belote

The belote* season is in full swing now with the village concours (competition) on Saturday, followed by a neighbouring village's on Sunday. There are usually some good prizes for the winners and the runners-up at these events: whole pigs (I kid you not), ski passes, sporting goods and equipment, restaurant vouchers. I'm still a novice so I'm deciding whether to play this weekend or to adopt last year's strategy - which was to stand at the bar chatting to the winners who looked the least sporty (the guy in a wheelchair was a dead cert) and wait for them to hand over the goods. Last year I "won" two free ski passes and a rucksack.

We're going to Méribel tomorrow to spend two nights in Miss Fit's chalet so we may not be in a fit state to play cards at the weekend anyway.

* card game played by just about everybody here - a bit like whist.

shoot the mole

BB was helping Poire with his garage roof again today and came back at lunchtime to say that the gunshots I'd heard earlier (and assumed were hunters) had been Poire "de-moling".

Poire moved into a house on the plateau above us last year and spent thousands laying a new lawn (and planting various exotic flora - including banana trees - in the Alps!) which has been blighted by dozens of molehills. When his wife, Poirette, alerted him to some movement in one of the conical mounds this morning, he went out with his 12 bore and started shooting up the lawn. I was ready to go round there sporting my PETA T-shirt until I read the following on a gardening website on how to rid your garden of moles:

Trapping is often the best method for young inexperienced moles. The normal type of trap has a scissors action which to be honest is somewhat barbaric.

Fumigating is another method often used, however you are limited to how far the poisonous smoke will travel.

Baiting worms with poison is another method. This is best carried out by a professional mole catcher as the poisons used are licensed and very dangerous to other animals and birds.

Which makes shooting them sound pretty humane in comparison.

quelle jolie table

The previous mayor came round yesterday to ask if he could borrow BB's van. We could probably make a living hiring it out given the number of people who've used it. In the beginning BB did the driving, until an acquaintance, Madame Pas De Mates, borrowed it for a removal and BB and I ended up hauling all her heavy white goods up six flights of stairs (while she chatted on her mobile!!) because nobody else turned up to help. Now the driver and the dogsbodies are not included.

Anyway, BB invited him in for a drink and imagine my surprise when he started going on about "quelle jolie table" as if he'd never set eyes on our kitchen table before. He's chased me round it often enough (funnily enough just after BB has left for the Sunday Club) but I suppose his mind wasn't on the finer points of mortise and tenon joints!

When I told BB about this "mayor trying to get wife in clinch" episode I thought he'd be outraged, but instead he said I should have "obliged" and we might have had our planning application passed quicker!

and the moral of the story

The intemperate weather continues, keeping the builders away, but at least allows us to ski without feeling as if we're skiving. The head builder came round last week with an invoice for the work done so far and said he'd be back "when it gets warmer", for which read: "after I've been to Acapulco on your big fat rosbif cheque and fancy doing a bit of work again."

My new year resolutions to drink less and exercise more fizzled out when I went to a party after two weeks' abstention and passed out after a couple of glasses of wine, and then my back went during the "pump" section of Davina's "High Energy Five" fitness DVD.

Moral? Story?

santa's little helper

The builders didn't turn up last week despite the weather not being as bad as predicted, but they were back on Monday and Tuesday and are absent again because it hasn't stopped snowing since Tuesday night. Over a foot and counting. The plan was to get all the masonry work (pool, supporting walls, new lintels and first floor concrete slab) done by Christmas but that's not going to happen now.

The annual battle for the most garish Christmas lights has begun and new-kid-on-the-plateau Poire looks to be in pole position, with M. Slip a close runner-up. I went up to the plateau to have a look tonight and even through the thick fog it looked like Vegas - dancing Santas climbing up the outside of the house, lit-up reindeers and sleighs all over the lawns, flashing lights on all the bushes and trees and all over the house. It's enough to bring on an epileptic fit.

Interesting fact: In 1962 a law was passed in France decreeing that all letters written to Santa would be responded to with a postcard. What an interesting job description that must be.

bear hug

BB is helping Poire put the roof on his new garage and in return, Poire will help BB with the mill roof when the time comes. Snow is forecast for tonight and all next week, so I doubt much masonry work will be getting done here anyway.

With all his tractors broken down, Mini-B is also calling upon friends to help him deliver bales of hay to the snow-covered fields where his cows are - or where they should be, because for most of this week they've been wandering about all over the road again. Roquin has just dropped off some cauliflowers and reckons Mini-B will be failli (bankrupt) by next year if he carries on like this.

Roquin also told me that there used to be brown bears in the mountains here until 1913, which I never knew. (They disappeared from the French Alps altogether in 1937.) His grandfather used to tell him the story of his two friends who shot one high up in the mountains and while one guy ran down to the village to fetch a sledge (a four-hour round trip), the other guy hugged the dead animal to keep warm - and got fleas. Pah! Serves him right!

secrets and lies

To mix the cement for the swimming-pool walls today, the builders had to break up the sand with a pickaxe and smash through two inches of ice on top of the water barrel. The garage tap has thawed out but we are having to keep it open to prevent it from freezing again until we can move the wood - which we can't do until the enormous pile of sand has gone.

BB spent all day wrestling with coils of armoured flexible PVC tube for the pool - which in sub-zero temperatures is extremely difficult to unroll and cut - whilst trying to avoid impaling his eyeballs on the reinforcement rods sticking up all over the place every time he bent down.

People keep stopping to ask why we're digging such a big hole in the basement so we're having to pretend it's a cave (cellar) otherwise we may have difficulties when we come to applying for planning permission. Apparently, the planning authorities can come to your house before they grant permission to make sure you haven't started the work already - and if you have, they can refuse your application. It's probably the worst-kept secret in the village right now, so we'll just have to make sure we don't fall out with anyone!