Beware the Platitudes

October 16, 2017

We're still here! Although we've been distracted by guests, dog-sitting, harvesting and strained backs, the renovation continues in earnest. Most of our energies are being focused in the master bedroom, but the apparent slow speed of progress seems to make us even slower due to the accompanying low morale. And we're also doing this with a very limited budget, so accidentally breaking a panel of plasterboard can be more upsetting than you might imagine. Heavy lifting and leaning out at height is what takes its toll on the lower back, and Kevin and I have both suffered in this respect recently. (Okay. It's possible that our regular golf interludes on the field are at least partially to blame.)

Daddy, Mummy and Baby Steps

The stake

This pokey-out stake needs to remain where it awkwardly is, as it appears to be playing an important role in keeping the wall stable; it's exerting a lot of possibly important pressure on the upright beam. Kevin'll work out a pretty way to plasterboard round it and make it into a 'feature'.

Plasterboarding neatly around the window is a tricky operation- I'll let you see the finished job very soon!

I've been carrying out additional pointing around the edges to prevent any further flapping bat incidents...

Well, that's about it for renovation work...

So let's visit the Mushroom Fete at Correze! The fete is held every year in October, as that's the time when mushrooms spring up everywhere; I'm told that, in the old days, villagers would decorate the fronts of their houses with mushrooms, both real and carved wooden fungi garlands. This is no longer the case; I looked very carefully, but there was nothing to be found on any of the houses. The event has evolved into a rather unmushroomy market. There were two or three mushroom stalls, I suppose... and then many other more commercial stalls, such as the man who sells mattresses while sitting on one, smoking and talking on his phone, the earring lady, the bag lady, the wine stall.

The French absolutely love this type of event, all coming out to meet friends and book their seats to eat lunch together at trestle tables in the big marquee. I envy their joy.

The basket-weaving man was suspicious of me, and it's a miracle that I managed to catch a photo of him not peering at me in a semi-irritated manner. I would have liked to buy one of his baskets, but we, regrettably, appear to have experienced a prohibitive non-verbal falling out. Maybe next year...
His hat and zigzag jumper reveal a certain pazazz, n'est pas?

The band played jolly tunes incessantly, possibly providing the highlight of the day! We sat and ate little punnets of frites next to them on the steps of the Mairie. I found that my foot was tapping! It seems that, without a fight, I have finally lost all of my 'cool'. Or maybe their music was the epitome of cool! Yes, that's it! (Yes, I know... not cool.)