Burgundy 4

·      Sat.20.10.07. The Toulouse sausages that had replaced the planned dinner were the ideal comfort food we both desired. We were driven on by the responsibility of payback to Dave. We had stayed in his house all week, genuinely needing shelter, requiring support. It was now time for all the tasks that we had promised to fulfil; namely painting walls, ceilings and radiators. Jobs that we would normally have battered in three days we were faced with only today to deliver.

9.00am. As we continued our labours the poor workmanship from dodgy builders surfaced at every turn. Undoing the tat proved endless but if nothing else it is a ‘lesson for the future’, do not employ crap builders.

10.00am. A visit to ‘Groupama’ to sort out house insurance gave me another opportunity to explain my face. The fluid from the initial bang had now settled above my eye where it grown into a giant bubble effortlessly producing sticky creamy liquid progressively closing off any remaining vision.

4.00pm. Several coats of white paint have not produced any sort of finish on the sejour wall, the bathroom is ‘ok’, the radiators needed 4 cans of aerosol and the kitchen casing has been rubbed down. But, whilst packing away the tools I managed to crack my head on the lintel of the ‘cave’. Wobberly legs a small bleeding cut was the end result, fresh blood, big lump, is my luck ever going to change?

5.30pm.We had arranged to meet Brigitte at the barn to gather more photographic evidence for the prospective conversion. But again lack of enthusiasm meant that we could only muster the half-hearted shot in addition to an equally uninspired inspection of the rooms. But, I did accomplish yet another blow to my battered bruised head by cleverly walking into the casing of the stable door. Surely there can be nothing else that I can damage on my crusty pate. Cuts are being stacked in equal quantities upon swollen bruises. The warmth from the log stove in Brigitte’s home at least gave us a sample of what we could accomplish in St. Martin. The freshly brewed coffee, the light fruity English cake was also a very comforting thoughtful welcome.

  

   10.00pm. Coquille, Lamb chop, Chou fleur, Lyonnais potatoes, but still no fizz.

·      Sun.21.10.07. We have decided to leave for Annecy this lunchtime to facilitate a comfortable exit from Geneva airport the following morning.

9.00am. The house needs to be cleaned, brushed and mopped together with the last remaining tools returned to the ‘cave’. The paint has dried much better than we had expected but the disappointment of not fulfilling the entire obligation has been yet another disappointing set back.

2.00pm. One last visit to the barn lifted our spirits a little, we finally managed a degree of subdued enthusiasm. We left with a determination to resurrect our enjoyment of the landscape as we set off for Annecy. Pragmatic logic still remains the main focus. The endless obstacles that the week has thrown up have controlled our every thought.

6.00pm. The huge sprawl of Annecy was less than inviting so we found the sanitised ‘Hotel Savoie’ in St. Julien on the border of France and Switzerland. It has now become a habit that after asking a question whether it be for a room or to reserve a table I feel a burning obligation to explain the state of my face. “I was cutting down the vine when I tumbled from the ladder, routine”. The saving grace for the hotel was the huge deep bath which I wallowed around to ease the aches and pains of my self inflicted wounds. A simple but hearty meal of Bass and Milanese veal at the nearby ‘Bistro Locomotive’ was washed down with two carafes of Haut Savoie plus an extra bottle of pays de Burgoyne. The meal was accompanied by the ‘best’ roasted mini spuds with a side dish of compote of juicy garlic buttery spinach.