Guilty

Of eating in . . . KFC.

It was something I said I would never do again - the previous time was in about 1982 when I lived in Brixton. I'd just got mugged (very gently - someone carefully righting my little brown portfolio suitcase that had fallen over while I'd nodded off momentarily; he'd also managed to lift my wallet out of it during said righting) on a tube train. Anyway, I went into KFC as nothing else was open and discovered my wallet had gone, so bought chips and a greasy chicken portion with the cash I had in a pocket. Maybe it was my state of numbness but the 'food' was vile - mega salty and greasy, and led to me stating to myself, never again.

So, fast forward to yesterday.  We'd dashed about buying essential DIY stuff before the giant shed of Bricodepot shut, and then I had a choir concert in a wine/beer bar (odd) just down the road, and I hadn't eaten anything since a bit of cake several hours ago. No time to go home, so what was open? 'Nope, I said - not going in there,' as Mark suggested the eating experiment of going into Mr Kentucky's dive. 'Come on, it'll be . . . interesting, and maybe not as bad as the Golden Arches' - another fairly recent and regretted experiment.

'Okay', I said, 'but no chicken - you've seen the films.'

A bit daft as that's what they sell, but there was a 'veggie' option. We did the screen thing and waited at a grey plastic table in front of a frenzied wallpaper featuring the grinning founder at various life stages.

The stuff arrived. Not very fizzy Pepsi, and my veggie burger which actually tasted of nothing at all, apart from the salt I added and a pathetic lettuce leaf drenched in . . . something. Mark's was worse - a nan bread burger which actually didn't taste, really - no taste at all. I mean, chewing a very old cardboard box might have been more interesting. I suppose the word nan had conjured up a few vague nods to Indian spices. Nope. Nothing. And the fries . . . tiny, no salt and dry, like something you might have found while hoovering the car out.

And the atmosphere . . . hospital waiting room, with added people looking like they were waiting for test results not enjoying eating out. Weird. 

Not happening again. Ever. 

Pond is where the heart is

Just about every place I've ever lived in - apart from a couple of flats . . . a pond has been added to whatever garden there was, or is - the new house has enough garden to put a small pond in, so we have. A way to go yet as at the moment it's just a blobby plastic shape but a few edging rocks, gravel, plants and welcome frogs/newts sign and it'll soon be adding to the biodiversity of our patch.

A giant honeysuckle bush had to be dug out - was in a very odd place; then I had a good hunt about for a second hand pond but the only ones were vast so NEW it had to be! hopefully it'll last many years/decades . . . Lovely friends came and helped dig/level with sand, and the water butts have been mended so we should be able to fill it soon, and, oh no, I'll have to buy plants . . . there's an amazing garden centre just nearby. I will be strong. Just a few essential things.

                                                     Rather overbearing honeysuckle bush

                                                  where bush was - thanks Phil and Alison

     

                                                        And pond in - thanks Hazel and Pierre

Landed . . .

So, after many, many weeks of packing, sorting, discarding, arguing about what should be discarded, huge stress, sadness, and much excitement . . . we arrived in our new abode. Each move time we say never again, and this time, yes, NEVER AGAIN.

It was a very odd feeling to leave our beautiful old maison de maitre and its incredible nature garden. Here is . . . not at all beautiful, (the little garden will be), but very quirky, and on a smaller scale, allowing some rest for older person's joints/ back etc.

Chaos of early unpacking

Settled in dog

Our first eve in the house - I managed to get the open fire going.

I write this sitting on a sort of landing with a floor level window through which one can observe cyclists, walkers and luckily very few cars; and beyond, the Loire, the ancient fertile river bed lands, and onto the dark, long humps of forest. 

There is masses to do: unpacking, decorating, and more serious and essential work such as re-wiring, re-doing the stucco, painting etc, but as our friend Justine said over a coffee this morning at the market. Don't stress, just look at the views and it'll all come together - or something like that. He's a good calming influence!