Well, yet again I pen this short
column from 35,000 feet as we head back to Scotland once more via the splendour
that is Ryanair, sandwiched between sweaty Frenchmen in suspicious overcoats
and small sunburned children with earache and attitude! Oh how I miss
travelling business class… It has been quite a difficult trip to judge, as we
leave 37 degree heat in France for something that may hopefully be above double
figures in Fife. After continually grumbling about the weather this year, I can
report we have had a nice month, weather-wise, much to the delights of both my
sons who have visited and had their feet in the pool. Possibly the daftest
thing I have done in a while, along with my eldest son, Sam, was to build a 4
foot pizza oven on the back terrace, over a three day period when the sun was
so hot we could have quite successfully cooked pizza and chips on the slabs
around the swimming pool, which were certainly uncomfortable to walk on. But on
we toiled, first building a concrete platform, then a giant sand-castle which
we covered in ceramic bricks and cement, before finally removing the sand and
crossing our fingers that it didn’t collapse faster than a house of cheap
playing cards. This morning, before we left, we ceremoniously lit a fire in it
and ran up a full English, albeit a little on the smoky sausage side. The whole
idea was inspired by a TV programme I watched about Argentina where it appears
that it is near illegal to eat anything other than beef scorched over flaming
coals. I have to say, as a self
confessed bodger builder, I am quite proud of my effort, despite me not even
liking pizza!
On a tenuously linked foody
subject, often in this column I bring attention to the ridicules of French
governmental decisions which are so far beyond comprehension that they are just
tail lights through the fog. So, keeping with tradition, let me highlight yet
another. France has just made it illegal to throw away edible food. No, hang on
a minute, on the face of it, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. So let’s take
a little look at this new ruling and its purpose. Seemingly there are a lot of starving poor
people in the nation, and not all the rich folk can manage to eat everything on
the shelf in LeClerc before it goes out of date, to the tune of 7.4 million
tons of it. ‘So,’ says an unusually unanimous government,’ let’s do the
sensible thing and give all the out of date food to the poor. I am sure they
love 3 week old chicken. What could possibly go wrong?’ Is it me, or does this
sound about as risky as poking your index finger into a socket to see if it is
live? If I was to detect something fishy here I might suggest that perhaps some
pharmaceutical giant might be working on a cure for salmonella, back handed by
the same government? Either that, or they will have to build more hospitals!
Earlier in the month, between the
two visitors, Wendy and I managed to shoe-horn in a weekend in the Bay of
Biscay in our favourite little spot just south of Biarritz. A couple of days
dining on fish so fresh it was still smiling, and a quick round of golf, has
whet both our appetites enough to return again, once I get this latest
purgatoric trip out of the way. Hopefully, after two weeks of tiling, painting
and furnishing, this should be the concluding part of my little house
renovation project, and one that will bear fruit in the near foreseeable as we
catch the summer holiday rental season in East Fife. It is my intention to
spend the surplus ill-gotten gains on some Atlantic oysters and a bottle of the
finest wine known to humanity! To those
unaware of this extreme corner of France, Biarritz is one of the most magnificent
cities in Europe, underpinned by being favoured as a regular holiday
destination of Queen Victoria herself, who, along with her husband, seems to
have named every park, street and even car-park after herself. No seventies
flat roofed low rise here, with every building resembling a French chateau, if
not a palace. Unlike the Med, the rougher seas of the Atlantic coast boasts
some fairly hefty waves that are non-friendly to young families, making the
inhabitants a mixture of wealthy middle aged French ladies with too much money
and beatnik surfer dudes with none at all. Yet somehow, the place just works
and I have to say, despite me being neither, I can feel myself drawn in by its
charm.
Finally, as I sit crammed into a
seat made for slim people I get chatting to the girl next to me, as she is
clutching a rugby ball, and a silver trophy. On further investigation there are
a number of other young ladies also clad in tracksuits and around me it transpires
that this is none other than the Caithness girls rugby team, on tour. Having
spent some time in Caithness in my younger days and, more recently, being
married to a girl with family from that area, I have to say I am somewhat
terrified. Whilst catching a mountain sheep with one hand, diving for lobster
in the icy waters in a bikini or throwing large rocks over goalposts may seem a
pastime for the mentally insane, it is this very grounding that gives these
lassies the genetic make-up that would send the fear of god into an All Blacks
national side, let alone some poor slight French schoolgirls in chic shorts and
a selfless love of ponies. However, despite winning the tournament by a fair
margin, these hardy land-girls complained that the weather was far too hot and
they couldn’t wait to get home to some familiar squally showers and a plate of
mince and tatties!
An addendum:
with permission from the recently sun-tanned editor, this column is actually
finished off a few weeks later, while resting
my weary knees on the Ektorb, sitting on the Wrorstob with my feet up on the
Elkatort, all of which ache like a miner’s elbow! Yes, against all my wishes, I
have made that intrepid pilgrimage to Ikea, without which no holiday home would
be complete. I will admit I am still twitching after 4 hours in the godforsaken
giant Swedish shed but, with helpful assembling skills from an unsuspecting
visiting friend, the house looks almost habitable. The final 2 weeks of
painting, polishing and positioning have
pushed me a long way outwith my comfort zones, as I do my best to provide relaxing
surroundings for guests who may shortly be queuing up to rent this - though I
say it myself - rather swish home-by-the-sea in East Neuk. It has been an
interesting journey over the past 6 months, in a village that has only just
discovered round tea-bags, let alone the internet, but one where the pace of
life still lives in an age when people are polite, shops close at 5pm and
nobody is in a desperate hurry to be in front of anyone else. In other words, the ideal destination for a
UK holiday! This weekend, I will return
to a similar environment, with identical values, only a few thousand miles
south with a bit more sunshine, for a well earned rest.
