It was an exceptional year.
It was a year of births, of deaths, of retirement, of moving house,of moving country, and of setting up in a new career by opening a new business- all events guaranteed to endow high levels of stress.
It was a year in which I became 60 and a grandfather, neither event succeeded in making me feel grown up, but the arrival of the grandson has filled me with unexpected joy.
The year started on a high for us when the grandson was born on January 22nd.
Fionn and I established a more or less instantaneous rapport (or so I reckon) and get on like a house on fire, he stayed with us in Waterford after Christmas and the two of us have spent the first two hours of the day playing downstairs while the rest of the house slept. It would be hard to tell which of the two of us enjoyed this more.
In May Síle’s Mother died, as in July did her father.
It is hard to think that this couple, who were so full of life, of enjoyment of all of the good things of life , were as diminished as they were for their last few years but now that they are gone I can remember them in their prime.
They would have loved our house in Languedoc, I will always regret that they were too feeble to visit by the time we bought it.
This is a picture of Daideo with Mamo in 1943.
In the middle of March , in fact on the thirteenth , my sixtieth birthday , I went out to Languedoc with Clive Nunn in his van to work on Le Presbytere.
I didn’t realise it at the time but now I see that this marked effectively my move to France. It was the moment when my centre of balance shifted down South . I have spent only about three weeks in Ireland since then and once Síle joined me in July I have felt that France is my home.
I was certainly back in Ireland for a week or so at the beginning of April as it was then that daughter D got in touch.
She is certainly not one to look for handouts but it was established in the course of the conversation that a few extra bob would help her to finish out her time at a her theatre design course in Cardiff.
The following day was the grand national so with this in mind I searched the runners to find a long shot (it had to be over 100 to one to achieve the €1000 necessary to tide her over)
My method of horse selection (on the very rare times when I back them ) requires me to feel an emotional affinity with the name.
Mon Mome (French for My Brat) was the obvious choice, neatly tying in the French experience with the new grandson.
I put a tenner on it, then blogged the fact that I had.
A half hour later the incredible happened and (egged on no doubt by my screams of
encouragement from myself, nose pressed to the screen of the television ) Mon Mome cantered home.
I was able to collect €1,300 in ready notes from the bookies.
D’s screams when I told her she had just (effectively) won a grand ricocheted over the Irish sea from Wales.
The rest of the year passed in Thézan Lès Béziers.
For the whole summer I was involved in what the French call ; Le Bricolage.
Mainly preparing painting and decorating the presbytére.
In this I was aided by a long cast of extras.
First and foremost was Clive, the director, ably aided for a couple of weeks by the scrabble master from New Zeeland ; The Kiwi.
My brother-in –law Colm turned out to have a natural talent and dexterity with the roller, my nephew Owen was a dab had with the Spackle and his friend Conor turned out to have a natural flair with the caulking gun and was especially efficient at applying stain (he knows what I mean.)
My daughters D and Eileen along with the boy-friends Ano and Phil were also roped in, the brother-in-law Martin proved very skillful with the fine paint brush (while sister-in-law Una did the jardinage), friend Finola performed miracles on an old sewing machine and my ancient school pal ; Michael, proved that all electronic engineers are sparks at heart.
And most essentially, at the begining of July prime player Sile retired after 30 some years of teaching and slipped overnight (without a break) from being a teacher to being a decorator-and six weeks later she just as gracefully slipped into the role of proprietor of a maison d’hote.
And so it came to pass and we managed to open our doors to various friends and relations in September and October (and even a little trickle into November)
Next year we go back to finish our own quarters in the Presbytere in the spring and have succeeded in letting our house in Waterford for a year from the beginning of February.
By March we hope to be open again to the public.
Languedoc begins to look more and more like home.
