A couple of years ago in a Brocante in the Auvergne I found an old bowl with a wonderful French motto printed on it.

“Il y a plus de vieux ivrognes que de vieux médecins.”

I couldn’t resist it and bought it for my doctor.
He being a good sport as well as a good friend proudly uses it every time he has company.
The quotation is, I have discovered, from Gargantua by Francois Rabelais.
It translates as;

“There are more old drunks than old doctors”

Michael Deane as pictured in the Ormeau Baths Gallery

It didn’t start well, our hostess was roundly berated by a Rosa Kleb style waitress for sitting before being sat, despite her sitting on the only table set for eight in the room, (the number she had ordered, and confirmed that afternoon) .
Having stood and then been resat (at the same table) we were permitted to proceed.

It got better after that.

I had a starter of New Seasons Asparagus, crushed new potato, poached egg and lemon hollandaise.
This was all perfectly judged and timed, the egg, set white, soft yolk, the asparagus, just the right amount of bite, a deliciously mild buttery lemony sauce. Perfection.

My next course was a fillet of Hake, with a Crab cake, tomatoes and capers.

Again the timing of the cooking of the Hake was perfect, it was just at that moment of creamy flaky perfection which only an experienced chef can judge.
The crab cake had rather too much potato and too little crab but the Hake was so good this was easily forgiven.

I finished with a perfectly pleasant selection of cheese, and drank a perfectly acceptable Pino Grigio through the meal.

Then my wife spotted the man himself, Michael Deane, at the bar so I went to talk to him and then buttonholed him for about ten minutes while I told him about my French plans.
In fairness to him he feigned envy well at my description of serving food in the evening to just eight people (and this is every chef’s dream) with NO choices.

The meal took rather too long to serve for some of the party, 45 minutes between some of the courses seemed excessive, but the food when it came, was so accurately cooked that I, for one, thought it well worth the wait.

We drank lots of wine, it was a pre-wedding party, but still the bill came in at under £50 a head.
A good price for that quality.
I’d go there again

We were (as the astute among you will by now have gathered) in Belfast at a wedding over the weekend.
As we had Saturday morning free before the wedding we went into town and took a vagary and decided to take a trip through the city on an open topped bus.

It turned out to be a great idea.

Here are some of the things we saw.

These are the top floors of the notorious Divits Flats from where the British Army surveyed the city during the troubles.

The Shankhill

The Falls

Queens University

The incomparable Crown Bar

and the impressive Stormont building

Outside which Edward Carson has his claws out, ready for his successful prosecution of Oscar Wilde.

James and Gillian attack the cake, made to resemble handbag boxes, at their superb wedding last Saturday.
A good time was had by all.

A few summers ago I was in Collioure, the prettiest French village on the western Mediterranean, when I came across a group of French holiday makers lined up in front of the harbour near the tower.
One of them asked me would I use his camera to take their photo.
I was delight to help, but some evil spirit entered my soul, and as they all stood smiling in front of me I said ;”Dites-moi Fromage!”
They all complied, still smiling without the least sign of confusion while I photographed them.

Sonya with Liam Neeson in the Ormeau Baths Gallery Belfast.
We were at a wedding here and there was a photographic exhibition of Belfast celebraties downstairs.

(And apologies Sonya for spelling the name Sonia originally-Martyn)

Thursday May the Eighth was a bank holiday in France which we hadn’t counted upon when we went there a couple of weeks ago so we were faced with a day in which we couldn’t meet with the various builders etc so we had an unexpected free day.

The decision was quickly made to visit some of the nearby villages, all in the name of research for our tourist information for the chambre d’hote.
The truth is of course that Sile and I love French villages and are prepared to visit them at any excuse at all.
La Couvertoirade was on our hit list since my daughters had given me a book called The Prettiest Villages in France, and this one was thought La Plus Belle Village de Languedoc.
It was built as a Knights Templar fortified village in 1450 and gradually fell into decline, it was abandonned, like a lot of other isolated Languedoc villages, in the 1880’s so remains unspoiled.
It has now been semi colonised by craft workers, weavers, glass blowers, wooden toy makers and others.

I pinched this shot from the internet.
The rest are mine.

It still has its original ramparts intact around which you can promenade

and some of the streets and lanes still look much as they did in the fifteenth century.

Our next village was intended to be St Guillhem de Desert but it was full, or at least the car park was,(it was a bank holiday) so we had to pass on.

Sile remembered seeing a sign for a village, originally a Royal Manufacturing Village of textiles near Clermont l’Herault so, despite it not being mentioned in any of the guides, we decided to try it out.

This village, called Villeneuvette, was a model village built as a textile factory by Louis XVI Le Roi Soleille in 1670.

This turned out to be a little gem, very few tourists (they were all up in St Guilhem) and beautifully preserved with an intact Place complete with mossy fountain and some excellent craft shops and restaurants.

Sile , A La Claire Fontaine

A gateway in Villeneuvette

We also discovered, by falling on it, a village called St Jean de Fos which specialises in outdoor and garden pottery and has several working potters producing the sort of pots which Ali Baba’s forty thieves could have comfortably squatted.
We will be back.

We get them fairly blue here too
(don’t miss the pale day moon on the right)

A pale day moon rises over the trees,
Love’s silver thumbprint, that faint identification
Of who we are who listen, listen, trying
Phrase by phrase to score familiar voices,
Dream, touch, remembrance. A hushed afternoon,
That symbol rising faintly over the world,
These visions of you refracted from common daylight–
My mind has played the body’s music gladly
You nap in the next room, about to waken.
A pale day moon rises over the trees.

Paul Smith

Knowing that I was seeing our house in Thezan at a unique moment I barged around like a lunatic taking far too many bad shots of its current state of destruction.
My justification was that these were historical documentation.

This is the room we have christened The Family Room, previously divided into two now revealed as a wonderful sunny and light space. The marks on the floor indicate where the partition wall stood, fortunately the amazing 1930’s tiles have remained intact as has the coffered ceiling, previously hidden under aero board.

This is the Fireplace Room, Clive Nunn correctly predicted that if the walls at each side of the fireplace were removed it would be revealed as it was previously, (the builder thought this was potty!)
The tiles and the coffered beams now stretch right to the edge of the room letting the fireplace stand proud (and its alright folks, we have the bit of marble which is missing)

Fortunately one person who has remained impervious to all this destruction is Our Lady of Lourdes who is still serene and unmoved (and undamaged) in the courtyard.