Wooden it be lovely....

Hello everyone,

Well it’s wet, windy and waterlogged here. It really hasn’t stopped raining for days, Simon’s sporting a sou’wester and threatening to build an ark, if only we had some animals, but that’s another blog.

So, we last spoke to you after the two-day long concreting caper. The next phase of project boiler room was to go and buy the wood needed for the building.

Due to the lashing rain and wind Simon had spent a day designing and planning the lengths and amount of wood he would need. He occasionally peered out of the window, swore ferociously and went back to his drawing board.

I was sewing, quietly in the corner 😊

Friday dawned grey and grim but Simon was more cheerful as he had found a saw mill that sold the particular wood he needed, Douglas Fir, no not a burly Scotsman, a type of softwood used in building.

We decided to set off quite early as we had around 100km to drive. This might seem excessive but this place is massive!

The rain was torrential…

We left our sleepy hamlet and headed out towards the motorway, we passed through many a quiet village, but they’re ten a penny in rural France. We got to a largish town and we remarked on the eerie and abandoned feel to it.

“Wow” said Si “You really notice the difference the lock-down makes in a big town compared to our one don’t you?”

“Yeah” I replied “Look, even that Aldi is closed…??”

Cue to look at each other with alarm.

“You don’t think it’s a Bank Holiday do you?” I enquired

Cue much swearing from my silver-tongued husband

It was indeed a national holiday, one of three during May, known as Labour Day. It’s also known as La Fête du Travail in France and is a public holiday to campaign for and celebrate workers’ rights, so the chances of the saw mill being open were zilch.

At this point Simon lost his temper slightly. The steering wheel took the brunt of the storm, luckily the Toyota is made of stern stuff and can taking a whupping.

As, by this point in the shenanigans we were around 3 minutes away from our desired destination, we decided to solider on and try and find the saw mill, so at least all would not be lost! I was trying to find a silver lining and mollify my steaming-eared spouse.

To say we were in the arse end of nowhere would be an understatement. Single track roads, acres of green fields, herds of cows and not a building in sight. Simon was building up a head of steam again!

Hallelujah! We rounded a corner and there was a ramble of stone buildings and copious piles of wood.

Not only that, coming through the yard, carrying a chainsaw (this I took as a good sign) was a young man.

“Of you pop then” I gleefully told Si, “Best get talking French”

Simon jumped out of the car and strode over to the guy.

“Bonjour, es vous ouvert?” he said with purpose.

“Alright mate, are you English?” this was said with a Manchester accent.

We were saved!

It transpired that Joe, and his family, older brother, Mum and Dad had moved from the UK 14 years ago and now had a thriving saw mill business.

We spent a lovely hour drinking tea and discussing all things French and made plans to come back the following day and pick up the required wood.

Saturday morning dawned equally torrential but nothing could dampen our spirits! Simon was happy as he would be able to crack on with his building plans and I was happy because a bored Simon is painful.

Now, Simon has the directional ability of an award-winning homing pigeon, and as such has only to go somewhere once and he knows exactly where to go again. I find this, quite frankly, baffling. I had only just worked out that Leighton Buzzard was north of London. But back to Simon. 

For some reason, when he knows where he’s going, he has a strange habit of putting the destination into the sat nav and then completely ignoring it, or worse still, shouting at it and becoming angry when it tries to send him on an alternative route.  This anarchistic approach to driving is an interesting diversion from looking out the window I can tell you.

100km later and we had arrived at the saw mill. Simon was agog with the machinery; I went and had more tea.

.

Soon the trailer was loaded up, Simon was soggy but eager to get home and start hammering.

Homeward bound with a full bladder. I'll just leave that statement there.

Did manage to stop for a quick photo opportunity at our local Châteaux, with their feathered residents.

We made it, (so did I, for anyone interested, to the loo on time) and unloaded the truck.

Obviously, a little wetness coming out of the sky wasn’t going to deter Simon from starting the build. It was actually like a monsoon.

I left him to it and went in to make some tea.