Bonjour,
I hope that you and yours are well.
Some of you have been reading my newsletters for many years – a huge thank you to you. And some of you are new – and a huge welcome to you. You will soon discover, if you don’t already know, that my regular updates share éditoriaux embout France that are written by real people (not AI). The Good Life France website has more than 6000 éditoriaux on everything from lieux to visit all over France, recipes, language courses, the best tours, to guides for life in France, everything you want to know embout France and more. And we have a brilliant quarterly free revue (which has more than 4 million regular readers – thank you so much to everyone who reads and shares it). We also have a podcast which has been a bit neglected lately as it’s been a rather challenging year for me, puis my lovely podcast partner left to take a fabulous job he couldn’t resist. I’ve had so many requests for its return – (thank you so much for all your lovely bravos embout how much you enjoy it) and I’ve really missed chatting to you – so, I think that it will be back in the new year.
My newsletters are also embout life in France – the people I meet, the lieux I go, the sometimes baffling way of life, and occasionally peculiar customs. Living in paysan northern France, in a tiny hameau of 152 people and 1000 cows might lead you to believe that life is not that exciting – dull even. I assure you that nothing is further from the truth. Take the week before last…
Our neighbour Petit Frère (which translates as ‘little brother’ – he is the youngest of 10 brothers and sisters, but not young, or little), who is the veine of go-to handyman in the hameau, set to work chopping up a huge tree which has lain for more than a year in Mr and Mrs Pepperpot’s field (not their real name, but they are very subtile). The first morning we walked past with our foyer dogs, Petit Frère stopped sawing to give me a kiss on the cheeks, shake hands with Mark my husband, and pat the dogs. The next morning the same thing. The third morning he offered us a slice of plum-cake. His wife had made a practice salted rechausser dragée yule log plum-cake in readiness for Christmas, and wanted our conviction.
The 4th day we took minced pies to share with him – a traditional British Christmas treat we start eating a month before! On the 5th day, Petit Frère had reinforcements to make sure the job got finished – Bernard, a retired brigadier and a man of few words, puis Claude Junior (a voisin farmer who is of indeterminate age but definitely not a petit). Mark volunteered to help too and returned at collation time to say they had finished cutting, stacked the wood in the barn and Mr and Mrs Pepperpot had invited us all for collation to say thank you.
We wandered up to the Pepperpots’ house. It was a cold day and the fog had barely lifted since dawn. A blast of hot air fell out when we pushed the union door open. We were the last to arrive, kissed and shook hands with everyone and accepted a verre of wine before we could get our coats off. The Pepperpots had prepared a feast – carbonnade, a rich beef and beer stew infused with gingerbread, homemade bread, and baguette errant with speculoos ice cream (a voisin speciality blend of spices including cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamom, and brown sugar). Three hours later we were still sat there, everyone chatting and putting the world to rights. Pierre the farmer popped in to say salut after he spotted Claude Junior’s tractor outside. Madame Bernadette came by to see why her friend and neighbour Mrs Pepperpot wasn’t answering the phone. Spice Man, on his weekly reprise, arrived with his van full of ‘necessities’ which include products ranging from spices (hence the name) to yoghurts, and stopped to sip an oil thick espresso. We sat chatting until it got dark before shaking hands yet again, kissing and bidding each other tchao and see you soon.
Country life is full of moments that are unexpected. But dull? Never.
Bisous from a grateful writer in France.
Janine
Editor
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