We were set to have a few quiet days at home after a big shopping excursion on Thursday.

The only trip we had planned was down to the local village of Caudiès. I had promised Mick that I would drive him down the quite windy road to the village bar (L’Emotion) for a Friday night apéritif. He is a big fan of Friday nights – he loves to have a beer or two. It really does surprise me because he seems to have a few beers every evening.

But, apparently Friday is special. He even had a shave!

I suggested that we walk up to the castle ruins behind La Vilasse during the morning in order to feel we had ‘earned’ our outing. A little exercise would be good I thought.

From up on high, we got a great view of part of the windy road I mentioned earlier – you can see the road snaking around the base of the hill.

The image on the right shows Caudiès in the distance.

It takes me about 15 minutes to drive down there from where we are staying. And during those 15 minutes, I hope all the time, that I don’t meet anything coming the other way.

The ruins were very interesting, like this defence hole for the use of bows and arrows.

But, actually the best part of being up there were the views we were able to take in, particularly looking down onto Fenouillet.

Mick found the steps and the slopes a bit tricky,  so he took it easy wandering back down to the main village. At that time I did not know he had thought of a supposedly easier way to get all the way back to the house. More about that shortly.

Once descended, we spotted some interesting sites. An inventive person had placed a dis-used rear car seat beside their home as an outside seat. It looked a little lop-sided.

Can you spot the cat on the hood of the van? Cars seem very useful in this village!

The French love cats. Actually, that is why we are here, so we can look after the cat. So I am not complaining, I am just stating the obvious. Note the castle ruins of Sabarda in the background.

Mick needed a drink of the beautiful water straight from Le Noir river, which runs through the area. This pump is set in the village square beside some over-loaded olive trees.

Then he shared his idea with me.

He was going to take a short cut down the hill, beside the electric-fenced area that holds some cows. (We don’t really get a good view of the cows, but we can hear their bells. It is a very pleasant, rustic noise, and certainly better than the guns we sometimes hear on the weekend when the [boar] hunters are out.)

I tried hard to dissuade him because the ground was quite slippery and I didn’t want him to fall. He assured me he had it under control. So we parted. I headed off down the road, where I passed a French man jogging up the hill and we ‘bonjour-ed” each other, and Mick headed off into the foliage down the rocky pathway.

He was giggling to himself when we met up again. The smile was because he had just had a fall. Not that the fall was funny, but when he fell he hit his head on the electric fence and received an electric shock that immediately caused him to bounce back upright again.

He wasn’t hurt, thank goodness. But his jeans did need a wash.

This was his entry into our diary for the day….

 

Following all the excitement, Mick needed a snooze.  I was fussing around in the very large pantry when I thought I heard a knock on the front door. And I had. It was our next door neighbour. An Englishman who owns the home beside us and who holidays here on occasion. We had met him two years ago as well.

After a little friendly banter, the neighbour broke the news to me that the sheep were in his garden and that they had broken through their gate. But, because the little bridge they used to get across to his place was very old and unreliable, we would have to take them out along the main road by our house.

Mick emerged to hear the news and immediately swung into action. He went off to get a bucket full of the dry pellet food the sheep love and I found the sheep’s walking halter. (We only need to lead one as the other one follows).

We met the sheep in the neighbour’s yard and they were ever so happy to see us (or perhaps it was the jingling noise of the pellet food in the bucket they were interested in?). Mick put the halter on the largest one and I took the lead shaking the bucket while trying to keep a pace just fast enough so the sheep could not catch up to me and not too fast that the big one pulled Mick over.

At this point I should mention that my father used to buy and sell sheep for a living, and although as I child I did not have too much to do with them, I am convinced I have some innate capacity to handle sheep.

Perhaps that is why I was also able to take a photo on my phone during this whole operation.

Mick was then worried that the sheep did not have enough to eat in their paddock, so he mowed part of the yard so he could give them the grass clippings. The only problem he with this plan was that the sheep did not like the clippings.

To me it’s obvious. They are not starving after all. But Mick is not convinced.

Mick had well and truely earned his trip to the bar for a couple of beers.

One thing we find very different from Australia is the opening time of the majority of bars – particularly in the small villages. The one in Caudiès does not open until 6.30pm. That’s about when we should be heading home for dinner.

But, when In France, (try to) act like a local.

That is the owner out the front with Mick. Even at 6.30pm, we were his first customers. It was still too early for the locals. But Mick did get his two beers, at €5 each, while I had a glass of vin rouge for €3.50. Very reasonable indeed.

We were hoping there would be a New Year’s Eve party at the bar like there was two years ago, but sadly not this time. The owner did however invite us for Christmas Day drinks starting from……..

 

…..9pm up to 2am.

Possibly too late for us.😉