We went walking through the vinyards this morning, a great time to do it as some of the grapes have been picked but most are still on the vine and incredibly sweet and juicy.

This shocking sight of a skip full of rotting grapes soon brought us down to earth.
How much? A ton maybe or more, probably the produce of a hectare of vines just left there to rot.
A reminder that the Languedoc has lost its market for plonk and vinyards producing quantity rather than quality no longer can afford to bottle their wine.
I think they must pick the grapes just to insure a harvest next year.

My Mother, who had she lived would have been a hundred next month, used to tell this story of a whale to me when I was young.

She and her brothers and sisters, she was one of six, were being rowed from Cobh (then known as the Cove of Cork or Queenstown) about Cork harbour by her father.
Cork harbour it must br remembered is a particularly deep berthing, Cobh was used by translantic liners for many years.

So as my Grandfather happily rowed his children in the deep waters of the harbour, singing and dabbling hands in the water I am sure, they suddenly heard a huge sigh.

Looking up they discovered that a whale, a large whale had come to the surface of the water just a few yards from their row boat.
My mother’s recollection of the event was dominated by my Grandfather, who must have been more terrified than any of his children, saying to them “Everyone is to stay completely silent.Not a sound”

They did as they were told and the whale descended to the deep.

Now this story really left its mark on me.
The picture of six children, terrified but silent has remained through the years.

Of course I told this story to my children and, again of course, it became a favourite bed time story.
” Daddy Daddy Tell us about Granny and the whale!”
It also became linked into Youghal which previous to the by-pass we used to drive through on our way from Waterford to Cork and which boasted a pub called “The Moby Dick” in memory of that film being shot there.

It became such an institution in our house that it became the song for getting the kids to eat up their dinner.
You know the story, just two bites left to finish and you are saying “Just one bite for Mummy and it’s all gone”

Instead they became the whale and the spoon of food was the rowboat paddling in the harbour.
I would just dangle the spoon in front of their mouth and sing (imitating the imagined sond of the children in the harbour);

“Row, row , row your boat.
Merrily Down the stream”

Then the whale would always surface and eat all the children.
I don’t think I ever got to finish the song;

“Merrily Merrily Merrily Merrily
Life is but a dream”

Next week my grandson is coming to stay, he has just started eating solids.
Time to get “Row, Row, Row” out of mothballs.

Last week when my daughter Eileen and her boyfriend Phil were staying with us in France Eileen offered me the ultimate compliment of asking me to repeat one of my stories.
I have blogged this already, over four years ago so I feel I can give it a second airing now.
Thanks Eilo for giving me leave.

In the early 80s I ran a fish restaurant in the Strand Hotel in Dunmore East . I normally got my fish from the auction in Dunmore but one day I was caught short and had to go into Waterford town to Flanagan’s Fish merchants to get some to top up my supply.
I couldn’t find a handy place to park the car so had to park in Christchurch Cathedral a couple of hundred yards from the fish shop.
I got two large bags of live prawns which proceeded to wriggle desperately as I clutched them both to my breast on the way back to the car. As I was crossing the road to the cathedral one managed to escape and lay in the middle of the road doing spectacular back flips. To put down my wriggling bags would have been a disaster so a made a bolt for the car , hurled the prawns into the boot and turned to collect the prodigal.
He was still there, twitching, in the middle of the road but had managed to attract a small audience of astounded and alarmed people. As I looked at them a man who had been closely studying the twitcher raised his eyes from the prawn and looked, questioningly , straight up into the sky.

I got back into my car and slowly drove away.

Since I passed into adulthood (by the clock, if not by inclination) I have ceased to be a fan of beaches.

They have, I have thought, a tendancy to be either too cold or too hot, if too hot often too crowded, are quite often populated by people who look much better in swimming togs than I, who seem to enjoy the , to me incomprehensible, torture of sunbathing, one is in an environment that is inevitably sandy, or worse pebbley and sometimes dirty.
They are also frequently accompanied by excruciatingly cold water, people who can spend hours batting balls at each other, again, and again, and again, or kick balls at each other in the same mindless repetative fashion but worse of all is observing with envy people who are like me but have come properly prepared for the ordeal with chairs (to keep them off the sand) and with umbrellas (to keep them out of the sun) and with good books (to keep them away from everything else)

We are now living too near the amazing continuous Mediterranean beach-which seems to stretch almost uninterrupted from Marseilles to the Spanish border- to ignore it completely.
In the begining of July I made one tentative dip of toe in same and withdrew quickly.
Despite an air temperature of 27C the temperature of the sea was 11C, it made the Atlantic seem positively balmy.

Last week daughter Eileen came to visit and Síle decided to take me in hand.
She bribed me to come with them to Sérignan Plage and sweetened the bribe by reminding me to bring umbrella, chair and book.-, a very good start.
Next pleasing moment was getting to the carpark and discovering that as the French had gone back to school there was a mere scattering of NL, D and GB’s there. This boded well, the beach was not going to be too crowded.
Then the best omen of all, as we passed the life guard station the temperature of the day’s sea was chalked up on the wall.
Instead of a chilly 11 C the sea was going to be a wonderfully tepid 24 C.
My heart rose with the temperature and so we spent a wonderful few hours on the beach, I even wallowed in the milk warm Mediterranean for about thirty minutes , floating on my back like a manatee and rising and sinking with the undulating waves.

I am a late convert, and have been to the beach twice since that date.
Given a deserted strand, a warm sea, a comfortable beach chair, a stout umbrella and a good book there is absolutely nothing wrong with the place at all.
I can’t imagine what I was making all the fuss about.

Our friends Barry and Mary found the old post card of the churchyard, which is just outside our door and gave us a copy last night.
(Le Presbytére is just to the right of the tree)
I went out this morning and tried to get a shot from the same angle.
Interesting point is that in the earlier shot, which must have been taken around 1900, there is a sign above the church door declaring the building Propriete Communale underlining the fact that, unlike Ireland, the Catholic church in France did not have a “special position”.

We are just here on our own, Síle and I for a few days before the Grandson (and his parents) arrive at the weekend so I made us a Salade Niçoise for supper last night.
For once it didn’t have to be a meat and potatoes dinner.

It is such a fresh, refreshing and yet filling meal that I think it is perfect for dinner just with a loaf of bread and a couple of glasses of Rosé.
Here is my recipe.

Salade Nicoise for Supper
( for 4 for Lunch or Supper)

1 Head cos lettuce
450g(1 lb.) Fresh Tuna
225g (8 oz.) French Beans
450g (1 lb.) Baby new potatoes
4 Eggs
12 Stoned Black Olives
8 cherry tomatoes
1 small Tin Anchovies.

Vinaigrette:
2 oz. White Wine Vinegar
1 tsp French Mustard
1 Crushed Clove Garlic
Salt &Pepper
8 oz. Best Olive Oil

This Salad makes an excellent supper if arranged on a large platter for the guests to help themselves.
First wrap the Tuna tightly in tin foil and bring it to the boil in a saucepan of water. Bring it to a rolling boil and then take it off the heat and leave it to cool in the water.
Scrub the new potatoes and boil or steam them until tender.
Top and tail the beans and boil for about 2 mts. in lightly salted water to just cook through.
Next boil the eggs. Put them into cold water and bring them to the boil. Boil for just 5 mts. They should be creamy in the middle. Plunge them into cold water and peel carefully.
Wash and dry the lettuce and break it up into bite sized pieces and lay it on the platter.

Quarter the eggs and the potatoes and arrange them over the lettuce.
Halve the French Beans and put them over the salad.
Flake over the Tuna and scatter over the Olives
Drain and chop the Anchovies and scatter them over.

Make up the Vinaigrette by mixing the first four ingredients ingredients together well and then whisking in the olive oil.
Dress just before serving.
.

Last night saw our first real guests my old college friend (even though I had managed to misplace her for forty years) Helen Watanabe-O’Kelly from Oxford and her husband Ekkehard Henschke from Berlin.

A European opening.

The Chambre Cheminée

All dressed up and waiting to recieve the first guests.

Two symbols of our new life in France, some sunflowers in a Shanagarry jug and some Poires Williams in a Nicky Mosse bowl.