Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Light at the End of the Tunnel
I don't hold much store by countryside predictions; by that I mean those grizzled old folk who
appear on local news at the fag-end of winter, point a gnarled stick at a copse 'on yonder' and
declare that because there are twenty-six rooks present, the summer will indeed be glorious.
Well, you have a 50 per cent chance of being right, but save it for the tourists please. Madame
Girresse, a farmer's wife and neighbour (in as much as someone who lives 3 kilometres away
can be a neighbour) always seems to make accurate weather forecasts - is it because of bird
movements, cloud formations, soil density? No, she says, she watches the weather forecasts
after the lunchtime news. According to various local predictions, which as far as I could see
were based on nothing more than optimism and wishful thinking, the coming summer would
be a good one. But just so long as it's on time that's all anybody really wants after such a long
while without seemingly any sun at all. There had been the odd, rare hopeful sign of spring but
it was quickly crushed by stubborn clouds and chilling winds. The winter had been like Mother
Nature's version of prog-rock, repetitive, dull and seemingly endless. The awful weather was
also delaying the building work, which we were desperate to see make some progress.
Winter had clearly taken its toll on Natalie who, while bombarding me with email links to
various far-flung dog rescue centres and pictures of Jack Russell puppies in the hope of tempt-
ing me to further chaos, had now declared her intention to own a peacock. A small chateau
nearby had a dozen or so which roamed freely and often onto the road.
'They wouldn't miss one,' Natalie said as we drove past.
'No!' I said, putting my foot down metaphorically and literally, only narrowly avoiding a big
feathery roadkill.
We hadn't been to the local zoo for months, much to the chagrin of the boys, but there was a
definite fear that she'd try and smuggle out one of the more accessible penguins.
Even the cats were bored, just lying around languidly, stirring only to annoy me if I was in
the kitchen; the dogs were asleep all day, waking only to annoy me when they wanted a meal
and Samuel and Maurice were doing their best to annoy each other, which really annoyed me.
Pierrot remained unaffected by the weather, largely because deafness and blindness can do that
to you but also because if he can't eat it, rub himself against it or urinate on it, he's just not that
interested. One of the cats, Vespa, fell asleep in Pierrot's bed and he just got in and lay on top
of her; he really couldn't care less for niceties and the rules of polite society. Vespa on the other
