What happened to April?

I've been getting to know the journey between Montpellier and Avignon in the last three weeks. My DB is now all moved and ship-shape in his new pad, and the next time I go, I'm expecting to have nothing to do with boxes, unpacking or hauling stuff to and from the garage. Phew!

In other news, I'm looking very healthy thanks to some tanning capsules designed to help your skin cope with the sun. A healthy glow does wonders for morale, especially when you know it's been acquired just by popping pills.

I've also been reading about ways to combat osteoporosis. The simplest way by far is to do sport so that mechanical pressure is put on the bones to reinforce them. That plus getting enough vitamins C, D, K to form collagen and bone mineralisation. So now you know. Swimming is no good, of course...

...if your boys haven't 'borrowed' it and returned it wrecked...

I made my Spring visit to Pierrette, my personal clothes shopper and, thanks to the crisis in clothes boutiques, I came away with a hefty collection of snazzy bits and bobs. I'd take some selfies, but daren't show you the decidedly un-snazzy room in which I sleep...

I've been wondering how much longer Pierrette can carry on. She's 71 now and not in the best of health. She told me she'll continue until either her clients have no need of her (unlikely), or she just can't carry on physically. I'm one of her oldest clients, along with 'la dame des impôts' who is not short of a bob and spends a fortune with her!

Fact

In order to make room for the new stuff, I took the brave step of nearly emptying my wardrobe of all the clothes I haven't really ever worn. The two 100 litre bin bags contain several jackets. I never wear jackets with lapels and I have no idea why I kept buying them. My job doesn't require looking smart, and I don't find them comfy. They seem to swamp me.

I have yet to actually remove the bags from the landing and take the definitive chucking out step, however... I'm sure that as soon as I do that, I'll need a jacket urgently, and in the exact red colour and style of the one I just gave away. Anguish.

My reading of another newsletter about health enlightened me as to the pointlessness of using antiseptics to clean small wounds. Warm water works much better apparently. For bleeding bobos, apply a 'pansement gras' which Google translates as a 'fat dressing' which won't stick to the scab. I went and threw out the Betadine after reading that. It was long out of date anyway...

Ail des ours/wild garlic pesto

Finally, I bought some 'ail des ours' (wild garlic) from the 'Ruche qui dit Oui' the other week and, after searching on the internet, found a tasty pesto recipe that includes almonds and sun-dried tomatoes. We took a pot on a picnic on one of our recent walks (sneaked in between packing boxes), and very tasty it was too. There's quite a tang to it after the initial mise en bouche. My DB loved it so much that the next time it became available, he bought 4 bunches. This Friday (a holiday oh happy day!), the St Bloggie pesto factory will be cranking out the stuff by the ton... Good thing I didn't throw out all the glass jars in my clothes clear-out too!

Summer Pierrette

Yesterday afternoon my pal C and I had a lovely time going through the bags and bags brought by Pierrette, my personal flea market shopper. To give you an idea of how much she brings, picture those Ikea blue swag bags - she brings 5 of those plus a couple of smaller bags.

That's a lot of clothes! Naturally we don't buy anything like as much, but she brings it all just in case and so we can have as much choice as possible. Thanks to Pierrette the only stuff I buy new now is undies (lingerie...), and the odd pair of shoes.

This time I'd been in a bit of a rush tidying the house so it resembled less like a bomb had hit it. Not easy after a few days away. I'm terrible about clearing stuff away immediately and it's often a few (several) days before everything is back to normal. I'd also just come back from the weekly shop so had to jam the cold stuff into the fridge and leave the rest to its own devices.

When I came down later the ravening wolves had been rooting through it looking for stuff to snack and reverting downstairs to bomb-hit status.

Meanwhile, we were having fun in our undies trying everything on, laughing at the stuff which looked terrible and admiring the stuff which looked great. Sometimes something which looked boring on me looked great on my pal and vice versa. No need to fight, elbow, shriek (except with laughter) or barge our way to bargains.  There was something for everyone.

Her daughter also popped along and picked out a few choice ado items which will do her proud in school and out and she won't look the same as everyone else.

My haul this time included a pair of thigh high leather boots (€50, new) and I can tell you that someone was happy when I tried them on...! I also found a number of denim jackets in different colours and designs, pair of very snazzy jeans, white cut-offs, boating top, long slinky dark green dress, long yellowy cotton jersey dress, pair of sandals and other tops and bits and bobs, total price €310.

My pal and I celebrated our good fortune with a chilled bottle of rosé and, on an empty stomach it went right to my head resulting in much merriment and great difficulty cooking eggs for the boys' supper. Me, I just had Pringles. Unhealthy but totally yummy! Three cheers for chillin'!

Clothes Cull

I were that bored today I tidied out me wardrobe. I'd already done as much housework as I can take on a Sunday morning (20mins), it was raining outside and I had a nagging voice in my head reminding me that it should be done. Soon. Before the next visit of my flea market lady.

So I pulled out all my clothes and barely hesitated over the ruthless cull of mistakes and optimistic mis-purchases. I got rid of most of my skirts; I don't like skirts, I prefer dresses and trousers, but sometimes I get an idea that I would wear a skirt and so I buy one. We're not talking big money here. My flea market lady's average price is €15, so a skirt might be €20.

It's hopeless really because I then never get to wear it. I think a lot of my dislike is because they don't fit properly. I'm not an odd size, but I don't like clothes that don't fit, and most skirts sit uncomfortably round my middle and then ride up on the waist when I sit down. As I spend a lot of time sat in front of a computer this annoys me like hell.

So out went all the little buggers. Out too went jackets I haven't worn for 3 years, a parachute suit I bought when I was 18 and is really snazzy but, let's face it, one doesn't look the same over 45 as 18, various tops, a couple of dresses - one is for a taller willowy type woman, makes me look like a foreshortened gnome; the other is cut in half high on the waist and I'm never tanned enough there to make it look good.

I filled two large plastic bags. They'll go down the road to a friend's house to see if anything suits for her daughter (I doubt anything but a couple of tops will) and I would then take it to the Secours Catholique, but she has suggested doing a flea market stand and lunching on the proceeds. She still has the clothes from my last throw-out session which were too good to give away to the wallies in the SecoCatho but we can't be fagged to put them on Ebay.

Hopefully we'll make enough to have a bottle of wine too!

Winter Pierrette

Yesterday Pierrette came over for our bi-annual clothes fest - stocking up for Autumn and Winter. She's my clothes lady who I first met at the La Paillade flea market. It's quite ghastly though, fighting your way through crowds of unsavoury people, and it's even worse when you have a stall, trying to keep those unsavoury elements from nicking your stock.

In the end, the combined hassle of trying things on in public plus my general dislike of such places led her to suggest she come with her bags of goodies to my house where I could sift through and try on in comfort.

The next obvious thing to do was to ask a small number of mates round to join in. Small because of available space and to keep things brawl-free... Luckily we are different either in size or personal taste so we rarely find that two people want the same item, and if we do, as it's my house, I get first refusal.

Pierrette arrived at 4pm, her car ladened to the hilt with bags of stuff. It being winter stock, there was less actual stuff but it was bulky. Bags of jackets, warm pullies, coats, boots, bags and other delectable goodies. She herself is as skinny as a rake but vital and full of energy. She's turning sixty, but you'd never think it to look at how she dresses, and yet she doesn't look either, like mutton dressed as lamb. What makes her such fun to be with is that she loves clothes, loves finding clothes for others, and then makes you aware of your possibilities.

It's so easy to get stuck in a style, especially when you don't have much money, or even when you have a lot of money. Style is also a social statement, so your clothes can declare your social status if you want them to. That's way too much effort for me. So is keeping up with fashion, which is also too expensive an occupation.

Pierrette knows the type of clothes I like - not too fussy, no frills, lace or other overtly girly stuff; can be sexy but not slutty (natch), striking, classy and fairly strict. I don't really like wearing skirts any more, but do wear dresses. One of my favourite winter looks when I was in my late 20s was short tartan skirt, black pullover with pearl necklace, thick black tights and low black shoes. I'm most sorry I haven't been able to carry that look off for years.

Yesterday's haul included 8 pullovers, a pair of snazzy black-ish jeans, shirt, denim jacket, sexy long glittery dress, pair of incredibly high camel-coloured lace-up boots and a small selection of belts. My mates went off with pairs of very chic shoes, back-pack leather bag, skirts, blouses and blue jeans. We were all very pleased with ourselves, the prices that we had paid for our new looks, and the jolly time we'd spent in our undies trying everything on and getting each other's advice.

Yes, à la our Helena, my undies - or should I say 'lingerie' - was matching, my legs were smooth and my bikini line clean. I could cavort without shame.

Pierrette stayed for 3 hours after which I made supper for a surprising number of children, sneaking a rather yummy leek sauce onto spaghetti without anyone realising they were eating leeks and thus declare it disgusting, and then collapsed in front of the tele to watch 'Casino Royale'. Daniel Craig in his cozzie coming out of the sea. Well worth watching rien que pour ça!

Stand and Deliver

I seem to be in a delivery black hole. Something in the universe has decided to thwart deliveries concerning me. First it was the table and chairs - twice - now it's Kiabi.

What intrigues me in this planetary provocation is that not all deliveries encounter problems. My sofa arrived on time and was installed with an ease that was akin to caressing recently waxed and moisturised legs. I had two orders with Kiabi. The first arrived, I was informed about this by email and it was waiting for me in the Coin Presse that serves as a depot.

I had made two orders on the same day though - delivery being free, because my son, upon being told of the first order, announced that he was in fact desperate for tee-shirts both long- and short-sleeved, plus the inevitable jeans. The first order had consisted of socks and sports trousers. So I placed the second order.

I received the email announcing its availability in the Coin Presse and, so as not to waste precious resources such as diesel, I waited until I was sure both would be there before I drove over to the next village. I was told, rather brusquely, that there was only one package. Despite getting an email of confirmation? I asked. The rough 'n' ready shopkeeper told me that he only had one package, couldn't conjure up the second one out of thin air and I should take it up with Kiabi.

So I sent them an email. No response.

I haven't had a response from Authentica either about my table and chairs. I'm in limbo delivery land.

You can see what I mean, can't you?!

Stocking Up

I'm feeling weak. Pierrette, my personal shopper has been with bags and bags of clothes she would otherwise take to the flea market, to lead me through a voyage of discovery. Cut-offs, nifty tops, Marie-Sara (the torera) jacket, elegant dresses, the odd couture garment and items from the boutiques of St Tropez.

How can a girl resist?

Frankly, I can't. In my defense, I don't shop in shops, buy nothing new, and just ravage through Pierrette's bags twice a year. I have a mound of clothes I must now find homes for in my wardrobe, but only last week I had been looking despairingly at my wardrobe and wailing inwardly that I had nothing to wear.

Not true, natch, but nothing leapt out at me crying 'WEAR ME' from the depths of the cupboard, so I resorted to wear the same old same old stuff. It's not easy at the moment either, with temperatures starting at 7°C when I leave home, reaching nearly 20°C at lunchtime, and falling again by 5pm. Boots or shoes? Stockings or bare feet? Pullover or jacket? So many decisions, such painful moments spent staring at clothes I've been wearing all winter.

It's much like the catfood counter when one feeds one's cat tinned catfood. I remember standing staring at Whiskas, and the like, if not for hours, certainly an inordinate amount of time compared to the rest of the family shop, just because the resident cat had gone off most of what was available. Ulysse is not spoilt for choice in this way. He gets posh crunchy catfood (Royal Canin) and that's it, bought in 50kg sacks which last about six months.

So, while my chequebook is feeling faint, my cupboard is feeling bullish at the prospect of a wad of newcomers all vying for room. Hopefully I'll be able to consign my pullovers to the winter suitcase soon so making room for spring and summer stock. No new shoes though. I might have to brave a shop or two if I am to make the most of my new looks. They won't go with the shoes I've got. At the very least I'll need espadrilles.

Clothes, even d'occas, are so terribly good for the moral. I feel I'll have a spring in my step tomorrow.

And who knows what tonight...