...and friends to lunch.

I had promised our friends lunch on the terrace, under the parasol, chilled glasses of white wine , Salad Nicoise...all those Summery things.
What really happened was that they drew up in the worst rain storm we've had for a while, rushed up to the front door moaning, 'Please tell me it's not on the terrace'. True, it wasn't to be.
The nice thing about good friends is that it doesnt really matter what the weather is. If you have good company and lots to talk about, it's enough.
So we ate inside. A Tomato ,Camembert and Basil Tart from Tamasin Day Lewis book 'The Art of the Tart', a green salad, new potatoes and fresh fougasse bread from the bakery. Followed of course, as we're in France, by cheese. Followed by Lemon Mousse.
So many of our French friends say in awe to us 'Is it really true that the English eat their, their...cheese..at the end of the meal??' Blank incomprehension on their part! It does seem sensible to eat the cheese with the last of the red wine, and often they dismiss a dessert and go straight on to coffee.
The sun came out feebly and palely, but for long enough to have a wander round the garden, and to admire the nest in the hedge, which is being patiently guarded by what I think is a dove, but am assured is a pigeon. I think it's a dove in disguise in that case.
Off they drove, leaving lovely presents, a very pretty deep maroon African violet, some hand made craft, taking with them some Nicotiana from my greenhouse...but forgetting to pick up all the other things they were going to take with them. Oh well...an excuse for another meeting!

Friends to tea

This is what I did this morning. Friends were coming to tea, and I really enjoy an excuse to cook .The fruit cake was made yesterday , but scones need to be made the same day that they are going to be eaten.
Scones, raspberry jam and, oh...Cornish cream. No, it's not possible here, in fact to find cream that even whips into something approaching the right consistency is impossible. I've used Mascarpone which is the nearest, but sometimes I long for a proper Cornish cream tea!
The sun has shone all day , and it's been one of those days when food eaten outside tastes even better. I think it's almost the first time this year that we've been able to do that. Lovely...table with pretty cloth, terrace with geraniums, (yes , too early I know, but..) and a big green parasol to shade us.
Let's hope for many more such occasions.

A new fire surround!

When our house was built two years ago, we had expected slightly more than a hole in the wall for a fireplace. However, that's what we got, and apart from some very French suggestions about massive stone surrounds, nothing else seemed available. French houses often have almost a wall full of stone with a small gas fire inserted.

So we commissioned a cabinet-maker friend to make us a surround. The photo doesnt do it justice as the light is too bright, but I am so pleased with it. It makes the room feel complete, and of course it will be a place on which to put all those engraved invitations.................

Do you like my cat? He is called Velour, and was a present from one of the grandaughters, who felt we needed a pet.

Parties

With all this talk of parties I thought about my childhood celebrations, slightly different, quite sedate compared to today, but lovely all the same, because that was what we grew up with.

Invitations were bought, or more likely made, and sent out. Could you have all the class, or should you just have close friends? If it was a family party who would be there? Would terrible old Mr Q, a very distant relation get there? Always a cheery quip, always a little motto ...children should be seen not heard etc. We loathed him!

Were there party bags? Never heard of them. The most that was given to take home was a slice of birthday cake wrapped in a paper napkin. Balloons, oh yes, and we did have fun blowing them up and deliberately bursting a few. Themed parties? Not ever. No clowns hired for the day, no Russian dancers or other extravaganzas.

On the day of the party the dresses were pressed and ready to climb into, the black patent shoes shiny and new, the hair ribbons matching...and maybe as a treat, a whisp of my mother's scent.

Guests arrived, bearing a small gift , and the party was ready to go. We played games, Pass the Parcel, Hide and Seek, Forfeits, Statues and the one where you all race for the last chair when the music stops. Memory has gone as to the name. I think today it would be slated by Health and Safety as being dangerous!

Tea was lovingly prepared by Mum and Grandma, and I have memories particularly of green jellies in individual stemmed glasses, beautiful cakes, a birthday cake with candles, not made in the shape of anything, little dainty sandwiches, and soft drinks. Now it all sounds a bit Enid Blyton, but it was real, and very satisying.

After tea, the most exciting thing was for my uncle to get out his old film projector and run a Charlie Chaplin film, making the party shriek with giggles.

Mothers and Fathers came to collect their children, good byes were said, a piece of cake was given to each child, and that was it for another year. Very different I think to today? Or maybe not.

Wild flowers and other things

I suppose I should have got over the surprise in finding different wild flowers in different regions. But I never do, and am always the one squeaking excitedly...Look look, a cowslip/gentian/harebell...depending where we are.

Last week we drove through Poitou Charentes on our way to the Lot et Garonne region. All the way along the motor way were drifts of cowslips, Springtime yellow and in unbelievable quantity. It was all I could do not to stop the car right there and then and gaze, touch and take photos. They continued for miles, and when we did stop the scent was beautiful, light and primrosey.

I dont think many children today read the Tales of Little Grey Rabbit, but I am sure that in one of the stories she carried a bunch of cowslips. I cant remember why. Was it a special occasion? Hare's birthday? Fuzzypeg's party? If you know, please tell me.

Wild flowers have always had a special attraction for me. During the war years, when my mother and I were staying at a farmhouse near St Dogmaels, we would wander through the lanes and the fields, with my mother teaching me all the names of the flowers. They have stayed with me through the years, though the flowers themselves have gradually disappeared due, I imagine, to spraying. Maybe that's why I am so pleased when I find a slightly uncommon variety.

What a difference a day makes......

What a difference a day of sunny weather makes. Why should one suddenly have more energy just because it's hot? Why the desire to rush out with little trowel and fork and DO things to weeds?

Well apparently it's the Vitamin D that one receives from a mere 10 minutes of sun per day. People of, shall we say, a 'certain age', are being hauled out for the requisite 10 minutes, then later having their blood tested to see if there is any difference over a month's exposure to the sun.

I know that my spirits rise when it is warm, when we can sit out with a coffee or a glassd of wine, when we can find energy to garden. I can take my sewing out of doors and sit on the terrace, surrounded by my flowers. Whether it's due to a sudden surge of Vitamin D, I cant say. But I'm sure the Teletubbies would know.