Today the Chateau has been shrouded in a gentle mist. As you descend the hill and cross the river it is only just visible behind the row of populars. Perhaps you might discern a hazy light in an upstairs window, but that is all. It is a fairytale mist which blurs all edges and leaves reality open to question - which is often a very positive thing. However, it is still damp.
Despite the mist, le Comte has been working hard as usual and the balustrade is really doing well. It now trails across the balcony and down the courtyard steps. We are hoping to harvest it soon. (Le Comte, btw, is brilliant at absolutely everything practical - except tidying up).
Over coffee this morning le Comte and I discussed the possibility of turning le Chateau Coldspot into a country club to extend our season. (Le Comte has an excellent business brain which is why we are still here instead of living in a mobile home beside Leiston power station). We would build a gym, sauna and spa pool and aim to attact Nimoises longing to escape the city for a weekend. Then we thought Nimoises might be a kind of fish. The plan needs further thought.
I had intended to share with you the absurdities of French driving lessons, but instead I have started the Christmas Cake. Large quantities of dried fruit are soaking in brandy as we speak. I make it partly to confound the French - who hate it. Obviously, it's not frothy, chocolate covered and smothered in chantilly cream. The look of polite confusion on their faces when you offer your special seasonal English Christmas cake to your francophone neighbours is highly amusing. It's obvious they would rather eat eyeballs.
'A slice of christmas cake with your coffee?'
'I'll just take an eyeball if I may...'
'Quel dommage, Madame, the cake is traditional, I have a special recipe...'
(Worried frown) 'Well perhaps just un tres petit slice.' (Takes tiny bite, look of horror)
Your cue to rush from the room doubled over with laughter.
Eyeballs, on the other hand, the french would understand. Also, hearts, tongues, toenails, any part of an animal as long as it had been properly maltreated to achieve the desired end product. The alcohol-saturated, gout-inducing English Christmas cuisine is completely beyond their comprehension. They invented Carrots Julienne for God's Sake. why would anyone bother? They are lightweights.
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