What a Week

Monsieur G and his workmen, lorries, vans and diggers completely took over the drive for most of the week as the "fosse septique" went in, the pipework was laid and then a large "bac à sable" (sand filter bed) and a drain were dug out on the other side of the drive in what used to be Serge's field. 

Friends told us they had planned to drop by but hurriedly drove on when they saw the controlled chaos.

As an aside, when he had a couple of hours spare,  Monsieur G also drove the digger back and forth over the rubble that we've been digging out of the ground around the cottage and at last we have a turning and parking space.  We no longer have to turn the cars up by the house and reverse back down the drive - alright in the day time but challenging at night in the pitch dark when it's hard to judge where the bank is on one side and the shed on the other.

The painter also arrived and squeezed his van in somehow and tuned his radio to a loud talk show programme that seemed to last all week.  Too late to do the kitchen mind you.  We thought the kitchen units were being delivered at the end of last week or early this, so we decided we had better crack on and paint the kitchen ourselves.  Long roller poles to the fore (the ceiling is high and the walls large) we applied three coats starting Friday and finishing Monday.  We chose a greyish white and bought every pot in our local DIY store plus two large cans of undercoat.  By Sunday we'd run out and it was obvious we still needed that third coat. 

French paints have a reputation for being expensive and not covering well. Local shops don't carry the stock.  And everywhere is shut on Sundays.  (Part of the charm and the frustration of living in France.)  Not a good mix for deciding at the last minute to do some DIY. So Sunday we gardened and helped Ian and his young mate lug our big fridge-freezer and dishwasher out of their van.  They'd taken them out of store for us as the kitchen has to be built round them.  Monday Tod set out, further afield, for the extra cans.

In the end the kitchen arrived late Thursday evening and the fitter (who also did the cottage) came yesterday.  Tall, quiet and calm, he worked steadily through all the large cardboard cartons and we already have everything in place on the long wall under the window. It all fits round the fridge and the dishwasher and looks very sleek. 

He's back this morning fitting the remaining units into what was the chimney breast, either side of our new, big black gas stove that's been sitting in the garage on its pallet.  At last we'll have an oven that takes more than just a chicken and a small tin of roast potatoes.  We might even get the parsnips in as well.

And with all this going on, we've gardened all week under clear blue skies and dug out pebbles from what one day will be the cottage lawn to form a smooth surface to the new parking area.

And in the background, between the rumbles of the diggers, we've heard the nightingales tuning up for summer.

Fosse septique goes in

Bac à sable being dug

Drain being dug

Couler

Monsieur G asked me to come and see something and as we walked he explained.  Except that the key word - coule, couler, or something - meant absolutely nothing to me.  I think I'm making progress in French until I find myself in a situation like this.  He squeezed the sides of his little finger and I sort of gathered that it was the size of something, but what?

Then we were peering down into the trench that he'd dug across the drive that was to take the rain water pipe and the outlet from the fosse septique and gradually, with lots of using the same words, I got the message.  We knew that he had to take care digging around and under the pipe that carried our mains water down to the cottage.  He grumbled at how badly it had been laid, too near to the surface (what about frost?) and no coloured netting laid above it (a useful ploy to warn anyone digging up the road that there is a pipe below, each service has its own colour). 

It wasn't our mains water pipe he wanted me to see, but another old metal one that he'd cut through and that was leaking (so that's what couler means!).  And the little finger gesture?  The quantity of water.

The leak was slow, but persistent, a muddy brown colour.  I guessed it was coming from the well in Monsieur F's field up behind us.  Hard to believe but the cottage at the bottom of the drive never had mains water. It was only served by a single pipe from the well, laid below the lane, that lead to an outside tap. The flow is now no more than a trickle.  I hope the flow was better when Serge and his parents lived there.

We agree that Monsieur G will redirect the flow and lay a new pipe in the same trench that will hold our drainage system.  He'll put a tap at the side of the drive and perhaps, after it's rained heavily, there may be enough well water to use on the garden.

O.M.G!

Things have been pretty tranquil at the house for the last few weeks - until yesterday.

Monsieur M hasn't been round much to do the electrics and the plumbing, but the tiler arrrived and has been working steadily.  I've been storing up pictures of his work to do a post.

Then Monsieur B, our project manager, announced that the ground work for the fosse septique and the drains would start this week. And suddenly the front of the house looks like a World War I battle field.

Our new entrance will be up this bank 

Trenches in front of the garage

When we first started thinking about the drains we happened to mention to our architect that the floor of the garage got damp.  So he suggested running a drain down the bank alongside the garage. Seemed such an easy thing to say - "yes let's have a drain running down by the garage". Yesterday the trench for the drain was dug. Which entailed digging up two large buddleias, the stump of a large palm tree and a large concrete base for what was meant to be a barbeque area. Monsieur G was not impressed with what he unearthed.  The bank is largely builder's rubble thrown up against the side of the garage - no wonder water was seeping through the wall.  The new trench is reassuringly deep.

Rubble dug out from alongside the garage

The new drain along the garage wall

This morning, Monsieur G is in the digger making the hole for the fosse septique in front of the garage.  The hole is already more than the height of a man and he's still going.  Interesting to see how quickly the layer of clay gives way to solid sandstone.  That's why our house is where it is - on a solid outcrop jutting out of the surrounding fields.

The fosse hole

The new fosse septique

With the digger, two lorries (one shifting the dug out earth, the other carrying the new fosse) three, or is it four, vans and cars parked in the drive, there's no way we can get our cars past and down to the cottage. So Tod's left them up at Serge's barn on the top road.

Photographing the rubble I came across this piece of blue painted wall.  Phoebe tells me the farmers painted their walls and shutters blue to deter flies.  I wonder if it worked?

PS: all the cars, vans and lorries have just untangled themselves and the drive is clear. Eighteen minutes past twelve. Everyone's gone for lunch.