French Escape

 Over the last few weeks, as I’ve been sorting in preparation for the move, I’ve come across items belonging to, or given to me by my parents, grandparents and one very special book, given to me by great grandad. I remember him as a huge man, very tall and upright with a scratchy suit, but when you are four, I suppose most people seem big. He lived at the top of nanny and grandad’s road, in Harborne, just past the Chad Valley toy factory.  I was fascinated by the pigeons he kept in the backyard and just a little afraid. There were such a lot of them, shuffling about importantly, and staring at me through the mesh—I can hear the soft cooing as I write this. I remember how neat and clean they were, silky to the touch and so much smaller than the big fat birds that you see strutting and swooping around town centres now. I have boxes and boxes of photos, letters and cards. The letters go back to the days of my childhood  penfriends. I stopped sorting briefly, to reread the lovely letters f

 A observation: I walked every day in France and, every day, people would say bonjour or bonsoir to me, depending on the time of day (I never did establish when the change takes place).  I often dictate when I walk and, in France, the transcripts were peppered with bonjour, bonsoir, comment ça va? The same used to happen in England when I walked the dog. But now, when I go for my walks alone, without a dog, very few people even smile never mind say hello. Most look away. Perhaps it’s the city that I live in, but I don’t think so. Perhaps it’s me, but in that case, why was it different in France?  More and more, people seem to be looking inwards instead of out. A recollection, that for some reason came to mind this week: Someone once said to me, when I presented them with salad leaves to go with a meal, ‘…there is nothing worse than an undressed salad.’  When I think of all the evil in the world, there are quite a lot of things worse than an undressed salad! The move to France is gettin

  The house sale seems to be going through but it’s all gone very quiet, both in France and with the solicitors here. I’m hoping that lots of work is going on in the background, but you never know. It is difficult to be excited about it, I’ll just have to settle for cautiously optimistic.    Decluttering has started in earnest. This month is the last month that I shall do the accounts for SLB Building Services Ltd—the end of an era.  Files that were emptied and put into the skip were soon snapped up. In fact, the skip is being scavenged as quickly as we can fill it.  I have cleared the loft space, opened all the boxes, checked what’s in them and closed them up again. There are some things that will just have to be carried with me, wherever I go.  The first of the small items to be sold have been taken to Willingham Auctions and the furniture that’s not going to France, will be going next month. Then, as soon as a date is set, the real packing will begin. I plan to start with the ma