disassemble detour disembark disengage

images above and below by MM

WE HAD A SURPRISINGLY EASY journey back to the UK from this penultimate sojourn chez nous. It didn’t rain once. Quite unlike our retreat of autumn 2024. We didn’t stick to the route we assembled prior to departure either. And it wasn’t necessary to refer to Michelin at all on day one, Sablet to Sarlat-le-Canéda. The route is etched upon our souls even though we added a long unused stretch (at least, not by us in recent years, it is now considerably improved) through the southern Cévennes. After joining the A75 our route took us over the Viaduc de Millau so here is the obligatory image of our crossing, one of a rapid fire set taken by Mme Melling which she did rather well with…… 

Likewise, we are well versed with Sarlat to Périgueux roads, and on to la Rochelle; and Perigueux we negotiated with aplomb, whereafter we became aware that we were making just too good a time over this stage of travel that is rather too short in miles, to be honest. We continue to strive to locate more evenly spaced lodgings – but have concluded that seemingly it just can’t be done. So we diverted from the tried and tested, to get in some sea air (the original proposed itinerary being deficient in this aspect of our south–north travel). 

I’m confident Mme Melling was entirely on top of her idea, and may have casually glanced at the Michelin to confirm her plan for going forward. It included Marennes and also oysters, just in case we hadn’t the time or opportunity to consume some in Roscoff.

From the overnight in La Rochelle, we diverted again from 'the plan', not going via Nantes and Rennes but reusing an often used variation (starting after Luçon – steadfast in its presentation of a quality petit déj) that brought us to St Brévin and the least attractive weather of the return, looking across to St Nazaire. Gloomy. And not for the first time either, over the years…

Over the bridge,  then on, through Redon, and at long last, rejoining the N12 in the environs of St Brieuc, to pick up the familiar slog west. Some disorder took place at this point due to confusion regarding the direction of the road we took (which was correct but did not seem so; so requiring two about-turns – or was that three?). 

The tedium of returning through Brittany still tends to deaden our senses (strangely, this tendency doesn’t seem to tax us very much at all when fresh off the boat and heading for the Loire) – it goes on a bit. Dashed glad we were therefore, to roll into Roscoff and clock in at our billet at about 1700 hours. The accommodation was comfortable indeed (it always has been at Roscoff) and there were more oysters, for myself at least, not to mention a steaming bowl apiece of moules. We were adventurous: we didn’t go to the Surcouf resto this time but tried another. We liked it: La Moule au Pot. 

The voyage to Plymouth next day, Saturday, was smooth, prompt, and entertaining – as some of the youth of France, on organised coach trips to our island nation, paraded round the boat for the full six hours of the crossing, or played cards when smart phones were ill advised due to connection costs, generally reminding one (me at the very least) that they are the beautiful people, with boundless energy and (hopefully) an expectation of living the life for many years to come. They made a happy man feel, er, very old. Otherwise the ship was quiet and thinly populated. It is out of season, as much as it ever is these days…

And so we returned to our home in the country. This one. Not that one.

Less than a month to go before we set out for the last time to 1rueFB. 

I am 

brimming.

 

autumnal not so jolly

 

WHAT WAS PUBLICISED as our usual autumn jolly does not quite pan out that way. All because 1rueFB was being marketed, up for sale, very much á vendre. 

Unlikely as it might seem, a Parisian pair who were very much up for it, made a revised (upward) offer and signed the compromis even, suddenly got cold feet during the cooling off period and withdrew their interest at the eleventh hour. There are some suspicions as to why they did this: something to do with a parent of one of them not liking something or other . . . possibly the CEO of the bank of mum and dad? Hmmm: we’ll leave it there shall we . . . it was also complicated by these Parisians just having to be away for four months in one of the 'Stans…… as you do when house hunting. Can’t say we were all that fussed about drawing stumps with these '12 year olds’ from France’s capital. The experience lends credence to the general belief around ’84 that Parisians are a bit shit to those in the provinces and are seemingly from another planet, mostly. Sweeping I guess, but I can go with it a bit more readily in the light of the experience.

Our trusty Estate Agent (oxymoron usually I know – but in the case of Andrew we feel well supported in this endeavour and even after blanching at the fee he will charge for seeing us through this process: it costs in France, he is competitive and very much on the ball) … our trusty Est A. quickly finds us new buyers and gets a new compromis fixed for us to be present at, in person this time rather than down the line, as it were. These folk seem much more attuned to Sablet and its environs, are closer to us in age, are realistic, want to actually live in 1rueFB bless them, etc etc. The compromis or whatever they call it rolls through down at the notaire’s slick office space, the cooling off period ticks over and runs out without backword and we know it is now happening.

We begin the painful process of sorting out into five metaphorical piles:
A] stuff we simply have to keep and take back to Bullsmead Towers (limited and conditioned by the practicality of getting such clobber back there in the motor); 
B] stuff we might expect friends and neighbours would like, might buy: stuff we can ‘gift’ to such associates that is;
C] stuff no one is likely to want let alone buy, but has value of some sort. We arrange for this stuff to be collected for recycling or take it ourselves to a recycling hub adjacent to the local déchèterie.
D] stuff that has collected over the 14 years (mostly in the garage) but we have not used or found a use for. This last has to go to the déchèterie. You can add in here unwanted clothes and shoes, going off to the clothes depository located for some reason behind the Mairie.

E] The Table. Ah. The Table. Our pride and joy. No one wants a table, everybody already has one. Especially the buyers. But this is a beautiful table. Made to 1st class honours degree standards. No-one (to date) will buy it for more than €100. If you have sat at it you will know of its provenance and quality of finish. It is a crime to even try and place a value on such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

We contemplated getting this work of art in oak transported back to Bullsmead… we conclude it is not remotely economic or financially practicable. It weighs at least three Olympic swimming pools and needs two strong men without damaged backs to move it. It separates into only two pieces. It needs a vehicle with at least a load dimension of two plus metres long to get it on board. Doesn’t sound a lot I know. After all it got to 1rueFB, back when, on a trailer behind a small white van. But it did require muscle to bring the thing into the kitchen where it has rested since, where they put it down, just inside the house double doors, to this day. The clock is ticking though. Oh my, oh my . . .

This issue is not resolved. When it is I dare say I will say more. Completion after all may be only a week or four away.

Our former neighbours from up the Montée de la Grand Font, Barbara et Pascal, whose relocation to near St Etienne caused us considerable regret, showed up by chance (they live miles and miles away now) and took refreshment with us at The Table. They sympathised. They also reassured us that Minouchette the local cat of 1rueFb and Sablet, which they adopted, is fit and well and rarely gives us a moment’s thought. 

We made time to visit the Three Pines of Durban on a walk up that hill, and on another day a pilgrimage up to St Hilaire . . .

St Hilaire above Puyméras below

We found the time to go buy Bibs at both Puyméras and Bédoin. After the visit to the latter we indulged ourselves with a circuit of Le Géant, yea even unto the summit plateau of said mountain. At the former we noted the neatness of the village, its perfect position, the newly acquired and customised Mairie building, and Mary watched some paint drying.

We managed to squeeze in a saunter to Château Hers on the Rhône, now tastefully renovated and stabilised in its semi-ruinous state.

We inspected La Bori, the garden above Suzette, and drank Kir-Royals at Le Barroux.

We ventured, towards the end of our stay, over the roads of the Toulourenc near Veaux and the gorges thereat. Earlier, we visited the site of the pine on the ridge above St Maurice, now utterly gone without trace. We took away the boulders from our terrace that we borrowed from near Châteauneuf-du-Pape (to keep the doors open when the mistral blew) and repurposed them below the pylon at Rabais Sud . . . and we managed to do several bits of the Rasteau walk on several occasions, punctuated with Sunday lunchtime snifters in the square. We walked to Séguret and back, not done that in recent times. 

Violès café

And we lunched. As per. 

At Roaix, Villedieu, Violès (see right), Vaison, Séguret and Sablet, even chez nous on occasion…… We ate with friends, John, Louise, Liz*, Keith*, Jen, Dorte*, Søren*… Gerard was indisposed but we took tea with him and Jen on the Grande Rue. More than once.

* sold up in Sablet but unable to keep away

So I suppose we did get out and about a bit, but I note that in all our previous thirty three visits to Sablet, never did we stray less far from the environs of Sablet, there was so much stuff to sort. And yet we scored, don't you think? 

As the horror of what we are doing (NB selling out 1rueFB) sank deeper and deeper into our souls we decided the only way to address this distress was by planning to do some more familiarisation with the above, even after we are no longer Fr tax payers and Fr property owners. 

In short, book a holiday in 84! Not in Sablet you understand, that would be too too painful, but nearby. Mme Melling went to it  – as well as climbing our beloved P-de-D Holm Oak, like she did back in the last century  – only not quite so high.

So next year, if the booking holds up (and we have paid a deposit so it better) our autumn vacance will be based in Villedieu, hardly a stone’s throw from the square and the Café du Centre therein. We’ve taken a look at this rental (exterior only) and it looks OK. Very OK. Not quite the equivalence of our cool understated space at 1rueFB in Sabbers of course… but that has now been dispersed and its character lost as we clear it out. A base we will enjoy I am sure in Villedieu, and from whence we can revisit familiar people, places and things. Stitched with some regret though, at our loss of our own footprint, I bet. There's no pleasing some folk, is there? 

But before that comes to pass we have to follow through on 1rueFB. Another visit to round it off, in pretty short order. Completion even. Bank the proceeds. Sort The Table issue out. Watch this space (or do something worthy, the choice is yours).

1rueFB was built in 1877 or thereabouts. Since it was converted into a house, no one can have appreciated it more than we. Long may the ugly ducking, with its shortage of right angles in all and every room, give shelter and pleasure to those who choose to live there. We got loads.

Villedieu: café du centre

Don't contact me to tell me I've repeated half this guff in a previous post FGS; 

can't a fellow have a senior moment once in a while? 

But sorry if I've taxed your patience beyond the norm, I admit I may have

 'boiled my parsnips twice' on this occasion, 

in which case you'll probably not have reached this point,

 so this apology may be simply going to waste. 

Tsch!

dismal dismantle

THOSE AMONGST MY PUBLIC who have attempted tirelessly to stay with the posts that appear from this quarter in my blog Driving on the Right, will be aware that there are sweeping changes afoot. The time has come. 1ruefb is in the process of being sold and after one false start, it looks as though this time our buyers will persevere with their purchase and see us off the premises.

If we had known at the outset, what a disturbing and unsettling process this was going to be, well I doubt we’d have gone for it. I’ve explained elsewhere the rationale for drawing stumps in Sablet which you will have read, or can read now, or which you can choose to ignore, if you don’t mind dwelling in ignorance. This post is just an indicator of how we tried to combine an autumn residency in Sablet with the rather daunting compromis signing (quite easy in the event) the necessary considerations of what to keep and what to dispose of, contents wise, how what we decide to keep is to be brought back to our estates in Devon, where to have lunch, who with if anybody, and what to do about The Table.

After the Compromis is signed, (the compromis being the contract between the buyer and the seller and is binding) there is a ten day cooling off period, during which our buyers can have second thoughts and withdraw from the process without a stain on their characters. Just like our first buyers did. I applied a considerable stain on their characters, the tikes. There is no withdrawing allowable on our part, the sellers. If we both passed over even, the son & heir would still have to complete the sale. Thankfully the current buyers seem to be serious and are far from being 12 year olds. Not from Paris neither.

So, despite the risk of starting dismantling our lives in Sablet before those ten days are up, we have been working our way through the house, sorting, just about ever since we arrived. Thus far we have not troubled the déchèterie itself to scrap our detritus (next time we will) but have made two trips to the Ressourcerie. They take usable cast offs that can be sold on or employed to support those in need of help when setting up home.

We are not sure how we accrued quite so much clobber that falls into this category, but we have and its gone now. Mostly. The binoculars I lugged all the way to Everest Base camp and back: they’ve gone too. Several framed pictures posters and the like: gone for ever. I’m welling up.

Then there’s the books: we've been recycling them in various villages and towns that have book boxes. Clothes and shoes? Down to that hopper thingey behind the Marie. 

Furniture we can’t use, or want, or export, or sell on, well, the Ressourcerie folks will come and take that as well, by appointment and in their van. That will be about the last act prior to the final depart.

So why not just hire a van and take it all back to Bullsmead Court? Dear reader! You cannot be serious.

In simple terms, the accumulation we might want to reuse in blightey just isn’t worth the hire of a van. And anyway, those of our circle who have had the good fortune to see inside Château Bullsmead, well they’d no doubt confirm that it is, as it were, quite comprehensibly furnished already. Above all, nearly all the items with which we gentrified the chambers of 1ruefb were specifically chosen for that location. True, we are attached to many of these artefacts but we are being hard faced about it. They have served their purpose, for us at least. So we have largely reserved the boot space of the trusty motor for what we broadly classify as ‘personal effects’. And the pegs!

Which is why we’ve got to come back to Sablet one more time and why this post is headlined pénultième (humour me re the poles ventoux landscape employed to display this title, it seemed appropriate somehow).

And there is The Table.

The only thing that might have swayed us towards van hire is The Table. Prices start at £700 to get it back to Bullsmead. And once there, there is nowhere that immediately springs to mind, to put said table, back at base. It weighs massively. It comes apart… into just two pieces: the top, and the rest.

So instead, we’ll sell it! Get our investment back. Give it a new home in Fr where it belongs: form a queue for your chance to own this magnificent piece of hand crafted furniture…… yeah, right. 

 We’ll leave that issue, for now.

The Elephant in the room… and about the same weight…

For an itinerary of our experiences out-and-about in this thirty-fourth sojourn, I refer you without hesitation to Mme Melling’s blog; the exemplar of just how posts should give the essence without burying the reader in extraneous detail, side-issues and irrelevances. Keep them wanting more, and all that. I can only admire the economy, wit and pith she demonstrates therein. I soldier on – but readily acknowledge my shortcomings after each post I struggle to get out, when the paucity of my efforts are invariably brought once again to my reluctant attention.

Anyway, for those with an interest in these things (like having waited in all afternoon for a fellow to come to eyeball The Table with a view to purchasing same, now appearing to be a no show, we'll have to try again at the ultimate return), I am closing now with the amended road plan to get us back to the Motherland earlier than originally planned*. We raise anchor tomorrow, at dawn (or shortly thereafter).  

*NB: No I am not. I have, as a result of us changing our return route so radically, decided to omit the route originally displayed here as great chunks of it were deleted or modified, other byways being adopted instead. Flexibility, Variety!