Day 95 Tuesday 10.iv.2018
Disabled cabin, apparently to myself, the size of the Albert Hall.
Woke up at 6.20 so I went out for a tea and coffee and croissant and had a smoke. Got off the boat about 8.45, missed the first turn to Autres Directions and did a little tour round Le Havre's centre ville. Crossed the Seine (a very big river here) on Pont de Normandie (toll 6.40 euros) then managed to stay off the peage all the way until lunch near Alencon in a Buffalo Bill, after a meditate. Dull grey day, perfect really. Trundling along at 50 behind a very heavy wide load so no caravan embarrassment.
Not sad about Pol any more - only took 5 years! As the Chinese novelist wrote, an old man in love is like a house on fire.
French roads are great - they go somewhere, in a straight line.
Passed the Hotel Acropole in Broglie (3 stars with aspirations and a pool on a Z.I.) where I stayed on the way down with the Top Trucks van to deliver Dennis and Lizzie's stuff. I'll drive through Saumur later on, but I can't remember the name of their village and I don't have Dennis' number. And I'd like to get to Bonnevaux before dark.
Day 96 Wednesday 11.iv.2018
TUCKED UP WARM IN MY COSY CANDLELIT CARAVAN. aBUSED BY THE MONSTROUS REGIMENT OF WIMMIN (3 TIMES) ONE DID AT LEAST SORT OF APOLOGISE, OR RECOGNISE SHE MIGHT HAVE OVERSTEPPED THE MARK. HOW TO RESPOND? leave? (got stuck in caps lock and couldn't remember how to turn it off - not shouty really. Actually, yes, very shouty!) and the caravan has been shunted under a lean-to so it's out of the light most of the day apart from dawn, and very dark at the back end.
My plumbing of the Edspace was all wrong - I didn't understand the sophisticated French system for dealing with high water pressure - the different sizes of pipe matter, although in what way I've yet to find out. Moral of the story - next time tell them to get (and pay for) a French plumber. They still owe me £58 for my delayed return journey in February. And now Andrew owes me €40 for their shopping this morning. Soren agreed with me about tools (don't lend them to anyone, they'll just lose or abuse them - Jean Christophe looking for his mattock this morning. I said people should not be careless with tools in the morning meeting, and that stupid dutch bitch accused me of being judgemental. I wasn't, but I meant exactly what I said - people who borrow or take tools and don't return them couldn't care less). And having a talking marigold is no substitute for simple good manners and toleration.
Andrew hit the kerb this pm going to pick up Rebecca in the community Picasso so rang me - just as well I answer my phone! - to ask me to do the honours. Glad he's the first one to prang it. Called out the breakdown man because he didn't have a spare, only he did - just didn't look for it - not quite sure where he expected to find it. He said the breakdown man had all the special tools (like a jack and a wrench, presumably) so it was alright really. Bit sad. Hardly seen Delyth - she's hiding in the Edspace with the cats (and moaning because they keep her awake at night - they should have a) spayed the cat and b) drowned the kittens).
fucking curtis banks have only just asked Aviva for my money - 3 weeks after I sent them the original message. "I hope everything is satisfactory" says Amit Sethi. No it fucking well isn't.
Meditated in the chapel this evening. Andrew says Laurence is deconsecrating it and removing the altar. Some vandal has smashed away the rather lovely carved stone communion rail with what looks to have been a sledgehammer. Laurence wants it to be "simple" apparently, and presumably non-exclusionary (to atheists?). Seems a great shame - a link with the monastic past, and we are supposed to be the Christian Meditation Community. Is Laurence embarassed or ashamed of that? Tackle him about it when he comes if I get a chance. Big shindig with the lady Mayor of Marcay and other high ups on 24 April, she who hates caravans and yurts (but a portacabin in front of the chateau is fine apparently). I didn't meditate much, so cross about Curtis Banks. I'd almost prefer dishonesty to incompetence, but maybe they're both. Genuinely frightened as they have most of my money and I have no faith or confidence in them whatsoever. Makes a bit of a nonsense of my detached apatheia really - I'm not a bit indifferent about the money.
Everyone says they feel tired or spooked here, and they all swear there's a ghost in the farmhouse. I feel an Iris Murdoch novel coming on. All being very new agey and hippyish over supper.
I've put on the gas ring to warm up the caravan (it's now uncomfortably hot!) and suspect I'm being poisoned with carbon monoxide. Open all the windows tonight.
Caravan more or less sorted but I still haven't unpacked the caravan. Must have a check on all my crates of paper (mostly) - they weigh a ton and I suspect it's all rubbish. I haven't looked at it in years. Bury it in a sealed box somewhere for posterity. Some archaeologist in 500 years might find it amusing. The car's doing about 300 miles on a full tank, pulling the caravan, which is at least twice its normal rate of consumption.
Mr Very Pissed Off and Angry of Bonnevaux signing off for the night.
A nice evening in my caravan. Gas connected, candles lit, a cup of tea. Made myself a proper bed and read "Do No Harm" by Henry Marsh (neuro-surgeon, H's recommendation). I put aside "Housekeeping" by Marilynne Robinson, which I think Ingrid gave me as I left - not really in the mood for it, a bit heavy and literary feeling. I blew out my candles and went to sleep about twenty past midnight. Did not set my alarm.
Day 97 Thursday 12.iv.2018
Woke at 7 as the bell for meditation was ringing. Decided to skip morning med and breakfast alone in my 'van. I have porridge and coffee and pink grapfruit juice. A dull grey morning, and a slight drizzle. A good night, although my bunk feels a bit aslant, so I had to sleep on my left side. Nicer with a sheet and pillow cases and using the sleeping bag as a duvet - much more comfortable. The only blot is that the loo is 100 yards away. O to be in the woods with a composting toilet by my back door. (Actually it's not too bad - would be a bit miz if it was tipping down. I wonder what the shower's like?) My new wellies (Costafortune a.k.a. Castorama - €14) are a good investment.
I turn on my little radio and it's perfectly tuned to France Musique - France's Radio 3 - which is nice. And the radio works which it never really did in Sweffling.
Re the foregoing rant - last night's moans. I did think of anonymising the references to the community, but as I haven't anonymised anything else, I don't see why I should treat them with any more delicacy than the rest of my life. The Curtis Banks fiasco didn't help, and it's probably as much me in this new place, and 'for ever', and new faces, as it is the wimmin and the business about the caravan. Early days. And a reaction to the euphoria of kicking the dust from my sandals and making it here with so little problem.
The journey down and thoughts thereon.
This should be above, on Tuesday, but if I had written it then it would have been different.
The car and caravan behaved beautifully all the way down. No frights, apart from one silly frog trying to cut in on me at the toll station on the Pont de Normandie (very impressive - the Dartford crossing times ten, and two of them. So steep I had to drop down to 2nd to get over them). Fuel consumption a bit heavier than I expected - about 300 miles to a tank. I only paid the toll on the bridge, about 6 euros, otherwise my route finding worked perfectly and I drove on perfectly straight French roads all the way. They love roundabouts. Went round most of the towns. One or two smaller villages had some very exciting chicanes to make sure you slowed down to 40kph. I stopped for a very French two hour lunch at a Buffalo Bill's, about 1 o'clock. It wasn't bad, although they kept me standing for about 20 minutes before finding me a table. I didn't mind, it was a nice change from sitting in the car with cramp in my throttle leg for hours. I arrived as the weather changed from grey drizzle to a lovely evening, spring sprunging all over, and still light (just) at 9pm as I pulled up beside the farmhouse. Andrew came out to give me a very warm hello (I wonder if he's finding the wimmin a bit tiresome too).
No trouble with traffic. Lots of HGVs and motorhomes and vans, all happily trundling along at 90kph, no disagreeable tooting of horns and only an occasional holdup in the towns (Le Mans in the rush hour was a bit slow). The worst bit of the whole trip was accidentally driving into Le Havre centre ville with a lot of potholes (are they deliberate?) and pavée'd streets, but it only took 10 minutes to go in, around and come back on the right road. Very poor signposting at the exit from the ferry terminal (the French probably think it's so obvious you turn right and go east along the Seine to get out of town they didn't see the point in mentioning it).
I do love the roads. Did the Romans build them all, or just give the French the idea that they should wherever possible be dead straight. Mostly long flat plains, with occasional river valleys and ridges when they put in a curve or two. It gives you a lovely feeling of progress, even if you're heading in the wrong direction. Actually I think it was Napoleon (to move his armies around more efficiently). A lovely classic stretch between Loudun and Poitiers, the road ribboning as straight as a rule over the hills, lined on each side by mostly mature platanes (plane trees in Frog I think), the sun setting in the west (where it usually does), a warm glow all round, verges alive with cowslips and dandelions, and the trees all just coming in to bud.
I had a lovely feeling of not-sadness about Pol, perhaps for the first time, consciously, in the five years since she asked me to leave. Sad to not be seeing her again, perhaps ever, and I'll miss staying with her at Wefan from time to time, but not somehow any hopes, false or otherwise, no regrets, no wishing for some other outcome or future. Liberation. It's taken a long time.
I also thought of suicide as I stood on the deck of the Etretat, coming into Le Havre. Not that I felt suicidal at all, but that there and then would be the perfect place. I was happy, there were no loose ends, I'd said all my goodbyes, if I just hopped over the side, no note, my things in my cabin, everyone would think it was a tragic accident, and so sad for him, just as everything was going so well. All my bits and bobs in one place - the cabin, car and caravan - just put it on the return ferry and send it back to England for disposal. Would solve the funeral problem too.
Nature as they say here is not a poubelle. And it isn't. Roadsides pristine, every lay-by with a neat waste bin, clearly emptied regularly, and no litter at all. Why can't they do that in England. And the public squalor / private wealth Anglo Saxon model clearly doesn't apply. The roads are much much better, hardly any potholes, great bridges, shiny Zone Industrielles and Artisanales around every village and town (what's the difference between a Z.I. and a Z.A.?), very few knackered looking cars, apart from mine.
It was funny, I saw a few FREXIT election posters as I got south of Le Mans towards Saumur. Didn't say Front National. I wonder how serious they are? And what election is it for? Can't be last year's, they didn't look shabby enough.
I passed the Hotel Acropole, at Broglie, just before I stopped for lunch. I stayed there a night when I was delivering a Top Trucks load to Denis and Lizzy on the Loire. 3 Stars, with a pool and pretensions, plonked in the middle of a Z.I. It felt as if that trip, and Pol and Emily and I's visit to their house all those years ago (could be ten) were a sort of rehearsal for this. What would me then make of me now? I think he'd be quite pleased. Still haven't finished Metanoia (which is what I supposedly went down there to do, although I did write quite a lot, but it was a real slog).
Must meditate - it's 8.30 and I haven't eaten my porridge and may be late for the morning meeting. O dear. (decided to skip it anyway - the meeting, not meditation).
Cleaning and tidying and putting away (and making a note of what I have put where) and putting outside crates of paper and tools and furniture. Long chat with Aden - he skyped my mobile so I didn't have to go down to the farm to talk to him. Good chat.
Porridge (way too salty even for me) and coffee for extended breakfast while I sorted myself out. The dutch bitch turned up very cheerful to see if I was OK and to ask me to join them for lunch - Richard Broughton (who he? name familiar - UK National Director) and wife are visiting. Listening to nice Radio France as I sort myself out.
Strong smell of gas in the bilges - must check the bottle and the connector, I think I may have loosened them last night when I was connecting it up. The cooker heats the far end of the caravan (yes, it's miles away!) very effectively, so much so it gets uncomfortably hot up that end, without noticeable effect down in the living room. Must sort out electricity, so I can run the fridge and use the gas heater, and have decent light. If there was any sun at all, I'd be tempted to put the solar panel together. Maybe I will anyway, and run an extension to the caravan battery to charge that as well (i.e. leave the enormous batteries with the solar panel and charge controller).
It's fun getting used to the caravan again, and using it properly, not just as a smoke hole or a dumping ground for all my crap. Working out what I need, what works, what to put where - might as well get it right, even if I am only here for a few weeks - and cleaning as I go. I really did very little before I left; I think I was nervous that it wouldn't be worth it, that I'd never make it this far. Not quite sure what I would have done with myself if I hadn't - this has been all or nothing, definitely.
Spent the afternoon recovering very useful timber from the builders' skips. Jean Christophe will help me move it tomorrow, up to Soren's very smart workshop (with electricity!).
Disabled cabin, apparently to myself, the size of the Albert Hall.
Woke up at 6.20 so I went out for a tea and coffee and croissant and had a smoke. Got off the boat about 8.45, missed the first turn to Autres Directions and did a little tour round Le Havre's centre ville. Crossed the Seine (a very big river here) on Pont de Normandie (toll 6.40 euros) then managed to stay off the peage all the way until lunch near Alencon in a Buffalo Bill, after a meditate. Dull grey day, perfect really. Trundling along at 50 behind a very heavy wide load so no caravan embarrassment.
Not sad about Pol any more - only took 5 years! As the Chinese novelist wrote, an old man in love is like a house on fire.
French roads are great - they go somewhere, in a straight line.
Passed the Hotel Acropole in Broglie (3 stars with aspirations and a pool on a Z.I.) where I stayed on the way down with the Top Trucks van to deliver Dennis and Lizzie's stuff. I'll drive through Saumur later on, but I can't remember the name of their village and I don't have Dennis' number. And I'd like to get to Bonnevaux before dark.
Day 96 Wednesday 11.iv.2018
TUCKED UP WARM IN MY COSY CANDLELIT CARAVAN. aBUSED BY THE MONSTROUS REGIMENT OF WIMMIN (3 TIMES) ONE DID AT LEAST SORT OF APOLOGISE, OR RECOGNISE SHE MIGHT HAVE OVERSTEPPED THE MARK. HOW TO RESPOND? leave? (got stuck in caps lock and couldn't remember how to turn it off - not shouty really. Actually, yes, very shouty!) and the caravan has been shunted under a lean-to so it's out of the light most of the day apart from dawn, and very dark at the back end.
My plumbing of the Edspace was all wrong - I didn't understand the sophisticated French system for dealing with high water pressure - the different sizes of pipe matter, although in what way I've yet to find out. Moral of the story - next time tell them to get (and pay for) a French plumber. They still owe me £58 for my delayed return journey in February. And now Andrew owes me €40 for their shopping this morning. Soren agreed with me about tools (don't lend them to anyone, they'll just lose or abuse them - Jean Christophe looking for his mattock this morning. I said people should not be careless with tools in the morning meeting, and that stupid dutch bitch accused me of being judgemental. I wasn't, but I meant exactly what I said - people who borrow or take tools and don't return them couldn't care less). And having a talking marigold is no substitute for simple good manners and toleration.
Andrew hit the kerb this pm going to pick up Rebecca in the community Picasso so rang me - just as well I answer my phone! - to ask me to do the honours. Glad he's the first one to prang it. Called out the breakdown man because he didn't have a spare, only he did - just didn't look for it - not quite sure where he expected to find it. He said the breakdown man had all the special tools (like a jack and a wrench, presumably) so it was alright really. Bit sad. Hardly seen Delyth - she's hiding in the Edspace with the cats (and moaning because they keep her awake at night - they should have a) spayed the cat and b) drowned the kittens).
fucking curtis banks have only just asked Aviva for my money - 3 weeks after I sent them the original message. "I hope everything is satisfactory" says Amit Sethi. No it fucking well isn't.
Meditated in the chapel this evening. Andrew says Laurence is deconsecrating it and removing the altar. Some vandal has smashed away the rather lovely carved stone communion rail with what looks to have been a sledgehammer. Laurence wants it to be "simple" apparently, and presumably non-exclusionary (to atheists?). Seems a great shame - a link with the monastic past, and we are supposed to be the Christian Meditation Community. Is Laurence embarassed or ashamed of that? Tackle him about it when he comes if I get a chance. Big shindig with the lady Mayor of Marcay and other high ups on 24 April, she who hates caravans and yurts (but a portacabin in front of the chateau is fine apparently). I didn't meditate much, so cross about Curtis Banks. I'd almost prefer dishonesty to incompetence, but maybe they're both. Genuinely frightened as they have most of my money and I have no faith or confidence in them whatsoever. Makes a bit of a nonsense of my detached apatheia really - I'm not a bit indifferent about the money.
Everyone says they feel tired or spooked here, and they all swear there's a ghost in the farmhouse. I feel an Iris Murdoch novel coming on. All being very new agey and hippyish over supper.
I've put on the gas ring to warm up the caravan (it's now uncomfortably hot!) and suspect I'm being poisoned with carbon monoxide. Open all the windows tonight.
Caravan more or less sorted but I still haven't unpacked the caravan. Must have a check on all my crates of paper (mostly) - they weigh a ton and I suspect it's all rubbish. I haven't looked at it in years. Bury it in a sealed box somewhere for posterity. Some archaeologist in 500 years might find it amusing. The car's doing about 300 miles on a full tank, pulling the caravan, which is at least twice its normal rate of consumption.
Mr Very Pissed Off and Angry of Bonnevaux signing off for the night.
A nice evening in my caravan. Gas connected, candles lit, a cup of tea. Made myself a proper bed and read "Do No Harm" by Henry Marsh (neuro-surgeon, H's recommendation). I put aside "Housekeeping" by Marilynne Robinson, which I think Ingrid gave me as I left - not really in the mood for it, a bit heavy and literary feeling. I blew out my candles and went to sleep about twenty past midnight. Did not set my alarm.
Day 97 Thursday 12.iv.2018
Woke at 7 as the bell for meditation was ringing. Decided to skip morning med and breakfast alone in my 'van. I have porridge and coffee and pink grapfruit juice. A dull grey morning, and a slight drizzle. A good night, although my bunk feels a bit aslant, so I had to sleep on my left side. Nicer with a sheet and pillow cases and using the sleeping bag as a duvet - much more comfortable. The only blot is that the loo is 100 yards away. O to be in the woods with a composting toilet by my back door. (Actually it's not too bad - would be a bit miz if it was tipping down. I wonder what the shower's like?) My new wellies (Costafortune a.k.a. Castorama - €14) are a good investment.
I turn on my little radio and it's perfectly tuned to France Musique - France's Radio 3 - which is nice. And the radio works which it never really did in Sweffling.
Re the foregoing rant - last night's moans. I did think of anonymising the references to the community, but as I haven't anonymised anything else, I don't see why I should treat them with any more delicacy than the rest of my life. The Curtis Banks fiasco didn't help, and it's probably as much me in this new place, and 'for ever', and new faces, as it is the wimmin and the business about the caravan. Early days. And a reaction to the euphoria of kicking the dust from my sandals and making it here with so little problem.
The journey down and thoughts thereon.
This should be above, on Tuesday, but if I had written it then it would have been different.
The car and caravan behaved beautifully all the way down. No frights, apart from one silly frog trying to cut in on me at the toll station on the Pont de Normandie (very impressive - the Dartford crossing times ten, and two of them. So steep I had to drop down to 2nd to get over them). Fuel consumption a bit heavier than I expected - about 300 miles to a tank. I only paid the toll on the bridge, about 6 euros, otherwise my route finding worked perfectly and I drove on perfectly straight French roads all the way. They love roundabouts. Went round most of the towns. One or two smaller villages had some very exciting chicanes to make sure you slowed down to 40kph. I stopped for a very French two hour lunch at a Buffalo Bill's, about 1 o'clock. It wasn't bad, although they kept me standing for about 20 minutes before finding me a table. I didn't mind, it was a nice change from sitting in the car with cramp in my throttle leg for hours. I arrived as the weather changed from grey drizzle to a lovely evening, spring sprunging all over, and still light (just) at 9pm as I pulled up beside the farmhouse. Andrew came out to give me a very warm hello (I wonder if he's finding the wimmin a bit tiresome too).
No trouble with traffic. Lots of HGVs and motorhomes and vans, all happily trundling along at 90kph, no disagreeable tooting of horns and only an occasional holdup in the towns (Le Mans in the rush hour was a bit slow). The worst bit of the whole trip was accidentally driving into Le Havre centre ville with a lot of potholes (are they deliberate?) and pavée'd streets, but it only took 10 minutes to go in, around and come back on the right road. Very poor signposting at the exit from the ferry terminal (the French probably think it's so obvious you turn right and go east along the Seine to get out of town they didn't see the point in mentioning it).
I do love the roads. Did the Romans build them all, or just give the French the idea that they should wherever possible be dead straight. Mostly long flat plains, with occasional river valleys and ridges when they put in a curve or two. It gives you a lovely feeling of progress, even if you're heading in the wrong direction. Actually I think it was Napoleon (to move his armies around more efficiently). A lovely classic stretch between Loudun and Poitiers, the road ribboning as straight as a rule over the hills, lined on each side by mostly mature platanes (plane trees in Frog I think), the sun setting in the west (where it usually does), a warm glow all round, verges alive with cowslips and dandelions, and the trees all just coming in to bud.
I had a lovely feeling of not-sadness about Pol, perhaps for the first time, consciously, in the five years since she asked me to leave. Sad to not be seeing her again, perhaps ever, and I'll miss staying with her at Wefan from time to time, but not somehow any hopes, false or otherwise, no regrets, no wishing for some other outcome or future. Liberation. It's taken a long time.
I also thought of suicide as I stood on the deck of the Etretat, coming into Le Havre. Not that I felt suicidal at all, but that there and then would be the perfect place. I was happy, there were no loose ends, I'd said all my goodbyes, if I just hopped over the side, no note, my things in my cabin, everyone would think it was a tragic accident, and so sad for him, just as everything was going so well. All my bits and bobs in one place - the cabin, car and caravan - just put it on the return ferry and send it back to England for disposal. Would solve the funeral problem too.
Nature as they say here is not a poubelle. And it isn't. Roadsides pristine, every lay-by with a neat waste bin, clearly emptied regularly, and no litter at all. Why can't they do that in England. And the public squalor / private wealth Anglo Saxon model clearly doesn't apply. The roads are much much better, hardly any potholes, great bridges, shiny Zone Industrielles and Artisanales around every village and town (what's the difference between a Z.I. and a Z.A.?), very few knackered looking cars, apart from mine.
It was funny, I saw a few FREXIT election posters as I got south of Le Mans towards Saumur. Didn't say Front National. I wonder how serious they are? And what election is it for? Can't be last year's, they didn't look shabby enough.
I passed the Hotel Acropole, at Broglie, just before I stopped for lunch. I stayed there a night when I was delivering a Top Trucks load to Denis and Lizzy on the Loire. 3 Stars, with a pool and pretensions, plonked in the middle of a Z.I. It felt as if that trip, and Pol and Emily and I's visit to their house all those years ago (could be ten) were a sort of rehearsal for this. What would me then make of me now? I think he'd be quite pleased. Still haven't finished Metanoia (which is what I supposedly went down there to do, although I did write quite a lot, but it was a real slog).
Must meditate - it's 8.30 and I haven't eaten my porridge and may be late for the morning meeting. O dear. (decided to skip it anyway - the meeting, not meditation).
Cleaning and tidying and putting away (and making a note of what I have put where) and putting outside crates of paper and tools and furniture. Long chat with Aden - he skyped my mobile so I didn't have to go down to the farm to talk to him. Good chat.
Porridge (way too salty even for me) and coffee for extended breakfast while I sorted myself out. The dutch bitch turned up very cheerful to see if I was OK and to ask me to join them for lunch - Richard Broughton (who he? name familiar - UK National Director) and wife are visiting. Listening to nice Radio France as I sort myself out.
Strong smell of gas in the bilges - must check the bottle and the connector, I think I may have loosened them last night when I was connecting it up. The cooker heats the far end of the caravan (yes, it's miles away!) very effectively, so much so it gets uncomfortably hot up that end, without noticeable effect down in the living room. Must sort out electricity, so I can run the fridge and use the gas heater, and have decent light. If there was any sun at all, I'd be tempted to put the solar panel together. Maybe I will anyway, and run an extension to the caravan battery to charge that as well (i.e. leave the enormous batteries with the solar panel and charge controller).
It's fun getting used to the caravan again, and using it properly, not just as a smoke hole or a dumping ground for all my crap. Working out what I need, what works, what to put where - might as well get it right, even if I am only here for a few weeks - and cleaning as I go. I really did very little before I left; I think I was nervous that it wouldn't be worth it, that I'd never make it this far. Not quite sure what I would have done with myself if I hadn't - this has been all or nothing, definitely.
Spent the afternoon recovering very useful timber from the builders' skips. Jean Christophe will help me move it tomorrow, up to Soren's very smart workshop (with electricity!).
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