Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Hunters, Gatherers, Mods
Though I like the idea of four properly old-fashioned seasons, each distinct from the other (as
opposed to the new-fangled two-season years, which are both grey but with one slightly warm-
er than the other), the winters here are harsh. And bleak. Harsh and bleak. And long. Harsh
and bleak and long.
Preparing for winter here is like being on a ship and expecting a heavy storm, it's all about
'battening down the hatches'. All outdoor furniture has to be put away, even the heavy stuff.
In our first winter we left a large table out, a heavy iron-based structure that we had trouble
moving ourselves and so, we thought, would be fine outside. I remember that Natalie and I
were watching from our bedroom window as a very localised typhoon picked the thing up and
threw it across the garden; everything that isn't nailed down is now put away.
The swimming pool has to be put into hibernation too which - and, yes, I am aware of what
a ridiculous complaint this is - is also hard work. I hardly use the thing; my particular level of
killjoy sense of order means that I tend to spend most of my time standing at the side with a net
ready to trap any unsuspecting insect that has the temerity to land on the water, that and telling
the boys not to splash too much. At the end of autumn, though, the pool has to be cleaned,
the pump drained, pipes disconnected, steps removed and - this is the killer - the winter cover
installed. It weighs a tonne, is 10 metres long, 3 metres wide and I wrestle with it twice a year.
It is, as Natalie keeps pointing out, a four-man job, and I should ring friends up and ask them
for help. I just can't do that though; I haven't yet reached the point in my life where I can com-
fortably ring people up and ask for assistance with my pool cover - who am I, the Sultan of
Brunei?
There are also some jobs that should already have been done that, with winter around the
corner, can be put off no longer. The firewood has to be stacked. Monsieur and Madame
Lebrun had kindly thought to order our first load of firewood for us before we moved in, a
tricky thing to do in midwinter apparently, all the wood having gone already. (You have to
plan ahead you know, it doesn't just grow on trees.) Eventually, after a great deal of searching,
Madame Lebrun found a local supplier who could deliver enough wood 'to see us through the
rest of the winter'. The rest of the winter? I'd never seen so much wood! Just how long does
winter last around here, we thought? Perhaps we were entering a new Ice Age.
