It’s all in a word

Apparently, we live in the windiest region of France and if I needed proof of such a fact, the past week has done just that. Under normal circumstances, one would get hit by either the Tramontane from the Alps, the Marin from the Med or the Autan which also from the same sea but we got the last two at once. Cyrelle, the owner of our local epicerie, told me that the Autan is also known as the Vent des Fous meaning the wind of the mad as it can send people loopy for days. Well, I might have felt like I was losing the plot but actually I spent 48 hours trying not to lose my breakfast – stomach pains, headache and serious muscle fatigue. I could have put it down to something else (I did do a Covid test just in case) but as soon as the winds dropped, so did my maladie. It gave a new meaning to the phrase “being under the weather”. I thank the Gods that the sun has now finally made a decent show of itself with just a mild breeze to make the woofers happy.

I had my last French lesson this week. I could have continued onto the next course but I think it’s time I found something with a bit more of a social vibe. Now that we are, let’s hope, out of the worst pandemic-wise, it would be fun to meet new friends and get a bit more confidence in being able to chat in groups. The Rouffiac workforce are endlessly patient in helping me form comprehendible sentences but most of our conversations evolve around pool stuff or building tools – not the sort of thing one generally chats about over a glass of wine at the nearest bar. Lionel is also trying to learn English so if I want to know what something is in French, he wants to know the opposite. This can get confusing since not everything is directly translatable in either direction and some words just change because you put an accent on them. Then there are some words which, when the French say them, sound just the same but mean something entirely different if you aren’t listening carefully. Last Christmas I was chatting in the epicerie to a friend and Cyrelle asked me if I wanted the seasonal special order for the usual Friday pick-up – I thought she said “truite” (trout) which sounded perfect but what I actually got was “huîtres” . I hate oysters and I had somehow managed to order two kilos of them. Denis got an early Christmas present much to the disappointment of the rest of the family but there was no way they were going to be on our table. Mind you, my culinary confusion wasn’t nearly as bad as Lionel’s recent question:

” How do you say Bonjour in English, Sophi?”

“Hello”

” Well, what does Happy Birthday mean then?”

“Joyeaux anniversaire“

Lionel had been greeting another English client with “Happy Birthday” every morning.

Speaking of Lionel and Denis, we would have finished the bloody pool this week but we are short of a few planks (stupidity aside) so I have to go and pay for another delivery tomorrow. Lionel assures me this is the last hurdle and he can pick them up himself, I’m not even going to think about how long all this has taken or hope that it will be finished next week. I’m just going to let them get on with it and concentrate on getting my Spring plantings in. And now that the hunting season is ending; Arry, Alice, Sherman and I can start exploring other routes on our morning runs as my poor legs are starting to suffer the consequences of all things vine and clay. One can always hope that in a few months a dive in the pool after a gruelling 10k won’t just be a dream for either myself or Arry…….

“There are three grades of translation evils: 1. errors; 2. slips; 3. wilful reshaping” (Vladimir Nabokov}