Bon weekend from snowy France!

Written by on January 28, 2019 in Newsletter from France

Three dogs run down a forest path, light snow on the ground

Bonjour

Hope you had a great week.

We’ve had snow here in the north, including in Paris which has made the city turn into a sparkling Narnia!

In the Seven Valleys where I am, we’ve had snow too, my dogs love to play about in the white powder that’s dusted the hills and paths. I’ve had to keep a close eye on them on my walks as the rabbits, hares and pheasants that are prolific in the countryside are much easier to see against a white background and Ella Fitzgerald, my Spaniel/Alsatian loves to chase them. I’d hate her to catch one.

Jean-Claude, my neighbour, doesn’t enjoy the snow at all. On Wednesday morning I could hear him huffing and puffing in the road outside my gate before I even opened it. He usually drives up to his mother-in-law’s house at the top of our hill from his house at the bottom, in his little white van. He’s not exactly keen on exercise of any sort. He does the very short trip several times a day, checking on Marie-Claude first thing in the morning, stopping in for coffee and pain perdu every couple of hours, and despite being nearly 90 years old, she cooks him lunch every day.

“Zut alors” I said to Jean-Claude as I opened the gate “isn’t it cold”. Jean-Claude frowned at me because no-one really says “Zut alors” in France. “Merde” he corrected me “isn’t it cold” …

“Look at that idiot Thierry up the top of the hill, he has decided today of all days is a good day to deliver wood to someone and now he has got his tractor stuck”, he rolled his eyes. I could hear someone revving a motor loudly and yes, there was Thierry, several tons of wood on a trailer on the back of his tractor. He had slithered out of the entrance to his farm but skidded on the icy road and was now stuck.

“I suppose I shall have to go and sort it out” said Jean-Claude and he stomped up the road muttering under his breath. Reaching the hapless Thierry he shouted instructions “back, forward, back, forward, back, forward, turn, back, forward, back, forward…” the tractor went hither and thither, Thierry’s face began turning puce coloured. Eventually the tractor was freed of the gate and Thierry went trundling past me, refusing to look in my direction. Jean-Claude watched, gave a gallic shrug and turned into Marie-Claude’s gate for his morning coffee, his days’ work done.

Bisous from France,
Janine
Editor

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