It's Cold, It's Foggy...It's Home                    Monday, November 26

Eric and I arrived here exactly one year ago this week.  Even though the leaves are all off the trees and this thick fog seems to creep in every evening I find it all beautiful and cozy and wonderfully familiar by now.

We played at our local bar the other night and it was such a contrast to our first show, just eight months ago.  Back then, we knew barely a soul and my French was so shaky I didn’t dare attempt it on the mic.  This time, the room was filled with friends.  There was Niko of course, who owns the bar and always plays interesting music in there: Nick Cave, Tom Waits, Herman Dune, Brigitte Fontaine, Television, Alan Vega, and that was just the other afternoon.  He tells Eric and I we’re the best rock band in France.  Okay, I know what they say about the French & rock n roll but he really means it.  At the front were Michel and Annette, who run the dry cleaning place, and are avid rock music fans.  We get together and talk about films and obscure psychedelic bands.  There’s Cecile and Emmanuel, who are also dear friends at this point - she has three teenage boys and drives the school bus, Emmanuel works at the scholarly bookstore in the big city and has been kind enough to supply me with French grammar books and also wine and food recommendations as he’s very knowledgeable about both.  There were our English friends, Phil & Chris, a retired actor and a teacher, and Roy, a fantastic illustrator and Michelle who teaches English these days.  They are in the middle of renovating a massive barn...in fact, pretty much half the people we meet are in the middle of some kind of ambitious renovation. We have much less to do on this house as it has heat and hot water, windows, doors and everything, but I have spent more time in bricolage stores than I would have ever thought possible.

Where to find the best price on doors, insulation, windows and floorboards is often a major topic of conversation.  As is where to buy the best, freshest food - we were all standing around discussing a chicken bought at the market that, roasted, had been tough and not so flavorful.  Emmanuel was explaining how farm chickens often spend too much time running around, hence not much tenderness left, and I had to laugh.  Country life!  La vida pollo.  Or as Eric, funniest of all as usual put it: five people doing post mortem on a chicken.

I wonder what Hazel must think of this, after all the attempted go-getting of previous years.  When she asks what’s new and I tell her something like “We got some insulation for the attic.”  “They opened a new road today.” Or “You’re not going to believe what happened!  We bought duck sausages from that lady at the Relais and they were so awful, Eric had to drive all over the countryside looking for other sausages cause people were coming for dinner.” Or “I got a pair of slippers!”  Thrilling stuff.

The winter here can be cold and grey to the point that people start packing up and moving back to England around this time of year.  Which makes no sense whatsoever, but please don’t tell them that.  More room for us next to the cow pasture.

So happy first French anniversary.  To celebrate, we’re heading to L.A.