Hellfire it's hot. Phew what a scorcher. Just like being abroad.
Friday. Market day in downtown Felletin. Nipped down there ce matin despite waking up with a hangover that would have immobilised even the likes of WC Fields, Brendan Behan and that other hard-drinking Irish (or was he Welsh?) fella who starred in that brilliant rugby league film 'This Sporting Life' (one of my faves). This fuzzy state of affairs was the result of having supper last night at Alain and Colettes', in the shared company of Isabelle and Hadrian, where Colette began proceedings by pouring me a whopping scotch, closely followed by another two or three. Or four. Then Alain displayed similar enthusiastic generosity with a cheeky little Bordeaux rouge during the dinner of chicken in sauce with pasta, bread and cheeses, rounded off with Colette's renowned speciality, home-made apple pie. There may well have been other dishes but I was in no fit state to remember. Rounded off the soiree by giving the canines a very wobbly amble up to the granite cross and back, followed by a cuppa in front of the telly while waiting for my usual Thursday night dose of 'Question Time' and 'This Week'. Didn't see either. Woke up on the settee at about 2.30am with double vision and a gob like dried up cow dung. Dogs demanded another walk so I did a leisurely lap of the estate before assuming the horizontal in t'pit.
Anyway, yes, went to the market ce matin with hair still wet from unscrewing my head and sticking it in a sink of cold water for half an hour. At the fruit'n'veg stall Isabelle asked how I was feeling. "Terrible" I said, explaining that it was all Colette's fault. "Well, you could have told her to stop pouring the whisky," Isabelle suggested. Thought about explaining how it's impossible for a Scot to say "stop" when the whisky's out, but couldn't be arsed to work out the appropriate French lingo, so just grinned inanely instead. Asked her how her Mexican flu was progressing, at which point a few of the other customers took a nervous step backwards. Her response of a typically Gallic shoulder shrug, combined with her attire of a thick wooly pully despite the blistering sunshine, said it all. Bought geen beans, tomatoes, cherries, strawberries, cheeses, bread, cheapo dogfood, 'ecologique' washing up liquid (keep forgetting that one; now I can at last set about that huge pile in the kitchen sink), then had a coffee and rollie outside the caff where, surprise, surprise, I managed to grab a seat (normally impossible on market day). Then waddled off back to the car park via the Loto caff to collect my winnings (I always win - this month it was just 3.50 euros, last month 5.25, not too bad for a regular outlay of 15 euros. One day it'll be a million.) Passing down the street I noticed another new estate agency. So now Felletin has two. Maybe the property market's picking up. Or maybe even more Anglais are looking to sell. I'm hoping it's the former. This reminded me to check out that lovely house for sale in the little lane that leads to Felletin's river and bridge that I took a look at last year. Drove past it on the way home. Sign outside said 'sold'. Well there you go. Maybe the recession's over. Be interesting to know if an Anglais bought it. Somehow I have my doubts. Seller's Belgian so maybe the buyer is too. Ah well, at least it suggests Felletin's becoming more popular with buyers. The dilapidated old building by the bridge recently sold too. Apparently used to be a hotel and restaurant years back. Bought by Anglais. Now almost completely renovated and the rumour is that it's opening soon as a restaurant again. Must have cost a bomb to renovate. Looking good though. Am looking forward to when it opens.
Arrived home with the sun directly overhead. Hottest part of the day. And how. Unpacked the goodies and let the dogs out for a sunbathe. Didn't last long though. Soon came back inside panting. Just had fresh bread, cheese and tomato. Superbe. Am now killing a bit of time by scribing this jibberish while the washing machine does its stuff. Normally when the sun's blasting away I completely forget to wash some much needed clothes. But this time I remembered. Head's finally clearing. Thoughts are now turning to what to paint next. Isabelle wants a portrait of Wendy, her dog that recently snuffed it and which has now been replaced by playful little Dutchka. She's going to give me a photo to work from. So that's one job to be done. And Denis (pronounced 'Denny') has suggested I do a view of Poussanges from across the valley on the right. Never been up there but it looks a long walk from the road with easel and stuff. Have to take a look sometime I suppose. Mind you, doing requests ain't exactly my thing. Much prefer working without damned clients. Had enough of that back in London. For my next masterpiece I'm thinking of doing the view from one of the mayor's fields way out back beyond the cemetery. Looks out west over Poussanges towards Felletin and the distant hills of Aubusson. Shall nip out there this afternoon to have a look. Might be a no-goer though if the cows are there. He keeps moving his herds around. Plays havoc with us artists.
As mentioned in a previous posting, I started a painting of some blossoming trees deep in the valley forest but had to stop when the rains came. Then Georgie and Don visited for a week which curtailed further progress (it's highly anti-social, even by my deplorable standards, to bugger off painting when welcome guests arrive!). So by the time I eventually returned to the scene, the whole thing had changed. Blossom had long gone, massive ferns had smothered the undergrowth and leaves had sprouted on previously bare trees. So I'll now have to wait 'til next year to continue paint sploshing. Anyway, I'll attempt to add a piccy of progress so far.
Right, sun's past its high point. Time to check out that valley view. Ooh, and the washing.
