the homeless of sablet

 

The first day of the new week (monday 28 sept) and ‘The Irish’ are down at the notaire’s office, handing over keys and stuff before heading off, leaving Terrace Towers in the hands of a new owner — shock horror.

You see, Louise and John have been at the centre of the Sablet Appreciation Society; Terrace Towers has oft been the centre of that circle because a) it is so extensive and accommodating with its four terraces, big views, wood burner, comfy rooms, space and all that, and b) because J&L ‘do’ or did hospitality for us all, both individually and severally. We had some right good bashes up there, and that’s-a-fact. But now they have made themselves intentionally homeless… in Sablet at least…

J&L obviously have their reasons for going at this time – but it hurts, you know – it hurts. Ask the Kaisers, they’ll confirm it. J&L popped round to the Kaiserhof after satisfying the notairial niceities, to say au revoir and G snatched these images of the dearly departing… on his phone…as you do… 

This year of all times too. J&L are not the longest standing members of ‘The Sabletizers’ (incidently, we are the most recent in that respect) but they have certainly always put down a welcome on their mat. Crumbs! Look at how they hosted us when we went over to see them in NI for my last significant birthday! Top flight! There is a post in this blog covering that: you’ll be familiar with it I am sure…

John seems to be able to fix things too. Got our TV dish back working –twice he did that after the mistral played havoc; and he finally sorted the case of the terrace door(s) that refuse to lock. We share his taste for young wines too (he has a good palette IMHO)…

Ah me! They’ve gone, Ms Surgenor and Nelson. They could be back; they say they will be…… here’s hoping. It won't be up at Terrace Towers, clearly.

Dorte and Søren are not coming from Copenhagen. The Covid thing precludes it insurance-wise I gather. Deb and Garry are precluded back in the USA too. Keith and Liz? Maybe, but they were here only a few weeks ago so might not run the gauntlet again or want to do the quarantine thing a second time (two weeks complete isolation at home upon return and fines if you don’t – editor's note: no, K&L opted out, don't blame them). Edeltraut and Frieda have been and gone… Paul and Linda are still here of course, but want to be elsewhere for family reasons. And so on… it’s sad.

Anyway anyway anyway. Life goes on (unless you cop Covid, in which case it mightn’t). But this short post is written to salute the Surgenor-Nelson Consortium. We have had some fun! Let’s hope to have some more. But it is the end of an era for sure… There is other stuff happening too but at the moment I shall conclude —— just here.

retrospective: stop gap/catch up

Under the shadow of the pandemic that is presently gripping one and all in one way or another, we shipped out to Sablet in the last week of September, throwing caution to the wind, determined to get at least one visit to our French estates in 2020, the year that we may all want to forget, but which the majority of us will recall with something of a shudder for the remaining time we each have left to be able to recall anything… 

Slog to Sablet? Surely not, I hear my public cry, in anguish… well only a slog insofar as the weather was rather unfavourable and our progress overshadowed by mask wearing, potential shortages of suitable sustenance, fear of the unknown, even…

This post is ‘aspirational’ at the time of writing. Because, you see, our internet connection in Sablet, where I now sit and tap out these words, is no more. 

Damn it, I don’t like paying month after month for internet connection when we are not in the offing to use it, but heretofore we have gritted our teeth for the convenience it affords when we are here. But when ‘lockdown’ came along in March and with no idea when we might cross this threshold again, we looked around to try and reduce expenditure; clearly paying more months of none useable internet charges was one outlay we could and did terminate.

Bad enough that we lost ferry deposits for a ship that never sailed anyway, and one of the three pre-booked hotels did not see fit to refund our prepaid bookings (two did, in full too, so these two businesses can expect our custom in future years, if we are spared…).

What I am getting round to explaining is that we have no internet here now and I doubt we will seek another service provider for this visit as there may be further constraints placed upon Sabletizing next year. Who knows? We’ll cope without, or at least, confine ourselves to the limited access afforded via Mme Melling’s smart phone (as you’ll no doubt already know, I have no such device myself, don’t hold with them and the life style they seem to impose on all those who have: you know, the constant fixation with that dashed little pixie keyboard and screen, from which all things now must flow into and out of…).

Philistine, moi?

Right then. So we drove through some very inclement weather at times to get here. We brought Anne with us, she intent on getting to Nice in due course to sort out her domestic affairs in that fine city. Not much dithering on route then this time. Pont Aven (the ship of that name) out of Plymouth to Roscoff, a delay for stuck bow doors on the jolly old boat, then the trudge down to La Rochelle and our first hotel. A sort of madness directed us to try and reach Port du Bec in time for lunch – which we did, just, our party craving the pleasure of a tried and tested moules-frites eaten outside in the pouring rain (under cover but only just when the wind blew, which it did at intervals). It cheered us up! I like that bit of muddy coastline. See the banner picture! Redolent, what?

As is often the case, La Rochelle is bathed in late afternoon sunshine upon arrival at our oft-used hotel where all is well organised, sanitised and tickety-boo. Best of all M and self get the diaabled accom. on the third floor (Anne goes next door in a more modest suite), in which one can swing cats in both bedroom and bathroom, if cats were allowed in for such activity.

A walk to the old port to try and assess just how much mask wearing is being practised by Les Rochellites. Hmmm. Not alot. The usual café has reduced its outside tables a little in number but I am not impressed with the lack of sanitizer, the waiter’s up and down face mask and his kiss-kiss greets to some female customers, the long and lingering greetings of some old maskless blokes at the open bar, including hugs, hand shakes and man-to-man kissing, while reducing social distancing down to something like those of bumper-cars on a particularly active fairground. The cursory wipe of vacated tables with a well used and grimy cloth tops off my feeling that here at least Covid-19 is perceived as a minor irritation for wimps and is almost actively being encouraged to sort the men from the boys… I was happy to leave.

But France is not all like that. I am pleased to say that our experiences on the road thereafter were somewhat better. As I have said our hotels were both on the ball and spotless. Breakfast in Royan was delivered with care and attention to ensuring safe conditions for customers and staff alike. Dashed good repast aussi! Even the sun shone warmly for a while. We stayed home in Cahors (apart for the compulsory bridge visit for our passenger’s benefit, see the tail-snap) and ate in the Campanile restaurant where blandness is the watchword. Fair-dos, it wasn’t half bad.

The final day driving is standard fare: the stop by to clock the Viaduc-du Millau at the very chilly and almost deserted services there, then down the A75. But no lunchtime jolly at Marseillan this year: too risky we decide. Just the slog round Montpelier to pick up the A9 autoroute up to Orange, a quick shop at Tulette as Mme Melling declines to use the Supermarché at Orange autoroute exit, then thither unto Sablet and no.1RdeFB, where goodly neighbours John and Louise have opened our shutters and upper windows to air the place. The house is welcoming, familiar and somewhat a sight for sore eyes. 

And thus it came to pass: we made it here. No telephone, the land line not having been restored despite pre-ordered to do so before departing Blightey (bloody orange). No internet (see above). No TV — as last autumn’s storm on our final day in 2019 Sablet had dislodged satellite dish (pulled the securing bolts out of the terrace wall, no less). In fact, no outside world!

Which, in the circumstances, might be considered as NO BAD THING.

Ha! That is easy to say — but a restriction almost too hard to bear, even for me who is dismissive of much of the modern fixation with being constantly in touch with everybody and every thing. Oh well. Let’s see how this all ‘pans out’ shall we?

Whatever, I know all this will be of intense interest to my public, but by the time you get to read this it will be very well past its read by date. Sorry if you wasted your time ploughing through the above: it will teach you to be more discerning… but there will be more to follow I expect, with which I may tempt you, perhaps………?  hmm thought not. 

Oh well… I'll plough on, as and when…