HOLIDAYS

My God! A month and a half since I have written anything here. I have a backlog of blogs to write but little time at the moment ... hopefully they will appear in the autumn when it is dark at 5 p.m. and the thermometre starts to drop dramatically.

Last week G and I stayed with friends who have a house just outside of Valbonne in the south of France - a great week with some good food and wine. I admit to not venturing out much as July in the south of France is really not the best time of the year for sightseeing and also it was extremely hot, so most of the time was taken up lazing by the pool. I managed to read 'Salmon Fishing in the Yemen' by Paul Torday which was an ideal holiday-by-pool book - light-hearted, easy to read and amusing. I also took Andrew Marr's book 'A History of Modern Britain' but it's a hardback so not suitable for pools, but have plunged into it (the book!) now that I am home.

We ventured out one day to St. Paul de Vence and of course, regretted it bitterly. Although we arrived early, the place was already heaving with every nationality under the sun ... a quick coffee and then a trip round the village. Sorry, but what a load of rubbish - every second shop is an "Art" gallery selling absolute tat and if not a gallery, a souvenir shop selling the usual rubbish one finds everywhere. We found a "real" gallery and were attracted to it as they had a Chagall litho for sale. As a matter of interest we went in to ask the price. The two girls in the shop were fine, and we got the chat about the symbolism in the picture, how it had belonged to his daughter, how it was she who had had it framed (badly) etc. The cost was €60,000! We both did a 'that's a reasonable price' face, as if we bought pictures like that every day, and just before leaving, G said to one of the girls "Tell me, we were discussing Chagall earlier, and neither of us can remember his real name". Talk about two blank faces! I wonder whether they knew he was buried in the cemetary in St Paul de Vence? I admit to being amazed that for the modest sum of €60,000 these girls, albeit very charming, knew nothing about what must be one of the villages' most famous artists, and if I were spending €60,000 I would want them to know everything about the artist.


Rushed back to the car and headed for Eze, but on the way there decided that it would be just as busy as St. Paul, so we took a vote and agreed we would go to Italy for lunch! Crossed the border and headed to the hills looking for slightly cooler temperatures. Our lack of food led us to the Principality of Seborga totally by (happy) accident. It is a small, pretty hillside village with no tourists, no touristy knick knack shops, a couple of restaurants and that is about it. We had a lovely meal in a little courtyard (far cheaper and far better than what we would have found on the French coast at this time of the year), a wander around after lunch and generally had a great day, especially after our disastrous start. So definitely a place to recommend if you are down in the area this summer and need to escape from the madding crowd.


One other gastronomic recommendation I can most definitely make is to try and get a table at the Auberge du Vieux Chateau in Cabris. It is at the top of the village and there are the most wonderful views over Grasse and to the coast. We had booked a table outside, and when we arrived ... no table! What could have become a rather unpleasant scene was immediately transformed by the wonderful owner into a memorable evening. He suggested we admired the view and he would bring us all a glass of champagne on the house and so we did just that. A bit of juggling of tables and five minutes later we were installed outside. A small 'carte' with a choice of 4 entrées, 4 main courses and 4 desserts and a good choice of local wines. I ate the best salade niçoise in the whole of my life there - sounds boring? Not this one. It is not cheap; we had a bill for €200 for the four of us, but we had had wonderful amuse-gueule, a three course meal that was perfect (we could also have had cheese but didn't), a bottle of good wine, 2 bottles of mineral water and coffee. The staff were young, friendly and knew their job and we had a marvellous evening, so was it expensive? I think not.

Next week G and I are off to the north coast of Brittany, as I am desperate for some 'real' sea and 'real' fish - two of the things Switzerland cannot provide! Then to Jersey to see my Mum and eat more fish and stroll along empty beaches and hopefully I shall be back here with batteries recharged ready to rise at 5.30am on the 20th August when the favourite son starts another school year!

BOSWELL AND JOHNSON GO TO THE DOGS

Sun going down over Wimbledon Stadium

Well, the 'Journey' didn't take us to the Western Isles of Scotland this time, but plunged us into the dark depths of Wimbledon to visit the dog track and watch the first heats being run for the Greyhound Derby which is on the 7th July. 'You are going WHERE?' said my mother when I told we were going to the dogs, and I must admit dog racing does conjure up visions of shady guys in spivvy suits, jellied eels and off the rail betting.

G and I only had two days in London before going down to the country, so we tried to cram in as much as possible, and an evening of dog racing is great fun! I am a horse racing enthusiast myself and have only once been dog racing and that was in Florida many years ago. I know nothing about greyhound racing whatsoever and suspect that G knew little more than me ... so off we go on a bus from Victoria out to the wilds of Wimbledon. It seemed to take for ever - I didn't know London buses went so far! Arrive just after seven to meet up with a friend of G, who had actually rung during the day to ask if the rendez-vous was serious and as we were a little late, I think he was starting to have doubts!

We had pre-booked tickets as the stadium was doing a special e-mail offer; for the princely sum of £15 we had entry, dinner in the 'posh' restaurant, and race card. The entry fee is normally about £6 I think, so the mind boggles at the three course menu! In past the gorillas on the doorway and then greated by George who was Master of Ceremonies, Maitre d'Hotel and general jollier along of the diners, at which he was most successful.

Up in the lift to top of grandstand and restaurant overlooking the course. The tables are all in lines and everyone sits facing the track. Linen tableclothes and napkins, sparkling glasses - things started off well. The waitresses of course were efficient and friendly (and not English!) and the menu was astounding! The choice of 5 starters, 5 main courses and 5 puddings and a long, long way from Prawn cocktail or half a grapefruit. The order was taken swiftly, wine appeared and a bread basket that would put a Michelin restaurant almost to shame! Six different types of bread, beautifully fresh and nicely presented.


Dogs being loaded into traps just before start of race

The first race started at 7.30 - 12 races in all, the last one at 10.30, so it is pretty fast and furious. Being up in the restaurant there is no rushing to place bets; five minutes before the race a girl from the Tote appears at your table and takes your bets from you and if you are fortunate enough to back the right dog, she appears immediately after the race to pay out the winnings. The minimum bet is £2 and I'm afraid I just chose dogs because of their name or the colour of their eyes! D did the same thing and G got into deep discussion with the girl from the Tote, hoping she would give him tips and actually being rather secretive about the whole thing, as well as showing off a bit doing each way bets and various complicated combinations which I don't think worked all that well, as he did start to get rather grumpy when I won! D's betting was totally disastrous and he only won one race and ended up begging the Tote girl to take his house and I won on six of the twelve races, so didn't lose very much. We were visited during the evening by George, who gave D a tip and told him to bet on Dusty Carpet. D was delighted and was already spending the millions that were to come his way, until George said 'Never been beaten' (Ho!Ho!). This is probably the joke he turns out every night, but after a couple of bottles of wine, we all found it very funny!


'Our' Tote girl, whose name I don't remember but she said I could use her photo in my blog!

G did film one of the races on his camera, so if I am feeling techie during the day I will try and publish on YouTube and then post the link here. I must just point out though that in the background commentary there might be a remark about 'horses' - for some reason (and it might have been the wine!) we kept on referring to the dogs as horses!

So an evening to be recommended, even if you nothing about dog racing. Good fun, great atmosphere as the lights go off inside the grandstand and the track floodlights come on just before the race and the buses are still running after the evening, so you can get back to Victoria!



PS I put up a rapid blog on MyTelegraph about this, so there are also a couple of comments posted there
http://my.telegraph.co.uk under my blog name of More Swiss Choc

HOME AND AWAY

My poor old blog has been abandoned recently due to the early euphoria of the new Telegraph blog. I think I will no longer blog there, but post a comment every now and then - the site is too muddled and there are just too many blogs appearing daily that unless one is prepared to spend the day in front of the screen, one quickly misses the plot!
I am still in England but return to my mountains in Switzerland this evening. L'Homme (don't like that name, so from now on, he will be referred to as G) and I managed to spend two days in London cramming in loads before going down to the country for the weekend, so within the next couple of days I hope to be able to put up a blog on our trip together with some photos.
My memories of London are vague apart from the odd day trip when I am back in England, but both G and I agreed that as a couple of rootless expats, London as a base was out of the question - despite the lovely time we had in town and the great people we met, it has changed out of all recognition and not for the better, I think.
But more of that in a couple of days when the fridge at home has been restocked after depletion by the favourite son and the small Scottish gentleman with four legs calms down after my return!

A BUZZ IN BARCELONA 3

The problem of being in a city for a long weekend or a short week, depending on how you look at it, is that you cannot see and do everything the city in question has to offer. Or at least I can't. I prefer to do a few sites and take in as much as possible rather than suffer from a 'culture collapse' where everything becomes hazy. So on this trip the Sagrada Familia was not on the list, but will be on the next trip. Instead we visited the Cathedral of Barcelona. When on holiday I love visiting churches and cathedrals - apart from their beauty they afford a tranquil moment in what can be an exhausting time. They are cool, calm and often have more treasures to see than a museum.



The Cathedral of Ste. Eulalia is no exception. The stalls are wonderful, the organ majestic (shame it wasn't being played when we visited), and you can also take a rather dubious lift up to the top of the Cathedral to get some stunning views of the city. I wasn't too keen to go up as I am not the most courageous person in the world where heights are concerned, the lift didn't seem too secure, but in fact once up at the top there are no knee-buckling views down to the street below! So definitely worth going up for the views.
The cloisters have some strange inmates! Thirteen white geese who live there permanently and of course pose for the cameras! Each goose represents a year of the life of Ste. Eulalia who was martyred by the Romans for her religious beliefs. Why geese and how long ago they were introduced, I know not. There is also a charming little fountain with a statue of St. George slaying the Dragon but not easy to photograph in the afternoon light.



Difficult to leave such places that appease the mind and the soul but after lighting a candle in memory of loved ones, it was back to the buzz of Barcelona.

A BUZZ IN BARCELONA 2

I enjoy going round an unknown city on an open-top bus. It helps me get my bearings (sadly lacking), gives you an idea of the size of a city and takes you past many of the sites worth visiting. As we only had three and a half days in Barcelona, and l'Homme was there on business, there is no way we could have visited all the sites. We decided to go and take a trip out to the Park Guell so my wish was granted to take a bus - the weather was lovely and taking the Metro didn't sound too much fun! After the hectic pace of the city centre, the Park Guell is wonderful.

Designed by Antoni Gaudi, it was originally intended to be a housing development, but due to lack of funds, the project never saw the light of day. It was eventually bought by the city of Barcelona and is now a municipal park. Everyone who visits Barcelona knows the dragon at the entrance and the souvenir shops are full of copies - it was vandalised in the early part of the year, but is now fully restored.



The stroll to the top is worth it for the wonderful view looking down over the city. The day we were there it was rather hazy, but we could still make out all the major sites. The view of the Sagrada Familia is unfortunately ruined as there is an enormous and very ugly development of flats/offices blocking it. How this was allowed beats me.



The main terrace of course is internationally reknowned, snaking its way round the viewpoint. What I didn't know was the shape of the seats was determined by Gaudi by getting the workmen to sit in the wet clay with their trousers down! After a welcome beer and a half an hour of people watching, we were off to catch the bus to continue round the city. The second half of the trip is slightly less interesting, unless you are a football fan and want to visit the FC Barcelona, but we decided we liked the FC Barcelona as they support UNICEF instead of having enormous logos of 'phone companies on their shirts...



Towards the end of the tour as we neared the sea, it did start to get a bit chilly - the thermometres in the streets were saying anything between 25 and 27 degrees - they were definitely wrong. I was frozen! We could have gone downstairs but the whole thing becomes pointless. So if you take the bus trip, take a sweater with you if the wind is coming off the sea.

Drop-off on the plaça Catalunya, back to the hotel to leave camera, grab a sweater and off again in search of a good restaurant, followed by a good bar to end off the evening! By the second day I was being to get into the swing of going to bed at an hour when I am normally getting up!

A BUZZ IN BARCELONA 1

Well, how I actually managed to get to Barcelona defeats me! The day I leave God decides that the skies will open, sleet will fall and the temperature will drop dramatically. So instead of an hour and a half to get to Geneva airport, it takes me over two hours and obviously the whole world had decided to park their cars in the airport car parks that day. I must have got the last space on the roof of the car park that is almost over the border in France and got totally soaked getting from there to the terminal. However...
The last time I visited Barcelona was over twenty years ago and my memories were not good...cold, miserable and dark - but it was probably during the winter and perhaps I didn't want to be there. So on landing, what a pleasant surprise to see the sun and feel the heat, especially after my really cold start to the day.
We checked into a super hotel called the Pulitzer which is just off la plaça Catalunya and if you have a few quid to spare is worth it. Modern, bright and great staff - pleasant, efficient and most welcoming. So having dumped the cases we galloped off in search of food and a well-needed drink. Walking down las Ramblas I was quite convinced I would get my bag stolen in a flash as I do tend to amble a bit and not pay attention to things like people following me or coming too close - I used to be street wise when I lived in Toulouse, but after a couple of years in Switzerland I have forgotten the rules. But obviously l'Homme was looking tall and menacing and my bag stayed with me!
It's great being in a city with someone who knows their way around - although even he got lost a couple of times, and particularly useful for me who tends not to pay attention and doesn't have a built-in SatNav system. The restaurant we had chosen had a queue snaking out of the door and we waited what seemed hours for food, but my glass seemed to be filled constantly as we stood in the street and chatted with other diners to be - our impromptu street party was as fun as the food was good when we eventually sat down. We had chatted to a young English guy who lived in Barcelona and was something in property, another chap who designed cars with a company in Spain, an American wholesaler who exported foodstuffs from Spain and probably others, but the mind started to blurr a little after too much wine and no food and a twenty hour day! There was no choice in the restaurant, you sit watching your food being cooked in front of you and wait to see what turns up. Good stuff!
Goodness knows how many different languages I heard that evening walking through the streets of Barcelona - dozens I would think. It is truly a cosmopolitan city, very alive and buzzing and over the following days we were to meet some great people who live and work in the city. But that is for another blog!
We eventually got back to the hotel at some terrible hour, having avoided the municipal workers with enormous fire hoses cleaning the streets and I still had my bag!

SORRY!

Apologies for not having posted anything for ages - you must be getting heartily sick of the same old photos of the demolished chalet! I was lead astray into becoming a guinea pig for the new Daily Telegraph blog site, so for the last couple of weeks, along with about a dozen others, blogging has turned from being difficult to nightmarish! My eyes can no longer take it and my fingers are down to the knuckles.
Still it was fun and I learnt a couple of things that weren't too technical! The site was launched during the week and got off with a resounding BANG! and far exceeded everyone's expectations, I think. Blogs were appearing so fast that they disappeared if you blinked.
Anyway, as I can't plug my blog on the Telegraph, I shall plug my Telegraph blog here! If you go to my.Telegraph on the Daily Telegraph site, I am registered as More Swiss Choc - I haven't put in the links as I am too tired to do all the work! I have also set up a blog for Angus (A Swiss Scot) which actually I enjoy writing more than my own! It is only for testing purposes but perhaps the dog side of my split personality might get the upper hand!
So am off to Barcelona for a couple of days to recover from cabin fever and I hope I shall come home with loads of pictures and stories for blogging, and with my handbag!



Thanks to my favourite son for the two photos!

FOUR DAYS IN THE LIFE OF A SWISS CHALET

The chalet opposite my house is being pulled down to make way for a posh development of very, very, very expensive flats. Actually, 'pulled down' isn't the right word, it is being dismantled to be re-erected somewhere else. From the road one could just see the entrance as the garden boardering the road was full of enormous fir trees. The view from the chalet is on the other side of the house, overlooking Verbier, and the ski resort on the other side of the mountain, Bruson.

It's a shame that the individual chalets are disappearing, making way for large and luxurious flats that are occupied for a couple of weeks in the year but I suppose this is the problem of ski resorts that are in high demand for four or five months of the year and then die quietly during the remaining months. Verbier of course is a well-known resort and the skiing is excellent - 40% of foreign investors here are English, and one supposes that a high percentage of those are the hated City Bonus benificiaries. However...

I love Verbier once the season ends as everything is shut and no one is around apart from the locals who come out of hiding! The negative side is that as soon as the season is at an end, the building work starts again in ernest. No lorries, cranes, Manitous and dynamite during the winter as there is too much traffic already in the village, it isn't good publicity, and I suppose there are the technical problems with the snow, the cold etc. reacting with concrete ... the work stops again during July and August during the Festival, so in fact if you decide to come here in the winter or the summer, you would never know any building work went on at all. Last summer high up on the mountainside looking down over Verbier, I counted 33 cranes!

Anway back to the chalet over the road. Here are a series of photos that I took, starting on Monday...

MONDAY MORNING - FIR TREES IN THE GARDEN LINING THE ROAD



MONDAY AFTERNOON - FIR TREES GONE



TUESDAY MORNING - ROOF SLATES BEING TAKEN OFF



WEDNESDAY MORNING - ROOF READY TO BE DISMANTLED



THURSDAY - FIRST FLOOR COMING OFF



FRIDAY MORNING - DOWN TO GROUND FLOOR



Just a week to dismantle a chalet and cut down trees that were probably 40 years old...

WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH

I read in the papers that England is having a spot of bother with their rubbish collection and that certain councils are being 'secretive' about the fact that the ratepayers will only get their rubbish collected once in every two weeks. I must say I find it amazing that England still has house to house collections.

House to house collections disappeared in France many years ago. Instead a large container is installed at stratigic intervals, you pop your refuse bag in and the dustbin men come once or twice a week, depending where you live, and empty it. The same system applies in Switzerland and in Spain, and probably in quite a few other countries.

Even when I lived in the middle of nowhere in the 'Grand Sud' of France the 'hameau' where I lived which consisted of two houses, mine and my neighbour, we had an enormous bin on wheels that was emptied every week and twice a week in the hot summer months. My neighbour and I used to take it in turns during the summer to give the bin a quick clean with a splash of Brobat and water, as although both of us recycled as much as possible the bin did tend to get smelly and maggoty during the summer.

Here in the village we have very posh log cabins for dumping the rubbish sacks! All they lack are windows to transform them into a charming little pied-à-terre! Next to the main logs cabins are bins for the recycling of glass, paper and plastic. In the supermarkets there are bins for recycling milk cartons. I have a wheelie bin in the garden into which I put my rubbish bags and twice a week I load up the car and drive to the cabins to dump and recycle - the nearest one is about 200m from my house.

I can hear people say 'Oh, well that's because it's Switzerland and they are terribly organised and their country is squeaky clean' ... not true, France and Spain manage it too!

I am amazed when I go back to England to see that on nights when people put out their bins, they are systemmatically ripped to pieces by mangy urban foxes; it's terrible to see and must be awful for the dustbin men to collect plus the waste of time shovelling up the split bags. If England is or has introduced fortnightly collections, it seems essential that these large wheelie bins are installed as quickly as possible to fight the vermin which must surely increase.

See the following BBC article

news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/6584497.stm

ULTIME SESSION

The coming weekend sees the end of the 06-07 ski season; not the best as far as the snow was concerned, although the resort is high up and the snow cannons paid their way this year. To me it would seem that there were less people in the resort this year, probably because of the dollar exchange rate and the great snow in the States.

The finale is the 'Ultime Session' on the pistes - a weekend of fooling around skiing, mountain biking and dressing up in silly disguises. As the theme is Mexico this year, I imagine a vast quantity of beer with slices of limes stuck in the bottle neck will be consumed! Some of the clubs had their last weekend yesterday and going through the village on Saturday afternoon the bars seemed to be filled with those on a Happy Hour, before starting the serious stuff later on...

Relief! In one week, the resort will revert to a small mountain village of about 3,000 residents, the free buses that go round the village (and past my door) from 8.00 a.m. to 8.00 p.m. will cease, no queues in the supermarket and general peace and quiet! It's marvellous and until the middle of June, when the summer season starts, the resort is a lovely place to live. My little black friend and I can now walk in the mountains and often not meet another soul apart from the occasional deer and the marmots with their piercing warning whistle as we approach. Angus is of course fascinated with the marmots - his basic Terrier instinct tells him this is the nearest thing to a badger although fortunately he has never seen one! It is their enormous terriers that attract him but being slightly weedy, he stands at the entrance and sniffs but totally lacks the courage to go in and investigate, thank goodness!



The summer season is however a more sedate affair - firstly, far less people and none of the skiing frenzy. Many mountain walkers and each year more and more mountain bikers. The ski lifts reopen from mid June to mid September and the 'baskets' for holding skis on the outside of the cabins are replaced with hooks for the bikes. I admit to preferring the bikers to the skiiers - when you are walking in the mountains, they go to great lengths to avoid hitting you as they hurtle downwards by calling out or slowing down, whereas the skiiers invariably are not in control of their skis or their speed and tend to hurl insults as they careen by - even though they are on a 'sentier pedestre' and shouldn't be there in the first place...



And of course, at the end of July is the Verbier Festival (if you click on my Verbier link which takes you to the Verbier homepage you will find all the information). The Festival lasts three weeks with concerts every day in the village - some of which are free. The main concerts are every evening at 7 p.m. at the top of the village, and as there is no car access, it is lovely to see people strolling up to the venue in their evening clothes to assist - a far cry from the clumping of ski boots and the potentially lethal skis being carried on skiers' shoulders. There are also concerts in the church and many of the bars have musical afternoons or evenings with a string quartet. The Festival is also an Academy and invests a lot of time and money in young and upcoming talent, who have the chance to play with some of the most important conductors and musicians currently around.



The wild flowers are starting to appear timidly and before too long the cows with their enormous clunking bells will be moved up to the high alpine pastures to feed on the grass, herbs and wild flowers that seem to be three times taller than I knew in France or in England. Angus will no longer speed around in Scotty fashion but will start doing rabbit impersonations trying to get his bearings in the long grass and I shall pick bunches of wild lupins to bring home.

Monday afternoon : I have just added three photos of wild flowers but have no idea of their names as I don't have a book on alpine wild flowers. They are all minute - none of them more than 5cm high.

MEZENC

To the vegetarians among you, I apologise for the photo - to the meat lovers of the world, this must be the equivalent of Kobé beef (which I have never tried).

Enjoy the photo, as your chances of finding this meat are virtually non-existent! This is 'le Fin gras de Mézenc', one of France's best-kept secrets. The Mézenc recently received an AOC for their meat which comes from an area covering 20 communes in the Haute Loire and the Ardèche. The cows are fed on hay from these communes throughout the winter and it is the hay that gives the meat a very distinctive flavour as it contains numerous aromatic plants, including 'cistre' (alpine fennel). The animals must be over two years of age when slaughtered so, like this côte de boeuf, it is from a fully grown animal and is consistant. The meat is delicately marbled throughout and honestly I have never tasted a piece of meat with such complex flavours - we were rather like wine bores when eating it as our taste buds discovered the different flavours.

Apart from the Mézenc being a small AOC, another particularity is that one can only find it from the beginning of March to the beginning of June, when the animals go out to pasture for the summer. If you happen to be in the area during the season, the next problem is to find a butcher that sells le Fin gras de Mézenc! The only butcher that sells it (as far as I know) in Clermont Ferrand is la Maison Gauthier, and it has to be ordered well in advance! Or for a few dollars more, you could take yourself to what is probably the best restaurant in France, the 3* Michelin of Regis Marcon in St. Bonnet le Froid, where it is served during the spring. Marcon, apart from his great talent, must be the most charming and unpretentious of the great French chefs and his new restaurant is stunning. He also has the admirable policy of offering jobs to local people first and foremost which has been a blessing in area which is 'au milieu de nul parts'. (www.regismarcon.fr)

My one regret? That my son wasn't there to enjoy this fabulous piece of meat. On the other hand, he would have eaten the côte de boeuf by himself!

L'AUVERGNE

I love the Auvergne region of France, where I was staying last week. Perhaps because when I first moved to France it was the area where I lived and so holds many memories. Quite a few members of my ex-family live there, although they are not originally auvergnat. I was staying in the Haute Loire, a département which reminds me of western Scotland - the countryside is lovely although in winter the 'plateaux' can be bleak and windswept. The villages are not beautiful and the houses are practical, solid and frugal, in keeping with the auvergnat mentality of economy and prudence. Despite its rather poor image, do not be fooled - the Auvergne is a rich region in every sense of the word. Although isolated for many years the region has benefited from heavy investments that have come their way from various Presidents and ministers, the roads are good, the viaduct de Millau has speeded up access to the coast and the villages and towns have invested heavily in schools, sports centres, libraries etc. in order to stabalise the population.

On our way to one of the sports centres the other day, we drove through the village of Vorey ... having dropped off the swimmers at the pool which was heaving with screaming children on their Easter holidays, I drove back to Voray to photograph the church, as for once I had actually thought to take my camera. There are some wonderful churches in the Auvergne and it is on the chemin de St. Jacques de Compostelle. The church in Voray is not particularly interesting architecturally, but it is painted this deep terracotta colour on the outside. What do you think? Personally I think it is very effective. The church of course was locked, bolted and barred and not even a notice to saw that someone held the key, so I couldn't go inside to visit and probably find out why it had been painted. And no-one around apart from a few barking dogs (and a few twitching curtains!).



So from the painted church, onto the painted Monument aux Morts fifty yards away. Normally rather depressing things, put up rapidly after the War and lacking in any artistic charm...but this one is glorious!



The only other people around were a couple of pilgrims on their way to St. Jacques and they too had their camera out; neither they nor I knew of other painted monuments, but they probably exist. The rooster on the top is a very fine chap, who apparently got knocked off his perch a few years ago during repainting by the local cantonier and being in fonte was extremely difficult to solder together again, so a very attractive young man with the most gorgeous blue eyes (Vorey is decidedly colourful!) stopped to tell me as I was clicking away with my camera.





So, while the others were packed like sardines in the swimming pool, I spent a lovely afternoon going from village to village, visiting the churches.

HAPPY EASTER

Thought I would just wish you all a Happy Easter, and hopefully, a warm and sunny one.

I am off to the Auvergne tomorrow to spend Easter with my ex in-laws, the car filled with loads of Swiss Easter Eggs, Bunnies and suchlike. Hopefully they will all arrive intact and Gus won't be tempted to chew off a bunny ear...

I am staying in a house that doesn't have an Internet connection (yes, they still exist!) but in case I get withdrawal symptoms, my sister-in-law runs the local médiathèque so I shall be able to get a fix there!

If you don't get to Mass on Sunday, at least watch the Pope on television for the traditional Urbi et Orbi, as I'm sure we all have many sins that need to be forgiven!

JOYEUSES PAQUES

EASTER?

My plans have been thawrted. Yesterday was a lovely spring day, so before going to France for a week of R&R from the mind-numbing mornings starting at 5.30, I decided that it was time for the car to have its twice yearly interior clean. First of all the ski rack came off - no mean feat as although deceptively simple to look at, you need a PhD in engineering to dismantle it. Then all the doors were opened and I set about emptying the contents before getting out the Dyson. Out came the bath mats (brilliant for absorbing melting snow), the rubber mats that hold the melted water and a very smelly old sheet that Angus is meant to use after a wet/muddy/rolling in cow pat walk.

I then set about clearing the litter and this is what I discovered! Six bottles of mineral water in various stages of consumption, three Coke bottles, about 30 sweet wrappers, the tripod for my camera (wondered where that had got to), various scrapers, de-icers etc., Angus's passport, assorted maps, my 'zapper' to fast track through the motorway tolls in France, a load of cables for assorted mobile 'phones and iPods, 2 dog leads, an amazingly awful collection of CDs and I think that it about all!

And then of course, I was waylaid doing something else, so cleaning the car came to a halt for the day. So I had decided to hoover the car this morning and treat the seats which are in leather and desperately need de-Angusing. But of course that has been stopped as yet again it is snowing! The car is now covered in a good 6 inches of snow, and no sign of a let-up at the moment. I know I live high up in the mountains, I know it is only the beginning of April and we shall have snow on and off for another month, but this year I am totally fed up with the snow. One day in T-Shirts, the following day in a ski jacket and if I have to wear my snow boots for much longer, I think I shall scream.

However, when I go off to France on Friday as the car will be junk free, I should save a few drops of petrol.

And of course the rubber mats have disappeared somewhere in the snow...

MY CHARGER

UPDATE TUESDAY : INFORMATION THAT STEVENSON'S (RESTORERS OF ROCKING HORSES) VERY KINDLY SENT ME THIS AFTERNOON:

J. COLLINSON AND SONS

The firm of J (Jervis) Collinson has always been a small family concern with only a few workers, mostly family members, and has remained in the city of Liverpool. The name Jervis is part of the family tradition handed down from father to son, hence the continuance of the name of the firm, J. Collinson. From 1836 to 1850 their horses were painted in different colours however in 1851 Queen Victoria visited the Collinson's workshop and rode a dapple-grey horse. Since then, in honour of the royal visit they have only made dapple grey horses.

Sometime during the 1890s Jervis Drinkall Collinson Senior started work in the factory where he carried on business until his death in 1945. Circa 1912 Jervis Drinkall Junior was born and by the late 1920s he was working alongside his father in the factory at Richmond Terrace, Liverpool. Both men produced the glass-eyed, hand-dappled horses with attention to carved detail along the lines of the 'extra carved' finish of other manufacturers of quality rocking horses. Glass eyes were replaced by wooden balls after the Second World War. Despite the general acceptance of riding astride for women by the 1920s, larger Collinson horses continued to be made with sidesaddle equipage until as late as the early 1950s.

The present proprietor of the firm, Jervis James, was born in 1935, the year the factory workshop was relocated at Great Georges Road and the period from the mid 1930s to the mid 1940s was perhaps the most difficult for the firm, For the most part Jervis James father was occupied in the British Aircraft Services leaving grandfather Jervis to manage on his own until production ceased entirely for a few years during the Second World War. Production began again in the late 1940s under Jervis James' father and Jervis joined him in the factory in 1950 at the age of 15. His younger brother Leonard joined the firm in the late 1950s.

Earlier this century Collinson's supplied the London stores, Harrods and Hamleys and sometime later an agent, Johnson, handled distribution of the horses from Nottingham. They became misleadingly known as 'Johnson rocking horses'. The factory workshop was until 1993 located at Smithdown Road where thousands of Collinson rocking horses were produced since 1965. The horses were never marked until about 1981 when the maker's name on a gold plate was first applied to the front of the stand base. The factory finally closed their doors in the latter part of 1993 due to lack of demand for these toys.






Here are a couple of photos of my fine old horse! He and I were born the same year. He was a Christmas present for my first Christmas at the ripe old age of 6 months, when I could barely sit, let alone ride a horse! He came from Horrids and cost £100! What a vast amount of money - goodness knows how much that would be in today's money.

He was given to me by an 'aunt' who was in fact a friend of my parents - an ageing spinster, very '40s in her way of dressing, make-up and hairstyle and had a passion for Pekinese dogs (which I love to this day!).

Although he cost a lot, he is still very much 'part of the family' - apart from myself who 'rode' thousands of miles on him, my daughter and my son also went off on many adventure astride this animal with his flaring nostrils, and even now they, and I, still go off on a gentle trot!

He is getting rather old and tatty, like his owner! The reins and stirrups have long gone, the mane and tail have been trimmed over the years and his dapple grey colour has become a dapple yellow. The paint is now flaking fast but I am loathe to have him restored as I fear he might end up looking too new. Looking for some information on him, it would appear that he was made by a company called Collinson who still make rocking horses and do restore 'antique' beasts. Below is a photo of a horse similar to mine who has been restored.



The old boy had a number of names but none ever stuck - the name he kept the longest was Santa as he came at Christmas and also because the same year as I was offered my rocking horse, my father gave my mother a real dapple grey for Christmas called ... Santa!

My 'aunt' would be delighted to see that her present of so many years ago, is still alive and well and living in Switzerland.