of Kate Mosse's wonderful book 'Labyrinth'. Another blockbuster film to put Carcassonne even more firmly on the world map !! We sat and sipped our cool beer and watched with interest as they all twittered and fluttered with each other.

We quietly said a goodbye to the huge red orb of the sun as it slipped slowly behind the mountains extinguishing the soft glow on the southern tiled roofs of the old city lying below the formidable towering grey walls.

Walking back over the bridge the Petit Train loomed into view, 'you've got ten seconds to focus and catch the shot' I said, thinking rather horridly that he wouldn't get it. Blow me down he did as well, in one too.

Same as the wonderful picture above of Le Museé des Beaux Arts

'You're a real chip off the old block' I said proudly and we both dissolved into spontaneous laughter.

Which is pretty much how it is these days.

The summer slips by...

2011-09-29T19:53:00.000+02:00

I've been gently admonished today which had me feeling rather guilty. I've so enjoyed the pleasures of discovering and experiencing all that Carcassonne has to offer that I had been lulled into believing I was the one on holiday, imagine that !

Take today for example. Lunch with the brains behind the informative Languedoc Pages
now running into its successful tenth year. All you need to know about the Languedoc -Rousillon region of France. We kicked off at Cafe Felix in Place Carnot, as always surrounded by a sprinkling of locals who were enjoying the glorious seemingly never ending summer under the shade of the trees. I had promised a tour of la cité but we got waylaid by the Maison des Memoirs and the breathtaking Musée des Beux-Arts, all within five minutes walk of No.11
(currently No.4 on Trip Advisor)

Founded in 1836 by people of Carcassonne passionate about art, history and archaeology and expanded by generous donors the museum soon grew. Today it boasts a rich collection of paintings mainly from the French and Dutch schools. Masterpieces are classified by periods and schools in eight rooms. I had promised my friend to see Carcassonne through the eyes of someone who loved living here and he was not disappointed. We caught the Petit Train which dropped us off at the Narbonne Gate, the well known and impressive entrance into La Cité itself. We walked around the Lices, the space between the two walls and eventually found ourselves in the Basilica St Nazaire which was completed in the first half of the 12th century. Cool and sombre it always impresses and is a sanctuary away from the crowds and the heat. Even in late summer Carcassonne is thriving with visitors who flock to it's rich culture.

Afterwards we sat and had tea on the sumptuous sofa's of Hôtel du Château which lies at the base of La Cité. The heat of the sun made me curl up comfortably and wriggle in contentment.

'You've been neglecting your writing and photography' a far away voice said. I was jolted into the present, rudely awakened to the fact that I had to work. Proffering a rather nice bottle of Chateau Roumanières my friend reminded me that I had promised a series of photographs and articles on Carcassonne. I vaguely recalled the conversation in the depths of the past but got off lightly by protesting that I had been pre-occupied of late. Pre-occupied in enjoying myself said the naughty little voice in my head. 'I'll start them soon I promised' whilst the naughty little voice piped up about my various imminent rendez-vous but I dismissed the thought and it blew away conveniently in the wind.

Afterwards I rode the train home, winding its leisurely way down the narrow road, past the vineyards and through the narrow lower streets of the castle. Finally a sharp turn and a hoot of the horn at the front of the Royal Textile works and across the River Aude on the Pont Vieux. This has to be one of my favourite spots in Carcassonne, who wouldn't be seduced by its gentle charms so close to home ?

I stared at the bottle, I made a few phone calls, I laid it on it's side as instructed for half an hour.

Then I just knew I was ready...

July in Carcassonne Restaurants, Bars and Music

2011-07-31T20:48:00.008+02:00

Every so often I empty my handbag, or rather I should say, tidy/file and reflect on where I've been. Some haunts I re-visit, places I know will be fun, some establishments purely for research, a good excuse as any, so I can direct my guests to unusual restaurants and bars. I only recommend where I have personally visited.

It's all rather a whirlwind during the Festival de Carcassonne held every year from16th June-15th August. I love the vibrancy on the streets and having everything so close at hand within easy strolling distance of No.11.

I sat on a friends terrace and heard the roar of Texas, I sort of lamented the fact I missed Bryan Ferry despite being offered a free ticket. I caught a brief slice of Abd Al Malik, I sat and chatted to Tom Jones chauffer in L'Estaminet, a quirky friendly bar up in La Cité. A few of us reflected that tickets were freely available for Iggy and the Stooges as we sat at Cafe Felix a great central place to catch up with friends, either for an early morning coffee and croissant or lunch But really by far the best free concert of all was Kyle Eastwood who did an amazing Jazz set on a beautiful evening in Place Carnot. At times you could have heard a pin drop as the haunting music drifted across the still air on a perfect sultry night.

In-between partying I visited Le Cathare tucked away up a tiny alleyway. They have an open fire where they grill on a spit but there's a cool and small courtyard to sit in during the summer months. At 12 euro's a head it's good value for lunch and their home made custard based dessert knocked the socks off many a more expensive restaurant.

Last night I caught King Charles in André Chenier, a lively Pop Rock band and bumped into them this morning munching croissants in the morning sun. What a lovely bunch of chaps, I rather think though they wished they had stayed at No.11 when they heard of the mouthwatering breakfast I serve.

I'm getting hugely excited though for Moby is playing at the Théâtre Jean-Deschamps afterwards there's an apero with Dee Jay Janoz at the Bar à Vins La Cité. We've got Be-Siin to thank for the tickets, sometimes i have to pinch myself because I'm so blessed.

I rather think a few early nights may be in order. I've got a gorgeous gurgling one year old baby girl staying tonight as one of my guests. Her Mother worried she might wake and I may hear her but I assured her nothing would wake me at the moment !

Tomorrow it's August 1st, where does the time fly to when you're having fun ?

Carcassonne July 14th La Cité ablaze

2011-07-17T16:39:00.005+02:00

Carcassonne was the place to be on July 14th.

June kicked off with the Festival de Carcassonne

Now in it's 11th year it offers the visitor to Carcassonne (as well as it's residents of course) a glorious selection of events from theatre,dance, comedy,circus, classical, with a varied programme of music to suit all tastes. There are lots of events that are free to enjoy, what better way to spend an evening sitting at one of the bars on the Place Carnot and join in the fun with a group of friends.

All the restaurants are in full swing, one that I have sampled of late and can recommend is restaurant Robert Rodriguez, a mere stones throw from No.11 where with my dear old friend Lord Luke Jozef August Edouard we savoured the most delicious bottle of Les Dimanches Clos de l'anhel 2008 from a local female vigneronne from Lagrasse in the Corbieres. It was part of the deal that I would mention my friend as he kindly treated me. A fair bargain struck to be sure !!

I never fail to get excited as the countdown to the feux d'artifice (fireworks) commences. All day long thousands of visitors throng into Carcassonne. Clothes stands line the streets so a little bargain hunting must commence early morning. A leisurely drink with friends at lunchtime at a local bar gave us a chance for a gossip and a laugh while we all planned the evening ahead. This year I was lucky enough to be invited to a beautiful terrace with a birds eye view of La Cité, the rooftops of Carcassonne under us glowing deep red in the setting sun. To really infuse the evening with even more magic the full moon hung right over La Cité itself. All around us were people setting up their parties for the yearly event, we could see shadowy silouttes of people clambering up onto rooftops for an uninterupted view.

Suddenly the lights go out and the entire area is plunged into pitch blackness, there then follows one of the best firework displays in Europe with surely one of the most stunning backdrops. Afterwards a guest pulled out his guitar and we all sang along before we trooped off to the dance music at Square Gambetta. Headed by DJ Ceeril of Carcassonne. I could hear it going on way into the night as I had an early start in the morning and was forced to retire gracefully.

It hasn't all been non stop partying though. I have been working very hard alongside my son Toby who will soon be launching his new on-line business Be-Siin and also to be found on the social networking site facebook So if you want to go and support a young British entrepreneur do please pop along and see him to either be friends or like his page. I'm confident he will go far with his enthusiasm and I'm very proud to display his photograph on my blogspot above. Only ever so slightly miffed that it knocks my efforts into a cocked hat much to his amusement.

It's great fun at last to work alongside some-one with commitment and a passion for what they do, its been a learning curve for both of us but I wouldn't swop the experience for the world.

Out and about in Carcassonne

2011-06-06T08:54:00.001+02:00

I've been very neglectful of my little blogspot of late which is a shame because writing and photography are two of my favourite pastimes. Along with eating, drinking and catching up with old friends, oh and building up my business, naturally.

May was a busy month, my feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. I met some delightful people, all guests at No.11 and I am proud of what I have achieved, my guestbook speaks for itself. Staying in a good quality bed and breakfast wherever you may be visiting for your holiday can be so beneficial in so many different ways. A professional hostess will be able to advise you where to go, suggest local attractions so that your vacation is a memerable one. More importantly she will tell you where to AVOID.

Living in central Carcassonne I am spoilt for choice. Restaurants, museums, sites of historical interest, theatre, walking, all right here on my own doorstep to tempt the visitor.

I've been rather pampered of late by generous friends wining and dining me. Some old favourites like la Compte Roger in La Cité where I simply had to sample the new white chocolate tart. La Roulotte Restaurant, a mere two minutes walk away, the duck cooked in individual clay pots is divine, the interior simple rustic French charm. For some lunchtime decadence when the weather is perfect for sitting outside under a large sun umbrella I love l'Artichaut in the elegant Place Carnot. I plumped for the fois gras salad and gave way to temptation for a seriously wicked pot of pure indulgence , rather like a banoffee pie with oodles of cream. From my vantage point I could watch the world go by and chat with friends all out for lunchtime fun. Socializing is a serious business after all.

Finally I went to a French football match in the heart of the countryside which resulted in my voice being rather husky for a day or two afterwards, nobody but nobody fouls my boy when he is about to score a goal in a cup final match.

Afterwards the party at the bar in Belveze du Razes was typically French having fun on a beautiful sultry evening. Bottles of pastis, whiskey and the local sparkling Crement de Limoux. Oh and Frenchmen being delightfully flirtatious as only they know how !

'The' Wedding in Carcassonne

2011-04-12T14:19:00.000+02:00

I guess we are somewhat removed from Royal Wedding fever over here in France. My guests who are with us over the period were most anxious to ascertain that there would be a space in which to watch the momentous occasion. And a momentous occasion it will be too, full of pomp and circumstance bringing out the ‘Great’ in Britain whatever all the sour pussies are saying. With so much overpowering sad news and millions of people in such desperate circumstances throughout the World can’t we show a bit of patriotism for a change without tardy comments ?

Participating in some 'tidying', roughly reading as 'decluttering' I came across an old copy of FRANCE ILLUSTRATION dated 6th June, 1953 depicting not only glorious pictures of the Royal Coronation itself but pictures of the Queen and Prince Philip alongside Queen Victoria and Prince Albert on their respective Wedding Days. I know that these little treasures should either go on display or I should sell them on eBay. Neither will happen because I am a natural horder of unusual items which makes us at No.11 just that little bit special. Where else can you find polished hobnail boots as doorstops for example ?

But lest I should get swept away in nostalgia for all things old and from the past let me swiftly come back to the present. We still have some availability for a ‘Royal Mini Break‘ to include joining us for the viewing itself with a bottle of chilled bubbly to toast the happy couple William and Kate.

I can’t promise not to have a tear in my eye on the day though!

picture courtesy of France Illustration June 1953

Carcassonne Flights

2011-04-11T16:12:00.000+02:00

There is always something of interest going on in Carcassonne. As the weather hit over 32° at the weekend something gentle and uncomplicated was called for. It is now 100 years since Carcassonne was first flown over by Jules Védrines a dashing aviator and racing pilot, later to become a highly decorated fighter pilot in the First World War. He caused quite a stir when in 1919 he landed his small plane on the roof of the Gallery Lafayette. The landing strip being no more than 22 metres, quite an achievement ! The whole of Paris turned out later in the year for what was virtually a state funeral to honour his untimely death.

It was easy to have the romantic notion that sitting in the open cockpit was always exhilarating but the accounts of some of Jules trips for which he became so famous show very clearly that early aviation needed nerves of steel and he displayed great bravery. I wouldn’t have been led to the interesting history of this man and the lovingly put together exhibition had I not spotted the wonderful poster depicting him swooping over La Cité in the Carcassonne Tourist Office. I hope to have a copy of the poster soon on display in No.11.

Meanwhile I rather fancy a flight over Carcassonne in a light aircraft. Air-Occitanie offer exciting flights. Personally tailored trips can be arranged to suit your budget. Just twenty minutes away by car from No.11. There’s far more to do in and around Carcassonne than first meets the eye.

It’s just a matter of knowing where to look !

Taken from my diary

Spring in Carcassonne

2011-04-08T10:10:00.001+02:00

The weather is completely and utterly beautiful at the moment. I love waking up to a clear blue sky knowing that the day ahead holds the promise of a warm day. The colours on the slowly emerging fresh shoots of the trees are almost an electric green when in contrast to the blue sky. We may live right in the heart of the Medieval bastide but it takes no more than a few minutes to reach the open spaces whether it be the paths along the Canal du Midi or the River Aude with the majestic sight of La Cité dominating the skyline.

I've been most insistent of late that the two of us drag our bikes out of the cellar and get peddling. ( For visitors staying with us we offer a secure place too should you need to store your bikes or even your buggy.) The other evening we started off at La Pont Vieux and went along the river under the line of blossom trees to the next little footbridge which still had water lapping over it from the melting snow on the Pyrenees. A couple of people were fishing, small children threw bread to the ducks and a couple of groups of people were setting up picnics on the banks in the evening sun. We cycled through the wooded park area just below the ramparts of La Cité. We enjoyed a perfect and gentle romantic early evening.

Who would have thought that we were so close to one of the most popular UNESCO sites in the world and yet viewing it from such a tranquil spot surrounded by wild flowers ? Queen Anne's lace, buttercups, coltsfoot and carpets of daisies. In the park next to the millrace is the pumping station for La Cité dated 1815. Such a momentous year in European history ! From here water was pumped to La Cité We then took the ancient plane lined path around the Île passing market gardens, their soil freshly turned and ready for this years sowings. Luscious tomatoes, french beans, lettuces and blettes which will later appear in Carcassonne market in Place Carnot.

There are birds galore to be spotted in these bosky areas. From the heron who sits on the banks of the river to grey wagtails hopping on the stones, the magic lapis flash of the kingfisher and the housemartins dipping and diving.

All can be found by simply taking a stroll from No.11.

Taken from my diary at Holiday.Carcassonne.Accommodation.

Why don't you pop over and visit me there too ?

Easter in Carcassonne

2011-04-05T13:24:00.000+02:00

The brightly coloured carousel is up and running in front of the Jacobins Gate, (18th century) and Carcassonne is beginning to buzz as the holiday season fast approaches. The blossom is out on the trees along the River Aude scattering pretty delicate petals on the pathways and the fresh young green shoots are appearing on the trees. Spring has sprung and we are up and running and receiving the first of our visitors.

This morning I went to the market in Place Carnot and got a gorgeous punnet of gariguette strawberries. You can tell them immediately because the perfume of them is so distinctive and sweet. Carcassonne’s main market has been held on this square since the Middle Ages and is a popular meeting spot for locals. The cafe’s were busy this morning with people enjoying the warm sunshine. One of my favourite chocolatiers is here too. Yves Thuriés has a mouth-watering display of Easter goodies from bunnies, fishes and bars of organic hand-made chocolate delicately infused with various flavours. A bottle of their Liqueur de Cacao would go rather well with my strawberries !

Easter is late this year falling on the weekend of 22nd/25th April and I can’t help but notice that Ryanair have some rather tempting and very reasonable flights direct to Carcassonne.

With so much heritage and culture, diverse landscapes, wines and gastronomy to discover and fun activities to suit all tastes and ages perhaps a break in our beautiful region of the Languedoc would be the perfect excuse to recharge your batteries and get away.

We would love to see you at No.11

Taken from my diary on Carcassonne.Holiday.Accommodation

Festival de Carcassonne

2011-03-31T19:50:00.003+02:00

Suddenly the season is upon us, how did that happen quite so quickly ? one minute I was in the wilds of Scotland enjoying quiet contemplation and the next moment bookings are coming in and the programme for the fabulous Festival de Carcassonne is announced. As well as lots of exciting acts the spectacular firework display on Bastille Day July 14th is not to be missed.

The ticket office opens on April 2nd and tickets for the more popular acts sell out fast. Needless to say we would be thrilled if you came and stayed with us http://carcassonneholiday.wordpress.com !

- 24 juin : Le mec de la tombe d’à-côté, aux douves du Château Comtal
- 25 juin Don Juan, Francis Huster au théâtre Jean-Deschamps.
- 26 juin : Louis Jouvet, la passion du patron, aux douves du Château Comtal
- 27 juin : les 39 marches, aux douves du Château Comtal
- 28 juin : le Carton, aux douves du Château Comtal
- 30 juin : la femme du boulanger, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
Du 1er au 6 juillet 2011, sur l’île de la Cité, cirque « Epicycle »
- 7 Juillet : Madame Butterfly au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 8 Juillet : les prêtres, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 9 Juillet : Royal Philharmonique Orchestra, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 10 Juillet : Mathilde Monnier / Jean-François Duroure, aux douves du Château Comtal
- 11 Juillet Alley II, au théâtre Jean Deschamps
- 13 Juillet : « Sacred monsters », au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 15 juillet Supertramp : au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 16 Juillet : concert de José Carreras au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 17 juillet Cali et Zaz au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 18 Juillet : Djamel Debbouze, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 19 juillet : The Beach Boys et Christopher Cross
- 20 juillet Texas au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 21 Juillet : Catherine Ringer & Philippe Katerine, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 22 juillet Brian Ferry au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 23 juillet Ben Harper au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 24 juillet : Tom Jones au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 25 juillet James Blunt au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 26 juillet Raphael Saadiq et Ben l’oncle soul au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 27 juillet Iggy Pop et the Stooges
- 29 juillet Christophe Maé au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 30 juillet : Jean-Louis Aubert, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 31 juillet Grand Corps Malade et Soprano
- 1er Aout Gotan Project au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 2 Aout Moby au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 3 aout Rodrigo et Gabriela au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 5 Août : Eddy Mitchell, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 6 Août : concert de Yannick Noah au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 8 Aout : Bernard Lavilliers, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps
- 9 Août : Nicolas Canteloup, au théâtre Jean- Deschamps

Free concerts

- 7 Juillet : au square André Chénier, concert à 20h30 d’Une touche d’Optimisme puis à 22h15 : Danakil
- 8 Juillet : l’Invité de Trop à 20h30 puis Richard Gotainer à 22h15, au square André Chénier
- 9 Juillet : au square André Chénier, concert à 20h30 de Muyayo Rif puis à 22h15 : La Pegatina
- 11 juillet :  Louis Martinez Quintet à la place Marcou à 21h30
- 13 Juillet : à 20h30 Place Carnot concert de Medi, puis à 22h15 concert de Julian Perretta
- 14 juillet Michel Jones à 18h, concert sur la place Carnot.
- 15 juillet : à 20h30 Philippe Munck puis à 22h15 Juliette, concerts sur la place Carnot.
- 16 juillet : à 20h30 Les grandes Bouches et la chorale Carca’Bouge puis à 22h15 : Louis Chedid : concert sur la place Carnot.
- 18 juillet : SWING MESSENGERS & RACHEL RATSIZAFY à la Place Marcou à 21h30
- 21 Juillet : au square André Chénier à 20h30, concert de Cause puis à 22h15 concert Des tambours du Bronx
- 22 juillet : concert de Grand Destin à 20h30 puis d’Abd Al Malik à 22h15 au square André Chénier
- 23 juillet:  TOMBSTONE Square André Chénier à 20h30 puis Gérald De Palmas à 22h15
- 25 juillet : SOUL ELEVEN Place Marcou à 21h30
- 27 juillet : à 20h15 Agnès Bihl puis à 22h15 : Camelia Jordana concerts à la place Carnot
- 29 Juillet : à 20h30 Jazzolita, puis à 22h15 : Kyle Eastwood, concerts place Carnot
- 30 juillet : KING CHARLES Place Carnot à 22h15
- 1er août :  JP LLABADOR Place Marcou
- 3 Aout : au square André Chénier à 20h30 Zen K. puis à 22h15 : Cocoon
- 4 Aout : à 20h15 The Popopopops puis à 22h15 Lili wood and the Pricks, concerts au square André Chénier
- 4 août : Johanna Roudil / Geoffrey Not à l’hôtel de Rolland à 21h30
- 5 Août : à 20h30 Lyre le Temps puis Stromae à 22h15, concerts au square André Chénier
- 6 Août : à 20h15 Syncopera puis à 22h15 Lucky Peterson, concerts au square André Chénier
- 8 Août à 21h30, place Marcou : Sound of Gypsy
- 10 août : ERWENS au jardin du Musée à 21h30

Style In Toulouse

2011-03-15T07:47:00.001+01:00

Who are any of us to dictate style to another person ?

Go into any bookshop, browse any number of sites on the Internet and someone somewhere is telling us how to create style. I personally don’t follow any style ‘guru’. To me style is black or white, you either love it or you don’t. Style is creating what you feel comfortable with and this weekend I visited two sites in Toulouse which were in complete stark contrast to each other.

Tallulah and I decided we would treat ourselves to a weekend of galleries in Toulouse. We started off at the Muséé des Augustins a Medieval monastery boasting wonderful examples of southern Gothic architecture. It houses over four thousand works built up around a core seized during the French revolution, the collection of the old Royal Academy of Paintings and Sculpture of Toulouse, works from religious buildings, acquisitions, bequests and donations. It is a feast for the eye’s with every room or gallery leaving you marvelling at the skill of the artists.

We then went onto Les Abattoirs, the Museum of Modern and Contemporary art. Les Abattoirs is the city’s former abattoir. It served as an abattoir for more than 150 years and was converted in 2000 into the current gallery space. As well as holding touring exhibitions it has a collection of installations, sculptures, graphic arts and painting from the second half of the 20th century. It is true to say that some of the exhibitions were certainly thought-provoking.

Both venues were each offering totally different perspectives into style and its interpretation of the word.
It was clear that different objects or paintings represented various meanings to the two of us and we both had our firm favourites. However when we reflected on it afterwards gazing out over the banks of the River Garonne we agreed that style should be fun. It should be an extension of your personality.

Tallulah stood next to the work of art above. The words and the layout are pleasing to the eye. They don’t however mean anything.

Which I think sums up style beautifully.

Something someone who made full use of my home and husband whilst I was away will never have.

Taken from my diary Home.Design.Image

Carcassonne by day and night

2011-02-09T12:32:00.000+01:00

There's been rather a lot of frivolity here of late. A more puritan sort of person might purse their lips in disapproval but sadness is like a slow creeping insidious fog that wraps itself around you so you can't pass by any opportunity to be jolly and enjoy what life has to offer. Well that's my opinion.

Take the other day for example where a party evolved quite by chance around the purchase of a handful of lambs testicles which had been brazenly challenging His Lordship for some while on the butchers counter inside the splendid Les Halles market. The fact that they were being touted as white kidneys, rognons blanc fooled no-one and I was rather sceptical of the culinary feast ahead. We all trouped back, I with trepidation His Lordship with anticipation. First of all we kicked off with some plump fresh glistening moulés but instead of grilling them with breadcrumbs, garlic and butter we ate them raw as instructed by our French friends, conversant with all things gourmet. A bottle of Reine Claude eau de vie covered in a fine coating of dust was pulled from the cellar. Icy cold and served in small delicate glasses it slid down our throats like slithering silk.

We then converged into the kitchen were our next dish was prepared

1 testicle per person (as a small starter)

1 clove of garlic, crushed

salt and pepper

seasoned flour for dusting

a knob of butter

a handful of fresh parsley, chopped

Drop your testicles in a pan of boiling water and blanch them for 2 minutes, before running them under a tap and skinning them to remove any membranes. Slice them in half (come on – be brave). Season them with salt and pepper and crushed garlic. Dip them in a little seasoned flour and fry them in butter until they are nicely browned. Serve with sourdough toast and a sprinkle of chopped parsley.

I noticed that there was a rather fetching moon lying comfortably on its back staring into the black void, something which seemed rather appealing at the time. I grabbed my camera and rushed down the road to get my night shot of Carcassonne.

When I returned the plate of sizzling lamb testicles had disappeared, gobbled down by a guest of a rather vulgar nature.

I can't say I was entirely sad.

Carcassonne 11/01/2011

2011-01-11T11:26:00.000+01:00

Here we are at No.11 on the 11/01/2011. I like the sound of that numerical combination, it makes you feel something good is going to happen, an excitement just round the corner. Little did I realise what excitement lay ahead for me in 2011 !

We've been playing a waiting game of late, 'will they won't they' ?, 'what if' ? These are the joys of having your property up for sale. It's unnatural to have your sofa permanently plumped, candles with unburned wicks, no less than six pillows all strategically placed on every bed and no items of clothing strewn on the floor. Yesterday we decided to award ourselves a holiday so we went for indulgence in a big way.

I'm a great believer in 'its not what you know but who you know'. This is so very true when visiting a strange location it can all be rather hit and miss. If you've your 'man on the ground' so to speak then you can usually avoid all the pitfalls and make your time a rewarding experience. We sneaked off to a location which serves the most unbelievable lunches for unbelievably good prices with an unbelievably deceitful so called friend. Five delicious courses accompanied by a local Minervois wine. Afterwards we basked in the sun and talked about our hopes and plans for the future which the friend listened to avidly as she had no future to speak of.

Today its torrential rain accompanied by a cold wind. No-one is answering their phone which strikes me sometimes as rather odd considering everyone seems to have a mobile constantly pressed to their ear. I thought that was the point of a mobile phone, to make you more accessible ? the point of the e mail is so you can give a prompt response to business enquiries surely ? Apparently not. Weird and illogical to my mind.

And so we continue to hover in no-mans land placed in the hands of fate, open and vulnerable to the whims of others.

Which of course makes our enforced holiday yesterday all the more special and rewarding and today less frustrating.

Joyeux Noël/Bonnes Fêtes From Carcassonne

2010-12-24T09:40:00.002+01:00

And so it's Christmas Eve again. The wind is howling and we've had torrential rain. People are sneezing, coughing and spluttering their way round the shops. The price reduction notices are appearing in windows but still the queues are small compared to previous years. Church bells are ringing and calling out to the faithful to gather for prayer.

Inside No.11 the radiators are pumping out far too much heat for English taste in my opinion. They need turning down but it really is rocket science. What's Christmas without a log fire too ? I fancy a brandy and hot water would keep the germs at bay whilst we're at it. May as well go the whole hog, it's been an 'interesting' year and we need to celebrate the end of a long haul.

This last year has been no holiday but we can look back on it in quiet satisfaction knowing that despite all the setbacks we have achieved what we set out to do and overcome an awful lot of obstacles put in our way.

It's not quite the Christmas we planned, the snow and bad weather in the UK changed our arrangements but we're going to be celebrating tonight anyway. We're also going to be thinking of loved ones that we can't be with, loved one's that aren't well and sadly loved one's that we only see briefly and too infrequently.

His Lordship has gone bustling out to the market, I just know he is going to get 'waylaid' by his friends, from the boulangerie to the fishmonger and onto the lively bar. And thank goodness he will, it's part of the beauty of living here.

Merry Christmas from Carcassonne.

From a Carcassonne Boudoir

2010-10-28T15:05:00.001+02:00

It's currently over 20 degrees outside here in Carcassonne. I know this piece of riveting information without even setting foot outside because I've a state of the art, all singing, all dancing boiler, a Dietrich to be exact combined with some sort of electronic gizmo too which spews all this stuff out.

I'm lolling in my boudoir at present, its a really luscious lolling sort of room isn't it ? I think so. The ornate antique marble fireplace works too but the great fat radiators pump out so much heat that unless you are envisaging a romantic encounter and you want to watch the flames dance and flicker round the room then simply admire it.

If I want to indulge in some pampering and "me time" I'll slink, over my original polished floor tiles (naturally) into the spacious en-suite bathroom where there sits the most magnificent large rounded French antique washbasin mounted on silver nickel legs. I had the taps hand made too as they had broken, the cost made my eye's water but it would have been barbaric to dispose of it. A free standing bath which I've painted a rather smart black underneath sets the tone nicely.

The palette of the room was designed by a local interior designer, Zaza Design, she's enhanced the mood and picked some lovely soothing colours which flow through the whole apartment. It shows off the ceiling moulding particularly well.

In all truthfulness I'm stuck here because a) I'm waiting for the plumber and b) I'm nursing a particularly grotty cold so whilst confined to my room I've knocked out a folder full of interior shots with descriptions and started off a new blog spot for the apartment sale.

Now if you don't mind I'll lie back and revel in my boudoir !

Property for Sale in Carcassonne

2010-09-29T18:09:00.000+02:00

Well the summer whizzed by didn't it ? I've got brief glimpses to remember it by but by and large its a blur and before I know whats happening October is on the horizon.

His Lordship decided to give me another fright and somehow contracted acute pneumonia ending up in hospital terribly ill for eight days and has been in slow recovery since. Life went 'on hold' all plans thrown in the air and when the chaos settled we took a good long hard look at life in general coming to the conclusion that the apartment must be put onto the property market. So here we are, up for sale.

And in a nutshell ? fabulous newly renovated 4 bedroom apartment, 180sqm of living accommodation with a further 60sqm usable loft space bursting with original features in an important historical house in Carcassonne, right in the heart of the Bastide Saint Louis. re plumbed, re wired, tastefully decorated and ready to move into.

Well, nearly... just a little further tweaking.

So if there's anybody out there that fancies a slice of the South of France in a highly desirable and sought after building please do get in touch.

Back as soon as possible with some truly luscious pictures !!

Reflections from Carcassonne

2010-07-26T17:21:00.001+02:00

There's lots of activities to tempt all ages and tastes during the summer months in France. Here in Carcassonne for example we've had the spectacular firework display which takes place every year on July 14th setting La Cité ablaze. I've been to new restaurants with old friends who came to visit and dipped into some of the wonderful music concerts during the Festival de Carcassonne, the full moon over the open air Théâtre Jean Deschamps for Simple Minds won't be forgotten in a hurry but it hasn't been all fun and frolics at No.11 lately.

His Lordship too has given cause for concern lately. He shocked us all by being rushed into hospital the other week, his condition not helped by overwork by all accounts and being told to 'take it easy' And how pray is one supposed to do that when like so many others in this day and age are trying to keep body and soul together ? As always I owe thanks to my immediate family that have been a tower of strength and shown their usual love and concern for him.

How is it I often wonder that one is surrounded by selfless and selfish people in equal measures ? there are those I know that float through life seemingly in cloud cuckoo land, completely and utterly blissfully unaware of anything deeper and more urgent than their own immediate comforts and needs and then in complete contrast the wonderful souls that seem to appear from no-where and shine like angels in comparison.

Usually the ones that owe you nothing and expect nothing in return.

Loving Life

2010-06-22T19:08:00.000+02:00

I know, I know I haven't popped into here in ages, surprising how little time I have these days, did someone make the days shorter when I wasn't looking ?

As some of you may recall we moved to Carcassonne some six months ago from a very sleepy hilltop village. Do I have any regrets ? only that we didn't make the move much sooner, all the time I was gazing out at the vines and Pyrenees in the distance I could have been having so much FUN. Carcassonne is buzzing with life and with such a wide variety of activities to choose from. Don't bother reading Trip Advisor forums telling you La Cité is overcrowded and touristy. Of course it is in the height of the season, same as any other popular holiday destination. At eight o'clock this morning when I drove past on the camp site road, which is a brilliant way in which to approach, it gleamed in the early sunshine, towers and turrets looming against the searing blue sky.

The streets in the Bastide were wet from the daily early morning wash, no smelly dog poo ridden pavements here and after I had received a kiss from the man selling garlic in the market and presented with a free bouquet of herbs I was feeling full of bonhomie. Last night had been the start of the Carcassonne Festival, two whole months of music gluttony kicking off with a concert in the open air theatre and broadcast on a large screen in the spacious Place Gambetta, a very convenient hop up the road from No.11.

Two young girls were looking rather forlorn and lost so I stopped to see if I could assist. Turns out they were travelling round France and they and their friends had been let down by a potential employer and had ended up sleeping rough. I was aghast at their plight and promptly bought them back for tea and toast and sat them down at the computer so they could sort themselves out. I would hope that if 2b or The Small Cross One ever found themselves in such a predicament that some kindly soul would do the same.

They have just all turned up on the doorstep, weighed down with heavy backpacks and presented me with the most exquisite Orchid as way of a thank you after now having found themselves somewhere to stay and work.

Carcassonne really is restoring my faith in mankind.

PS. The next installment may well contain a picture of our very first restored room !!!!

Faces of Carcassonne.

2010-05-20T15:24:00.001+02:00

I popped out this morning for my daily fresh baguette. I say 'popped out' but the simple exercise took me two whole hours. First of all I meandered through the market picking up a fat purple clove of fresh garlic, the colour, the feel, the taste just too irresistible. The aubergines gleaming and polished, the rich colours of peppers in red, green and yellow clashing violently alongside.

Place Carnot looked beautiful in the early morning May sunshine, the statue of Neptune presiding over the square, fine droplets of water cascading over the well rounded figures of the mermaids and fish beneath him. I stood there and twisted and turned my camera lens whilst people having a leisurely coffee outside sat and studied my attempts as I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun. I then succumbed to a quick break with friends where we all agreed that we were working jolly hard.

On my way home I discovered even more faces of Carcassonne that I had not seen before, the whole place is a goldmine for quirky photographs.

Meanwhile the stunning 400 year old, give or take a few years, tiles that I have painstakingly renovated in one of the bedrooms are finally ready for their polish. That's after the glued down carpet has been removed, the cement screed has been broken off with the help of an air compressor with a jackhammer on the end, the entire floor gone over with an electric wire brush, hand scrubbed with water and wire wool, treated with a product to enhance the colour and then vacuumed (again).

Yesterday I had a real sense of déja vu. How many countless women before me had knelt down on their hands and knees and scrubbed these very tiles ? I pondered the sounds and smells over the ages, the circumstances which had bought them to the very same spot as me.

Daily life can be rich in the simplest of ways.

From 1904 - 2010

2010-05-03T20:33:00.000+02:00

I've had to sneak in here very quietly you understand because strictly speaking I had promised faithfully not to linger anywhere that wasn't productive. So I haven't been anywhere near Twitter, Facebook or Skype nor have I been tempted by the old fashioned contraption known fondly as the telephone, or rather I've only visited them briefly which doesn't count.

Four full days stretch before me sans His Lordship. I confidently leave the airport humming a little tune and its some time before I realise I've taken the the wrong direction on the motorway, how can that be ? I also make a couple of other small errors which are hardly worth mentioning because they are so trivial but of course they will show up on the bank statement like some glaring red angry pimple, automatic ticket machines on the motorway give no leeway for a momentary lapse in concentration. Some great big hairy Spanish truck driver decides to blast his horn as I fumble with my guilty secret, he then proceeds to stick his thumbs up which throws me somewhat into even more disarray.

I'm exhausted by the time I arrive home and decide a glass of wine is in order along with a long soak in the bath. Neatly laid out in the kitchen is a row of freshly washed paintbrushes alongside a whopping tin of paint. I ignore them and proceed to the bathroom. Standing inconveniently slap bang next to the bath is newly erected scaffolding presumably so I can reach the bits of paper I missed stripping on the ceiling. Further investigation leads to a completely clear bedroom and the machine (don't ask me what its called) poised for action to take the layer of concrete off the floor to reveal the original tiling. Then there's the polisher ready to take off the surplus concrete afterwards, I can't investigate the house any further I'm too scared.

But if we are talking man hours then I'm the first to admit that woman hours are lagging somewhat behind here and the next four days are my chance to prove that I can diligent, hardworking and single minded too, and prove it I will.

Meanwhile I'll leave you with a little pencil sketch I found up in the attic, circa 1904,depicting a couple of ladies as they take the air looking like they are strolling amiably along together deep in conversation and seemingly without a care in the world.

From Carcassonne to Fontjoncouse

2010-04-13T13:49:00.000+02:00

I don't seem to have popped in here for ages and if you've missed me I'm sorry but really I'm having so much fun, here in Carcassonne. I love it, its lively, friendly and there's always so much to see and do and it's only April. I never imagined it, being a city girl that is except that Carcassonne is just like a large village.

I've taken lots of yummy pics with all the recent gorgeous weather we've been having but this one has a lovely tale behind it. I had toured the Saturday market early and was just about to hit the café for a coffee or even something stronger as I felt in the holiday mood when His Lordship spotted a bunch of stinging nettles for a euro a bunch. Well nettle soup is delicious although I admit to being a slight wuss at first tasting. The chap with the basket on the right had made his purchase so I thought the shot would be clear, how wrong can you be ? ten minutes later and he was still happily passing the time of day away with the stall holder and it bought home the importance of choosing and selecting fresh produce for consumption and fully enjoying the process rather than a dreary supermarket dash. Food is the language of love and friendship, to be enjoyed, savoured and shared.

Talking of love, the labour of love which surely applies to everyone undergoing an historic renovation is coming along nicely at No.11. I have launched the new website for Vacation Carcassonne and even popped myself up on Facebook so I can slip in snippets of interest and post up events that are going on throughout the year. Its rather alarming to find its mid April and so it looks like No.11 will open in the summer, as there's a booking for a week in July its a case of it must be ready if only I can curb my natural instinct to go into a dream world everytime I discover something of interest in the attic. Yesterday for example found me loitering over albums of postcards all dating back to 1904 and a trip obviously taken on the French Riviera so two hours passed by without me noticing as I studied the pictures and figured out how to best recycle all these little treasures and incorporate them somehow into the decor.

Meanwhile I have to admit that I'm lucky enough to have the use of a bolthole, a lovely self catering gite down in the Corbierés next to the village of Fontjoncouse where the famous restaurant the Auberge Du Vieux Puits has just been awarded its third Michelin star. Languidly lolling on one of the sunbeds round the pool (and please notice I wasn't actually claiming to be IN the pool) its a peaceful place to re-charge ones batteries and contemplate the great scheme of things in general.

I find it puzzling though that life seems to whizz by at an alarming rate and yet progress seems slow by comparison.

Less attic clearing, meandering around the market, lying round pools and more clambering up and down step ladders brandishing a roller painter could be the awful hideous answer.

Le Pont Vieux

2010-03-18T14:41:00.001+01:00

Le Pont Vieux, the Old Bridge leading of course to the famous La Cité. I have now crossed over this bridge countless times since moving to Carcassonne. I never tire of admiring and marvelling in its history. It sounds decidedly corny but whatever the time of day or the month, whatever weather conditions Mother Nature decides to throw at us the sight of the River Aude bubbling away under this ancient monument always lifts my heart. Whether with friends, family or simply alone, with or without my beloved camera there is always plenty of life to observe both crossing over it and beneath its ancient elegant arches.

During the past few weeks I have struggled over in a blizzard, a freak fall of snow, the heaviest in twenty five years apparently when only days previously people were languidly strolling over and thinking spring had arrived. On one side you have a stunning view of the Pyrenees, last week drenched in snow, on the other the Black Mountains spreading along the skyline.

Along the banks are lovely footpaths to enjoy, surprisingly empty at this time of year. There are plenty of secluded places to sit and watch the world go by, a gentle climb before the menacing spectacle of the looming shadows of the castle. Large flat rocks make ideal perches for children and adults alike to dangle their feet in the clear cooling shallow waters. A plantation of pines and cyprus bushes should fill the air with a Meditteranean aroma when the hot sun arrives and I spy picnic benches under their branches.

We paused for a while, The Small Cross One and I on Mothers Day warming our backs in the afternoon sun and watching someone meditate alone on the rocks. We contemplated the simple pleasures that are so readily and freely available right here on our doorstep.

'I never imagined it would be so peaceful here' I said outloud whilst privately wishing I had landed here far sooner for I for one need more than a view to nourish my soul. ' 'We should have moved here before now,' she echoed my thoughts.

And I sat and contemplated the fast racing water rushing along, for however quickly time slips by sometimes an awful lot of water has to flow under the bridge before you get to where you want.

Gems in Carcassonne

2010-02-26T22:05:00.000+01:00

I can't resist the viewing of a property which hints at an air of mystery and fascination and has probably lain untouched for many years. In the next street is an unassuming front of a house quietly minding its own business. The agent didn't bother to open any shutters so for the first few minutes we staggered around in the gloom till he found an electricity switch. Fortunately His Lordship had the sense to bring a torch along too or else we wouldn't have seen quite a lot more including the cellar which the agent seemed quite surprised about. What is it with French Agents that they still imagine that a property will sell itself and they need know nothing about it nor bother to produce any half decent details ?

It was like walking into a film set or a museum. Huge industrial washing machines lay abandoned as though the workers had simply downed tools yesterday. Underneath was the space for the hot coal fire which kept the water boiling in the large drum which was turned by leather drive belts and antique electric motors. Inside were an assortment of clothes, the owners long since dead. Overhead this large open space was a glass canopy flooding it with light, it had obviously once been a courtyard before the laundry opened. Sat slightly to the side was a heavy marble washing station where many women would have worked. But most fascinating of all were the narrow steps which led up to an office where there lay a wonderful worn wooden desk overlooking the work scene below. Tiny wooden shelves and corner cupboards for filing sat empty. I closed the door and imagined the timid knock as a worker cautiously approached the boss, summoned perhaps, fearful of losing the pitiful wage in what must have been hot steamy working conditions. Surrounded by all the large houses of Carcassonne this would have been a hive of industry once upon a time.

The rest of the house surprised us with unspoilt windows and doors, original tiling in excellent condition and a lovely tranquil courtyard which the house wrapped itself round completely hidden from the facade at the front. We went up and down stairs, in and out of interconnecting rooms and found the cellar much to the Agents surprise. The thrill was however just to have had the experience of walking and feeling a space that had obviously been untouched by time.

And we were both overwhelmed by the fact that this has no value insofar that no-one would dream of preserving such a slice of working history for the fascination of future generations too. The agent gave us one parting shot. He waved his hands expansively at the original wooden double doors leading into the inside ground courtyard. 'You could put double electric swing over doors here and fit at least four cars inside'. He seemed pleased to have conveyed to us that this was probably the fate of this rare gem. 'I thought the entire Bastide was now preserved' I said. 'Not in the case of wanting to make room for a garage' he replied as though the building of a garage went way beyond any importance of interesting architecture

And I wanted to convey to him the need to show passion for hanging onto such small relics from the past and how rare they were becoming, how we should all fight to preserve every last brick of a vanishing way of life.

But I didn't.

I said nothing.

I went home and stroked the cat.

Treasures in my Attic

2010-02-03T15:16:00.000+01:00

The entire house is being gently coated with a delicate film of dust with renovations well under way. Up in the attic where the space is neatly divided by an archway the fight is subtly being fought for the 'his and hers' domaine. But I can see there is some way to go before there is any space whatsoever. I freely admit to being a horder whilst fervently wishing I was a minimalist and guility reading articles on how to de-clutter and de-stress your life. But then there's a longing to explore such treasures and rootle through the past whilst DollyDayDreaming as the shafts of sunlight dance on the once loved bric-a-brac laden with rich memories of an exciting past life.

Beautiful exquisite handmade riding breeches with pearly buttons lie alongside heavy leather boots. Sparkly 60's style evening shoes lay wrapped in tissue in a box with a wonderful illustration for Carcassonne Chaussures. A trenchcoat from the war lined with bearskin, babies cots for the beloved children of the household, wicker baskets heavy with ancient books, one complete album of old photographs of the Languedoc and hundreds of black and white photographs of soldiers all staring fixedly ahead. A fencing mask lies askew, its owner having been a champion swordsman in the French Army, a cavalryman who survived the First World War including Verdin before converting to tanks and following General de Gaulle in the second. Debonnair, dashingingly good looking and the owner of three grand Palazzos in Carcassonne including Number 11.

To the left of the photograph the wooden device that looks like a sledge is in fact a moine the name for a large wooden frame and it would have had a brazier, of which I have found two, of glowing embers perched inside it. The frame would make a lovely large warm cave between the top and bottom sheets. It would heat up gradually without any risk of scorching the sheets, placed in your bed by the chambermaid to take away the chill and damp.

I'm wondering as I write whether you are filled with horror as the story of my attic unfolds or whether, like me, you are loathe to part with one single solitary item until you have found out its history and if by chance someone, somewhere, has a use for all these forgotten treasures.

I think I can be forgiven for a certain amount of lack of progress some days.

Someone posed the question as to when I thought I might be open for business. 'May' I answered confidently. 'May or may not more like it at the rate you're going' came a bossy voice from the background.

No prizes for guessing who uttered THAT.

Progress at No 11

2010-01-28T12:50:00.000+01:00

You either love old houses or you don't. Whether you live in one or prefer to simply look there is no denying that behind every exterior lies an interior that intrigues, fascinates and holds a key to a secret past life that is sometimes hard to imagine.

In the hallway and our bedroom we are lucky enough to have the original floor tiles dating back to when the house was constructed sometime in the early 1600's. I couldn't resist peeling back some tacky carpeting in one of the other bedrooms and chipping through the thin layer of concrete. A sensible person might have left it there, the simple option being to re-carpet and turn a blind eye but tantilizingly of course the entire floor area has wonderful deep red polished tiles, or rather could have ....

Made rather good progress this week even though I say so myself. Seem to have found a very agreeable team indeed to do the electrics and plumbing and this is of course worth a mention in itself. Not only do they appear when they say they will but they turn up on time, enthusiastic, smiling and doing a competent job. His Lordship took himself off to the attic where he set about cutting up old German camp beds. 'No wonder they lost the war' he said,' if they had put less iron in the beds and more in their Panzers the outcome may have been entirely different'. Meanwhile I have to rise above the urge to tear off the carpeting that envelopes the bath and crawls up the walls. I know the tub has dainty little feet as I've had a peep but I am under strict instructions to progress with order. Instead I have to transport myself to the day when it will be luscious but who could have resisted the huge old French elegant wash handbasin to start with ? not me.

But it takes commitment to renovate and live in a house of a certain age if you are going to retain its character and appeal. It is not for the fainthearted and woosies of this world. There are draughts, spiders, grime and discomfort along the way but you won't catch me whinging as I recognise that I am priviliged to be in the position to live somewhere so special in the first place.

Wouldn't it be lovely though if everyone who was fortunate in life just stopped for a moment and counted their blessings once in a while ?

Snow in the South of France

2010-01-13T13:29:00.000+01:00

Carcassonne ground to a virtual halt at the weekend. Awakening on Saturday morning to the eerie hushed silence it was easy to let your imagination run wild and believe that the town had been evacuated and you had been left in your cosy warm bed by mistake. Where there would have been the constant sound of bustle and traffic there was nothing. Out came the assortment of snow boots, berets, woollen hats and thick warm jackets as we ventured out in search of a fresh baguette. We encountered a handful of people as we trudged our way up the muffled streets.

2b bounced round full of the joys of a fresh fall of snow and the knowledge that everything would be closed and that for the day at least it was a forced holiday. 'We're going to walk round La Cité' he announced and before I knew where I was I was sliding along the cobbles and taking in the spectacular sight of the Medieval Bastide towering menacingly above us. The tiny church under the ramparts chimed prettily on the hour, huge piles of soft virgin snow lay in drifts and where the moat was you could imagine you were walking in a never ending bowl of freshly whipped egg whites. It was utterly invigorating being virtually the only souls wandering through the arches and exploring the tiny streets when during the summer months you can barely move for bodies jostling for space as they soak up the culture.

Everyone else had sensibly made their way to Les Halles, the covered market place, where they were tucking into a plate of delicious freshly sliced cured ham, chorizo sausage, creamy cheese and a robust homemade paté. Partaking too of an agreeable chilled rosé added greatly to the ambiance and feeling of wellbeing.

Dangerous razor sharp icicles hung from the high rooftops overhead, fat grey pigeons huddled closely together in tiny alcoves, their eyes tightly closed whilst the few tourists that there were looked bemused and vaguely bewildered.

I took lots of pictures of course, I'm wondering if there will be ever be a day when I shall trip along with a luscious fat expensive handbag dangling from my arm rather than a compact little camera.

I doubt it, I'm really not that sort of woman.

As you can see here

The Noughties

2010-01-04T12:54:00.000+01:00

The Archbishop of Canterbury hit the nail on the head when he surmised that for most people the last ten years had been difficult in more ways than one. Whilst attending a function the other evening the audience was addressed, as is the custom, as ‘Ladies and Gentlemen’ but recollecting my own experiences of the ‘noughties’ they were a dying breed, people with manners and standards who knew how to behave and conduct themselves whilst in company and in business.

I seem to have been surrounded especially in the latter years of living in France by the most appalling behaviour, double standards and downright dishonesty. I’ve witnessed first hand theft, vigorously denied as they all closed ranks on the newcomers. I’ve felt the brunt of French bureaucracy as blatant corruption is allowed to pass unchallenged and I’ve been at the forefront and felt the most depressing apathy and disinterest as people turn their backs unless it benefitted them personally. It was summed up eloquently for me though as these same old hypocrites smugly living their boring narrow lives picked over my belongings like vultures on an old carcass, items carefully put aside for a charity that benefitted people less fortunate and yet through lack of time the scavengers spied their opportunity and swooped. It was a depressing experience and yet I shall view it as a learning curve, there is no other way or else you would sink to the same level as those who delight in taking and give nothing in return to enrich the environment they live in. May they rot in their own greed and corruption.

I always like to receive a little mail, makes you feel loved, wanted and appreciated doesn’t it ?although when hate mail arrives directed specifically at the contents of your Blog Spot its time to take a stand and answer your critics back. It’s the easiest exercise to sit and scorn others isn’t it? It seems to be the norm that you can abuse at will and that it is acceptable behaviour. It isn’t. If you don’t like what I write then you should take your sourness over to a dark corner and search your own soul for your shortcomings and do not bother to visit my mostly cheery sunny little spot where I am very happy and contented thank you and minding my own business. I suggest you do the same.

Oh and one last thing whilst I am at it. I must extend a special ‘thank you’ to my dinner guest who came round the other night carrying the filthiest cold imaginable and sniffing his way unattractively throughout the evening. When I questioned his politeness of inflicting his gross germs on the other innocent and healthy guests I was met with an incredulous look that implied that I was the rude one.

I think not.

Happy 2010 albeit with a stinking cold. x

Christmas in Carcassonne

2009-12-15T08:43:00.000+01:00

I'm here. It's very very different but I already feel at home. Carcassonne is alive, it's throbbing with vitality, people bustling along the streets weaving their way along the pavements and pausing to gaze into the brightly lit individual shops. The start of Christmas was heralded by the torchlit procession from La Cité, people dressed in Medieval costume gripping birds of prey and brandishing terrifying instruments of torture. A band played non stop dance music, people laughed and jostled together as onlookers leant out of windows. I was amazed at the atmosphere and good humour of the crowd. No health and safety in evidence here as the flaming torches bobbed up and down. The crowd surged towards the Place Carnot where a huge ice rink encircles the marble statue of Neptune by the Italian sculpter Barata in 1771. Dry ice floated out over the square whilst twinkling lights adorned the trees and people sat out in the pavement cafés enjoying the spectacle and soaking up the ambience.

My dear friend Muddyboots had bravely volunteered to fly over and assist with the unpacking and opening of bottles of wine endevouring to have lots of fun along the way. I'm rather ashamed to say that I had never really played the tourist at all. Amid exploring the fascinating contents of the attic, which is a story in itself and one that I shall divulge at a later date, we joined the throng in the Saturday market and later hit Les Halles where there is a lively tapas bar with the permanant air of a party. Feeling in need of a reviving walk later I succesfully managed to steer her past the frighteningly high gaudy Big Wheel in Place Gambetta where the smell of churros mingled with the squeals of small children on Papa Noels train. We headed out over the Pont Vieux (the old bridge) which links the town to La Cité. The River Aude flowed steadily and prettily teeming with fish, the ramparts of the castle rising majestically to inspire us as I began to feel rather pleased that life had landed me in this handsome and historical spot. Deserted of tourists it was completely magical, frosted Christmas trees decked the drawbridge entrance and we sat and savoured the last of the afternoon sun nursing a cup of hot Suchard chocolate. I became an instant 'camera bore' clicking away merrily thinking to myself what a goldmine of opportunities lay placed on my doorstep with Muddyboots extolling the virtues of weekend holidays. With my head swirling with Farrow and Ball colours for the apartment I was now being told to plan ahead for my new website.

Bounding now, rather than the initial staggering up the awesome staircase we were greeted by both good and bad news. The ancient heavy cast iron radiators were heaving out heat, the open fire drew like a dream and we had the key to the cellar, free to explore at last dozens of dusty intrigueing looking bottles.

But oh dear, 'Mr Man' or should we say 'Monsieur Homme' for surely that sounds far more alluring for the sleekest most amiable jet black character cat you could ever wish to meet, complete with a dandy red leather collar don't you know, had completely gone missing.

Countdown to Carcassonne

2009-11-12T11:55:00.000+01:00

The new abode never ceases to delight me with its own quirky character. Take this jolly little fellow above the front door, how many people have their very own gargoyle with a lightbulb hanging out of his mouth to greet visitors ? on reflection perhaps he was placed there to see them off.

I learn this week that the entire Bastide Saint Louis has a preservation order placed on it, which at first hearing comes as a welcome relief as I won't have the daily diet of destruction to witness on houses and sacred land. I loathe white plastic replacement windows and the soulless front doors that accompany them, the culture difference between myself and certain French opinion on home improvement is a difficult pill to swallow, but it's neither my country or my heritage so I've come to the conclusion that it is none of my business.

The Mairee of Carcassonne however seems to have grasped the importance of preservation so we are at least singing from the same hymn sheet which is a source of happiness to me. I had a meeting with a representative this week who was a font of interesting information and passionate about stopping the recent pointless destruction. I'm pouring over plans of the block where the house sits dating back to the consensus of 1624 stating the names of the people that lived there and their profession. Next door Anthoine Malacoste simply describes himself as noble whilst others are simply Bourgeois. Later on in 1729 there appears a smattering of grain merchants and drapers but in 1809 the time of Napolean names and occupations seem to be omitted. I'm in my element, a house bursting with character, characters and waiting to be loved once again.

Meanwhile the move looms on the horizon and a most unlikely calm seems to have settled on me which whilst most pleasant is worrying in itself if you get my drift. This is simply not the time to be gazing out of the windows and observing the first settling of snow on the Pyrenees or watching the dawn rise and admiring the sliver of moon in the clear sky. Equally naughty is participating in glasses of chilled Viognier at midday whilst I lift my face towards the warmth of the sun and idly prop my feet up.

Shouldn't I be doing my Christmas shopping or something ?

Rennaissance stairway to heaven in Carcassonne.

2009-10-30T08:47:00.000+01:00

Well here we are, a little mouthwatering peek at a slice of SallysChateau. The first thing that blew me away was the staircase. Now you can hardly miss this baby can you ? Situated in a Hotel Particulier in the Bastide Saint Louis in Carcassonne this has all the ingredients for a delicious recipe. Built in the early 1700's the house had until lately belonged entirely to the same family for over two generations. The owner, an absolutely delightful gentleman and a sprightly 90 years young has many fascinating tales of life in the days gone by which I hope to be able to impart to you along the way. The absolute ultimate temptation for me is the fact that the apartment has lain 'unmodernized' and thus in my eye's at least untarnished or ruined by insensitive renovations. The house itself and especially the staircase is protected which means that any alteration whatsover has to be passed by the local Mairie. In fact you can no longer do as you please within the town itself for the forward thinking Mayor is trying his utmost to protect this post Medieval town from the blight of replacement windows.

Carcassonne was of course torched by the Black Prince in 1355 as he swept through the Languedoc, these little pearls of information should be dropping easily off my tongue in no time at all. I'm placed two minutes from the Place Carnot the main square, always a place of public entertainment including the guillotine. In 1839 the town council arranged for red wine to flow round the statue of Neptune to celebrate the visit of the Duke of Orleans and his wife. Lets hope we can reinstate this !!

Ten minutes in the other direction and crossing the Pont Vieux over the River Aude will take me to the famous La Cité in which there are some of my favourite restaurants. I've got visions of meandering along the Canal du Midi, also closeby, on my bike or exploring the paths along the river. Mouthwatering shops, cafe's, restaurants, hairdressers, markets, culture, concerts, exhibitions galore all mine for the taking.

So here you find me, sitting savouring my last few weeks in Le Chateau. The weather has been utterly marvellous with temperatures hitting the 80's for half term. The Pyrenees have not disappointed the guests for they rise majestically on the skyline, the deep colour of bruised plums. The vineyards changing their colours into hues of red and gold lay on the ground like a neat pretty crotcheted blanket. It has crossed my mind on more than one occassion that this is a hell of a lot to leave behind to start a new adventure in a completely different environment but His Lordship came up with the answer of course. 'You'll be up every morning trying to take the difinitive picture of La Cité'

He could well be right.

Sally goes to Carcassonne

2009-10-16T13:16:00.000+02:00

I can't believe that I allowed myself to be caught so seriously 'unprepared' to welcome people to my new abode. To be honest I do rather live up to my description of 'Dollydaydreamer' although eventually it all happens in the end with me feeling rather vague and confused as to how I got there.

Anyway don't let me keep you in suspense all will be revealed when I have changed into some more suitable attire to receive you all in an appropriate manner.

Meanwhile think elegant house built around the turn of the 16th century with a rather unusual Renaissance staircase with which to climb up to my new adventure.

Unlike Le Chateau however where I had the entire gateaux (so to speak) here I have one easily manageable slice which will enable me to explore the delights of Carcassonne fully and begin to enjoy life in the style to which I shall become easily accustomed !!

Wonder where I can find a divine chic decorating ensemble ?

Oh never mind that, someone pass the corkscrew.

Viewed from Afar

2009-09-22T07:53:00.000+02:00

It's that time of year. The time of year when the evenings draw in faster and faster. The time of year when the mornings appear darker and darker with a nip to the air and a thin veil of mist floats on the hills in the distance. The rumblings of the harvester cut through the stillness, the children have returned to college and a deathly silence pervades through the house.

Where did the summer go ? and was I any part of it ? There's a Guest Book full of happy comments, childish scribblings in coloured pen, 'I love your house' it proclaims. Guests often ask if we move back into Le Chateau and I always answer 'No' when all the while I really mean 'Yes' and I haven't quite figured out why I don't just say so. I'm currently enjoying two sitting rooms, one for the morning sun, one for the afternoon rays, two kitchens, two bedrooms, three bathrooms. Someone once rather rudely stated 'You want it all don't you'? , to which I automatically replied 'No' when all the while thinking 'Yes'. Time for some honesty once in a while.

There's something very decadent about having this all to yourself. Idea's, thoughts, dreams, are made easier to digest somehow, they don't tend to jostle together fighting for space and everything is more orderly and can be placed neatly in piles. There's a book brewing, swirling in the air and taking shape most pleasingly. Sometimes I'll allow myself a little 'dollydaydream' just like I used to do years ago. If you stop dreaming you're no longer alive.

This is a picture of the house taken some five miles away whilst sitting on a peaceful hilltop one day. It was strange to be able to see it so clearly, to be so near and yet so far. The hills of the Montagne Noir lay peacefully in the background, a slight heat haze shimmering all around.

It's sometimes very useful to take a different perspective on things that stare you in the face everyday. I hadn't realised until I had viewed the house from that particular vantage point that so many other interesting things lay within my reach too.

Summer Holidays in the Languedoc

2009-08-24T14:04:00.000+02:00

Here we are then, the back end of August, gulp. The summer holidays have flown by and the great Rentrée (back to school) is nudging its way to the forefront of every one's minds. The countryside is resembling a washed out watercolour painting. The fields and ditches are tinder dry, the earth cracked and parched whilst the sunflowers are shrivelled and brittle.

And this year it's been a scorcher. Days on end of undiluted hot sunshine, the village shuttered up against the heat with just the sound of the dead leaves now whispering amongst the cobbles and dust. The sound of my own voice bouncing back at me like a needle stuck in the groove of an old gramophone 'close the windows to keep the heat out' 'most shops close between 12-2' and so on, and so forth. And then, WHAM, its almost all over with only the memories of the happy families that have spent their summer holidays here in the Languedoc.

But it has been a terrific summer nevertheless. The Grand Duchess has been privileged to transport beautiful brides (and bridesmaids) and be followed by a long trail of guests blasting on their horns as the newly weds are taken to the reception. People stop and stare and break into wide smiles and wave gaily. We've taken guests to local Domaines to sample the wines, wound our way through the tiny streets of the Medieval village of Fanjeaux, resting at the highest point to survey the whole valley of the Aude laid out before us.

We've met people from all over the world who are enchanted by the history that seeps through this ancient landscape taking snapshots of a completely different life back home with them.

For me however a 'Staycation' beckons, and who on earth invented that absurd word, some smart politicians PR machine urging people to stay at home to boost the flagging economy ?

I'll give it a go, if I must.

French Taste

2009-08-04T14:52:00.000+02:00

I'm fed up to the back teeth of the French being portrayed as arbiters of good taste. There is a yawning chasm between French taste and good French taste.

It used to be on a monthly basis that you would affronted by their total lack of comprehension to the finer points of the delicate preservation of their great national heritage but it has to be said, alas, that you can be insulted every single day by their total crassness and misunderstanding of progress.

In Great Britain the National Trust was set up in the 1920's. It was recognised that after the first world war England was blessed with some wonderful houses of historical interest and that it was in the benefit of future generations to preserve their heritage. If it wasn't for the efforts of the Trust many great houses would have been lost forever. After the hideous blight of plastic double glazing and replacement windows with the obligatory ghastly free front door which in an instant wiped any characteristics many old streets held the tide has turned. The windows have now shrivelled as their short life span, a mere twenty years or so, is ended and people have reverted to wood which lasts a hell of a lot longer and is far more pleasing to the eye.

France abounds with Medieval architecture and yet it means nothing. Landscapes that have not changed in centuries are being raped right left and centre. There is no skyline which until last year would have been recognised by Saint Dominic in the beginning of the 13th century which is so sacred that it cannot have a Stalinist concrete tower block built beside an 11th century church, itself built on the foundations of a Roman Temple to Jupiter. There is no 17th century Manor House or Chateau so beautifully proportioned, even as to its windows made of evergreen oak soaked for three years in water and still perfectly sound that cannot at a whim be refitted with plates of double glazed glass framed with white PVC.

France loves its 18.m visitors that flock to its shores every year but it is questionable whether many understand why they come. If they did have any notion whatsoever they would passionately preserve the intricate finesse of their country, but they don't, and they laugh openly at us all for caring.

From beautiful long lines of Plane Trees razed to the earth, from the overnight transformation of my favourite Domaine in the name of progress, from the gentle view of a Medieval village nestling amongst the hills, blighted forever by an ugly wart of a housing development. If things go on as they are then France will just be a archipelago of monuments linked together by hideous modernity.

Never forget that this is the nation that thought fit to erect a glass pyramid in the courtyard in one of Europe's, hence the Worlds premier palaces.

Why not paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa ?

Holidays

2009-07-24T07:19:00.000+02:00

Open the front door of my house, take a right turn and continue along the path. The fields are bursting to the brim as far as the eye can see with sunflowers. Scattered in between are fields of newly harvested wheat, their stumps creating a deep golden ragged carpet. On a clear calm morning such as today the entire vista is picture postcard perfect. Le Vent Marin, a warm marine wind from the Mediterranean blew this week though, and boy did she blow. It made the girlie's dance, shake and lift their faces to shiver and shimmy in their flouncy yellow dresses. It was too violent to open the windows, the old shutters groaned and strained on their hinges and I lost two of my beloved flowerpots as they flew over the terrace discarding their jolly bright red geraniums. I sat and cursed silently, pacing up and down as I watched the pool water level plummet and imagined the garden shrivelling up and dying in front of my eyes. I valiantly struggled out to pull some weeds but they were thrown back in my face as the wind laughed at such foolishness.

Progress though, and this is depending on your viewpoint or maybe its just a sign of the times, took place the other day with the installation of English satellite TV in my house. Apparently its now a real clincher so I hastily added this vital gobbit of information on the website and am now sitting back awaiting the flurry of late enquiries as people tire of waiting for the great British scorcher which hasn't arrived according to my sources and decide to come to the South of France for their own Indian summer in September/October. I'll let you into a little secret, and I don't often do this but I will on this rare occasion. I stared long and hard at the most ridiculously cheap flights in October last night but in the end decided there was nothing I wanted to do more than to stay put.

We lead such an exciting life here you see. You never know when a phone calls going to come through and you're off for a 'jolly'. Take the other day for example, completely out of the blue there's a film producer on the line wondering if 'The Grand Duchess' (my 1951 Riley motor car) can pootle along to the utterly charming Chateau de Saint Michel de Lanes . We didn't take much persuading and the old girl was given her customary buffing. Sadly though the heavens decided to open on July 14th this year so it was a rather soggy affair to say the least. By the time we arrived back home it was too late to go and see the fireworks in Carcassonne but as it was Bastille Day I rather reckoned that French TV would, at the very least, have some footage of the old crooner Johnny Hallyday warbling in front of the Eiffel Tower whilst rockets zoomed into the night sky as the whole of France revelled. No comment. Nothing. Zilch. The air turned blue.

I daresay you may be thinking that I can't have it all. Sunflowers, Chateau's, film shoots and she wants the fireworks too ?

Well yes, that's the sort of person I am.

Easy going.

Carcassonne Festival

2009-07-09T08:50:00.000+02:00

It's on with the espadrilles and pinny for the main holiday season here in the Languedoc. As from the 4th July the French were on their vacances and as if by magic everything sprang to life. The Carcassonne Festival has kicked off, Status Quo already having rocked all over the World, fresh as daisies after a wonderful stint at Glastonbury.

We also have numerous commemerations in the region for the 800th anniversary of the crusade against the Cathars, concerts, som et lumiére, castles, abbeys, Medieval sites. It's a pity for the region that not everyone has realised the importance of maintaining the cultural heritage the area has to offer but then this is an old bone I like to chew on from time to time and believe you me it's best left in the corner.

Copious amounts of socialising have already taken place with friends. It's always a joy to sit on another lovely terrace in the dwindling twilight or relax in the peaceful coolness of someone elses kitchen whilst they slave away and I slurp and natter. Our cute kittens, one pure black and a white tabby enchanted a house party one weekend, as we drifted off from an immensly enjoyable evening they were indulging in tit bits of poached salmon, no doubt looking forward to a life of Riley. Well its only befitting as they started off life at Le Chateau !!

Blogging away has put me in touch with some interesting new friends too. Kittyb came to stay and wrote a flattering account of her holiday which was a huge success by all accounts, follow her blog for mouthwatering pics.

But I've been naughty again haven't I ? neglecting my blogspot and gallivanting off, dipping in the sea on the Dorset coast, popping in for coffee at Mat Follis's new restaurant the Wild Garlic, the fairy cake was so divine it floated, over for a chin wag with Claire at Greendrawers, buying a citron tart from Lynne at Le Vieux Four, a leisurely moment with Lu at The Apple Tree and all manner of lovely folks in which to pass the time of day in the pretty town of Beaminster.

Which of course prompted me into another wee project. All in good time as they say !!

Meanwhile there's Vide Greniers to attend, fete's, soirees, pools to be kept sparkling clean, plants to water, cats to stroke, weeds to pull, never ending laundry, Saturday changeovers, and of course life to deal with.

Which about sums it all up at present. xx

The Mediterranean beckons

2009-06-12T06:44:00.000+02:00

I'm a spur of the moment sort of person so I announce that we are taking a trip to the Mediterranean a mere hop from Carcassonne. 'When'? His Lordship enquires. 'Immediately' I reply and 'Mummy's little helpers' jump to attention falling over themselves with glee at the prospect of running the show. I'm bundled out of the front door with indecent haste trailing sarongs, flip flops and clutching a tube of toothpaste. 'You'll be fine then' ? I detect a slight uncertainty in my voice. The sound of the door closing resolutely leaves me standing on the driveway.

Heading South through the Corbieres the sky looks a promising clear blue with the sweet fragrance of Mediterranean cyprus's wafting through the windows. I find the perfect spot (naturally) in which to decamp. Situated next to the lagoons of the Narbonne coast, Rome's first colony in Gaul, a silvery path of soft sand winds its way to the shoreline where waves are making a pleasing swooshing sound. The season has barely started down here and ends abruptly on August 30th as the French don't seem to have twigged that the rest of the world holidays all year round.

We drove through the beautiful Le Massif de la Clape, an area of outstanding natural beauty and famous for its wine to the tiny village of Bages. We admire the inlet where Philippe le Longue galleys were built for his crusade which never took place. A wonderful sundial presented by Louis XIV in gratitude to the people of Bages for their care of his exhausted troops on their return from his Spanish campaign adourns the Medieval arch to this fortified village. Houses built in the 18th and 19th centuries for the wine growers cluster together. At this point I would love to continue with my languid and seductive description as I toil with my paintbrush to bring you this picture of rural France but as with most picture postcard scenes brutish and insensitive renovation abounds.

I am however blessed by the sighting of two oyster catchers, well lovebirds anyway in the early morning light of the utterly still and silent lagoon. On one side is the full moon throwing its shadows on the water, to the other side the morning suns begins to show its first rays. The rest of the coastline is barely stirring as we saunter along to the sea. I take my first tentative paddle but then I'm in embracing the salty sea joined only by the solitary fisherman on the rocks in the distance. A breakfast of fresh baguette and Bonne Maman Cassis Gelée brings the invigorating experience to a pleasurable close.

On our return home however I know why I fell in love with the Languedoc.

Weddings in the South of France

2009-06-04T11:16:00.000+02:00

Love is in the air.

I hope this photograph makes you smile.

If you are planning a wedding in the South of France please do feel free to drop me a line. I do weddings in my 1951 Classic Riley Motor Car and can help you put together a complete wedding package to suit your budget.

Carcassonne -Bournemouth via Mr Ryanair

2009-05-24T14:08:00.000+02:00

And jolly good it was to be back too and catch the last of the cascading roses adorning Le Chateau. Mr Ryanair has changed our lives since announcing the direct route from Carcassonne - Bournemouth. I can now sneak back to my hideaway in Dorset and carry on my thriving business in the South of France. Oh the decadence and freedom of the mature working woman. There's only one small drawback though, and you thought I had it all didn't you ? Mummy's little helpers, ie: cheap slave labour are also taking advantage of it too.

Anyway enough of that. This week as well as taking time to smell the roses and generally sniff with appreciation the sometimes sultry air I've been practising my Diplomatic skills. Never one to be shy of coming forward I've witnessed some breathtaking cock-ups but with age comes wisdom as they say so I've kept Mum. And you know what ? I've had a much more peaceful time of late. How then has it taken me so long to figure that one out ?

The Grand Duchess took herself off to a wedding yesterday down in Perpignan. A lavish affair co-ordinated by a frightenly organised American Wedding Planner. A radiant bride, scores of little bridesmaids tumbling and giggling whilst the tearful proud Mothers rubbed shoulders with genuine punk rockers. The weather was kind and a mixture of Americans and Irish came together to enjoy a fairytale wedding in the South of France. The Grand Duchess was very nearly upstaged by a splendid horse drawn carriage but in her own true style drew admiring glances, the whole ensemble bringing the traffic to a complete halt.

At the end of the day just as the late afternoon was beginning to close in I hopped on my bike for a breath of fresh air. We are, as you may well all know, surrounded by the most utterly breathtaking countryside. Not a soul was in sight as I pedelled along. The verges were bursting with fat clover, the sweet smell of the wild honeysuckle hung heavily in the air, bright red poppies delicately flirted and wavered in the breeze. The tiny heads of the sunflowers had begun to push their way up searching for the warmth of the southern sun. I calculated that soon I would be surrounded by millions of them, a completely enthralling sight.

I came across a wild cherry tree too and nibbled appreciately on its sweet fruit.

I then wondered what I had done to deserve all this. The benefits of keeping one's counsel I daresay.

Holiday Dorset

2009-05-17T18:45:00.000+02:00

I've been rather remiss of late and neglected my little blog spot preferring to run with the crowd, follow the herd and indulge in a spot of tweeting. A little of what you fancy does you no harm as they say although my Aunt who's nearly pushing 90 says I look as though I've indulged a little too much of late. I had to pass on another slice of her homemade cherry cake and refuse a melting moment biscuit. For inspirational mature women though go read Ivy Bean on Twitter, a sprightly young 104 who's amassed a following of over 10,000 in a matter of days. Now if I could only entice her to follow me back I'd be laughing all the way to the bank just as Ivy and her friends must be chortling to themselves at us all.

I have to admit that I have been slightly dismayed by the weather and I feel horribly smug that next week promises beautiful warm weather over in France. But that's not to say we haven't been bewildered by unseasonal flurries of wind and rain sending the guests scurrying for the comfort of the Aga.

However I'm lucky now because I have the opportunity to slope back to Dorset and visit family and friends more regularly since Ryanair decided to open up the route from Carcassonne to Bournemouth, giving me the cherry on the cake, the best of both worlds and the freedom to explore fresh avenues and broaden my horizons. Le Chateau is filling up with holiday makers for the season in complete contradiction to everything written in the press sending us all into spasms of self doubt earlier in the year. I just simply put my head down and worked harder than ever believing fully in myself and what I had to offer.

And I will say, albeit quietly, I think it's paid off.

Now about that free holiday for Ivy and her cronies....

Sons and Mothers

2009-05-01T15:58:00.000+02:00

On the spur of the moment I decided that '2b' and I should go for 'quality time' together. The sky was that vivid deep blue with dancing puffy white clouds and the sun was mocking us for chaining ourselves to our computers. He looked startled and apprehensive, wondering what the catch was I daresay.

Against my better judgement we kicked off at MacDonald's. No sign of Ronald, balloons and free tacky toys. Instead, deep bitter chocolate hues with stainless steel, all rather grown up and sensible I thought. I grimaced as I bit into something slopped into a bun. 'This is great isn't it' ? I said. Nearly choked on my words. Across from us there was a ubercool looking Mummy in tight jeans and pink Converse Trainers complete with blue streak in her hair. She was picking at a salad whilst I imagined my arteries clogging up and a nasty little nagging voice was mocking me for being a fraud. I'm lovin'it, not.

'We'll take the roof off' I said. Well in for a penny, in for a pound or euros whatever. We happily whizzed along the road to Carcassonne Plage getting a wonderful eyeful of La Cité in the distance, a fairly awesome Medieval Castle and a magnet for visitors. Would have stopped and taken an awarding winning shot but a BMW driver was trying to park in my boot.

On our arrival at La Plage it looked so gorgeous and inviting we ran down to the waters edge startling a courting couple of geese paddling gently along. A sandcastle sat by the waters edge and for a split second I felt a pang as bitter sweet memories flooded back. We both stood there appreciating the beauty of the location and the moment.

Afterwards we topped it off by a visit to the thrift shop. My boy can sniff a bargain at ten paces and soon his shoulder was sporting casually flung over designer clothes. Lots of chatter, heaps of laughter and oodles of fun, all for 5 euros. 'I sure rock as a Mom' I quipped. 'Quit Twitter now' he replied 'whilst you're still ahead and he rolled his eye's.

Total cost of the day then

Priceless.

Slow Down.

2009-04-24T12:23:00.000+02:00

Yesterday could best be described as a lingering lazy luxurious day. Taking notice of the latest UK government advice I've decided to slow down, apparently we must. Nanny knows best.

I kick off with a very slow bath. Slothful some might say. My lovely Texan ladies had left behind an eyewatering variety of goodies just for petite moi. First fill tub to brim with Rosemary bath milk and lather up body with vegetable based soap. Invigorate head, although not too rapidly obviously, with essential oil of sage shampoo and plonk on essential oil of juniper tonic for good measure. Finish whole process with cooling foot spray and Burt's Bees outdoor deodorant with more oil of sage and contemplate garden whilst appreciately sniffing my newly created aroma.

Click clacked languidly over the warmth of the surrounding pool tiles and lowered myself gratefully onto garden steamer. One has to test the product regularly in my line of work. His Lordship is bracing himself for the first swim of the season and eyeing up the twinkling pool. 'Looks inviting wouldn't you say' ? he bellows. 'If you say so' I reply and rack my brain for the location of rubber wetsuit.

I'm just dozing off and admiring the view of the puffy white clouds through the sharp contrast of the jagged palm tree leaves when I hear the inevitable splashing of water. 'Thought you had more backbone' he says. 'Not me' I reply, 'anyway I'm terribly busy'.

To prove the point I huff and puff and make a show of hanging out the washing, there's something very theraputic about pegging towels on the line when its a gorgeous hot day and the smell of pine trees is wafting seductively in the air.

He's now wallowing on his back making quite unneccesary loud splashing noises as he chugs up and down the pool telling me how wonderful it is.

I notice that the divine rose is beginning to come out in all its splendour but then those naughty weeds are peeking through too.

I regain my position next to the pool and close my eye's tightly. I can feel the warmth of the sun searing through to my bones and my senses becoming dizzy.

I'm only following the Governments guidelines .....

CHOCOholic

2009-04-20T18:36:00.000+02:00

I suppose it's time I 'fessed up', that's admitted to, come clean, set the record straight, 'Hello my name is Sally and I'm a CHOCOholic'.

I can't help it but the intake has been frightening over the last couple of weeks. I'm sorry I haven't had time to blog I've been nibbling on Easter bunnies, crunching on eggs, sucking slowly on rich divine luxurious chocolate, dipping languidly into sumptuously adorned boxes, hiding my very last Cadbury's cream egg for that ultra special moment. And you all thought I was just a lovely straightforward, honest, uncomplicated human being breathing deeply on the southern warm air floating in straight from the shores of the Mediterranean didn't you ? Fancy me hiding my last egg. Oh well appearances can be deeply deceptive as we all know.

Whilst I'm munching away I'm biding my time very carefully because I detect a change in the air and Sallys Chateau may well set her course for a new adventure. Savouring that last mini egg for example really sharpened and heightened my ideas for a new project.

Meanwhile however I am lucky enough to meet the most wonderful folks and were it not for being fortunate enough to land on Le Chateau for a short while I would not have had the privilege of crossing paths with them. Take my guests this week for example (and here I am breaking the golden rule of gossiping) the most gorgeous girlie's from Texas breezed in for Easter.

They say that people that have passed through and events that have taken place give a place it's 'feel' and I would wholeheartedly agree. Le Chateau just oozes 'it' and my lovely guests added another delicious layer to its character.

Catch it whilst it lasts I say.

Sally's Sunday

2009-03-30T11:09:00.000+02:00

It would be true to say that no-one prepares you for the delights of being the Mother of a teenage daughter. No-one forewarns you as you proudly push around your golden haired gurgling poppet that in years to come you may well be staring back at a mirrored version of yourself and that you suddenly find yourself sounding exactly like your Mother did all those years ago.

Take yesterday for example when I had coerced the darling into posing in some clothes all lined up for eBay. After a while she announces that I am perfectly useless behind the lens and that she will take over and that I must pose instead. The fact that they were a tad tight which is why I was selling them in the first place caused much smirking as I nearly fainted from holding in my breath. I thought rather naively that I was bestowing a huge favour on the child considering she had shown an interest in pursuing photography further but apparently I am 'impossible' to work with and consequently have put her off fashion photography for life. Another bonding session to look back on fondly then.

After our photo shoot I wandered off into the garden to admire the tulips and the first buds of the lilac which I shall use to fill the house with wonderful fragrant branches over Easter. Someone (and it would be indiscreet to name that person) was lolling on a sunbed soaking up the rays. I can truthfully say that however furiously you peg washing on a line the sound of rattling pegs do not wake those enjoying blissful carefree Sunday afternoons tucked away in a walled garden down in the South of France.

Seized with zest I grab my chair in front of the computer screen and pop up my announcement for last minute holidays in France, frankly I would book a last minute holiday for this alone but I'm biased I daresay. Afterwards I struggle and manage two uploads onto eBay with the realization that selling holidays is my forte.

'Time for a glass of wine' I trill in the direction of the sunbed. Amazing what a shower of wooden pegs will achieve.

Twitter from the Languedoc

2009-03-25T08:09:00.000+01:00

From the purveyor of the 'Feelgood Factor' I'm whooshing onto your screens this morning just brimming over with FF. It's a picture postcard morning, sun shining, snow glistening and gleaming on those snow capped Pyrenees I'm so blessed to gaze out onto. The birds are twittering on the slowly unfurling branches, the surrounding countryside awakening to spring laying down its blanket of my favourite season.

Have to admit though that have I been seriously distracted by the stunning weather of late, I mean temperatures up in the 70's which had me scrambling for the sunbed and suntan lotion, you don't suppose I work all the time surely ? When the pangs of guilt became overwhelming I donned an old rather fetching pair of 2b's old battered and ripped Animal jeans. Felt rather laid back as I perched lazily amongst the flowerbeds gently weeding amongst all my wild flowers. The Small Cross One marches out to survey the possibility of lounging by the pool. 'You must promise never to wear those jeans ever again' she says in her forthright manner. Felt seriously deflated and all of my advancing years.

Still never mind there were my birthday celebrations to consider with a good old bottle of champagne tucked away and very generously bestowed on me by a visitor to Le Chateau. One of the problems on becoming a mature woman is that your children mature alongside you too and mine are now of the age when a chilled bottle of champagne is seriously interesting and Mummy's birthday takes on some importance.

As the bubbles rapidly disappeared before my very eyes and any feelgood factor to be gained from such a fine bottle was slowly diminishing, for myself at least, I announced loftily that SallysChateau was now on Twitter.

Stunned silence for at least a minute until peals of laughter filled the air. 'You're a natural' they said before dissolving into more giggling.

The joke was lost on me.

His Lordships Wine Reviews

2009-03-17T12:07:00.000+01:00

I can't help but notice that since being benevolent and allowing His Lordship a minor spot on my blogspot that according to my stat counter his ratings are zooming ahead at an alarming rate which leads me to conclude that
a) People enjoy drinking
b) People enjoy reading about wine in an unpretentious review
c) He may actually be able to write. Full stop.

Which of course puts me in a difficult dilemma. Do I allow him a more prominent position and start pushing him under the noses of all the wine reviews out there which in my opinion need a blast of fresh air and a wholly novel approach ? Please write to me in the first instance as I have appointed myself as his agent although he doesn't realise that, nor need he bother himself with such trivia and any small payments that may ensue.

I see the Nanny state has reared its bossy head and is about to put a minimum price on a unit of alcohol which may well be the way forward for the increasing popularity of his reviews insofar as no-one will be able to afford to drink the stuff, unless you are in France of course. In the post today was a full blown page from the local supermarket advertising 'buy one case', get one free' the price per bottle ? 1.05 euro with the warning that L'abus d'alcool est dangereux pour la santé. A consommer avec modération. From one extreme to another which seems to be the case as soon as you cross the Channel. I'm prepared to bet that the said supermarket will be sold out of this particular promotion, it may entail a trip to check out this bet.

Outrageously hot weather this week, enough to make you want to tear off your clothes and lie prostrate in some sheltered private spot and whilst under the influence of the healing rays working their way into your weary bones dollydaydream as to how you can do less in life whilst taking yourself forward.

I admit to behaving in such a wanton manner yesterday although the gentle flapping of sheets, towels, duvet covers, bed covers, under covers and anything else that will fit into the machine saved me from being overwhelmed with guilt.

I heard the click of the front door and sat bolt upright shaken from my blissful reverie. 2b was looking down at my less than perfectly sculpted body. 'Why are you lying there doing nothing'? he demanded.

'Because I can' I replied.

Life can be that simple sometimes which is the beauty of being here.

Wish you were here

2009-03-12T12:30:00.000+01:00

No I really really do wish you were here, truly and honestly for it is a crime to have such a slice of heaven all to myself. Makes me wonder sometimes what I have done to deserve it. As the orb of the deep blood red sun rose and filtered through the shutters I knew that today I was going to be lucky. I padded in PJ's round the pool at 7am large mug of tea in hand and surveyed the riot of flowers springing forth. The hyacinths in bloom, the buds of the lilac fat and sticky, the rose promising its best show yet.

But lately I have been distracted by other matters and although I have often visited this space the words simply froze on the keyboard and I have left feeling restless. One of my nearest and dearest was taken ill and so I flew back to Great Britain. I purposely write Great Britain because despite the trend to moan, complain and constantly run the place down when the NHS puts its mind to it in the case of an emergency then it is great. It's a humbling and sobering experience to visit a stroke ward and see the patience and care the nurses administer often under trying circumstances. It also makes you focus rather sharply on your own life, the people that surround you, your aims and what is really important to you. I have come to the conclusion not to tolerate rude people any longer, I shall simply ignore them.

But I digress as a way of explanation for my absence. I've just drawn back the pool cover and wondered fleetingly at the pleasure (or not) that could be obtained by a quick dip with the aid of a wetsuit and to dry out in the sun on a steamer.

My eyes wander over to the fat lazy cat lying curled up without a care in the world by the old wooden bench. Sadly my eye's spy the ever increasing greenery of weeds peeking through.

I'm going to simply ignore those too and enjoy my life today.

Wish you were here. xx

His Lordships Wine Reviews

2009-02-27T08:51:00.000+01:00

Bright blue skies, glorious sunshine and lavender on the move. I could be in Provence but I'm not, I'm in the Languedoc which is being mooted as the 'new Provence'. Treating myself to a days holiday we head up to the foothills of the Montagne Noire where we discover the wines of La Liviniére and in particular the village of Félines Minervois and the Domaine of Le Petit Causse.

Above the village sitting on an eminence facing the Toulouse corridor sits a marvellous windmill beautifully restored and surrounded by rows of lavender. What a stunning place for a picnic on an early spring day. With the sun beaming down and the larks rising in the distance we spot hare loping through the vines.

His Lordship has been heavily hinting for some time that he would like his very own little space with which to share his love of the grape and so I am proud to present His Lordships Wine Reviews. I have graciously popped him under the umbrella of Sallys Chateau. Not that an umbrella plays a large part in my life you understand !! He would be thrilled if you could pay him a visit every so often. He can be found hovering on the left hand side of my blog where he will be writing regular reviews in his own inimatable style.

Dare I admit to falling asleep in the sun yesterday as I cast aside boots and socks to wriggle my toes on the warmth of the terrace ?

Inbetween working naturally .......

How To Write Your Life Story

2009-02-17T16:07:00.000+01:00

I popped out to visit my egg lady this morning. There she was sitting sunning herself just outside her old barn. She welcomed me with her usual customary cheerful greeting and we stepped inside the deep gloom of the interior. Inside the temperature dropped considerably and we made our way to the back where she set about packing up my usual dozen freshly laid eggs. As usual my heart sank as I surveyed the neat rows and rows of homemade pickles, conserves and other assorted brightly filled bottles. Last night I managed to grind some breadcrumbs and pop them quickly into a container.

Feeling guilty that the modern working woman is no match whatsoever for that generation I was heartened to see on my return a package awaiting me from Hodder publishing. On excitedly ripping open the thick brown envelope there was the book I had been awaiting. How to Write your Life Story by Ann Gawthorpe with of course a section on the phenomenon of blogging. Now as you know I'm a shy retiring creature who wouldn't dream of thrusting herself into the limelight unless it was dragged kicking and screaming in protest but I couldn't help but smile modestly to myself. For there it was for all to see, Sally's Chateau, as the case study. Petit moi. Yes a modern working woman with important copy to write hasn't got time to knock out a non stop conveyor belt of pickles and jams. I shall buy them locally and stick my own labels on. Cheating ? no just using one's initiative.

Anyway I'm now rather tempted to jot down the white knuckle roller coaster ride that my life seems to have consisted of these past years. As the book says, every one's life is unique, with funny, sad, painful, triumphant moments but if my book left people with the feeling that if you want something badly enough in life you will achieve it then it won't be a waste of time. Whoever you are, it is possible. I daresay it would actually help if I read the book How to Write your Life Story first.....

The daffodils are waving their pretty yellow heads around in the garden. The buds on the roses and lilac are appearing at an alarming rate and spring is most certainly in the air. After not having my beloved British TV, yes it is the best in the world, I turned it on and flopped down in anticipation. What is this non-stop dishing up of doom and gloom ? depression now rather than recession. Yes we all know it's tough, yes we all know it's going to get tougher. I've already resigned myself to the fact that as a self employed person I've got to work even harder even longer but I'm optimistic.

I just took my first booking for 2010, now that tells me something.

Dear Sally

2009-02-09T13:23:00.000+01:00

Some of you have noticed I haven't been around of late and I was touched to receive a few 'Dear Sally' letters from folks wondering if Le Chateau and myself were still all in one piece. I'm happy to report that we are still around but there are times when its best to sit quietly by yourself and say nothing until of course you are ready to stand up and say something.

It's true that it's the year 2009 and that we are lucky enough to live in a civilized European society where free speech is allowed, everyone's entitled to their opinion aren't they ? and whinging that your human rights have been violated seems to be a very popular bandwagon on which to hitch a ride. Depending of course which European country you live in.

Recently, or perhaps more accurately over the years that I have been in France I have watched with disbelief as the French systematically destroy their country. I see housing developments mushrooming in area's of outstanding natural beauty, I saw only last week, a line of ancient plane tree's that have lined a straight road as far as the eye can see being felled. Unbelievable when you consider that France still rates as one of the most popular European destinations for visitors and that part of the undeniable charm is its unspoilt open countryside and that the avenues of magnificent trees are as much a part of the French experience as its cuisine and culture. Never mind eh, these days I wouldn't so much as raise an eyebrow if anyone asked me what I thought, wouldn't want anyone accusing me of being free with my speech, no sireeee I just sit under a tree quietly minding my own business, that's whilst there's still some left to sit under.

One of my regular readers wrote to me and told me to stop 'candy coating' it for a change, far more believable, far more appealing and hugely popular by all accounts. So if it's sunshine and South of France escapism you're yearning for today you're in the wrong place, I won't wax lyrical that todays weather is positively springlike and mild and that my new 'find', another Godin woodburning stove is installed and awaiting fresh new logs to spring into life when the inevitable evening chill descends.

Finally after being bombarded with misery everwhere you turn, whether it be the snow, the credit crunch, the number of rising repossessions, the news of dear friends being forced to return home, the news that one million pound bonus's are being doled out (again), the news that some very wealthy people have lost an awful lot of money and that Jonathan Ross is back on the screen I'm thrilled to announce some heartening news that flies in the face of the recession.

My friend who runs the French Patisserie (the irony of which is not lost on me) Le Vieux Four in Beaminster, Dorset has expanded. In the old inglenook fireplace which has been unearthed there lies a brand new woodburning stove. The entire place has had a revamp and is now running as a coffee shop with the delicious aroma of homebaking wafting through the room. Think of a Tarte Citron that melts in your mouth. Beaminster is actually seeing a champagne launch for a business that is expanding and most importantly thriving, defying the doom and the gloom. And I have to quietly interject here too and add that so am I, now whether this is down to the flavour of France or the fact that we are both business's run by woman is open to debate. Just be careful where you debate it naturally.

So I wish her the very best of luck.

The best of British luck.

I can't get into hot water for that, surely ?

Carcassonne Beach

2009-01-15T17:25:00.000+01:00

I know, I know, by posting up this picture you're all wondering where I am now. You'll no doubt be thinking I've sloped off somewhere exotic. Look at that gorgeous deep blue sparkling lake, clear water lapping gently at the soft sand surrounded by a Mediterranean forest of pines. This morning I was breakfasting gazing out at the morning sun hitting the tips of the Pyrenees slightly tinged with a pinkish blush. By lunchtime I was sitting having a picnic with His Lordship, a squidgy goats cheese spread over a crusty baguette. Of course were I to be on holiday which you know I most certainly am not then I daresay a glass of the local Languedoc wine pleasantly chilled would aid the digestion splendidly but being British we opted for a flask of tea. Carcassonne has its very own man made beach and lake, 18 hectres of water and a 5 kilometre ramble through shady paths. A rather seductive spot for a January lunch wouldn't you agree ?

I managed to hold onto the bottle of Bollinger until last Sunday lunchtime when we had cause for celebration, and very pleasant it was too sitting out on the terrace. After the first glass I was feeling euphoric and pleased with myself as though I had won the lottery even, although it has to be said that had I won it I would hardly be announcing it to all and sundry here would I ? I'd be nipping off to somewhere quietly, somewhere that offered culture, a variety of gastronomic experiences, an unspoilt landscape offering breathtaking views, or were I to be really energetic somewhere nearby the slopes for a spot of skiing which our guests did last week.

Last Minute France

Otherwise I'll just have to enjoy it all by myself and that seems so unfair.

HOLIDAY - SOUTH OF FRANCE

2009-01-08T16:01:00.001+01:00

Down in the South of France amongst the vineyards of the Corbieres lies Villa Maria.

A beautifully furnished self catering villa with a fabulous mosaic lined swimming pool. Quietly situated on the hillside amongst gardens of lavender, pine, olive trees and cacti with thoughtfully placed terrraces to enjoy your holiday gite in France.

Owned by an English artist whose paintings adorn the walls this vibrant and luxury home offers the ideal base in which to explore. Closeby to the famous city of Narbonne and within easy reach of the sandy beaches of the Meditteranean. Furnished with style and flair you will be pampered with Egyptian cotton sheets, soft duvets and individual touches which make this villa a cut above the rest.

Villa Maria comprises of :

* 3 double bedrooms, 1 ensuite luxury bathroom.
* 1 room with bunk beds
* Bathroom with shower
* Shower Room
* Large open plan sitting room with log burner leading onto
* Kitchen, fully equipped with new units, eye level electric cooker, gas hob, dishwasher, fridge/freezer.
* Large conservatory with sofa.
* Private secluded well tended gardens with swimming pool.

**This villa is particularly suitable for those with limited mobility as it has bedrooms on the ground floor with a walk in shower**

For further details and availability please do contact:

Sally Crocker
0033 (0) 468 720021 or e mail carcassonnesally@gmail.com

Champagne.

2009-01-05T13:25:00.000+01:00

The year started boding well with a couple of bottles of champagne in the fridge left by the guests that had stayed over Christmas and the New Year as a 'Thank You'. A bottle of Bollinger and a bottle of Taittinger, I kid you not. 'Taittinger was the Queen Mother's favourite' remarked His Lordship as he studied an empty magnum of Don Perignon 2000. 'Any more riveting snippets of useful information' I query. 'Place a conker in every corner of every room of the house' he retorts, 'keeps the spiders away'. He's got an answer for everything.

Mind you I'm feeling jolly pleased with myself today. I've re-positioned the computer in a room that now boasts two sets of French windows, one leading onto a balcony and one leading onto a terrace with a window in between. It didn't come easily mind, I had to persuade His Lordship and friend to knock a wall down yesterday thus making the most marvellous space between kitchen and living area. In the mornings we get the sun streaming in and the open fire in the kitchen makes the open plan theme eminently livable and agreeable. At least everyone else thinks so except you know who who muttered the word 'bedsit' under his breath as we all sat covered in brick dust and clutched a large glass of red. There then proceeded to be an exchange of opinion, a tiff even, a full blown row. 'You wouldn't know a bedsit if it jumped up and bit you on the nose' I blazed. For someone who has only just accepted that it is okey to actually eat in the kitchen and for years suggests that 'kitchen suppers' are a cop out by people too idle or mean to heat or clean their dining rooms the ding dong quickly cleared my newly created open space as people scurried off to their rooms seeking tranquillity.

I've been half heartedly taking down the decorations both in my open plan apartment and the more formal Le Chateau but in between bouts of wrestling with baubles and tinsel and under the clever guise of pretending to work I can indulge in one of my more favourite occupations of gazing out of the copious windows. I can't help but notice however that my inbox keeps filling up with enquiries, an extraordinary amount under the circumstances and I wonder if the bottles of champagne wouldn't be better off stored in the fridge.

Au Revoir 2008

2008-12-31T12:07:00.000+01:00

Au Revoir 2008 and Bienvenue to 2009. Gloom and doom will be banished for a few magical hours, talk of recession, credit crunch and world financial meltdown is forbid as we look forward with a positive attitude to the year ahead. Articles urging you to tighten your belt, suggesting that it is faintly fashionable, desirable even and de rigueur to embrace austerity and shun conspicuous consumption are aimed perhaps at people taking holidays in temples of consumerism in far flung places and adopting a more gentle and agreeable pace of life as well as cutting down on their carbon footprint. To suggest that the psychological gap between rich and poor is narrowing may well be true, to hint that the gap is narrowing any other way is complete tosh. I am in the position to observe both, to deal with people on both levels requires supreme diplomacy.

I'm lucky. I don't live in a dreary environment, you have a 'blue moment' you look out of the window, you feel a 'gloom' about to spread all over you and you stride out for an embracing walk. This is why Le Chateau has had a good year with bookings next year looking healthy despite being drip fed with the constant predictions that the tourism industry is in a decline. Not here it isn't. I believe we strike just the right balance that appeals to people. But it doesn't just fall neatly into your lap by chance, it doesn't necessarily follow that because you have a beautiful property in the South of France your home will be full for the season. By golly you have to work for it, 365 days of the year, truth be told.

But you know what ? Life is short and sometimes it may not always be sweet, none of us know what lies ahead, what may be just around the corner for us to deal with but ones things for sure, we're a long time dead.

So I'm urging you to put on your sparkle, dig out your very best party dress and clamber into your highest heels. I am, and when I raise my glass at midnight I'm looking forward to 2009 whatever lies in store.

Foccacia Bread and Snow

2008-12-27T12:57:00.000+01:00

Serves me right for constantly gloating and tormenting you with luscious descriptions of glorious weather and lazy moments basking on my terrace. I've got my comeuppance now, look at the view. What view ? When I awoke in the first split second I thought I saw smoke out of the corner of my eye and had a momentary panic that the house was on fire. I let out my breath slowly and realised I was doing a very realistic impersonation of a kettle on the boil. 'Bloomin' cold in here' I grumbled. 'A healthy bedroom is a cold bedroom' booms His Lordship, he peers at my miserable face just visible beneath the most expensive and expansive duvet that money would allow. 'Are you riddled with cold or lain low with wretched flu' ? 'No I agree and leg it as fast as possible to the bathroom where the warmth of the heated towel rail wraps its welcoming arms around me.

Meanwhile a white world is unfolding before our very eye's as a blizzard swirls and dances its way downwards before settling calmly on the ground. For the umpteenth time I wonder out loud who on earth would borrow my lovely black thermal vest but as usual no-one is prepared to admit their guilt. I've got my suspicions but I daresay it would be impolite to air them in public.

We stride out into the village but no-one seems to share our enthusiasm as we huddle around the mobile butchers van for a bit of Toulouse sausage and keep our distance from the coughing and spluttering pervading the air. 'Good Health and Happiness' our neighbours wish us before retreating behind thick scarves and trundling back home.

His Lordship is at it again with his fancy bread making as is his want whilst I'm behind a camera lens and looking out of the window as is my want. 'Foccacia Bread today' he says. 'Mind you we'll need fresh rosemary out of the garden' and he looks at me whilst continuing to knead the dough. 'Very relaxing this, you should try it, go on'

I punch the round pliable soft pile with a pleasing thwack and feel the elasticity of it beneath my knuckles.

I then gather my snow boots and make my way through the blizzard to locate the fresh rosemary covered in a most delightful lightweight soft white blanket.

Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T12:43:00.000+01:00

It's beautiful, it's frosty, the sun is out with two comfy wicker chairs placed in which to survey the glistening snow on the Pyrenees beyond. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The sleepy village of Lasserre de Prouille peacefully awaits Christmas.

So to everyone that drops by here occassionally may I take this opportunity to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. To the wonderful people that have been to stay this year and who I know peek in, 'Hi'ya' from us all, we miss you and think fondly of you and still smile at the memories !!

Love Sally x

'Tis the season to be jolly .....

2008-12-15T12:59:00.000+01:00

Isn't it ?

My word I met some jolly people last week, I met nobodies thinking they were somebodies, someone sitting on a camel with a long black beard and two men at Bristol airport who thought they were doing everyone a favour by sitting miserably in a hothouse of an office complete with a flat screen TV showing an impossibly exotic cooking programme. Ryanair had done us proud by landing half an hour early. The car hire firm kept us all waiting an hour and a half before depositing the few lucky ones to a pitch black car park. We stumbled towards a portacabin inside a large shed radiating light and warmth. 'We just want to get home' uttered one weary traveller, not unreasonably I thought. 'Don't we all love' was the response. I started humming 'Tis the season to be jolly' but the irony was lost on these two unfortunates secure in employment.

Meanwhile banks continue to behave like savages as the rats running them with their once wonderful degrees from assorted business schools sharpen their teeth seeking out the next hapless victim, usually upright decent hardworking people who have given their all, in some cases small family firms that have been run for generations, tearing the lives apart of careful savers and ripping to shreds the myth that the banking profession is a respectable one. As these rats scurry to save their own stinking skins the astounding news that one single man can hoodwink them out of billions just confirms that there is no question that the renewal of the stocks needs to be re-instated for the idiots and lowlife that are currently swirling all around us. Enough said.

Hurriedly popping my rose tinted specs back on, for I know that you all love me best when I am so attired and goodness me I wouldn't want you to think that I had mislaid them I was uplifted on my return to France at the sight of the Mediterranean coastline laid out before me as the plane circled into Beziers airport. The sea was azure, clear and sparkling, the oyster beds laid out neatly below as the South of France displayed itself in all its seductive glory. Agde, the Graeco-phoenician port lay below, a jewel in the crown on this beautiful coast. I would have taken the most marvellous picture as you might imagine but having requested to sit right at the front for the flight you apparently have to then take yourself back six rows for the plane to land. I was craning my neck past the most impossibly 'I just love myself' man who was trilling that he could see his house below, 'just down there, right on the point of the headland, fabulous position'. I must have murmured my approval for he casually volunteered the information that he would staying in a Chateau for Christmas. After giving me enough time to digest this riveting gobbet he, as an after thought in my opinion, asked me where I would be spending my Christmas. The question hung in the air.

The quick witted answer came to me as I'm sure you can all guess.

However on this occasion I kept my counsel.

The ghost of Christmas.

2008-12-03T17:32:00.000+01:00

I received my first Christmas card today. It was of a snowy scene with a lovely sparkling Christmas Tree and I gazed at it for some while whilst kicking a spitting log into place on the fire. Whilst vehemently shunning all things gross and materialistic in the season of goodwill, whether through choice or simply because life dictates I have to, and I'm not prepared to divulge which one it is, I was secretly touched by the act of friendship.

The tree in Le Chateau went up today too. Every year I dream of decorating it in supreme comfort basking in the glow of Christmas cheer, carols trilling gaily in the background, the smell of mulled wine permeating the air as family clasped firmly in the bosom of togetherness radiate simple contentment. The seven foot high brute was placed at the foot of the huge stairwell as I wrestled for yet another year with long lines of fairy lights, unaided I might add. The guests aren't arriving till the weekend so the heating was on low, make that off. I've been warmer on my backside in an ice rink. 'I don't suppose we could light the woodburning stove' ? I hopefully suggested to His Lordship. He looked at me with undisguised horror. 'Have you finally lost your marbles' ?

I spent an awful lot of time slowly cleaning the windows of the kitchen yesterday, could be something to do with being in the vicinity of the Aga and could be a lot to do with the view I was being afforded whilst working. The late afternoon sun gave a beautiful spangly effect to the countryside, the sort of light and magical effect I obtained at Christmas as I bagged the golden toffee in the tin of Quality Street purely for the pleasure of looking at life from a different perspective.

Suddenly lost in a reverie of my own making the glass felt different under my cloth. It was slightly bumpy yet fragile to the touch and I realised that it was one of the original windows that had been gazed out of for over 200 years. Standing there I wondered who had lovingly polished all those years ago in preparation for Christmas. Would there be loved ones travelling from afar over many hard miles by carriage or horseback for an emotional family reunion ? I imagined the fare that would have been planned in preparation, roast goose, whole young wild bore shot on the estate, oysters hauled up the Canal du Midi from the Mediterrean. The logs cut, stacked and dried for the numerous fires, the rich red wine of the Malpere fermenting on organised racks in the dark cold barn, feather pillows to air and be plumped into life, starched linen sheets to lie crisply onto turned beds, silver cutlery to bring to a fine sheen, cut glass goblets to glisten under the chandeliers as the warm glow played upon the 19th century richly patterned and elaborate wallpapers and wooden panelling.

I thought afterwards in the utter stillness of the late afternoon that I may have sensed the ghost of Christmas past, but who can tell ?

SNOW SKI * WINTER BREAKS*

2008-11-24T12:40:00.000+01:00

Moving swiftly and effortlessly on from the condition of Peter Mayle (itis) and not expounding further on the alarming amount of people scurrying about displaying symptoms of I'malrightjackitis (see how easily that slips off the tongue) I turn my attention to my favourite occupation, the hugely inoffensive art of dollydaydreaming. Not only is this a cheap pastime but it is extremely satisfying although true to say not very lucrative.

I've been lucky enough to live in houses with a view. I've always been blessed with a little patch with which to push a spade in the ground too along with the space with which to indulge my passion of bonfires. Only yesterday we had the pleasure of raking up the copious amounts of enormous leaves freshly fallen from the fig tree's. Mingling with the smoke the aroma of old bay leaves and leaves from the walnut tree drifted and spiralled inoffensively in the air. I prodded and turned over the ever growing pile with an old pitch fork until well into the dusk of the early evening as storm clouds brewed angrily over the mountains.

I was just relishing the thought of a well deserved glass of the local Malpere vin de table from the wonderful neighbouring domaine of Le Fort when poised in mid flow of glass to lips His Lordship draws my attention to the night sky.

Head swivelling quickly round I recognise an opportunity for sheer indulgence in surveying the Pyrenees in all their glory, the first smatterings of snow layering themselves for the fast approaching skiing season reached in under an hour from Chez Nous.
Out comes the camera and I am instantly glued to the horizon, I daresay if I'd had the opportunity to go on a brilliant photographic course I could have captured the scene differently but it still gave me immense pleasure from the vantage point of my dollydaydream window.

I raced back into the kitchen excitedly but realise that something is slightly amiss. 'Where's my wine' I say to a languidly lolling His Lordship. 'Thought you'd lost interest and forgotten it' he said, it'll only go off in the glass.

Peter Mayle (itis)

2008-11-22T10:58:00.000+01:00

Every so often it's important to take a good long hard look at myself in the mirror. Sticking my tongue out I take a close inspection, arghhhhhhh, wider. The mouth snaps shut and I let out a sigh of relief. 'It's okay' I say to no-one in particular, 'I'm showing no signs of PeterMayleitis.

This is a condition that if not recognised can linger without the sufferer being aware that they stick out like a sore thumb, indeed the carrier feels no pain or ill affects whatsoever, they simply make everyone around them feel sick. After note: carriers are usually of English origin. Effortlessly fanning the flames of this malaise are the constant churning out of articles usually entitled La France Profonde. Now I would be the first one to admit to penning 'hammock type moment' posts leaving readers dreamy and hungry after reading juicy descriptions that can occur in the leisurely environment of the French countryside but then, (shock horror) I'm selling a product, and, dare I say it, I sell it extremely well and everyone is happy but then it's a slice of life you are getting not the whole loaf, so to speak.

Luxurious lingering on cosy scenes of bustling markets piled high with fat saucissons and tables groaning with fresh oozing cheeses indeed exist but the reality is different, you just need the sense and sensitivity to recognise it. I recite my general views on life out loud to His Lordship whilst sitting propped up in bed this morning staring out at the startling blue sky, darling little fluffy white clouds prettily bobbing past whilst the snow on the Pyrenees twinkled prettily. Or rather I sipped my lukewarm tea merely out of politeness rather than pleasure and stared at the blank dreary skyline of endless grey clouds and grumbled I couldn't see any sign of sun.

After demanding a fresh pot of tea I continue my outline for my views on life in general, we scan the latest global news. His Lordship places his cup down firmly. 'You simply can't write that' he says.

'One day I will' I say.

One day I will and there won't be a single solitary crumb of detail left out.

Oven Baked Bread

2008-11-17T16:43:00.000+01:00

It's not difficult to feel on top of the world here. Step outside the door, turn right and head uphill. Far far away in the distance it is possible to view the village and nestling on the edge Le Chateau. Further afield the village of Montreal on the skyline its splendid fortified church, almost a cathedral, dominating the countryside for miles around.

From here the only sounds to be heard are the rustling of the leaves, the droning of a tractor drilling the winter wheat and my footsteps gradually becoming slower and slower as the hill steepens. The berries on the holly look promising for festive decoration, mistletoe in abundance appearing as the leaves fall off their host trees. Despite being the middle of November the weather is pleasant enough to sit outside at the front of the house for a spot of lunch whilst the snow on the Pyrenees looks promising for some Christmas skiing.

Meanwhile His Lordship has discovered the pleasures to be obtained by making his own bread. The satisfaction apparently of the kneading and thrill of a perfect warm crusty loaf fresh out of the Aga even surpasses my mouth watering photographs of the local scenery.

Mind you, if he mentions the scene that took place between Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange once more in the film, The Postman Only Rings Twice I swear I'll crown him with one of his Irish Soda Loaves.

Vintage Louis Vuitton

2008-11-07T15:17:00.000+01:00

We arrived at my friends house to find the hallway piled high with Louis Vuitton luggage. ‘Gosh’ I said ‘are you going on holiday’ ? Stony silence ensued. ‘Oh I ventured, rather more cautiously this time and with a note of what I fervently hoped was sincere along with a sombre face. ‘You’re splitting up then’?. I mean if you arrive at someones house and they aren’t going on holiday and there’s a stony silence then one is bound to draw an unpleasant conclusion.

‘Darling’ the friend announced. Said friend calls everyone Darling and I have wondered on more than one occasion whether she simply forgets everyone’s name or is genuinely fond of them. ‘I’m starting my life afresh, I’m sweeping away the old and bringing in the new, everything is to be sold’. We stood there in silence. As if sensing my unease she expanded on her theory of being reborn. ‘My ex husband gave them to me’ she ventured. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he had remarried but sense prevailed, it would have been in poor taste and we don’t do poor taste here.

‘Gin and tonic’ ? she said brightly. ‘ I wondered briefly if she had lost the plot for it was only just after midday. ‘I don’t think so’ a little voice said primly, but the little voice was in my head. ‘Good idea’ I said. Of course on the second Gin and Tonic the reason for a little early light refreshment became apparent.

‘Darling’, she smiled winningly, you wouldn’t mind popping a little picture up would you on your blogspot ? I think I might have uttered ‘you what’ rather loudly but I’m not admitting to it. I drew myself up in what I hoped was a haughty fashion. ‘I’m not a bazaar’ I sniffed.

Meanwhile His Lordship and said friends partner had lit a rather jolly little log fire and were settling down to what looked suspiciously like a session. The smell of something rather enticing was emanating from the kitchen. ‘You’ll stay for lunch Darlings’ ? was it an order or an invitation and was I being suckered into something ?

In the end I had to admit that vintage Louis Vuitton luggage was rather delicious and yes Sally’s Chateau was indeed a place for the discerning.

She leaps up excitedly clapping her hands. ‘That’s settled then Darlings’.

I didn’t stand a chance, really I didn’t.

PS. Should anyone peeking in be interested in authentic Louis Vuitton items then don't hesitate to get in touch will you ....... darlings ?

An afternoon in the South of France

2008-11-05T11:00:00.000+01:00

I never tell you about me do I ? this mysterious figure waxing lyrical about the delights of Southern France enticing you with captivating descriptions and scrummy pictures and wantonly luring you into my humble blogspot.

I knocked out my article and sent it to French Entrée, not a correction, not a seconds hesitation, the words seemed to flow effortlessly as I sat huddled and screwed up my eye's at the screen with His Lordship assisting from a horizontal position on the sofa. Lest he should fall asleep I read the piece to him time and time again. 'So what's the reason for the house being perfectly metric' I ask for the umpteenth time, 'Because in 1799 two Government surveyors introduced the metric measurement' he said sleepily. In the background The Small Cross One hovered like an annoying late season wasp round the remains of the Fig tree. 'I must have some boots' said the voice and I would be lying if I didn't admit to feeling a sinking of the heart and my mind wandered back to the time I placed my own Mother through this hellish experience. 'I'm working' I said pompously and then instantly regretted putting my selfish needs first. For if truth be known I was stalling for time.

To cut a long story short, for heavens if you want to kill time go shopping with a teenager, she found a pair of boots in the very first place we visited. The place where I suggested and of course was told we would find precisely nothing. 'Perhaps we should visit all the other shops too' she suggested hopefully. In the end though age and wisdom won when I craftily let slip that I was prepared to buy lashings of Nutella for the sleepover she was planning that night.

Feeling mightily pleased with myself and squashing any lingering doubts of guilt at having cut the shopping trip short we head for home. Clutching Nutella AND hot drinking chocolate we notice the sky is turning the most amazing golden yellow with the setting sun. 'The lights perfect' I exclaim and out comes the camera. 'Quick quick' I say 'get yourself against the vast corregated side of the supermarket, the light is spot on for a portrait shot'. Shoppers trundling along with trolleys and the checkout girl dragging on the remains of a fag outside look on with amusement. In the end The Small Cross One has to concede that they are jolly good shots.

Driving along we notice that the sky looks promising for yet more poses against the deep hues of the turning vines. She's grabbed the camera now and is clicking as we hurtle along the empty tree lined road.

'Post this picture up' she says, 'do something random so they get a flavour of what it's really like'.

For some reason we both found it extroidinarily funny. 'Thanks for a great afternoon' she adds.

Christmas shopping weekend

2008-11-03T17:33:00.000+01:00

I've never been lost for words but I have to admit to having been suffering from writers block of late. I've been looking constantly out of the window for inspiration, heaven knows if inspiration is what you seek then this surely must be the place, but then again if you are easily distracted and have no discipline whatsoever then this is also the place to be.

We've just hosted an extended family weekend, a gathering of loved ones bought together from various parts of England. Ryanair announces today that next year prices will drop even further, quite how this can be when the flights are so ridiculously cheap is beyond me but the happy group this weekend were not complaining as they sought out the markets for wonderful saucisson, cheeses and perused antique linens and objets d'art for unusual Christmas presents. Afterwards a game of Scrabble in front of the wonderful woodburning Godin stove whilst a very wicked Rice Pudding made with condensed milk simmered gently in the Aga made the pre-Christmas shopping weekend a pleasure.

Where was I ? oh yes writers block. A couple of on-line sites had been in touch suggesting I might like to write a little something, A day in the Life of running a self catering Chateau, How not to go to pieces and retain your sanity whilst renovating a Chateau, fairly basic easy stuff normally. I swivel the chair round slightly, and there it is again, an unmissable blend of colours in the early morning light, a slight hazy mist in the valleys highlighting the brightness of Bugarach towering over the enigmatic village of Rennes le Chateau, a touch of snow on the mountains beyond, a ball of bright orange fire rising slowly from the other side of the world. (click onto picture to see how I become utterly and hopelessly distracted)

I can't wait for the first Photographic holiday in France to commence, maybe we could host a writers workshop too at a later date, imagine that, both my passions honed and polished and artistic leanings channelled into something productive.

Oh, I forgot I'm hosting them aren't I ?

I'm going to close the shutters.

Vineyards in the Languedoc

2008-10-23T16:27:00.000+02:00

I hereby solemnly declare that Sally's Chateau will remain a haven of tranquility for you my dear readers. There will be no talk of recession or the credit crunch on these pages. The air of gloom will not be allowed to creep into this spot, the invasion into all our lives of greed, corruption and ugliness by individuals who seek to destroy by any means that lie open to them for self gain, regardless of the consequences to others, shall be banished.

I am going to uplift you with photographs that depict a gentle carefree existence right here on my doorstep.

For starters we are surrounded by vineyards as far as the eye can see. Beautiful deep colours colliding together, juicy succulent sweet grapes that have been left behind by the harvester, easily plucked and enjoyed as we savour the warmth of the Autumn sun.

The guests are enjoying a tranquil moment around the pool, a small innocent child tentatively strokes the languishing cat and squeals with excitement as the lazy creature responds.

Half an hour ago I was walking up the gentle slope of this vineyard,(click onto the picture to enlarge and join me) I am now enjoying a glass of the local Vin Rouge.

If I could wave a magic wand I would have you all seated beside me on the terrace with faces upturned towards the gentle heat and we could admire the first sprinkling of snow on the Pyrenees slightly hazy on the horizon.

Tempting isn't it ?

Photography in the Languedoc

2008-10-07T07:48:00.000+02:00

There's barely a day goes by that I don't wax lyrical about the stunning photographic opportunities that present themselves down here in the Languedoc. Why just from my window alone throughout the changing seasons I'm always rushing to capture the moments as they present themselves. Landscapes ranging from fields of sunflowers and poppies, vineyards that have their own individual character through the seasons. In the winter they present themselves as wizened black Lowry type figures going on to become full and lush with grapes and then turning into a magnificent display of vibrant deep hues of reds and yellows. There are lakes, valleys, sites of historical interest, bustling colourful markets, all quintessential images of rural France. Is it any wonder I never get bored ?

On Sunday we pootled along the lanes to the onion fields. In front of us along the road stretched a line of nuns from the local Monastère de Prouille, which incidentally has been struck twice by lightening and survived. Their habits stretched out behind them as they strode out purposely along the road. It was a marvellous photographic shot with the undulating countryside dipping gently in the distance. A professional photographer would have captured the moment. I didn't.

We pulled up at the field. Exciting stuff. Rows and rows of glistening red onions that had already been harvested, these were the one's that were simply going to be ploughed back into the ground. My feet sunk into the fine warm soil, I'm still in flip flops you see, I suppose I could have equally been on a soft sandy Mediterranean beach. My fingers dug deep, easing out beauties and filling my finger nails with rich soil. In the distance a line of children ran alongside the vines, their laughter filling the air.

When we got home as well as laying out our onions in wooden trays we sat and looked at our days shots. There was one of me bending down deep in concentration at my task. 'Old peasant woman collecting onions' His Lordship said. The next frame came up on the screen. 'An even older peasant man collecting onions' I retorted.

Pays to be quick don't you think ?

Much later on I chased the sunset.

FINE WINE * DELICIOUS FOOD * EXCELLENT COMPANY

2008-10-02T12:50:00.000+02:00

Last night was very much on my mind as I embraced my mug of coffee and stood as dawn began to break and looked out over at the mountains beyond. It was an evening of fine wine, delicious food and excellent company. We had sat down in the Dining Room of Le Chateau and commenced with a mouthwatering starter of sauté mushrooms, fois gras with caramelised onions and set off beautifully by a reduced sauce of Bonne Maman Cassis jelly. A bottle of Jurançon Moelluex, a speciality wine from the Jura mountains was declared first rate. Beautifully sweet it was voted as better than the traditional accompaniment of Sauternes. There was a sense of jubilation however amongst the guests as the said variety of wine was available at a local supermarket and is apparently unavailable in North America.

His Lordship and I sat there and congratulated ourselves on having the good fortune to have met so many diverse and wonderful people this year. That's right, you read it right, sat. You see we were guests of the guests. As jobs go at times it doesn't get any jammier or more enjoyable.

Lest I become unbearable with trumpeting the highs we have only been too acutely aware this week of the financial crisis. Laptops and blackberries have been feverishly clutched and a lone figure has sat hunched under the Olive tree over a computer screen avidly scanning figures. A scientific genius by all accounts who suddenly appears to have a rather jaunty spring in his step. 'Good day' ? I enquire. I'm having to keep it light on account of nearly causing him to have a seizure when repeating the news on the Dow Jones. It's the way you phrase it I daresay but I wasn't taking any more risks.

'It's the magic of Le Chateau' I inform him fixing him with a serious look. He appears unconvinced but I'm a great believer in karma.

To be on the safe side though I give his arm a congratulatory type of squeeze in case some of his genius and magic rubs off on me.

Without wishing to tempt fate, it just might.

Summer ends in the Languedoc

2008-09-22T17:23:00.000+02:00

I've been utterly engrossed in my latest reading material of late. I've always got at least three books on the go but I couldn't put down the story of the love affair between Maria Callas and Aristotle Onassis. I've been reading snippets out loud to His Lordship. 'How romantic' I remarked, 'Onassis flew in on a helicopter when Callas was sunbathing on some remote beach, dropped a trinket into her lap, gave her a passionate kiss and flew off again'. That's because he could' he snorted. 'I bring you a cup of tea beside the pool' what more could a woman want ? continuing this discussion is obviously pointless and futile.

Where does the time go to ? it's supposedly the end of the summer, well I won't rub it in but it doesn't feel like it here with Sunday being a respectable 27 degrees. People have been trickling in and out for bed and breakfast for a night or two through Last Minute France which gives me some breathing space before the flurry in October. We're doing a grand feast on Sunday night too, our in-house catering seems very popular especially for celebration meals. I'm hoping they will have the Plateau de fruits de Mer because I love piling the shellfish onto heaps of ice and draping a bed of fresh seaweed onto the base.

Apparently we have appeared on Flemish television in all our glory. A couple featured and were looking for a 'dream home', a dandy little idea I thought for PR purposes but after saying how glorious it was they then ended by saying the place needed 250,000 spent on it. What ? am I dreaming ?, has the sun finally addled my brain or has the sound of my own voice impaired my hearing ? 2,000, 5,000, 25,000 could be trickled through my fingers at a push, but 250,000 ?? I received a wonderful letter from a viewer in Belgium who were apparently 'nailed to their sofa' as they watched the tour around the house, 'we adored every aspect of your home' they enthused 'and can't wait to come and stay'. It is precisely the fact that it is so 'untarted', so 'au natural' with its charming French Shabby Chic that makes us so unique. Rarely am I lost for words but flabbergasted sums it up nicely.

Dare I say it ? well I will anyway, but what with all the financial doom and gloom that abounds I was left wondering whether people's minds would be focused on holidays but next summer seems to be very much in the forefront of people's planning.

A holiday at Le Chateau could be just the ticket to look forward to, just conjure up the tempting vision of those luscious grapes pressed and bottled.

Of course there's always the option too of a little getaway prior to Christmas to do your shopping in the maze of individual shops at Carcassonne and further afield the cosmopolitan city of Toulouse to explore.

I can't believe I just uttered the Christmas word, I guess summer is over for another year after all.

LAST MINUTE FRANCE

2008-09-11T11:35:00.000+02:00

Harvesting is in full swing. Combines rumbling over the fields of huge drooping blackened heads as the sunflowers stare forlornly down at the dried cracked earth before they are beheaded. The Chardonnay and Sauvignon grapes are the first to be shaken from the vines and the fields of rows of onions have been gathered. The tiny one's left behind are pushed into piles, left out for the locals to help themselves and absolutely begging to be made into delicious concoctions. We sat at the weekend laboriously skinning them beside the pool and made scrumptious pots of onion confit simmered slowly on the Aga in red wine and sugar.

I'm not going to divulge yesterdays temperatures, it would be too cruel but there are many many things I would have chosen to do rather than drive into Carcassonne in the heat. 'Is it absolutely necessary' ? I ask The Small Cross One. 'Yes' comes the reply. ' and then the two clinchers are delivered. 'I must have them for college' and 'you promised'. Clutching her cheque from her summer vacation job she trots off to pay it into her bank account. Old enough to work legally, old enough to marry should she choose and old enough to put her hard earnt dosh and swell the coffers of the bank but not able to withdraw her money without her parents beside her. What ? how barmy is that ? Wake up Credit Agricole. Result ? The Small Cross One emerges from the tangle of streets without the 'essential' pair of new jeans. Meanwhile I'm so drowsy in the heat I fall asleep in the car park. 'I'll have to come back' she announces.

I was cruelly dragged away to do the above and achieve precisely nothing right slap bang in the middle of my new little creation, LAST MINUTE FRANCE, a rather natty little page announcing last minute holiday offers here at Le Chateau. Very tempting even though I say so myself. Take a peek.

Guests often ask if I go in and use the main house when I have a such a gap and I always automatically say No. I don't know why I say that when anyone other than a complete fool wouldn't be straight into the pool or sneaking a quick ZZZZ on the sunbeds.

So what am I waiting for ?

Holiday in France

2008-09-03T14:48:00.000+02:00

It's always very rewarding when clients write and tell me what a lovely holiday they have had at Le Chateau. This year we seem to have attracted quite a few artists and last week Hilary and her family came to stay. They had the most marvellous weather, hardly a breath of wind and hitting the 30's everyday. Hilary does abstract photography based on the works of Cubist Piet Mondrain with some surrealist Salvador Dali thrown in. Along with her letter she sent me a sample of her work knowing I have a soft spot for sunflowers. I tried to elicit from her exactly how she did it but as I'm reminded on a daily basis that I know nothing of the wizard ways of computers I'll just stick to happily snapping away.

La Rentrée today. Heavens I would be telling porky pies if I didn't sometimes wonder why on earth they have such long holidays. The Small Cross One and 2b got their mugshots in some glossy magazine extolling the virtues of 'the life you've always dreamed of' but no-one wanted my views, can't imagine why. It's terribly quiet and I always endeavour to greet them with a delicious home baked Victoria Sponge Cake or offerings of chocolate Rice Krispies but they've got cute as the years roll by and the act of love is greeted with some suspicion.

The grape harvesters are rumbling in the background picking the chardonnay, another sure sign of Autumn creeping upon us and suddenly the frantic holiday season is drawing to a close. It only seemed like yesterday when I was checking the calendar on a daily basis and e mails flew back and forth as people prepared for their annual holiday. Now that the mad season is over we finally got around to dropping in on some friends. It is the time when we all come out of the woodwork and friendships are renewed, stories of the summer are exchanged and snippets of our lives emerge. The friends have the most marvellous couple of parrots, they have a Great Dane and an assortment of smaller dogs too but it is the parrots that hold the most fascination for me. 'I rather fancy getting a parrot' I said casually to His Lordship (you somehow knew that was coming didn't you ?) 'You've got one already' he retorted dryly. 'I have to repeat myself on a daily basis in a parrot like fashion and you ruffle my feathers constantly'.

I feel a batch of chocolate Krispies for my little darlings coming on.

Fire in Southwest France

2008-08-29T08:46:00.000+02:00

Decided to take a trip down to the Corbiéres last night to visit friends. The landscape down there is in complete contrast to our part of the Aude. It's far more rugged down towards the Mediterranean coast. Miles of scrub, pine trees filling the air with their sweet fragrance, intense heat beating down on the rocks protruding from the hillsides. The air is sharp and crystal clear.

As we headed towards our friends I noticed a black billowing cloud of smoke snaking up into the sky. It looked like a house on fire. Introductions, kisses and pleasantries were exchanged but our attentions were drawn towards the plume of smoke which was getting larger by the minute situated on the hill beyond. Suddenly the buzzing of a helicopter could be heard and within minutes a small white plane circled overhead. The fire began to take hold and huge belches of black smoke poured upwards to the piercing blue sky. By now everyone was riveted and watching the direction of the wind anxiously and quietly. 'The Pompiers will evacuate us if it gets dangerous' one of the men said but the women continued to vigilantly scan the skyline with some unease.

Suddenly in the most spectacular curve heading towards us as if in a fly by formation came the solid bright yellow fire planes. Like enormous cumbersome prehistoric dinosaurs they rumbled directly overhead and with practised swoops discharged their cargo of water into the sickly yellow heart of the fire. Six of them, one after another, backwards and forwards refilling their tanks with water sucked up from the sea. By now the road below was filled with a line of cars. People stood wordlessly and watched as the sound of crackling echoed in the distance. The sight of the jagged red flames licking over the top of the hill bought gasps from the crowd. A lone white truck had driven up the path and sat perched on the very top of the hill glistening against the dull grey. A lone peacock wailed forlornly, the dogs barked their warnings and worried at our ankles.

But the planes persevered and slowly the ugly mushrooming clouds dwindled. By the time we were all sitting down to eat with a much needed glass of wine the hill beyond was just a deep pink glow although we later learn that it destroyed 200 hectares which is 500 acres and the first serious fire this year on the Mediterranean coast.

Fire is a cruel monster when started deliberately and threatening to be out of control but it's hold over you as a spectator is undeniably powerful.

Time Out

2008-08-28T14:35:00.000+02:00

Rushing back from the supermarket and haring up the long tree lined avenue to Lasserre de Prouille I stopped the car. A quick click captured the moment. Feeling reckless and ignoring the time which was dangerously slipping by I headed up the dusty track which gives the most amazing panoramic view and lazily snapped a few more shots with my beloved Panasonic Lumix

When I arrived home everyone seemed to be drinking chilled champagne and were oblivious to my prolonged absence.

I guess we should all take personal 'time out' more often.

Late August in Southern France

2008-08-26T15:31:00.000+02:00

I never did manage to escape, well not truly apart from the odd night out over at friends. Gently meandering back one late balmy evening this week the air wafting over us like silk we spied a bright green tree frog clinging to the windscreen. 'Stop the car' I shouted. With one nimble hop he flew through the window slap bang onto His Lordship's head. 'Stop the car' I screamed. There we were halted in our tracks, the inky night wrapped around us, two supposedly grown up human beings and a small harmless frog hijacking the interior and impeding our progress. His Lordship and I faced each other whilst owls hooted their derision overhead.

This week has been one long bout of sunshine so far, the words heatwave and scorcher spring to mind. Skimpy clothing and flip flops are the order of the day, sunscreen applied frequently, sunglasses sought and sunhats essential. Yesterday peddling slowly to the Boulangerie I felt a sudden rush of happiness hit me like a bolt of lightening. Sometimes that feeling is hard to define but it was the clear crystal air of late summer that works its magic like the bubbles of champagne, the flawless blue sky interspersed with a few wispy white clouds and the knowledge that Summer is not yet ready to surrender to Autumn.

Tonight we have a dinner party in the garden. Small glass yoghurt pots are sitting in anticipation of the twinkling night lights that will mirror the millions of stars overhead, deeper fatter candles in Bonne Maman jars will flicker on window sills. We have a very strict rota when it comes to entertaining. I do table decoration, starters and desserts, His Lordship presides over the main course. I serve, clear and stack the dishwasher whilst he basks in the glow of praise. Seems to work well.

I've learnt through experience that if I want my own way I simply do it and sit back quietly. Like my latest trick turning my desk around so I have the panoramic view laid out before me and my eye's can flick up and take in the stunning scenery before they turn back to the screen. 'You won't concentrate and work properly' His Lordship grumbled.

A statement that I might casually challenge him about later as I press the button on the dishwasher very late this evening.

Last minute holiday France

2008-08-16T17:09:00.000+02:00

August is passing by in a blur of parties, same as July and June if I'm utterly honest, probably stretching back to May even. Le Chateau is in full swing with a wonderful pianist this week bravely trying and pull out a noteworthy tune on the old piano.

I announced the other night that His Lordship and I would be going on a little last minute holiday together. This was after the Belgian TV crew had invaded us and I was forced to bite my lip lest I said something I might later regret. You have no idea how hard that was for me. But goodness, I digress. Oh you should have seen the two little pairs of eye's light up as they contemplated Mummy dearest out of the way. I could sense fingers twitching for the keys of MSN and the buttons of the mobile phones. 'I won't be going far' I gave a little titter.

Suddenly to the little darlings horror a caravan of a distinguished age drew up on the front drive and was parked very neatly just below the kitchen balcony. A caravan for two people only with a jolly striped awning to keep the sun off us as we sip a glass or two and plot our escape. I have great plans for it's refurbishment and decor, Le Petit Chateau, available for people of discerning taste who want to recapture the great outdoors and their free spirit without the discomfort of camping. I'm talking beautiful thick cotton sheets, lovely china, linen napkins, sleek cutlery and soft furnishing to drool over. Meanwhile the guests abandon Le Chateau as the sun moves over the yardarm to giggle and declare it all terribly good fun as we all swop stories gathered round 'Mummy's latest embarrassment'.

Meanwhile despite all the jollity I'm still at my station of work and I'm dollydaydreaming of a short break somewhere near the Mediterranean coast, a proper last minute holiday in France sans computer, phone and every other distraction.

Escape though as everyone knows is harder than it first appears.

Escape to the sun

2008-08-12T09:47:00.000+02:00

We've got a full blown Belgian film crew turning up tomorrow at Le Chateau. Something to do with a programme entitled Escape to the Sun or there again it could be called A Place in the Sun or something similar. I'm rather inclined to think it should be called 'I Want Some Sun' as I do believe Belgium has not enjoyed the sunniest of climes this summer. Even worse, or better depending on your point of view it's going to be fronted by some former glamorous Miss Europe which fully puts paid to yours truly being asked to have anything whatsoever to do with the programme apart from work like a donkey all day today 'tidying'. I'm thinking smart freshly laundered bold blue and white check tablecloth laid in a pristine fashion on the lovely long table. Perhaps a Cath Kidson jug with casually untidy sunflowers lolling over the sides, a blue hand turned bowl bursting with fat round garlic, but then what does one do with 'stuff' that seems to breed and accumulate and spread like wildflower as it snakes and coils it's way into every crevice and corner. Lord knows I try, I really do.

On Sunday His Lordship suggested I accompany him on a trip to a nearby village called Cazazils close by to the medieval village of Mirepoix. It was like going back a hundred years in time as we wound our way through hot dusty overgrown lanes, the silence was deafening. On our arrival in the tiny hamlet stood the church, 15th or 16th century it sat proud on the hill surrounded by tall sweet smelling Cyprus trees and springy wiry undergrowth that released its perfume as you walked on it. Wild flowers brushed against my bare legs.

Suddenly Pierre le plombier roars up emitting clouds of dust in his wake. A passionate concerned conversation takes place in the shade with much emphasis and waving of arms. We follow him to his house which sits in a small row. Under the shade of a huge tree sit his neighbours enjoying a leisurely lunch accompanied by cold pitchers of rosé whilst fat cats lazy and slothful curl at their feet. A chubby child splashes contentedly and flashes us a toothy smile.

This is the simple beauty of France that continue to make it such a popular destination with holidaymakers. But you have to know how to look because even though it may be staring you straight in the face you would be surprised at the number of people who miss it completely.

August in France

2008-08-05T15:21:00.000+02:00

Le Chateau is overrun with gorgeous babies, sometimes gurgling, sometimes emitting hot fractious cries but mostly providing non stop amusement. Delighted small children float around the pool on blow up toys, weary parents lie back under the shade of the Fig Tree and contemplate another balmy evening ahead perhaps with a glass of the local Malpere wine.

August is well and truly upon us here in the Languedoc. The small village of Lasserre de Prouille is bursting at the seams with holiday makers all intent on making the most of the divine weather, the gentle sound of clattering cutlery and chinking glasses carries through the still evening air.

His Lordship and I took ourselves off to meet our friends Michael and Nicole in Lagrasse the other evening. Lagrasse is a popular Medieval village down in the Corbieres. They have the most divine property nestled on the banks of the Orbieu river with a stunning terrace overlooking the dramatic gorge. Nicole was an Interior Stylist in London so their self catering accommodation has a really delicious feel and look of a boutique hotel. Mind you they came back to us the following week and declared that they would like a house swop. I declined naturally !! Michael sells desirable properties and keeps a half beady eye on Le Chateau but I remain infuriatingly discreet and continue to steadily pull in the bookings.

Meanwhile what you really want to be doing at the hottest time of the year is to have your own living accommodation topsy turvy and in a state of disarray. Finally persuaded His Lordship that as authentic as the 70's style tiles were we really deserved to bring ourselves into the 21st century and we are now gliding over cool shades of grey underfoot. 'Whilst we're at it' I said 'wouldn't it be marvellous to knock through the kitchen into the sitting room so that we have a panoramic view of the Pyrenees, vineyards and mountains beyond as I slave over the hot stove' ?

'The sunflowers are beginning to droop' he said, 'best be off and get your last lot of stunning shots'

It occurred to me later that this was a blatant diversion tactic but I said nothing.

It's awfully quiet here .....

2008-07-21T16:08:00.000+02:00

The Small Cross One has departed for England courtesy of Easyjet this afternoon and it's awfully quiet. Oh dear. No-one to argue with, no-one to share chocolate with, no-one to exchange inconsequential remarks with, no-one to push in the pool and giggle with. I do so hope Easyjet is making it easy for her. Oh dear.

I drove her through the tunnel of sunflowers this morning, she gave a deep sigh. 'You don't need any more pictures of sunflowers' she said. 'You can take a thousand pictures of sunflowers I replied and there will never be the perfect one'. 'Take yesterdays pictures for example all slightly sideways with their petals all ruffling in the same direction'. Another sigh.

In the end though I got a massive hug and she lifted me off the ground. I softened and opened my purse. 'Treat yourself to anything you like'. Gosh I can be so wild and impulsive at times I'm difficult to recognise.

Talking of wildness last week's visitors from Baton Rouge, Louisiana won't be forgotten in a hurry. What a delightful family they all were, fully participating and getting out and about to explore the very many attractions of the Languedoc from the bustling markets to the varied culture. Apparently we English finish most sentences with a question Don't we ? Isn't it ? Do I ? It was news to me but it's what makes this job so rewarding and worthwhile, discovering your differences.

Meanwhile of course there's a whole drawer of undiscovered make-up to explore, potions and lotions, clothes to rifle through, lovely pens to 'borrow'.

I wouldn't, would I ?

PS. I'm in very big trouble with the gorgeous, fabulous, fun filled ladies from Atlanta who stayed with us in June and I have omitted to mention them, darlings discretion, DISCRETION phurleeeeze ..... LOL Queen Vicki, Deidra et al. xx

LOL

2008-07-17T10:33:00.000+02:00

July in the South of France, Heavenly.

I can't get enough of the fields of sunflowers. I'm crazy for them. I take the long route home in the convertible so I can drive slowly with them towering over me on either side. I arrive anywhere an hour late. 'Sorry' I mumble, 'I've been photographing the sunflowers'. I stand right up close to them and marvel at the intricate patterns, soak up their vibrant colours and breathe in the scent. I watch the bee's busy hovering from one enormous face to another. I waste my time delightfully.

Meanwhile whilst I languidly live my life minding my own business my humble blogspot brings me attention from all manner of people. A request to feature my house on a sales site (refused), an invitation for drinks at a gorgeous house in the pretty village of Lagrasse (accepted), a letter from someone restoring a National Trust Property (answered),a plea to sell an original Medieval House in Mirepoix (work in progress), oh and quite a few people wishing to view Le Chateau with an interest to purchasing my beautiful home ( ********** )

I've noticed that people have a habit of signing off after writing with the letters LOL. At first I thought it meant lots of love but then found out it could mean laughing out loud.

I just want to say here and now though that when the time arrives and yours truly signs off with LOL it won't mean any of the above. As far as I'm concerned the only LOL that I'm remotely interested in is

LADY OF LEISURE.

Fireworks on Bastille Day in Carcassonne

2008-07-11T12:55:00.000+02:00

I'm getting hugely excited about the prospect of going to see the fireworks in Carcassonne on Bastille Day which is July 14th. I adore fireworks and am one of those noisy people that exclaims out loud whenever there's a fresh burst of cannon powder. The display which is one of the largest in Europe lasts for a full twenty five minutes and reaches it's crescendo with 1200 charges detonated over La Cités facade in 6 seconds. Awesome.

You'll be glad to hear though that I've been very very busy this week diligently dealing with enquiries from people looking for quality self catering accommodation in the Languedoc and as you all know that's me !! When I'm full I pop them round the corner to a friend who has a terribly sweet gite. In fact I'm thinking of giving myself a pay rise on the strength of all my hard work. Very good idea meethinks.

Meanwhile 2b and I had a triumph in the Thrift Shop department the other day. Now I'm not ashamed to admit to anybody that I wear recycled clothes. In fact I'm very proud of the fact that I'm not a follower of fad fashions and am perfectly happy to mix new and vintage clothing together. They had a sale on, fill a black plastic sack for 15 euro's. 'We don't need to spend that amount' I said tartly until 2b's arms were at breaking point with Levi 501's and a pair of coveted Diesel jeans. Oh in the end I succumbed and starting filling the bag with linen drapes, cotton shift dresses and a baby soft cashmere pullover. The heat was stifling in the shop and the poor boy nearly buckled under the weight of the bag as he toppled it into my trusty old GTI convertible. The very nice man gave me a lovely necklace (to match my blue eye's) as we left. 2b and I chortled to ourselves all the way home.

The Small Cross One meanwhile swings herself a holiday on the Mediterranean coast with a friend. The friends Mother arrives and as they go to leave I quite naturally ask if there's room for me in the suitcase. The woman recoils back in an alarmed fashion.

Now whether this is down to my request or the fact that I have been a demon this week munching on the fabulous fresh pink garlic of the season pulled straight from the ground I couldn't say.

I don't suppose I'll ever know either.

News from the Languedoc

2008-07-09T11:12:00.000+02:00

The holiday season is in full flight here in the Languedoc.

The South of France is sizzling nicely thank you very much. Sunflowers burst forth splattering the horizons with their vivid colour. I love sunflowers, how can you tire of such happy looking plants ? Sprayers are humming up and down the ripening vines whilst the buzz of harvesters drone amongst a cloud of thick dry dust from the wheat.

The Tour de France winds it's way through the country being beautifully captured on Google. Wonderfully clever for those of us who seem to spend their day's in front of a computer screen. Cycling mania hits us and guests bring their own bikes from the other side of the World and enjoy the uncrowded stretches of roads lined with Plane Trees shading them as they whizz along.

And me ? what am I up to ?

Well since keeping my money corner clear and pristine the interest in Le Chateau for sale and letting has gone through the roof. Coincidence,? marketing and sales skills ?

Who knows ?

But I'll let you into a little secret if you promise not to tell a soul.

It's so still, it's so hot, the sky is a piercing blue, the sunbeds are laid out beautifully round the clear pool and the umbrella is blowing oh so gently in the warm breeze and the guests are out.

Now if you were in my shoes what would you do ?

Feng Shui and Le Chateau

2008-07-04T12:39:00.000+02:00

I was supercharged with energy and vitality yesterday as Postie had delivered the most super present from the very talented writer and journalist Jane Alexander a book entitled, Spirit of the Home, How to Make Your Home a Sanctuary and I was engrossed in all things cleansing, spiritual and getting to grips with Ba-Gua including positioning jangly mobiles to circulate the Chi around the house.

The bedroom now sports a wonderful exotic fruit mobile starting off with a ripe banana and ending with a succulent slice of melon, that's by the window so it clunks gently in the breeze. Above the bed we have black Piranha's circling overhead. I couldn't get the bed into the relationship corner as then the French windows wouldn't open but I had located the money corner and tidied accordingly and was just feeling the most immense satisfaction and harmony when I discovered THE MOST embarrassing faux pas EVER. Well not quite ever but nearly ever.

In my flush of success I sent a very 'lively' e mail to my friend, only it didn't go to a friend it went to a client.

I think the circling Piranha's are bad karma and they will have to go.

Even the first sighting of a sunflower can't lift my spirits.

*STOP PRESS* Since munching on the most enormous chunk of baguette filled with pure garlic and a touch of cheese a mega booking has landed on my lap, this can only be down to the clearing of the money corner and nothing to do with my sales skills and sheer hard graft. The circling Piranha's can stay after all, the sight of them keeps me on my toes I daresay.

Sarkozy visits Carcassonne

2008-06-30T12:59:00.000+02:00

Carcassonne is in the news for all the wrong reasons today. President Nicholas Sarkozy stood outside a Carcassonne hospital and expressed horror and profound emotion as the story of yesterdays accident emerged. During a military show real live bullets were mistakenly used instead of blanks and fired at the audience. Miraculously no-one was killed but there are 16 injured nonetheless. Sarkozy is waiting for the results of an enquiry apparently, and I can't help but ponder that if French bureaucracy is involved he'll have a hell of a wait, but then again it could well be a case of 'who you know' rather than 'what you know' so I expect the results were delivered seriously tout de suite.

Yesterday saw soaring temperatures in the Languedoc as the region began to sizzle as one would expect in June. His Lordship and I packed a picnic of epic quantities and headed for the Mediterranean coast a mere hours drive away. Rather sensibly lorries are banned from the motorways on a Sunday which makes driving with the trusty old Golf GTI, circa 1980's convertible a gas. As we whizzed through the Corbieres the heady scent of the sweet gorse assailed us along with the deafening sound of the crickets. I could feel the sun boring through my carefully buttoned up linen shirt. The old Yves Saint Laurent glasses and a battered straw hat completed 'the look'.

We found the most fantastic spot down on Gruissan plage quite by accident. A marvellous stretch of the smoothest softest sand imaginable with the crystal clear waters of the Mediterranean to entice us. We were one of the first on the beach so the jaunty striped umbrella went up right by the waters edge. I'd left my 'slap it all over' Boots BOGOF (that's buy one get one free) for all you International readers in the picnic hamper so I had to begrudgingly squeeze my precious coveted Clarins in a teeny weeny tube over the most vunerable spots. By the time the hordes started to pour over the sand His Lordship and I had found ourselves a very agreeable place overlooking the lagoon under a shady old tree where we proceeded to lunch with bone china and silver cutlery of course. I don't do plastic picnics now I am grown up.

Which leads me to reflect that with the awful news of yesterdays accident in Carcassonne on every one's lips today it is well to count your blessings every single day.

Even when you don't get to the beach.

Life in the Languedoc

2008-06-26T08:47:00.000+02:00

You've probably all guessed by now that my life is one long holiday. Drawn out day's spent soaking up the sunshine by the delicious pool and breathing in the pure honeyed air whilst listening to the frantic buzzing of the bees and sweet birdsong. Sometimes I wonder how I find the strength to pull a cork I really do.

My current guests are the most delightful bunch of American ladies. It's difficult to refuse a handmade chocolate from Toulouse and it would be rude not to join in, when invited, a fascinating conversation of how different our lives are. I don't know who is enjoying whose company the most.

They were utterly intrigued as to why I had a basket full of snails hanging on a door. I explained that whilst I was gardening I had somehow unwittingly turned into hunter/gatherer for the neighbours and that the snails were to eat. The screams of horror emanated around the normally quiet village. Like I said, we are having so much fun together.

I'm beautifully poised as usual and awaiting the arrival of a man coming to fit two fire extinguishers. French regulations see, and we wouldn't want to not toe the line when French bureaucracy is involved would we ? more than my life is worth. They say the guillotine is a thing of the past but I wouldn't trust them not to produce a piece of paper saying that I am the only person left in the entire world who is not exempt so I'm keeping my wits about me. Only actually I'm a tad concerned that officialdom will decree that they must hang in an entirely inappropriate place and be aesthetically displeasing to the eye. Will the man try and bore an ugly hole in my treasured and restored wooden panelling in the hallways and what will happen when I protest ?

Will I retain my composure and argue in an elegant and reasoned fashion or will I resort to type and argue that they are being downright dumb and insensitive ?

And if it all goes horribly pear shaped what on earth would I wear as an Englishwoman destined to the guillotine for you would all be treated I'm sure to a full page spread in The Daily Mail of yours truly. And as the drums roll and I'm led away burning with shame what will I cry out in defiance ?

I can't tell you. It would cause a revolution.

Not so lazy days in the Languedoc

2008-06-19T14:48:00.000+02:00

Last night I sat and watched the beautiful huge orb of the full moon rising slowly and majestically from behind the far away hills. From a sliver of light it rose rapidly turning into a deep golden glow with a tinge of blood red. It hung magnificently in the still warm evening air whilst the surrounding countryside was enveloped by the night.

This morning saw me contemplating the morning and watching the moon yet again as it descended radiating a pure white glow into the Pyrenees. As the sunrise began so the mountains in the distance, still with a sprinkling of snow on top blushed with the first rays. Tonight no doubt I will watch the process yet again marvelling at the simple beauty of nature seated comfortably on my shabby chic wicker sofa on the terrace.

Today we have a scorcher and I am hard at work crouched over the computer, forging my way forward with new ideas listening to the idle crickets outside the window whilst The Small Cross One flops languidly in the pool, face covered by a battered straw hat whilst the sunbed slowly turns in the gentle current.

This week brings the news that a major television company has decided not to go ahead with the most riveting programme on the truly inspirational story of behind the scenes at Sally's Chateau. The idea was to present an uplifting programme amongst the doom and gloom and general dumbing down that seems to filter out at an alarming rate and entertain you all with a series that would have you cheering and whooping with delight at the antics and triumphs of the residents of Le Chateau tucked down in France profonde. As there were mutterings and rumblings of dissent in the ranks of having to participate in 'more bloomin' promotions masterminded by yours truly it was perhaps a good thing. Instead readers of a book to be published 'How to Write Your Lifestory' will be entertained as to how Sally's Chateau evolved. Slipped that in quietly didn't I ??

Most unlike me.

Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses and other riveting matters of importance

2008-06-09T09:36:00.000+02:00

The most interesting snippet to emerge last week was the riveting fact that I possessed a pair of Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses, circa 1970's. Combined with a lovely linen skirt a friend had kindly bestowed on me I endeavour to cut a dash. One might be selling one's Chateau but standards should not be allowed to slip.

Dinner party conversation has become dreary in my opinion. Is there any topic more likely to send you reaching to top up your glass or fall asleep than a) House sales, b)The Credit Crunch, c) The Weather or d) Phutball ? Oh I forgot, the price of petrol. You can see that the discovery of my sunglasses was a ray of light in an otherwise uneventful week. I'm careful to phrase that 'ray of light' rather than 'ray of sunshine' because the weather is unseasonal to say the least. But hey, I don't want to be accused of being a bore.

I've rashly promised a magazine an interview with The Small Cross One and 2b on their opinion of the merits, or not, of the French education system.. Big mistake. Despite promising them allsorts which basically amount to nothing the deadline looms large. 2b has given me the option of a 'window' tonight of ten minutes max on account of the Phutball which anyone who is anyone knows all about and is watching avidly.

Which means I am a no-one and no-one apparently wears Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses circa 1970's apart from me. So now you know.

I was intrigued by this front door spotted recently on a foray into the small pretty town of Limoux. As I was photographing it and narrowly missed a) stepping into doggy doo, and b) being run over I was struck by a few of the mantra's that form the basis of my life.

1. You can never judge a book by it's cover or indeed a sausage by it's skin
2. Behind every door there lurks a possible opportunity
3. Behind every successful man there is an even more successful woman.

Now about the weather and the price of petrol ..........

House for Sale in France

2008-06-05T16:23:00.000+02:00

I like to contemplate life's next turn of events whilst surveying the gorgeous panoramic vista from Le Chateau and partaking of some light refreshment. Usually one of the excellent local wines from the Languedoc region.

This week has however found me crouched feverishly over the keyboard and waving aside all those other necessary tasks that fill one's days. Stoically ignoring the enticing sunshine and soireés I vigorously set to executing my grand plan.

It would be indiscreet of me to report the interest shown but I'm feeling rather pleased with my labour of love.

Time to collapse.

French Estate Agents in the Languedoc

2008-06-02T10:43:00.000+02:00

The French estate agent was spluttering with indignation. ‘You’re suggesting I don’t know how to do my job’. I counted to dix and progressed to vingt. ‘I’m not suggesting any such thing, I’m telling you. But this was merely a thought you understand. Not that he comprehended anything. Didn’t want to. Arrogant oily uppity type. He turned up last December uninvited and persuaded us he had a client who just had to buy my house. ‘I’m not for sale’ I said. But His Lordship said it wouldn’t do any harm and the snake worked his charms and I ended up signing the paper. ‘Don’t you want to look around the property’? I suggested. For someone that was looking to pocket mega dosh if he procured a sale he might have shown a slight interest. He waved his arms around in an airy-fairy fashion and talked non-stop. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. No need. Smartarse knew it all.

Not a very good day for taking pictures he commented whilst hurrying to get into his warm top of the range Audi. ‘I’ve got some very good one’s I said albeit through gritted teeth. He looked hopeful. ‘And details and measurements ‘? He snapped a miserable shot of the Chateau with the shutters all closed and the car parked askew outside. ‘Don’t put that on the internet’ I instructed him. ‘In fact I don’t want you advertising my house on the internet at all.

Never heard another dicky from him of course until I discovered my house on the market this week plastered all over an English Website advertising the Languedoc region. I wondered why the local Brits were chattering about me being for sale. With the photograph I had asked him not to use, with completely wrong details. And he wants 46,000 for doing nuts? I’m writing him a letter tomorrow only it won’t be suggestive. Apparently by French law he's entitled to have it on his books for a year.

I can see this house sale malarkey is going to be fun.

Meanwhile this picture taken last week from Le Chateau at 6am shows that the early bird see's far more than a cuckoo that stays in bed.

A good time to buy in the Languedoc

French Chateau For Sale

2008-05-31T09:18:00.000+02:00

The week started innocuously enough. Great forks of lightening stabbing viciously overhead as His Lordship presided over his domaine. Effortlessly rustling up a mere six or seven courses for a party he carried on with grim determination as all around squeals of excitement and delight at the impromptu firework display emanated. The lights flickered precariously plunging us into darkness for a fraction of a second. Torrential rain sent waters swirling and gushing past the front door. I abandoned my workstation. ‘My computer’ I wailed.

Things were sure hotting up in the kitchen in more ways than one. An almighty crack signalled the end of my televisions and Internet access as my live box fizzled. A startling bright spark came from the utility room where the gas pipeline to the Aga lay. But all of this was nothing to the eruption that burst forth from Gordon Ramsay who had somehow found his way into my kitchen. I swear I could have heard a pin drop afterwards. I hadn’t realised before now that His Lordship had such an art for impersonations. ‘Such wasted talent’ I remarked as tartly as possible.

2b gets his ‘My First Screwdriver Kit’ out and proceeds to dismantle ‘Mummy’s lifeline’ because she’s in one hell of a tizzy and prone to shouting without prior warning. ‘You are so talented’ I gush chewing down my nails.

Then whilst more storm clouds are brewing I drop another bombshell.

‘I’m selling Le Chateau

Everyone’s looking at me. I continue. ‘I have renovated the most beautiful house with love and care. I have created a thriving successful business of which I am justifiably proud’. ‘It is however time to move on’.

Life is going to get interesting.

Here in the Languedoc.

Friday at Le Chateau

2008-05-23T13:06:00.000+02:00

There's a field closeby to Carcassonne that is simply stunning. Filled to the brim with millions of poppies it has drawn artists and photographers to it like bee's to a honeypot. Viewed from the Ryanair plane as it descends into the airport it must look like a great slash of blood on the landscape. Given the history of the area, the violence and the brutality that went on I suppose its rather apt as you enter Cathar country.

I've got my own little collection of poppies wavering gently amongst all my other wild flowers in the garden. It has to be the prettiest time of year and yesterday I pottered (well hid) nicely amongst all the waist high fauna and did some theraputic weeding. And very nice it was too not to be bothered for an hour or more with just the warblings of a blackbird to keep me company. One of the joy's this year was watching the daily progress of a magnificent Artichoke plant. Or rather it was. Went to go and do my daily inspection today and was mortified to see that the plant was lying dismally on it's side and that the entire area was flattened. All my willowy love in the mist and self seeded beauties that look so becoming were gone. And there lying amongst the debri's was a great big fat self satisfied tom cat. It threw me an insolent look and didn't budge. 'You great heaving bone idle brute, get off my ruddy plants'. He soon scarpered I can tell you leaving his trail of destruction behind as he beat a rapid retreat.

Grumbling to myself I am greeted by the sight of 2b in his swimming attire. 'Thought I would clean the pool from the inside' he announces cheerily. 'And don't forget it's Fête de Maman on Sunday either' I remind him. He smirks which is suspicious.

I suppose I'm supposed to give my children a present, wait on them hand, foot and finger all day. Bound to be the case.

This is France ......

With love from France

2008-05-19T15:58:00.000+02:00

My love affair with the French is being sorely tested of late. There are only so many times that the Gallic shrug is attractive. Once. There are only so many times that the upturned palms to accompany the shrug are attractive. Once. And if I am met one more time with the bald statement ‘This is France’to any query I might have then I shall do more than shrug with indifference. I shall scream.

I was pondering all this and more on a gentle drive back from Limoux and minding my own business, in a minding your own business sort of pleasant way, when suddenly I was shaken from my reverie by the realisation that a black Mercedes was heading straight towards me on my side of the road. But then it would be wouldn’t it ? A clear straight road and the driver chooses to overtake and inflict their death wish on me. I was so shaken and incredulous that anyone could be so dumb, and I wouldn’t normally mention it but it was a woman driver with black sunglasses on, and I so wanted to slap her face hard, that I decided to head straight on home. Did the true British thing and popped the kettle on.

Which means that we have no washing up liquid, no milk, no bread and everyone is going to complain.

Shrug.

Heatwave hits Britain

2008-05-11T14:07:00.000+02:00

I soooooo do not need to hear that Britain is having a heatwave and that everyone I speak to is enjoying al fresco lunches and sipping pimms whilst languishing in the balmy silken evening air.

Have you any idea how difficult MY life is when it rains ? What do you say to bewildered guests when the weather doesn't do as it is supposed to, 'you should be in England' ?

This morning saw torrential rain following winds yesterday that nearly pulled me out the windows trying to close the shutters. I smiled brightly at my guests. 'I've never known anything like this' I say in what I sincerely hope is in an incredulous fashion. Left me with rather a problem this morning though. Do I donn an old Barbour coat and slosh down the drive in hunter wellies or do I breezily hop into the car clad in summer clothes ? I decide to put on a brave front which was a mistake as someone had left the window open all night and I suffer a soggy derrière for my supermarket shop.

But how can one be downhearted for long simply because of some silly unseasonal weather ?

All you have to do is link arms with your beloved, saunter down a chestnut tree lined drive with your faithful black Labrador and collect fallen logs for a blazing log fire accompanied by a glass of local robust red.

Simple.

Wild Flowers

2008-04-30T14:56:00.000+02:00

One of the most gorgeous aspects of this time of year, in my opinion, is the spontaneous and sporadic displays of wild flowers bursting forth. I adore the way they riot together, poppies and wild grasses especially and I spent a careful hour yesterday in the garden only taking out the real rogues such as tough old dandelions. I made those into a hearty nourishing soup (obviously) but I'm completely passionate about keeping gardens natural for nature. I hate prissy and fussy well ordered manicured spaces. I deplore controlled neatness, and laurel hedges ? burn them all.

Which brings me onto the lone soul who spent the best part of the day last weekend strimming the tree lined avenue into the village, razing all the wild flowers which I had photographed. Their pretty heads were severed in a split second. Why ? Is there something about strimming that I'm missing the point completely. Is it the monotonous action from side to side, is it the thick leather strap that holds the high pitched whining instrument to you ? please please tell me what the point is when all you are doing is destroying the natural fauna of the countryside.

To top it all the water bill has just landed, plop, onto my lap. Except its more a ruddy big whoosh, a tidal wave even. His Lordship has calculated that it is the equivalent to the swimming pool being refilled 15 times. It can't have been the highly complex sprinkling system he set up for me which snaked its way lovingly around my wild poppies and varied grasses at the front of the house which I don't need anymore since my lovely neighbour took it upon himself to 'weed' for me. No, I'm consoling myself with the fact that there must be some terrible mistake.

I'm beginning to understand why people strim for hours on end or put their Chateau's up for Sale.

'Everythings for sale' as His Lordship would sniff. He has to have the final word.

Obviously.

Lost in France

2008-04-27T17:42:00.000+02:00

I managed to get myself completely lost last night on the banks of the Canal du Midi. I knew the house was somewhere, I knew I was close, so close it was tantalising but I'm blowed if I could find it. The sun was beginning to set beautifully on the Canal so I snapped a shot and tried to remain calm whilst I admired the colour of the Queen Anne's Lace and I guess any other time it would have been peaceful but I was due for supper at friends where His Lordship had been helping them move and was going nowhere fast. In the end with no phone, no fuel and a heavy heart I had to admit defeat and head for home where there seemed to be a raging party throbbing through the village and my early return was viewed with some amusement by the languid youth in the square. I headed for the safety of Le Chateau where the phone was ringing insistently.

'Where are you darling' ? His Lordship sounded a tad concerned, 'you're three hours late, we're coming over to rescue you. 'I don't need or want rescuing' I said but it all fell on deaf ears. By the time I had partaken of a glass or two of local red wine from the Languedoc the beauty of the area had inspired me to plan a cycle tour along the banks of the canal.

Today I was presented with the most beautiful bunch of carmine pink full and droopy roses. 'I nearly reversed the car into the canal last night' I said miserably and everyone hooted with laughter.

But anyway I've been KMHD and MMOB (keeping my head down and minding my own business)for a while so I haven't popped over here for ages.

Forgotten how nice it was, hope you are pleased to see me back.

Springing into Spring

2008-04-09T10:27:00.000+02:00

His Lordship braved the pool for the first time on Saturday announcing that it had finally reached 60 degrees and therefore was warmer than the sea off the Cornish coast had ever been. 'That was then and this is now' I said, 'quickest way to a heart attack for a man of your age'. He takes absolutely no notice.

I'm not going to pretend to you though that its all sunshine and swimming pools. Sunday came as a nasty shock with a cold wind buffeting the house and logs had to be hauled in. His Lordships swimming trunks blowing wildly on the fig tree looked like a distant memory.

I decided on a thorough spring clean starting off with Sally's Chateau changing the page around and playing with the colours. Feeling restless though I wander around the house with my camera. One of the current joys are my collection of geraniums thriving robustly on the first floor corridor. I love the way the colours look so vibrant against the old wooden panelling and the sun filters through the windows onto the handsome tiles. I popped a picture I love onto A Slice of Chateau, my little blogspot of some of my favourite spots in Le Chateau, it's absurd isn't it how tiny corners can delight day after day.

Meanwhile with a warm wind blowing and the blossom falling gently off the trees an afternoon walk beckoned. Within a couple of minutes we are away from the house, away from the computer screen, away from the phone and in a different world altogether. The wheat has grown fast in a week and the wind is sending vibrations through its thick deep green lush growth and ripples across its surface. All along the banks are buttercups, white campion, wild rapeseed and tiny corn marigolds. The sky is a deep clear blue, we are alone for the whole of our walk, seeing no-one and loving the solitude.

Finally as the World money market hits the headlines on a daily basis it would seem that the Banks may well be forced to bend to the need of their customers rather than vice versa.

Time for some serious feelgood factor from Sally's Chateau.

News from the Languedoc

2008-04-04T10:21:00.000+02:00

This week has been a real roller coaster, soaring to dizzying heights, plummeting to bewildering depths, catch your breath and you've been snatched by fate and being carried upwards once again, caught up in the madness of life.

Yesterday I was bombarded all at once with brilliant news, thwack right between the eye's. I was so bewildered I felt the need to pedal my bike furiously round the swimming pool in an effort to calm myself and then straight through the back door via the wide hallway and out of the front door. 'Why did you do that' His Lordship asked ? 'Because I can' I shrieked feeling gloriously pleased with myself.

Only one problem. I've been absolutely sworn to secrecy, can't tell a soul by all accounts, hush hush or else the opportunity will be lost to me and dissolve in front of my eye's. Honestly as soon as I can I'll spill the beans. Meanwhile Mum's the word.

Fabulous day today and we are up with the lark flinging windows wide open to embrace some Southern French air. Huge excitement here too in our little village. We have a new baker, tantalizing wafts of freshly baked croissants, crusty baguettes stacked on scrubbed pine shelves, fat meringues dotted with sliced almonds. Can't indulge too much though, got to look my best.

Oops.

Facts of Sally's life

2008-04-01T13:56:00.000+02:00

Facts of Sally's Life, never before admitted to in public. Thank you fellow blogger Pondside for tagging me.

1. I was a child model, alongside my twin brother Robin whom I love dearly and don't see often enough.

2. I possess second vision which saved my life and that of my children's, I also 'feel' a house, which is why I love Le Chateau.

3. I owned a unique and un-restored 1950's vintage Bluebird caravan with wooden panelling which sat peacefully alongside my rows and rows of raspberry cane and in which we had, as a family, hours of fun.

4. I was the only child in Warwickshire who refused to sit a GCSE maths exam.

5. I am a qualified lifeguard, leading to the proposal of marriage to His Lordship on Burton Bradstock Beach, Dorset where he was left to save his own life. (The waves were too big).

6. I wore a string of Fabergé eggs rather than pearls which contained a tantalizing history.

7. I will fight to the bitter end, even though in many cases it would be easier to walk away.

HANG ON A MINUTE !! This is His Lordship's version on seven facts of Sally.

1. I can't cook but I can eat.
2. I can't listen but I can talk.
3. I can't produce wine but by God I can drink it.
4. I can't take advice but I can give it.
5. I know the cost of nothing but the value of everything.
6. I view everything in black and white.
7. I'm easily thrilled by very little.

I dispute his entire list.

Sally's Carcassonne

Reflections from Carcassonne

House For Sale Carcassonne

A walk in Carcassonne

2011-2012 Carcassonne, France.

Carcassonne Tourist

The summer slips by...

July in Carcassonne Restaurants, Bars and Music

Carcassonne July 14th La Cité ablaze

Out and about in Carcassonne

'The' Wedding in Carcassonne

Carcassonne Flights

Spring in Carcassonne

Easter in Carcassonne

Festival de Carcassonne

Style In Toulouse

Carcassonne by day and night

Carcassonne 11/01/2011

Joyeux Noël/Bonnes Fêtes From Carcassonne

From a Carcassonne Boudoir

Property for Sale in Carcassonne

Reflections from Carcassonne

Loving Life

Faces of Carcassonne.

From 1904 - 2010

From Carcassonne to Fontjoncouse

Le Pont Vieux

Gems in Carcassonne

Treasures in my Attic

Progress at No 11

Snow in the South of France

The Noughties

Christmas in Carcassonne

Countdown to Carcassonne

Rennaissance stairway to heaven in Carcassonne.

Sally goes to Carcassonne

Viewed from Afar

Summer Holidays in the Languedoc

French Taste

Holidays

Carcassonne Festival

The Mediterranean beckons

Weddings in the South of France

Carcassonne -Bournemouth via Mr Ryanair

Holiday Dorset

Sons and Mothers

Slow Down.

CHOCOholic

Sally's Sunday

Twitter from the Languedoc

His Lordships Wine Reviews

Wish you were here

His Lordships Wine Reviews

How To Write Your Life Story

Dear Sally

Carcassonne Beach

HOLIDAY - SOUTH OF FRANCE

Champagne.

Au Revoir 2008

Foccacia Bread and Snow

Christmas Eve

'Tis the season to be jolly .....

The ghost of Christmas.

*SNOW * SKI * WINTER BREAKS*

Peter Mayle (itis)

Oven Baked Bread

Vintage Louis Vuitton

An afternoon in the South of France

Christmas shopping weekend

Vineyards in the Languedoc

Photography in the Languedoc

FINE WINE * DELICIOUS FOOD * EXCELLENT COMPANY

Summer ends in the Languedoc

LAST MINUTE FRANCE

Holiday in France

Fire in Southwest France

Time Out

Late August in Southern France

Last minute holiday France

Escape to the sun

SNOW SKI * WINTER BREAKS*