I hope just to tell the story of moving from provincial England to very rural France. I'm not going to be doing too much navel gazing, just giving you a narrative on what happens and hopefully make you laugh at our antics/stupididty every now and then. If this inspires anyone to move over there, that would make me very happy (Just after I'd eaten my hat).

Saturday, 31 March 2012

Mountain bike trials.

It's been quite a while since my last update but frankly nothing's happened! We’re still waiting for the house to sell and the move to happen. Best guess; it's still a few weeks away but in the mean time this little tit-bit...

One of our trips to France last year coincided with a mountain bike trial taking place in our village. It's quite a big deal apparently, a national level event where riders race over an insanely dangerous course which passed by the front of our house.

On the day we were visiting Grumpy Welshman (5 mins walk across the village) and, when the little one got tired, we made our way home to put her to bed.  Arriving at our house we found the way cordoned off and various neighbours chatting with course marshals in the road.  Retired Farmer from next door insisted that we hang on as the riders were due past in 5 minutes.

After 20 minutes of waiting and desperately trying to keep the little one happy we found that the only way she would calm down was to be put down on the road where she could play with stones and in the mud.  Wife came up with the genius idea of getting everyone a glass of wine which left us in the bizarre situation of sharing wine in a country road with strange Frenchmen and the baby sitting down playing on the tarmac and occasionally attempting to crawl off into the path of passing mountain bikes!

Standard day in village life I guess! :)

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