Letter from the Dordogne wishes its readers a very Happy Christmas and a more prosperous New Year than 2009.
The author has been travelling and preoccupied with trying to make Maison Mayets warm enough to inhabit. He will be posting regular entries on this blog in the New Year.
Thank you to all those who have become regular readers, to those who added comments and to those who have become followers.
Thursday, 24 December 2009
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Friday, 27 November 2009
The Russians are invading
Rumour has it that the private jet parked up at Bergerac airport belongs to Roman Abramovich. Christian Lacombe, the press officer for the airport, seems to think so. Rumours also abound that the beautifully manicured Chateau Thenac, south west of Bergerac in what is described as the Tuscany of France, is also owned by the Russian billionaire.
Not so! On further investigation it appears both the Chateau and the jet belong to another Russian Oligarch, Eugene Shvidler, a close friend and business partner of Abramovich. For a birthday present, Abramovich apparently bought his friend a flock of Highland sheep which he had shipped out from Scotland to Chateau Thenac.
The manager of the Chateau , a smart young Englishman, said that Abramovich and his Russian mates certainly visit to party and to sample the wine but that he couldn’t comment further. Chateau Thenac wine, incidentally, can only be purchased through Berry Brothers in London. An English chum told me an artist friend held an exhibition at the Salle de Fete in Thenac and someone from the chateau turned up at the private view - “vernisage” - insisted on buying all the paintings on show and had them taken over the road to the chateau that same night.
Now look here, we Brits own Aquitaine, not the French nor the Russkies. When our Henry 11 married Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152 the English ruled the region from Bordeaux and we imported huge quantities of wine. We put Bordeaux wine on the map. For that matter, more recently, an old Etonian called Nick Ryman, who owned Chateau Jaubertie, put Bergerac wine on the map by improving the stuff and marketing it abroad.
There are 200,000 British passport holders registered living in France and a big slice of these reside in Aquitaine. At Eymet, 20 kilometres south west of Bergerac, half the town’s population is British. In another nearby bastide town called Issigeac, one Australian tourist was overheard saying she was horrified to have heard nothing but English voices.
In the summer months at least three daily Ryanair flights come in and out of Bergerac airport from Stansted and Bristol and there’s another daily Flybe flight from Southampton. The planes are usually full and the airport car park is packed with old bangers with British number plates.
You don’t get so many euros to the pound these days but most of us are staying put and continuing to enjoy the good life. We’ve taken back Aquitaine and we lovingly call the Dordogne department, “Dordogneshire”. We’re not about to let the Russkies do the same thing to the Dordogne as they have to Chelsea – sorry, “Chelski".
Not so! On further investigation it appears both the Chateau and the jet belong to another Russian Oligarch, Eugene Shvidler, a close friend and business partner of Abramovich. For a birthday present, Abramovich apparently bought his friend a flock of Highland sheep which he had shipped out from Scotland to Chateau Thenac.
The manager of the Chateau , a smart young Englishman, said that Abramovich and his Russian mates certainly visit to party and to sample the wine but that he couldn’t comment further. Chateau Thenac wine, incidentally, can only be purchased through Berry Brothers in London. An English chum told me an artist friend held an exhibition at the Salle de Fete in Thenac and someone from the chateau turned up at the private view - “vernisage” - insisted on buying all the paintings on show and had them taken over the road to the chateau that same night.
Now look here, we Brits own Aquitaine, not the French nor the Russkies. When our Henry 11 married Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152 the English ruled the region from Bordeaux and we imported huge quantities of wine. We put Bordeaux wine on the map. For that matter, more recently, an old Etonian called Nick Ryman, who owned Chateau Jaubertie, put Bergerac wine on the map by improving the stuff and marketing it abroad.
There are 200,000 British passport holders registered living in France and a big slice of these reside in Aquitaine. At Eymet, 20 kilometres south west of Bergerac, half the town’s population is British. In another nearby bastide town called Issigeac, one Australian tourist was overheard saying she was horrified to have heard nothing but English voices.
In the summer months at least three daily Ryanair flights come in and out of Bergerac airport from Stansted and Bristol and there’s another daily Flybe flight from Southampton. The planes are usually full and the airport car park is packed with old bangers with British number plates.
You don’t get so many euros to the pound these days but most of us are staying put and continuing to enjoy the good life. We’ve taken back Aquitaine and we lovingly call the Dordogne department, “Dordogneshire”. We’re not about to let the Russkies do the same thing to the Dordogne as they have to Chelsea – sorry, “Chelski".
Monday, 9 November 2009
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Passport for Pets. Don't Miss the Boat
4th November 2009
Our border terrier, Bertie has proved to be a lucky mascot after taking him with us to France. He helped us sell my late mother’s house near Agen in the Lot et Garonne and contributed to us buying our splendid new house near Bergerac in the Dordogne.
We decided to move from London to my mother’s house immediately the positive results of his blood tests following his rabies vaccination in September 2008. This meant that we had to be based in France for a minimum of six months until we could return to England with Bertie. Consequently we were able to have the house looking at its best before any visits from potential buyers – lots of cleaning and polishing inside and much mowing, weeding and planting outside The plan worked because the day the bottom fell out of the US and British stock markets we had two buyers in a contracts race both having offered the price we were asking. Amazingly the offer we accepted from an English couple, subject to a 70% mortgage from a French bank, came good and we completed the sale at the end of January 2010.
Within days of accepting the aforementioned offer I was walking Bertie round a little bastide town called Issigeac looking for a butcher for a couple of lamb chops. I noticed an impressive house in the window of an Estate Agents, called Lang and Fournier. The property had a classic, tall, sloping Perigordine roof and a courtyard surrounded by outbuildings included in the sale. The price being asked was almost identical to that accepted for my mother’s cottage and this was three times the size.
My offer was accepted and I managed to do a simultaneous completion and so was able to move straight into the new house notwithstanding it hadn’t been lived in by the previous occupants for more than three years. Bertie had again brought us luck.
The pet problem only started when we decided to get married in the Channel Islands. The papers required for a civil ceremony at our local Marie were a long as my arm. An English chum said he knew a couple who had got married on Sark. In the end we plumbed for Alderney which required us to be on the island for just five days and the only papers needed were our birth and previous marriage certificates. There was a ferry from Cherbourg direct to Alderney only six miles from France. This would be cheap and easy I thought. Bertie and I could sail as foot passengers and Lyndia, who was in London, could fly direct from Southampton to Alderney. Sadly Bertie could not travel on this route as Alderney was not classified as a port of entry for pets. Also pets can’t travel without being in a car. Instead I had to take the car ferry from St Marlow to Guernsey then fly with Bertie in his own allocated seat on one of the small twin prop Islanders that fly hourly from Guernsey to Alderney.
Despite this circuitous and expensive route it all turned out well in the end. We got married and we had great fun, including Bertie who came second in the agility class of the Alderney dog show.
We returned to the Dordogne together and were married in a beautiful little church in Monsaguel near our house in Les Mayets. (More of that in another blog) It was when we decided to return to England in October on the ferry from Bilbao that things became particularly complicated. Some of this was self induced as I totally misjudged the distance and time it would take us to get from Bergerac to Santander. We had been told it would take 5 hours but we hadn’t even reached the Spanish border in that time so you can guess – we missed the boat! This meant we had to wait for the next boat - to Plymouth instead of Portsmouth - four days later. Lyndia had to fly back to London from Bilbao the day before for an urgent business meeting. At yet further expense, Bertie had to have his inoculations for entry back into the UK all over again.
We had already been to our vet in France the morning we left but the vacination and inspection have to be carried out 24 hours before the animal leaves French or Spanish soil and not within 24 hours and not after 48 hours. This meant a second visit to a vet, this time in Spain. The vet who we visited near Bilbao thought Bertie could travel within 24 hours and stamped his passport accordingly. Once at the port the following day, with only an hour to spare, I was informed the passport was incorrectly stamped. I had to sprint, with Bertie in tow, to the nearest vet to the port in Santander. There was a queue of several other frantic ex-pats whose passports were also wrongly stamped. Another 30 euros was required and a phone call to my vet, who confirmed that Bertie had been inspected at 10 am the previous day and not 7 pm - the actual time entered in the passport. The problem was sorted with half an hour to spare before the ferry left for England. The Spanish vet in Santander must have been making a packet out of us misguided British pet owners!
Don't miss the boat!
Our border terrier, Bertie has proved to be a lucky mascot after taking him with us to France. He helped us sell my late mother’s house near Agen in the Lot et Garonne and contributed to us buying our splendid new house near Bergerac in the Dordogne.
We decided to move from London to my mother’s house immediately the positive results of his blood tests following his rabies vaccination in September 2008. This meant that we had to be based in France for a minimum of six months until we could return to England with Bertie. Consequently we were able to have the house looking at its best before any visits from potential buyers – lots of cleaning and polishing inside and much mowing, weeding and planting outside The plan worked because the day the bottom fell out of the US and British stock markets we had two buyers in a contracts race both having offered the price we were asking. Amazingly the offer we accepted from an English couple, subject to a 70% mortgage from a French bank, came good and we completed the sale at the end of January 2010.
Within days of accepting the aforementioned offer I was walking Bertie round a little bastide town called Issigeac looking for a butcher for a couple of lamb chops. I noticed an impressive house in the window of an Estate Agents, called Lang and Fournier. The property had a classic, tall, sloping Perigordine roof and a courtyard surrounded by outbuildings included in the sale. The price being asked was almost identical to that accepted for my mother’s cottage and this was three times the size.
My offer was accepted and I managed to do a simultaneous completion and so was able to move straight into the new house notwithstanding it hadn’t been lived in by the previous occupants for more than three years. Bertie had again brought us luck.
The pet problem only started when we decided to get married in the Channel Islands. The papers required for a civil ceremony at our local Marie were a long as my arm. An English chum said he knew a couple who had got married on Sark. In the end we plumbed for Alderney which required us to be on the island for just five days and the only papers needed were our birth and previous marriage certificates. There was a ferry from Cherbourg direct to Alderney only six miles from France. This would be cheap and easy I thought. Bertie and I could sail as foot passengers and Lyndia, who was in London, could fly direct from Southampton to Alderney. Sadly Bertie could not travel on this route as Alderney was not classified as a port of entry for pets. Also pets can’t travel without being in a car. Instead I had to take the car ferry from St Marlow to Guernsey then fly with Bertie in his own allocated seat on one of the small twin prop Islanders that fly hourly from Guernsey to Alderney.
Despite this circuitous and expensive route it all turned out well in the end. We got married and we had great fun, including Bertie who came second in the agility class of the Alderney dog show.
We returned to the Dordogne together and were married in a beautiful little church in Monsaguel near our house in Les Mayets. (More of that in another blog) It was when we decided to return to England in October on the ferry from Bilbao that things became particularly complicated. Some of this was self induced as I totally misjudged the distance and time it would take us to get from Bergerac to Santander. We had been told it would take 5 hours but we hadn’t even reached the Spanish border in that time so you can guess – we missed the boat! This meant we had to wait for the next boat - to Plymouth instead of Portsmouth - four days later. Lyndia had to fly back to London from Bilbao the day before for an urgent business meeting. At yet further expense, Bertie had to have his inoculations for entry back into the UK all over again.
We had already been to our vet in France the morning we left but the vacination and inspection have to be carried out 24 hours before the animal leaves French or Spanish soil and not within 24 hours and not after 48 hours. This meant a second visit to a vet, this time in Spain. The vet who we visited near Bilbao thought Bertie could travel within 24 hours and stamped his passport accordingly. Once at the port the following day, with only an hour to spare, I was informed the passport was incorrectly stamped. I had to sprint, with Bertie in tow, to the nearest vet to the port in Santander. There was a queue of several other frantic ex-pats whose passports were also wrongly stamped. Another 30 euros was required and a phone call to my vet, who confirmed that Bertie had been inspected at 10 am the previous day and not 7 pm - the actual time entered in the passport. The problem was sorted with half an hour to spare before the ferry left for England. The Spanish vet in Santander must have been making a packet out of us misguided British pet owners!
Don't miss the boat!
Monday, 2 November 2009
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Forthcoming Diary Notes
There will shortly be a report about our wedding in the Dordogne last month together with selected photographs.
I am also in the process of writing something about the 2009 vindage (grape harvest) in the Bergerac wine growing country.
When I return to London next week I shall have access to broadband and contributions to Letter from the Dordogne should be more regular.
I am also in the process of writing something about the 2009 vindage (grape harvest) in the Bergerac wine growing country.
When I return to London next week I shall have access to broadband and contributions to Letter from the Dordogne should be more regular.
Monday, 28 September 2009
Bergerac Airport
28th September 2009
Our friends from Paris, Nick and Mighty Rodney, together with their co-pilot Andre, landed at Bergerac airport in their private plane at 1700 hours on Friday September 11th, the eve of our wedding. They were given a slot just ahead of the Ryanair flight coming in from Bristol on which were our Matron of Honour Marian and her husband. The Ryanair flight from Stansted was already in and sitting on the tarmac waiting for its turnaround return flight to London. Earlier in the day, another of our guests flew in by Flybe from Southampton.
The significance of these flights shows just how busy Bergerac airport has become in the summer months and how convenient it is to be able to commute to London from our house situated only 10 kilometres south of the airport. There are at least four daily scheduled Ryanair flights from Stansted and Bristol, two Flybe flights from Southampton and two others, Transavia from Holland and from Brussels. Next year a new British airline called Jet2 is due to start flying into Bergerac from Leeds.
Christian Lacombe, press officer for the Chamber de Commerce et d’Industrie in Perigueux told me that as many as eleven scheduled international flights arrive and depart from Bergerac at the week-ends.
Tony Blair’s sister-in-law, Lauren Booth commutes weekly by Ryanair from Bergerac to Stansted and I’ve often seen her furiously bashing out copy for one or other of her journalistic outlets on her laptop while waiting self importantly in the departure lounge. The airport has been undergoing an expensive, modern makeover over the last six months at a cost of 3.5m euros. The car park is no longer free and the clapped out old bangers with English number plates have disappeared except for a battered old Mercedes 200 estate which seems to be permanently parked in the same spot.
It was only when I took our friends from Paris back to Bergerac Aero Club to collect their little Cessna that I was told the private jet parked on the tarmac a few yards away belonged to the Russian Oligarch, Roman Abramovich who owns a chateau vineyard at Thenac about 20 kilometres west of Bergerac. There are conflicting reports as to whether the owner is Abramovich or a close friend, another Russian billionaire.
In 2003 Bergerac airport had a new lease of life when Ryanair insisted the runway should be extended to accommodate their Boing 737 800s. Before that Buzz, the now defunct British carrier, flew its BAE 110s into Bergerac using the shorter runway. Next year it will be possible to fly to Paris from Bergerac with Twinjet via Perigueux.
Christian Lacombe says Bergerac Airport has been a “veritable life line” for the regional economy. Last year the airport, he said, generated 267 million euros with 293 passengers passing through. This year, despite the economic crisis, 235,000 people have been registered taking flights in and out of Bergerac.
Our friends from Paris, Nick and Mighty Rodney, together with their co-pilot Andre, landed at Bergerac airport in their private plane at 1700 hours on Friday September 11th, the eve of our wedding. They were given a slot just ahead of the Ryanair flight coming in from Bristol on which were our Matron of Honour Marian and her husband. The Ryanair flight from Stansted was already in and sitting on the tarmac waiting for its turnaround return flight to London. Earlier in the day, another of our guests flew in by Flybe from Southampton.
The significance of these flights shows just how busy Bergerac airport has become in the summer months and how convenient it is to be able to commute to London from our house situated only 10 kilometres south of the airport. There are at least four daily scheduled Ryanair flights from Stansted and Bristol, two Flybe flights from Southampton and two others, Transavia from Holland and from Brussels. Next year a new British airline called Jet2 is due to start flying into Bergerac from Leeds.
Christian Lacombe, press officer for the Chamber de Commerce et d’Industrie in Perigueux told me that as many as eleven scheduled international flights arrive and depart from Bergerac at the week-ends.
Tony Blair’s sister-in-law, Lauren Booth commutes weekly by Ryanair from Bergerac to Stansted and I’ve often seen her furiously bashing out copy for one or other of her journalistic outlets on her laptop while waiting self importantly in the departure lounge. The airport has been undergoing an expensive, modern makeover over the last six months at a cost of 3.5m euros. The car park is no longer free and the clapped out old bangers with English number plates have disappeared except for a battered old Mercedes 200 estate which seems to be permanently parked in the same spot.
It was only when I took our friends from Paris back to Bergerac Aero Club to collect their little Cessna that I was told the private jet parked on the tarmac a few yards away belonged to the Russian Oligarch, Roman Abramovich who owns a chateau vineyard at Thenac about 20 kilometres west of Bergerac. There are conflicting reports as to whether the owner is Abramovich or a close friend, another Russian billionaire.
In 2003 Bergerac airport had a new lease of life when Ryanair insisted the runway should be extended to accommodate their Boing 737 800s. Before that Buzz, the now defunct British carrier, flew its BAE 110s into Bergerac using the shorter runway. Next year it will be possible to fly to Paris from Bergerac with Twinjet via Perigueux.
Christian Lacombe says Bergerac Airport has been a “veritable life line” for the regional economy. Last year the airport, he said, generated 267 million euros with 293 passengers passing through. This year, despite the economic crisis, 235,000 people have been registered taking flights in and out of Bergerac.
Monday, 31 August 2009
Issigeac
Sunday August 30th
The Sunday market at Issigeac - 15 kilometres south of Bergerac - is one of the best in the area if you like that sort of thing. I am never that keen on French outdoor markets. There are crowds of people and Bertie, our border terrier, inevitably gets in to a fight with other dogs on leads - large or small; French or English. The wine is often disappointing, the cheese can be extortionately priced and the butchers’ chariots compare badly to the excellent boucheries in Issigeac.
Issigeac on a Sunday can be a bit like running with the bulls in Pamplona only the pace is slower, it’s less fun and nobody gets hurt – except anybody who treads on Bertie. Today the market was more crowded than ever with hoards of locals and foreigners funnelling down the narrow main street, Le Grand Rue that runs through the centre of town from opposite the post office at the top to the imposing and beautiful church at the bottom of town. Despite the crowds Issigeac is a fine sight on a bright, sunny day like today. The vegetable, fruit and flower stalls add wonderful colour. There are pizza stalls; paella stalls; fresh farm produce stalls selling farm chickens, cream and eggs; meat and chacuterie wagons; plenty of Bergerac wine on display; clothes; jewellery; hats and a man selling model, wooden frogs that make a life-like croaking sound when their ridged backs are stroked with a small peg. This sent Bertie wild as he is partial to chasing and eating live ones.
Half way up Le Grand Rue I found a well stocked, second hand English book stall run by Pete and his wife who live near Eymet where half the population is English. It would seem that Issigeac is another popular Mecca for the Brits as regular announcements were being made in English on the PA system announcing forthcoming events, exhibitions of paintings, concerts and the like. Pete told me there were as many English as French living in the area and that he sells more than 500 books a week at the Eymet and Issigeac markets. He had a big choice of paper backs selling from between 2 and 5 euros and I bought John le Carre’s The Tailor of Panama and two by Bernard Cornwell, Harlequin and Vagabond.
Earlier in the month there was a two day brocante (antiques market) in Eymet which was filmed by the BBC for its popular show, Sun, Sea and Bargain spotting. This was reported in the local daily newspaper, Sud Ouest. British TV’s first woman newsreader, Angela Rippon was spotted doing pieces to camera by our English neighbours. We missed this event because we were in the Channel Islands getting married at the time.
The Sunday market at Issigeac - 15 kilometres south of Bergerac - is one of the best in the area if you like that sort of thing. I am never that keen on French outdoor markets. There are crowds of people and Bertie, our border terrier, inevitably gets in to a fight with other dogs on leads - large or small; French or English. The wine is often disappointing, the cheese can be extortionately priced and the butchers’ chariots compare badly to the excellent boucheries in Issigeac.
Issigeac on a Sunday can be a bit like running with the bulls in Pamplona only the pace is slower, it’s less fun and nobody gets hurt – except anybody who treads on Bertie. Today the market was more crowded than ever with hoards of locals and foreigners funnelling down the narrow main street, Le Grand Rue that runs through the centre of town from opposite the post office at the top to the imposing and beautiful church at the bottom of town. Despite the crowds Issigeac is a fine sight on a bright, sunny day like today. The vegetable, fruit and flower stalls add wonderful colour. There are pizza stalls; paella stalls; fresh farm produce stalls selling farm chickens, cream and eggs; meat and chacuterie wagons; plenty of Bergerac wine on display; clothes; jewellery; hats and a man selling model, wooden frogs that make a life-like croaking sound when their ridged backs are stroked with a small peg. This sent Bertie wild as he is partial to chasing and eating live ones.
Half way up Le Grand Rue I found a well stocked, second hand English book stall run by Pete and his wife who live near Eymet where half the population is English. It would seem that Issigeac is another popular Mecca for the Brits as regular announcements were being made in English on the PA system announcing forthcoming events, exhibitions of paintings, concerts and the like. Pete told me there were as many English as French living in the area and that he sells more than 500 books a week at the Eymet and Issigeac markets. He had a big choice of paper backs selling from between 2 and 5 euros and I bought John le Carre’s The Tailor of Panama and two by Bernard Cornwell, Harlequin and Vagabond.
Earlier in the month there was a two day brocante (antiques market) in Eymet which was filmed by the BBC for its popular show, Sun, Sea and Bargain spotting. This was reported in the local daily newspaper, Sud Ouest. British TV’s first woman newsreader, Angela Rippon was spotted doing pieces to camera by our English neighbours. We missed this event because we were in the Channel Islands getting married at the time.
Monday, 24 August 2009
More stories in the diary soon
More stories will appear in my Diary soon.
If you want to know more about our plans for our wedding on the 12th watch this blog.
If you want to know more about our plans for our wedding on the 12th watch this blog.
Friday, 14 August 2009
WEDDING DATE
The date for our wedding is now September 12th 2009 at Monsaguel Church in the Dordogne at 10am.
I will continue to update this blog under the title Letter from the Dordogne. Please press the follower link if you enjoy reading my diary.
I will continue to update this blog under the title Letter from the Dordogne. Please press the follower link if you enjoy reading my diary.
Friday, 24 July 2009
Dordogne murder suspect back in France
Friday 24th July
The front page of the local regional daily, Sud Ouest carries a large photo of Neil Andrew Ludlam being escorted by a Gendarme in Perigueux, the Prefecture (county town) of the Dordogne. He has been named as the main suspect of the murder of his fellow British compatriot, Peter Fuller whose body was found at the latter’s house at Plaisance near Issigeac on June 27th.
The picture caption reads: “Le meurtrier presume mis en examen” the presumed murderer put under investigation.
Ludlam, aged 30, is reported to have come before a judge in Perigeux yesterday and is being held in detention while the case is being further investigated. Ludlam had been staying with Peter Fuller and fled his house shortly after his death. He drove to Bordeaux airport in one of Fuller’s cars, boarded a plane for England but was intercepted by the British police at Luton airport. After being held in detention Westminster Magistrates, according to Sud Ouest, have given “the green light” for his extradition to France.
Fuller had been found by his ex-wife in a pool of blood having been hit over the head several times with what the French police described as a “blunt instrument”. A retired oil industry executive, Peter Fuller had recently built an 18 hole golf course here in the Dordogne and the so called blunt instrument could have been a golf club or rather a five or seven iron!
There have been rumours that Ludlam had been working for Fuller and that there had been a violent row fuelled by alcohol. The police are trying to find clues to what the Sud Ouest describes as “certaines zones d’ombre”. Not least of these is the fact that Andrew Ludlam was found with a large sum of cash on his person when he was arrested at Luton airport.
The front page of the local regional daily, Sud Ouest carries a large photo of Neil Andrew Ludlam being escorted by a Gendarme in Perigueux, the Prefecture (county town) of the Dordogne. He has been named as the main suspect of the murder of his fellow British compatriot, Peter Fuller whose body was found at the latter’s house at Plaisance near Issigeac on June 27th.
The picture caption reads: “Le meurtrier presume mis en examen” the presumed murderer put under investigation.
Ludlam, aged 30, is reported to have come before a judge in Perigeux yesterday and is being held in detention while the case is being further investigated. Ludlam had been staying with Peter Fuller and fled his house shortly after his death. He drove to Bordeaux airport in one of Fuller’s cars, boarded a plane for England but was intercepted by the British police at Luton airport. After being held in detention Westminster Magistrates, according to Sud Ouest, have given “the green light” for his extradition to France.
Fuller had been found by his ex-wife in a pool of blood having been hit over the head several times with what the French police described as a “blunt instrument”. A retired oil industry executive, Peter Fuller had recently built an 18 hole golf course here in the Dordogne and the so called blunt instrument could have been a golf club or rather a five or seven iron!
There have been rumours that Ludlam had been working for Fuller and that there had been a violent row fuelled by alcohol. The police are trying to find clues to what the Sud Ouest describes as “certaines zones d’ombre”. Not least of these is the fact that Andrew Ludlam was found with a large sum of cash on his person when he was arrested at Luton airport.
The Bamboo Garden
July 11th
One of the hottest days of the summer and we were looking for a good spot to swim in the River Dordogne, east of Bergerac. We found a place near Le Buisson de Cadouin just upstream from where the smaller River Vezere joins the Dordogne. The water here was shallow and fast flowing and we struggled against the current and flowing reeds to reach a place to swim.
Bertie our Border terrier, had to be held to prevent him being swept downstream. There were two fishermen in waders who appeared quite unperturbed by our presence and Bertie’s furious paddling.
Having cooled down we decided to head for home and it was then that we stumbled on Planbuisson just up the road from our swimming place and on the junction of the D710 and the D29.
We noticed the “bamboo jardin” sign near a railway crossing, down a narrow lane leading to a small hamlet. We saw some bamboo plants on the side of the road and thought that this was some sort of a Perpinier. It was only when we parked the car and investigated further that we realised we had stumbled on an oasis of bamboo that turned out to be the largest collection of bamboo plants in Europe. Two hundred and seventy varieties of bamboo were on show in a garden covering three acres (1.5 hectares.)
A maze of paths, lined with walnut shells, lead us through dense thickets of sturdy, mature bamboo of all shapes, sizes and colours. Thick green, light and dark brown shoots spiralled high into a dense forest of green leaves. Each twist and turn lead to a new discovery – small clearings with fountains cascading through a series of intricate bamboo watercourses, bridges constructed of bamboo and peaceful spots to sit and admire the foliage and listen to hanging bamboo chimes.
Planbuisson was founded by Michel Bonfils who has dedicated twenty years of his life to creating this extraordinary Bamboo paradise. He told us he uses no pesticides or insecticides and that his healthy crop of bamboo needed little watering but constant attention. He and his only gardener tend this fabulous plantation round the clock. Michel told me he had never been to China - one of several sources for his bamboo plants - because he was unable to leave his garden for any more than three days at a time.
One of the hottest days of the summer and we were looking for a good spot to swim in the River Dordogne, east of Bergerac. We found a place near Le Buisson de Cadouin just upstream from where the smaller River Vezere joins the Dordogne. The water here was shallow and fast flowing and we struggled against the current and flowing reeds to reach a place to swim.
Bertie our Border terrier, had to be held to prevent him being swept downstream. There were two fishermen in waders who appeared quite unperturbed by our presence and Bertie’s furious paddling.
Having cooled down we decided to head for home and it was then that we stumbled on Planbuisson just up the road from our swimming place and on the junction of the D710 and the D29.
We noticed the “bamboo jardin” sign near a railway crossing, down a narrow lane leading to a small hamlet. We saw some bamboo plants on the side of the road and thought that this was some sort of a Perpinier. It was only when we parked the car and investigated further that we realised we had stumbled on an oasis of bamboo that turned out to be the largest collection of bamboo plants in Europe. Two hundred and seventy varieties of bamboo were on show in a garden covering three acres (1.5 hectares.)
A maze of paths, lined with walnut shells, lead us through dense thickets of sturdy, mature bamboo of all shapes, sizes and colours. Thick green, light and dark brown shoots spiralled high into a dense forest of green leaves. Each twist and turn lead to a new discovery – small clearings with fountains cascading through a series of intricate bamboo watercourses, bridges constructed of bamboo and peaceful spots to sit and admire the foliage and listen to hanging bamboo chimes.
Planbuisson was founded by Michel Bonfils who has dedicated twenty years of his life to creating this extraordinary Bamboo paradise. He told us he uses no pesticides or insecticides and that his healthy crop of bamboo needed little watering but constant attention. He and his only gardener tend this fabulous plantation round the clock. Michel told me he had never been to China - one of several sources for his bamboo plants - because he was unable to leave his garden for any more than three days at a time.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
EYMET
Thursday May 14th
EYMET
There are two hundred thousand British passport holders registered living in France.
A big slice of these live in the Dordogne. In the old market town of Eymet, south-west
of Bergerac there are nearly 2000 Brits living there.
The town even has its own cricket team, a shop selling everything from baked beans to Darjeeling breakfast tea, an English bookshop and seven estate agents; all of whose staff speak English. We are told that there’s a Farrow and Ball paint shop in Eymet. We set off in trepidation. How many of our fellow ex-pats are we going to bump into in this little corner of England? We find the Farrow and Ball shop in the Rue de Veau and it’s owned by a charming English lady called Michelle who has lived in France for twenty years.
We call in at a bar called La Gambetta in the town’s Square. It’s 6.30 pm. They are already serving fish and chips and we see several English couples tucking in. We talk to a friendly French barman who trained at The Alverston Hotel in Stratford-on-Avon. The owner of the bar is an Englishman called Rupert. He is smartly dressed, charming and urbane. It turns out he speaks fluent French, has lived in Aquitaine for years and is married to a French girl. Very soon the place is packed out with English beer drinkers.
We decide to try the Italian Pizza restaurant on the other side of the square. This is a pleasant surprise. Smart, fresh and modern, the place has a cosmopolitan atmosphere and is packed with English and French alike. We could have been in a trendy London trattoria.
We are given a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. The two couples on the next table are happy to put up with our border terrier, Bertie who is tugging at their shoes – one of his favourite tricks. It turns out that one couple; David and Diana Wormwell live close to us when not at their house in the hills above Malaga. The other two at their table are their friends who live in Eymet itself. The lady, a French Canadian, met her French husband in Montreal and persuaded him to come back to France and live in the Dordogne.
After dinner we took Bertie for a walk along the banks of a pretty river called Le Dropt which runs though the centre of Eymet. It was sad to notice that many of the fallen trees upended by the January storms were still floating in the river.
EYMET
There are two hundred thousand British passport holders registered living in France.
A big slice of these live in the Dordogne. In the old market town of Eymet, south-west
of Bergerac there are nearly 2000 Brits living there.
The town even has its own cricket team, a shop selling everything from baked beans to Darjeeling breakfast tea, an English bookshop and seven estate agents; all of whose staff speak English. We are told that there’s a Farrow and Ball paint shop in Eymet. We set off in trepidation. How many of our fellow ex-pats are we going to bump into in this little corner of England? We find the Farrow and Ball shop in the Rue de Veau and it’s owned by a charming English lady called Michelle who has lived in France for twenty years.
We call in at a bar called La Gambetta in the town’s Square. It’s 6.30 pm. They are already serving fish and chips and we see several English couples tucking in. We talk to a friendly French barman who trained at The Alverston Hotel in Stratford-on-Avon. The owner of the bar is an Englishman called Rupert. He is smartly dressed, charming and urbane. It turns out he speaks fluent French, has lived in Aquitaine for years and is married to a French girl. Very soon the place is packed out with English beer drinkers.
We decide to try the Italian Pizza restaurant on the other side of the square. This is a pleasant surprise. Smart, fresh and modern, the place has a cosmopolitan atmosphere and is packed with English and French alike. We could have been in a trendy London trattoria.
We are given a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. The two couples on the next table are happy to put up with our border terrier, Bertie who is tugging at their shoes – one of his favourite tricks. It turns out that one couple; David and Diana Wormwell live close to us when not at their house in the hills above Malaga. The other two at their table are their friends who live in Eymet itself. The lady, a French Canadian, met her French husband in Montreal and persuaded him to come back to France and live in the Dordogne.
After dinner we took Bertie for a walk along the banks of a pretty river called Le Dropt which runs though the centre of Eymet. It was sad to notice that many of the fallen trees upended by the January storms were still floating in the river.
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Wedding benediction
Good news.
Our parish priest has agreed today to give us a marriage benediction on September 12th 2009. This will be at the church at Monsaguel near Issigeac at 10am. More details will be posted nearer the date.
Our parish priest has agreed today to give us a marriage benediction on September 12th 2009. This will be at the church at Monsaguel near Issigeac at 10am. More details will be posted nearer the date.
Monday, 6 July 2009
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Readers please note:
Letter from the Dodogne is comprised of selected diary entries written during the last six months. They are not in chronilogical order.
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Letter from the Dodogne is comprised of selected diary entries written during the last six months. They are not in chronilogical order.
Please add your comments and become a follower.
Sang de la Terre
Friday May 1st
To Anne Howard for lunch at Masquieres on the edge of the Cahors wine country. The English called Cahors the black wine because of its tannin content making it taste sharp and strong. Anne lives in a house on the Earl of Leicester’s estate at Holkham Hall in Suffolk but likes to spend at least four months of the year at this charming house in the Lot et Garonne.
It’s May Day and a holiday in France. There are flower markets in every bastide market town we pass through - Issigeac, Villereal, Monflanquin and finally Tournan d‘Agenais where we bought lavender and climbing roses for the new house.
One of Anne’s guests is Nick Ryman the former owner of Chateau Jaubertie just up the road from our new house in the Bergerac wine growing region. I sat next to Nick at lunch so was able to get acquainted with this doyen of Bergerac wines. An Old Etonian, Nick said that before he left school his ambition had always been to own a vineyard in France. When his father sold the Ryman chain of stationery shops he toured the French wine areas in his Bentley. The Bouche de Rhone was too hot, Touraine not far enough south, he was not “over enamoured” by Bordeaux so he bought Chateau Jaubertie in the Bergerac wine region.
Bergerac wine, he told me, was not well known outside the region and nobody in England had heard of it. He told me he had improved both the quality and the image of the wine. Nevertheless he said he lost the best part of £1m in the venture so he sold the chateau to his son’s French father in law. After the price was agreed the buyer tried to short change him by 50000 euros. Nick was having none of it and walked out refusing to sell. The buyer relented and coughed up but Nick, who is retired, hasn’t spoken to his in laws since.
A few days after meeting Nick Ryman I read in the local newspaper about another foreign wine grower who had suffered a sadder fate. The Sud Ouest in its May 6th edition carried a report on its front page about a young American called Robert Adler whose vineyard had gone into liquidation.
A former banker, Adler resigned from his job and left America with his wife and children to live in the Dordogne and realize his life’s ambition to grow high quality wine. In 2002 he bought Le Chateau Bellevue at Thenac near Bordeaux. He came to live permanently there with his wife to realise his dream of working on the land to produce what the Sud Ouest called “sang de la terre” the blood of the soil.
Sadly the dream came to an end in 2006 with the loss of a valuable harvest due to bad weather, staff problems and a dip in wine prices. Two years later his wine business went into liquidation and he was ordered to grub up his precious vines.
In an effort to recoup some of his losses Robert Adler advertised his wine at 20 centimes a bottle – “less than a bouchee du pain”. The liquidator judiciaire, Pascal Pimouget deemed this to be an insufficient price. Instead the liquidator stated that if a buyer for the American’s wine couldn’t be found by September then it would be sold at auction.
To Anne Howard for lunch at Masquieres on the edge of the Cahors wine country. The English called Cahors the black wine because of its tannin content making it taste sharp and strong. Anne lives in a house on the Earl of Leicester’s estate at Holkham Hall in Suffolk but likes to spend at least four months of the year at this charming house in the Lot et Garonne.
It’s May Day and a holiday in France. There are flower markets in every bastide market town we pass through - Issigeac, Villereal, Monflanquin and finally Tournan d‘Agenais where we bought lavender and climbing roses for the new house.
One of Anne’s guests is Nick Ryman the former owner of Chateau Jaubertie just up the road from our new house in the Bergerac wine growing region. I sat next to Nick at lunch so was able to get acquainted with this doyen of Bergerac wines. An Old Etonian, Nick said that before he left school his ambition had always been to own a vineyard in France. When his father sold the Ryman chain of stationery shops he toured the French wine areas in his Bentley. The Bouche de Rhone was too hot, Touraine not far enough south, he was not “over enamoured” by Bordeaux so he bought Chateau Jaubertie in the Bergerac wine region.
Bergerac wine, he told me, was not well known outside the region and nobody in England had heard of it. He told me he had improved both the quality and the image of the wine. Nevertheless he said he lost the best part of £1m in the venture so he sold the chateau to his son’s French father in law. After the price was agreed the buyer tried to short change him by 50000 euros. Nick was having none of it and walked out refusing to sell. The buyer relented and coughed up but Nick, who is retired, hasn’t spoken to his in laws since.
A few days after meeting Nick Ryman I read in the local newspaper about another foreign wine grower who had suffered a sadder fate. The Sud Ouest in its May 6th edition carried a report on its front page about a young American called Robert Adler whose vineyard had gone into liquidation.
A former banker, Adler resigned from his job and left America with his wife and children to live in the Dordogne and realize his life’s ambition to grow high quality wine. In 2002 he bought Le Chateau Bellevue at Thenac near Bordeaux. He came to live permanently there with his wife to realise his dream of working on the land to produce what the Sud Ouest called “sang de la terre” the blood of the soil.
Sadly the dream came to an end in 2006 with the loss of a valuable harvest due to bad weather, staff problems and a dip in wine prices. Two years later his wine business went into liquidation and he was ordered to grub up his precious vines.
In an effort to recoup some of his losses Robert Adler advertised his wine at 20 centimes a bottle – “less than a bouchee du pain”. The liquidator judiciaire, Pascal Pimouget deemed this to be an insufficient price. Instead the liquidator stated that if a buyer for the American’s wine couldn’t be found by September then it would be sold at auction.
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Wedding date
Our wedding date scheduled for Saturday September 5th at the Mairie, 24560 St Perdoux in the Dordogne is being put on hold.
An update on this forthcoming event will been given a.s.a.p.
A reception party is still being planned in September,
An update on this forthcoming event will been given a.s.a.p.
A reception party is still being planned in September,
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Suspected murderer named
Thursday July 2nd
Peter Fuller's suspected murderer named.
The suspected assailant of the retired English entrepreneur, Peter Fuller was named yesterday in the local daily newspaper, Sud Ouest. He is Neil Andrew Ludlam aged 30. He could be sent back to France on the recommendation of English magistrates under “un mandate d’arret European”.
The body of Fuller was found by his ex-wife last Sunday morning at what was described as a “scene d’horreur”. He had been hit several times over the head with a blunt instrument.
According to French police Fuller was found face down in a sea of blood - “une mare de sang”. There was evidence of a fierce fight. Furniture was turned upside down in the living room, the kitchen and in the dining room near the bar where empty bottles of alcohol and glasses were found. There were traces of blood on the walls and on the furniture.
Ludlam, who had been staying with Fuller, is reported to have fled the scene in one of Fuller’s cars. He was arrested by the British police at Luton airport when the aircraft he boarded in Bordeaux landed. He is reported to have had a large sum of cash on him.
One of the other unsolved mysteries is reported to be the theft of two cars stolen from Wheeler’s house. One was a red AX Citroen found crashed 12 kilometres from the scene of the crime. The other was a Mercedes coupe which has not yet been traced. The police have not been able to confirm whether this was the car Ludlam used to drive to Bordeaux airport.
It is also not known whether anyone else was involved in Peter Fuller's murder.
However The Sud Ouest reported that this affair had created a degree of turmoil - “emoi” - in the British community living in the Dordogne.
Peter Fuller's suspected murderer named.
The suspected assailant of the retired English entrepreneur, Peter Fuller was named yesterday in the local daily newspaper, Sud Ouest. He is Neil Andrew Ludlam aged 30. He could be sent back to France on the recommendation of English magistrates under “un mandate d’arret European”.
The body of Fuller was found by his ex-wife last Sunday morning at what was described as a “scene d’horreur”. He had been hit several times over the head with a blunt instrument.
According to French police Fuller was found face down in a sea of blood - “une mare de sang”. There was evidence of a fierce fight. Furniture was turned upside down in the living room, the kitchen and in the dining room near the bar where empty bottles of alcohol and glasses were found. There were traces of blood on the walls and on the furniture.
Ludlam, who had been staying with Fuller, is reported to have fled the scene in one of Fuller’s cars. He was arrested by the British police at Luton airport when the aircraft he boarded in Bordeaux landed. He is reported to have had a large sum of cash on him.
One of the other unsolved mysteries is reported to be the theft of two cars stolen from Wheeler’s house. One was a red AX Citroen found crashed 12 kilometres from the scene of the crime. The other was a Mercedes coupe which has not yet been traced. The police have not been able to confirm whether this was the car Ludlam used to drive to Bordeaux airport.
It is also not known whether anyone else was involved in Peter Fuller's murder.
However The Sud Ouest reported that this affair had created a degree of turmoil - “emoi” - in the British community living in the Dordogne.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
The mysterious death of Peter Fuller
Tuesday 30th June
My neighbour, Bernard told me yesterday that an Englishmen who lives in a village only a few miles from Les Mayets had been found dead at his house. He had apparently been murdered by another British national who had been staying with the deceased and there had been a heated argument about a golf match.
However, another of our neighbours told me today that the mysterious Englishman who had been staying with Fuller had been doing some building work for him and hadn’t been paid. Whether he hit Fuller over the head with a golf club is speculation.
Sure enough, the local regional newspaper, Sud Ouest carried a story in the Monday edition about the incident on its front page. According their report Peter Fuller, aged 67, had died on Saturday night or early Sunday morning and his body had been discovered by his ex-wife on Sunday at midday. He had suffered head wounds which were thought to be caused by a blunt instrument.
Fuller lived alone in a large house near Plaisance but for the last three weeks he had a younger Englishman lodging with him who is said to be in his 30s. When the Gendarmes arrived at the scene the man had disappeared. The Sud Ouest reported that the man, who has not been named but who is the prime suspect in the murder case, boarded a plane at Bordeaux airport bound for London where he was detained by the British police.
Two of Fuller’s cars were missing. One, which had broken down or been involved in an accident, had been found abandoned near Fuller’s house. The other had apparently been used by the assailant to get to Bordeaux.
Formerly employed in the oil industry Fuller had been building an 18 hole golf course but was short of money and, to make ends meet, had started a restaurant selling English roasts and fish and chips.
My neighbour, Bernard told me yesterday that an Englishmen who lives in a village only a few miles from Les Mayets had been found dead at his house. He had apparently been murdered by another British national who had been staying with the deceased and there had been a heated argument about a golf match.
However, another of our neighbours told me today that the mysterious Englishman who had been staying with Fuller had been doing some building work for him and hadn’t been paid. Whether he hit Fuller over the head with a golf club is speculation.
Sure enough, the local regional newspaper, Sud Ouest carried a story in the Monday edition about the incident on its front page. According their report Peter Fuller, aged 67, had died on Saturday night or early Sunday morning and his body had been discovered by his ex-wife on Sunday at midday. He had suffered head wounds which were thought to be caused by a blunt instrument.
Fuller lived alone in a large house near Plaisance but for the last three weeks he had a younger Englishman lodging with him who is said to be in his 30s. When the Gendarmes arrived at the scene the man had disappeared. The Sud Ouest reported that the man, who has not been named but who is the prime suspect in the murder case, boarded a plane at Bordeaux airport bound for London where he was detained by the British police.
Two of Fuller’s cars were missing. One, which had broken down or been involved in an accident, had been found abandoned near Fuller’s house. The other had apparently been used by the assailant to get to Bordeaux.
Formerly employed in the oil industry Fuller had been building an 18 hole golf course but was short of money and, to make ends meet, had started a restaurant selling English roasts and fish and chips.
Friday, 19 June 2009
Saturday 6th June
Neil Morrissey
The Ryanair flight to Bergerac from Stansted was packed. I was one of the last to board but luckily on the front row there was a spare seat – the middle of three by the front exit which have extra leg room. By the window sat a distinguished looking English gent wearing a linen suit and brown loafers reading the Daily Telegraph. In the right seat by the aisle wearing jeans, tea shirt and a scruffy pair of blue trainers was the actor Neil Morrissey.
I am a bit of a fan of Neil Morrissey and liked him in the TV sitcom Men Behaving Badly. That was until I sighted him a year ago in a supermarket in Fumel, in the Lot et Garonne. On that occasion when he saw that I may have recognised him he stared back at me fiercely I later spied him downing several pressions in the bar of the same supermarket.
This time he seemed friendly enough and apologised for leaving his brief case on the middle seat. I was careful not to show any recognition and instead read the racing pages of The Times. It was Derby day and I had backed Sea the Stars in a reverse forecast with Fame and Glory.
The stewardess asked if we wanted any drinks. Morrissey ordered a whisky which came in two sealed plastic sachets. This, he thought, was amusing. I ordered a gin and tonic and along came the gin, also in two plastic sachets – a double like his whisky I presumed.
This broke the ice -excuse the pun - and we started chatting. He had bought a house four years ago near Monflanquin, Lot et Garonne about 50 kilometres south of Bergerac four years ago. He said he loved it there and spent as much time as possible between shows “chilling out” at his house. He said that sadly he would only be in France for a couple of weeks as he was due back in London to rehearse for the lead role in a play called Rain Man –the same role that Dustin Hoffman played in the film of the same name about an autistic savant.
Morrissey explained that researching the role had been amazing and that he hadn’t realised quite how brilliant people afflicted with this disability were. I mentioned that I had come across someone I thought fitted this bill - a charming, soft spoken assistant at a garden centre near Alexander Palace. He knew the Latin and common name of every plant in the place, all their characteristics and when and how to plant them.
“Did you notice that they don’t look at you when they’re speaking?” Morrissey asked me.
I agreed that this was definitely the case with the young gardener at Alexandra Palace who appeared to be mentally and spiritually on a higher plain. While being extremely helpful and courteous he avoided any physical or eye contact.
Neil Morrissey
The Ryanair flight to Bergerac from Stansted was packed. I was one of the last to board but luckily on the front row there was a spare seat – the middle of three by the front exit which have extra leg room. By the window sat a distinguished looking English gent wearing a linen suit and brown loafers reading the Daily Telegraph. In the right seat by the aisle wearing jeans, tea shirt and a scruffy pair of blue trainers was the actor Neil Morrissey.
I am a bit of a fan of Neil Morrissey and liked him in the TV sitcom Men Behaving Badly. That was until I sighted him a year ago in a supermarket in Fumel, in the Lot et Garonne. On that occasion when he saw that I may have recognised him he stared back at me fiercely I later spied him downing several pressions in the bar of the same supermarket.
This time he seemed friendly enough and apologised for leaving his brief case on the middle seat. I was careful not to show any recognition and instead read the racing pages of The Times. It was Derby day and I had backed Sea the Stars in a reverse forecast with Fame and Glory.
The stewardess asked if we wanted any drinks. Morrissey ordered a whisky which came in two sealed plastic sachets. This, he thought, was amusing. I ordered a gin and tonic and along came the gin, also in two plastic sachets – a double like his whisky I presumed.
This broke the ice -excuse the pun - and we started chatting. He had bought a house four years ago near Monflanquin, Lot et Garonne about 50 kilometres south of Bergerac four years ago. He said he loved it there and spent as much time as possible between shows “chilling out” at his house. He said that sadly he would only be in France for a couple of weeks as he was due back in London to rehearse for the lead role in a play called Rain Man –the same role that Dustin Hoffman played in the film of the same name about an autistic savant.
Morrissey explained that researching the role had been amazing and that he hadn’t realised quite how brilliant people afflicted with this disability were. I mentioned that I had come across someone I thought fitted this bill - a charming, soft spoken assistant at a garden centre near Alexander Palace. He knew the Latin and common name of every plant in the place, all their characteristics and when and how to plant them.
“Did you notice that they don’t look at you when they’re speaking?” Morrissey asked me.
I agreed that this was definitely the case with the young gardener at Alexandra Palace who appeared to be mentally and spiritually on a higher plain. While being extremely helpful and courteous he avoided any physical or eye contact.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
Friday February 13th
My birthday.
Is Friday 13th my lucky day that’s the question!? Many believe this to be an unlucky day. The conundrum was put to the test later the same day.
The best laid plans for attending the opera in Bordeaux were abandoned because of the two hour drive back home. Far better to have a few sharpeners prior to a slap up dinner at L’Imparfait in Bergerac. Lyndia could join me in a glass of champagne to celebrate the great day and drive me home after dinner. She said she was quite happy to abstain from wine at the restaurant,
So far so good.
We found a convivial cocktail bar in Bergerac old town in sight of a statue of the fabled Cyrano. The bar was designer decorated with influences from Bali - clever lighting, black stone walls, large gold Buddhas and a waterfall in the old stone entrance hall. The patron was debonair and spoke good English. Seated at a table were a couple of suited businessmen in the company of lady, also suited, complete with brief case and with mobile phone pressed to her ear. She appeared to be of “Cote Ivoire” origin. We drank house champagne at 10 euros a shot and left feeling quite jolly.
Feeling pleased the drink intake had been kept to a minimum at dinner I elected to drive. I’d chosen to forget a number of Pelforth pressions consumed in my earlier bar crawl round the main town looking for a Tabac. We would get home before chucking out time I insisted.
On the other side of the Pont Neuf, which traverses the Dordogne, we saw the tell tale swivelling blue lights of the Gendarmes. They were pulling everyone in at the roundabout at Madeleine . There was no escape. I blew into the bag. I didn’t dare to see if had changed colour. I was politely told it had and that I was over the limit. This would surely prove my worst fears about this superstitiously unlucky date.
We were in a French registered car but when the gendarme who had officiated in the breath test asked me to produce my car papers I replied in English that they were not in the car but at home. His attitude changed. He called his boss over.
“You’re English?” his commanding officer enquired.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Give me your car keys,” he demanded.
Whereupon he walked round to the passenger window and handed them to Lyndia.
“Tell your wife to drive you home,” he said.
It was, after all, my lucky day!
My birthday.
Is Friday 13th my lucky day that’s the question!? Many believe this to be an unlucky day. The conundrum was put to the test later the same day.
The best laid plans for attending the opera in Bordeaux were abandoned because of the two hour drive back home. Far better to have a few sharpeners prior to a slap up dinner at L’Imparfait in Bergerac. Lyndia could join me in a glass of champagne to celebrate the great day and drive me home after dinner. She said she was quite happy to abstain from wine at the restaurant,
So far so good.
We found a convivial cocktail bar in Bergerac old town in sight of a statue of the fabled Cyrano. The bar was designer decorated with influences from Bali - clever lighting, black stone walls, large gold Buddhas and a waterfall in the old stone entrance hall. The patron was debonair and spoke good English. Seated at a table were a couple of suited businessmen in the company of lady, also suited, complete with brief case and with mobile phone pressed to her ear. She appeared to be of “Cote Ivoire” origin. We drank house champagne at 10 euros a shot and left feeling quite jolly.
Feeling pleased the drink intake had been kept to a minimum at dinner I elected to drive. I’d chosen to forget a number of Pelforth pressions consumed in my earlier bar crawl round the main town looking for a Tabac. We would get home before chucking out time I insisted.
On the other side of the Pont Neuf, which traverses the Dordogne, we saw the tell tale swivelling blue lights of the Gendarmes. They were pulling everyone in at the roundabout at Madeleine . There was no escape. I blew into the bag. I didn’t dare to see if had changed colour. I was politely told it had and that I was over the limit. This would surely prove my worst fears about this superstitiously unlucky date.
We were in a French registered car but when the gendarme who had officiated in the breath test asked me to produce my car papers I replied in English that they were not in the car but at home. His attitude changed. He called his boss over.
“You’re English?” his commanding officer enquired.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Give me your car keys,” he demanded.
Whereupon he walked round to the passenger window and handed them to Lyndia.
“Tell your wife to drive you home,” he said.
It was, after all, my lucky day!
I will shortly be posting samples of my diary, Letter from the Dordogne. This is essentially about moving to a newly acquired house in "Dordogneshire". It will give a little bit of insight into this little bit of England. I would like to think it will be a better read than A Year in Provence.
I moved to this lovely house, Maison Mayets in St Perdoux on February 1st 2009. The first item that will be posted shortly is the account of a lucky escape on my birthday, Friday February 13th.
Watch this space.
I moved to this lovely house, Maison Mayets in St Perdoux on February 1st 2009. The first item that will be posted shortly is the account of a lucky escape on my birthday, Friday February 13th.
Watch this space.
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
News from the Dordogne
You will soon be able to read my diary with regular updates, about living in the Dordogne.
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