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From Petals to Poundstretcher!

Nov9

We all need a bit of retail therapy on occasions.  Preparing for episode 3, I needed a makeover to reflect my new found confidence (to find out why you’ll have to wait & watch ep3 when it’s released!).  Therefore I needed no further excuse to head for the shops.

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I am also very pleased to announce

The winners of the Celia Romantic Story Writing Competition:

First: The Morning Read by David Graham Ward

Second: Fulfillment by Irene Styles

Third:  The Dreamer by Agnes Frain

The winning entries will shortly be available to listen online or download from listenupnorth.com

And the Runners Up:

A Holy Passion by Amabel Craig

Making Things Happen and  A Woman’s Dilemma by Margaret Nesbitt

Well Done everyone!

Postcard 3: Dans le foret

Sep9

Bonjour mes amis!

Huelgoat

Au’jourdhui we went inland to Huelgoat and nous avons mange nos jambon baguettes sitting sur un bench near le lac.  A few of the locals wished us ‘bon appétit’ as they passed which I thought was lovely.    I really like the Breton people, it’s not like Paris where they give that huge nonchalant shrug when all you’re asking for is une tasse de café avec du lait froid.  Anyone would think you were sending them to the ends of the earth on a mission to find the elixir of eternal youth.

Giant boulders, Huelgoat

It’s a good job that everyone here is so friendly & helpful as there’s only so far your grammar school French from 35 years ago can take you.  I mean your hardly equipped to ask for those holiday essentials every woman needs – a roll of black bin bags and something for your husband’s verucca.  But with a bit of gesticulation & a phrase book, I just about ended up with what I needed.

From the centre of this lovely little town we walked into one of the woods which form part of ‘le Parc naturel regional d’Armorique’.  It was an amazing landscape – quite surreal: huge boulders strewn haphazardly along the riverside under a canopy of beech trees, covered in moss and forming caves and amazing shapes.

Le Grotte d’Artus

We followed a recommended route to take in ‘le grotte d’Artus’ the cave where King Arthur is reputedly buried, but don’t tell the Cornish or indeed the Cumbrians that because they too are very adamant that Camelot was on their sacred land.  Then we chugged up the hill to the Camp d’Artus.  Of course the day we decided to go for a walk also coincided with the start of the heaviest period known to woman.  But like King Arthur you just have to soldier on and wear jogging pants.

Still, that didn’t stop me daydreaming about Simon, imagining that he was with me under the beech trees with the dappled light shining upon us as we caressed each other.  Poor Guy, I felt like a traitor but then I thought he’s probably in the midst of going for a long walk with Julia Bradbury.   Who can tell?

Postcard 1: Celiatime en Vacances

Sep1

Bonjour mes amis!

Apres un tres long journey to get here, myself & the family are finally ensconced in a petit gite nestling in the beautiful Brittany countryside a cote des owners, Marie et Jean-Paul.  I do hope that Guy will now settle down – he’s been in overdrive checking tyres chaque deux minutes to ensure the pressures are correct for our load: he even bought a new gadget for the holidays.  And then he keeps running down his checklist to ensure we comply with all these new French laws like having a high visibility jacket for everyone in the car in case of breakdown.  I mean who wants to wear one of those?  It’s worse than socks with sandals.

La Phare, Roscoff

We arrived in France this morning, disembarking at some unearthly hour.  I sometimes wonder if the French arrange these ferry times to give maximum disorientation to les Anglais.  Thankfully, we found a boulangerie open in Roscoff serving croissants, pain et strong coffee.  Roscoff is a pretty little place not that we were able to appreciate its finer points as along with other bleary-eyed Brits we wandered up and down its quaint streets in what must have resembled a scene from Zombies En Vacances!

The first thing you notice about France is how stylish & well made everything seems although I wondered if the toilets would still leave a lot to be desired and whether Canard de toilette had made it across the channel.  I was very tempted to carry around one of the cloths  that I’d packed away in the boot but I resisted the urge and did all the sensible desensitising things that my counsellor suggested.

Market Day in the Mediaeval Town of Morlaix

We had a stop off at Morlaix for lunch with its fine Mediaeval Square and bustling market.  Its heritage was somewhat lost on my teenage boys who do not see the point of anything unless it can be turned into un jeux de computer and virtually blasted off the face of the earth.  They also seemed to have conveniently forgotten every scrap of French they ever knew and this trip was after all intended to help Julian with his French conversation retake.

Guy lit le Figaro

When we arrived at our lovely gite – a converted pigsty and were greeted by the lovely owners, Marie & Jean-Paul.  We nodded intelligently as they explained en Francais about how to reset the trip switch if they were out.  James & Julian took great interest in Therese (seize ans), the gite owners’ daughter.  It was quite remarkable how every noun, conjugation and past participle they had ever learned at school was suddenly brought to mind.   But I think they both felt rather intimidated by her brother Claude (dix-neuf ans), nonchalant, sporting a baseball cap, a Gauloise & driving a red Citroen Saxo.

Guy & I fully intend to throw ourselves into French culture this week.  Guy has bought Le Figaro and looks quite knowledgeable when he scans the ‘economie’ pages.  I have been watching French TV and really enjoyed Un Tresor dans Votre Maison which is the French version of Cash in the Attic except it’s all in euros.  But I’ve brought some DVDs of the first series of Morse just in case.

A bientot.