I quote from the Irish Times this morning:

“Also this week the Everyman (Theatre Company Cork) announced that Deirdre Dwyer is the first winner of the Pat Murray Bursary in memory of the Cork theatre designer who died in 2006. Stage designer and producer Deirdre Dwyer will study at the Royal College of Music and Drama supported by this award which is funded by Thomas Crosbie Holdings, Cork City Council and the Everyman Palace.”

I love an iconic picture of summer to get me through the winter and I think the notion of a chilled glass of Picpoul de Pinet on the terrace of the house in France is a just perfect for this.
The evenings were so warm last week in Languedoc that the well chilled white wine actually frosted the glass on contact.
These old cafe glasses which I bought in a brocante in Olargues have a base of clear solid glass which shows off that frosting to perfection.

A Votre Santé !

Directly across the road from the St Roch church in Montpellier this is what you see.
Even just 20 metres from it, it was difficult to tell what was real and what was painted.
The man hanging out of the window under the lamp on the right hand side amazed me by moving inside and closing the window just after I had taken the shot.

As my newly found patron saint, St Roch originally came from Montpellier it is entirely appropiate that they have a church there dedicated to him.

I finally got there last week.

There were some good stained glass windows dedicated to the saint and a huge statue in the centre of the church but unfortunately there were also some co-veneratees praying to him so i thought to take out the camera would be disrespectful.
Fortunately there was a stall selling postcards there and there I bought the picture which I have reproduced below.

All it says on the back is that it is painted on wood in the 14th century and in a private collecton.

This is the main machine in the vigernon’s wine making place behind our house, the so-called Castor Oil Plant.
Although Colm and I are not yet quite certain what its full range of functions are, we do agree that stuff which looks life half squashed grapes is poured in the top and then, after acting for some time like a large washing machine, some very dry product comes out the bottom,presumably the important end product, the wine juice has been syphoned off to some fermenting vat elsewhere.
Yesterday, being the heart of the verdange, the machine was filled just a little too full and at the end of its cycle it was covered in blood red wine juice.
One of the workmen then spent a most enjoyable hour hosing down the whole works.
As we are very close now to this whole process (we are contemplating selling tickets to interested parties) it was obvious that he was enjoying this work as he whistled as he went.
And even I could see that it was a most enjoyable job to do, no scrubbing or drying just playing with water and all the dirty stuff disappeared down a drain.

I was immediatly brought back to my time as a coleslaw maker.
This was in the mid eighties when I decided that it might be interesting to take a break from cheffing and go into the production of coleslaw.
The place was successful and we were faced with the prospect of buying a large expensive American machine to keep abreast with the demand.
Now this machine had to be cleaned thoroughly each day, a mindless boring job in the premises we were in at the time, taking this to pieces and washing all the bits individually in a sink.
Then we moved to a purpose built premises and suddenly the most boring of jobs became the most sought after.
Because there were special drains with places to catch the solids, the machine could be thoroughly cleaned with a strong hose.
Back to playing with water.

This made me think about careers and enjoying ones work.
After a couple of years in the coleslaw business I went back to the business of cooking in restaurants because I found this much more enjoyable, the variety alone of my product instead of producing tons of coleslaw a week (true) kept me interested and stimulated.

This in turn led me back to this week.
Colm and I have spent most of the days travelling around the countryside, exploring the villages, mountains and beaches with an idea to being able to advise our future clients as to the best places to spend their days.

Nice work if you can get it, but then, like hosing down the wine machine, someone has to do it and surely it shouldn’t make any the less worthy because it is enjoyable?

I do appreciate that anyone reading this blog over the last week could have thought that I was on my holidays in France, with some justification.

I am, however being reasonably functional.
I am here to answer all the questions of the workers, and, more importantly liaise between them.
Because the French system is more separate than ours this means that I am directly contracting a builder, a plumber, an electrician and a carpenter.
On the whole they all communicate together well but occasionally they need me to negotiate, difficult with my far from perfect French.

This week is my first attempt to perform this role, heretofore very ably handled by Sile with her superior French.
I am however managing much better than I expected, they are patient with me and , should all words fail, we get by with hand signals and sketches.

Here are some pictures of the work in progress, they will be difficult to interpret by anyone not familiar with the house but will, hopefully start to make some sense as the work progresses.

This is the second attic bedroom, now much extended by losing a large piece of (redundant) corridor. This will be reserved for family and other freebies.

These are the windows and frames made by the carpenter for the window in Sile and my attic bedroom.

And this is the space into which they will go.

At the very top of the stairs there was a little useless room we called the nuns prayer room because it had a strange red plastic window.
The builder said that the walls were shaky so we decided to pull it down.
A good decision, as we then discovered that this was how it had originally been with the bannister making a little landing.

This the large attic room which is having a large chunk cut out of it for a bathroom, this is going to be “family” space, as the attic is where our bedrooms will be. (One of the few consessions to luxury here is to have a bath large enough for me)

And again the new bathroom shaping up.

This is a view of the whole attic room, bathroom to the left and remaining space will be a sort of family escape hole, sitting, breakfasting kitchenette.

If you peer through the lttle window you will see a family having lunch in the place outside their house, we are after all in France.

And in the garden a surprise, all the clearing had allowed these to flower. Although they look like large crocuses they are in fact (Colm tells me) a type of autumn daffodill.

And this is the Castor Oil Plant.
(a small explanation is necessary)

My sister D was staying with us the first easster we were here when Sile spotted a large castor oil plant growing up the wall in front of the winery which is just in front of the house.
Aha! says Sile looking at the plant. “That’s a castor oil plant”
“Is it” says sister D, looking at the winery “I thought it was a wine making place”

Since then M. le Vinticulteur’s wine making area has been known as “The Castor Oil Plant”
It has always been without much activity but in September, we have discovered the place becomes a hive of activity.
A virtual cabaret in front of our eyes from our terrace.
Colm and I are having constant disagreements at what the machines, which seem very sophisticated, are actually doing.

The trouble was that the tree our Chinaberry tree, has grown enormously with the rains of June and our garden watering so its branches are virtually obscuring our daily show.
Yesterday Colm mended this by going up the tree with a ladder and saw and creating a proscinium arch for daily entertainments.

With a view to being an intrepid mushroom hunter, my first
autumn days in the Languedoc were a little underwhelming.

Our first effort, of picking some wonderful looking mushrooms, was
a total failure, only one of same reckoned by a mushroom expert
to be edible.

My next attempt was far more embarrassing.

We stopped at St. Pons for breakfast and odered coffees in the cafe
while I went in search of croissants. (This practice is totally normal
in France)
In the nearest Patisserie I saw a basket of plump ceps on the counter.
I was delighted and ordered some to take away with my croissants.
As soon as I touched them I realised that they were clever reproductions
-in sugar- of the real thing.
Madame was of course delighted and flattered by the success of her
little deception so I was able to leave the shop Ceps less, and without embarrassment.

Today, however I managed to find some real ones.
And even though I know a mushroom hunter should never reveal
his sources, I will tell all for I found a little basket in the vegetable
counter of my local Super U.
(These ones cost me about a fiver)

I fried them up with a few lardons, some shallots and a little red wine.
I bought a couple of slices of local Limousin Beef fillets to go with them.

They were delicious, as beefy as the steak and yet tasting beautifully of the earth.

It seems that the principal purpose of this visit to France
is to show willing and be attentive to the various workmen
when they arrive at 8.00 in the morning and then
for Colm and I to get the hell out of the way for the day.

As yesterday promised to be an autumn peach of a day, sunshine
but temperatures in the low twenties,we decided to do a grand tour
of the Parc Regional de La Haute Languedoc, which involved us in
touring the Monts de l’Espinousse, its lakes and villages.

Not much pain in that I hear you say, Ah but this must be seen in
the light of research and development of someone who intends to
run a tourism project in the region.
(that’s my excuse anyway)

First stop was on the bridge of Vieussan, an allotment with a pump
directly into the Orb river

The Orb at 9.00 with the morning mist just clearing

On the Col de Cabaretou some one had created a monument
to the Cathars which had a nice primitive feel.

Next stop was le Lac de Laouzas, whic was created by damming
the Vebvre River.
All concrete on this side.

But all gentle lapping water on the other.

The dam was so high I just held the camera over the top
and clicked, the camera, fortunately doesn’t suffer from
Vertigo.

Continuing on we found the lovely village of Brusque.
(where the people were not in the least short with us)
This is from the bridge over the River Dourdou

We found this tower in the centre of the cobbled village.
It was incongruously attached to a much more modern
house.

It had a strange almost cruciform window at the base.
Once, possibly defensive, now filled with cobwebs.

Here also people had found the elusive Cardabelle, a sort of
native thistle, which can predict changes in the weather.
Now rare, Colm managed to find one up on the garrigue
so will soon be able to forecast rain from our own terrace.

early on in the day we had found these mushrooms in a
wood near Cabaretou. We thought we had done well but
then met an experienced mushroom hunter who told us
that only one was edible, and that was the littlest.
Ah Well!

Perhaps the best part of the day was home to nicely
chilled glasses of Picpoul de Pinet on the terrace.
Today the temperature is 35 C so we plan to take it easy.

I’m in France, in Thezan for a round of talks with builders, plumbiers etc. accompanied my brother-in-law Colm, a great naturalist.

We went walking in the hills by the village this afternoon and came back with the following (not all in the picture and some in the picture have yet to be identified.)

Figs, Walnuts, Almonds, Quince, Pomegranates,huge bright red Haws and bright blue Sloes, wild Curry Plant, Thyme and Rosemary.

They say about the French peasants that their basic daily diet was fairly sparse but they always could gorge on the wild fruits and nuts and this was why they remained so healthy.

I am delight to announce that, come the middle of January next,
I will be a Grandfather, and Sile a Grandmother as daughter Caitriona
and son-in law Aonghus have decided to grace us with our first grandchild.

I can’t wait!!!

Caitriona with the future of the Dwyers (and Butlers), taken by Aonghus.