The crew were up early on another drizzly morn. But today we were hoping to get back on the move and by 8.45 we were togged up in our wet weather gear and ready for the off. The vnf website showed the river open but their was no skippers notice stating that it was re-open. I consulted with Berlin Bertie next door on Tao. I called him David as he had strangely asked as his name was Rheiner which he decided was too tricky for me and so suggested as an englishmen his family name of david would be easier for me. There was no edge to this, just typical of his consideration. He and Monica were delightful although it has to be said that Rheiner is more than a little skittish and easily seemed to get in a bit of a tiz over things. He was constantly on the move and a ferret of information. He had my mums ability to use twenty sentances when one would suffice but was so very helpful always eager to get the bread in the morning and offer the latest news. Monica was unable to get around much but had a fixed smile that was genuine and brightened whenever she saw you.
Rheiner was desperate to get away but was also unsure. Tim, captain Harrold, came across with news that the river was still closed and this was confirmed by the skipper of art de vivre. Having paid 4000 euros each for a week on board, his american clients were getting pretty tetchy about the lack of a cruise. whilst Tim had been updating me, rhiener called the vnf. I heard him exploding on the phone and ranting about the situation. If it was not open today then their was little chance before Monday but Rheiner`s news was that Monday was a definite.
We settled down to coffees and watched the bbc news. Our daughter Stacey was travelling to New York for a long weekend visiting friends this morning. Suddenly breaking news of an incident closing the runways at Heathrow. What time is her flight? Collette is instantly calming me, not for another hour. We text her and she replies saying that boarding is starting in 10 minutes clearly none the wiser about any issues. We decide not to say anything. She was delayed an hour but landed in New York still blisfully unaware of the incident. Airports really are rubbish at communicating with their passengers.
Collette decided to do a wash day. Out came the machine which was a signal for me to get on my bike and head off into Vermenton to buy a new water hose. Mine had not wintered well and was frankly embarrassing to use. I enjoyed the ride into town and discovered it was market day. The market was spread all around the town but I had no time to linger as the ATAC supermarche was closing for its 2hour lunch in just 15 mins. I nrushed in and found their only hose. A 19mm diameter. Would it fit my range of fittings I woundered. Unable to be certain, I returned to the salles de fetes in the town square. Two rickety fold up tables were set up and a gathering of weathered bergundians sporting berets and bad odours were recounting France`s glory days over 1 euro glasses of red wine poured from 2 litre plastic water bottles. Fantastic. I just wanted to stop and get involved but I had spotted the queue of 3 old crones at the fromage stall. It was not though the cheese which had taken my eye but a row of boxes in front of the stall containing bottles of wine. Priced at 5 euros 20 one box had only two bottles remaining. Another good sign. It was a st Bris Sauvignon blanc. Now I had only yesterday read in my Hugh Mcnight bible, that no self respecting nivernais boater should travel its length without a bottle of aforemention wine. I was having these!
The 3 old crones were all prattling away with the round cheery faced proprietor who clearly had a taste for cream and cheeses herself. Interestingly, I noted they all purchased the same cheese. Comte. Now this cheese is very popular in France. It is a hard cheddar type and is often served with drinks. It comes in a variety of qualities and you can pay a fortune for it. The crones all bought the cheapest one, but they knew something or two between them. With them out of the way, I got to chatting with the proprietor who was happy to confirm that the ladies had made a wise choice. After a lengthy chat with this amiable lady who was keen to help me with my stuttering french and was flabbergasted that I was retrait at my age and had no right to be enjoying such a lifestyle, I returned to the washhouse where the grafting crew were hanging the last of the washing on rigged lines in the wheelhouse. Confronted with a resigned look of no surprise at the lack of a new hose, I endeavoured to explain how self sacrificing I had been in ignoring the temptations of the salle de fetes wine bar but soon fell quiet as my case appeared to be simply enlarging the hole I was clearly digging for myself. I offered to make tea but opened the door with a quiet sence of satisfaction at the mornings trade.
By now it was late afternoon and with the weather still very drizzly and with a boat full of drying washing we had a night of vegging although I took forever cooking a mince in red wine sauce to go with a broccolli and toasted brioche in cheese sauce which was gloriously rich due to the fact that I mistook the litre of single cream for whole milk. The ladies loved it!
No comments:
Post a Comment