Happy New Year

Three resolutions so far:
To watch less rubbish TV. (Especially anything purportedly for adults that features ex-Blue Peter presenters who still think their audience are twelve, and need everything explaining in words of one syllable).

To have a go at making sourdough bread.

To clean the oven. Soon.

Ah-ha, see, nothing about keeping the blog up to date. Nicola asked why I don't seem to write it so often. I thought it was because I needed the outlet; it let me put a distance between me and all the puzzling, sometimes challenging aspects of living somewhere different, to laugh, albeit wryly, at things. It kept me in touch when I was homesick, and let me let off steam when I found the proximity of the in-laws an infringement. As time went by and we became more settled, routines and involvement grew, there were fewer hours in the day to stop and stare. But I do find myself still, caught by something,
"Oh I must blog about that", and then letting it go by and regretting doing so.

So many things to do, aren't there? Not just cleaning the oven. I have a lifetime of being a non-macaroon eater to make up for, for example, having discovered them in Perigueux last Christmas.
And I was so relieved on New Year's Eve to take my last 'Photo of the Day'.
It seemed such a good idea when Vik mentioned it, to take a picture each day of the year. But one day last January, when I had already taken 2 pictures of Paul's heavily bandaged foot, one in the hospital and one in front of the woodburner, and was reduced to taking a picture of a cauliflower as we were house-bound by his incapacity, I realised its tyranny!
   But a few days later we left on one of our Pyrennean jaunts to meet Jan and Bob so there were pictures of snow and glasses raised in jolly tapas bars.

After that was another routine period, pics of sunsets and plants emerging and of bits of the house cleaned up for once for another house viewing, until a wealth of photos in April. The mason who built up the barn had described his bi-annual drive to see his mum in Morocco. He'd convinced us how easy it was to do, and that we'd love it. Well we baulked at driving there and back, so I found a ferry that left from Barcelona (just 6 hours drive from us) for Tangier and off we went. It was a wonderful trip, through the Rif Mountains, down to fabulous Fès, through the Middle and High Atlas to the Sahara, up the dramatic Dades Gorge, and eventually back over the High Atlas to mad Marrakech. Sometimes frightening, often challenging but always amazing, we did everything we could as we thought we'd go only once. Now we can't wait to go back. (Some of you have seen some of the photos on Faceache.)

Then it was back to keeping the place up to spec for more pointless house viewings, until we had a houseful for the ol' Ruby Wedding. I remember Paul's parents' Ruby Wedding, thinking how I could not imagine that far in the future, that we should be that old! And there we all were, children with partners, grandchildren, friends, in such summer heat so we were virtually living outside around the big table in the summer kitchen, and the 'pool'. Others told us we should have gone to Venice on a fancy train, to New York, to Macchu Pichu. Well they are still on my bucket list but we'd spent our Silver in a tent in France and don't seem to be able to plan big trips. It is such a delight being able to decide to go to Switzerland, to the so-near Pyrenees, to the Italian Lakes and just go, and driving through France to do those things is so hassle-free. I am not sure we will cope with British traffic.

Another gap with pictures of vegetables followed, until we thought we'd sold the house in September and it fell through the night before the signing at the Notaire, so we were so 'pushed' off we decided to do the trip to Sicily we'd been thinking about. But the ferries had stopped and the drive there and back would be nearly 4 000k so, on the spur, and following hearing Stevie Nicks on Woman's Hour, I bought tickets for Fleetwood Mac and for the TGV and we were off to Paris. P had never been before and I have to say, for a city-hater, he displayed pleasing enthusiasm. We stayed in St Germain, walked miles and had just the best time.

Winding down now. The last photos were mainly in the UK, pre floods and then we were back for Christmas with friends here, having expected, this time last year, to be back there. We did miss the Christmas of last year, when the family, from 2 years to 82, hired a mini bus and all filled this house so it looked and sounded and felt like it should. House, empty and uninhabited but for our part, is off the market now, until the roof is repaired, (soon, so I should have some more blogs about merry artisans, just like 9 years ago). Blogger seems to change every time I 'go on' but I will try to post some of the photos and now go and clean the oven. Perhaps.