Carpet saga update

Back home nearly three weeks and I realise, belatedly, that I didn't finish this story.
Well, the fitters' shop is closed on Mondays so we only have the (innocent) carpet suppliers to rant at. Anyway, I tell them that we are definitely finished with the fitters and want them to suggest an alternative. This they do and we have a friendly call to the new guy who promises to come out and see the job. He comes when he says!!! He's friendly, realistic ("can't fit it in before you go, or I would be letting other people down"), likes email :).  We trust him. He'll email us a quote.
The pent-up anger has to wait till the shop opens on the Tuesday, but only Madame is there, very apologetic as usual, but our cheque is in the van with the boss. She assures us that, though unreliable, he is not a crook.  So next day we retrieve the cheque, and the day after take a wee chocolate gift to Madame for being so helpful and as commiseration for her redundancy - the firm is closing at the end of the month.
End of part one of the saga.
We've received the quote and hope to arrange fitting for May, a mere 18 months after the stairs were ready.

Allotments and farms and language methods

What else?

We've had a dinner party, the greatest success of which was my summer pudding. The first time I'd made it, and it looked magnificent, I have to say. We sat talking afterwards about books, audio books and various ways to improve learning French/English. Barbara reads books in English to understand the story, then listens to the audio book in French. I read the newspapers and go to every function I think may afford me the opportunity to talk to anyone French. Marie and I, Michel and Jon exchange sessions in one language or the other. But we often hear people who have lived here for years saying that they still have trouble following the news or films in French. I'm not sure if that's disheartening or encouraging!

Family gardens

I've spent an afternoon on a group bike ride in Carcassonne, along the banks of the river, visiting “les jardins familiaux” - what we would call allotments.

 One of the "cyclists",a keen gardener.

It was interesting to explore the river banks, which constitute a tranquil recreational area between the old walled city and the lower town. And to hear from the gardeners how their plots are managed. This event was organized by the CAUE, an official body concerned with preserving the architecture, environment and planning of the town.

From farm to farm

View over Saissac to the Pyrennees, on our way to the farms

Our most recent event, again in the company of Marie and Michel, was “De Ferme en Ferme”, an annual event which attracts hundreds of visitors to local farms, to see how they are managed and to taste their products. We visited a deer farm, where we were able to hear the rutting call of the stag.

The stag

He had a troupe of 44 adoring females and no competitors but he was still anxious enough to make sure of his 44 wives that he strutted round threateningly, bellowing occasionally. Then a goat farm where I made a friend for life by scratching a nanny goat's head.

Marie and Michel at the olive oil tasting table

Lunch at the château, and an olive producer afterwards. Did you know that olives have to be soaked in sodium hydroxide to make them edible?

Chance encounter and the Gaza pig

Chance encounter

We went to a concert given by 5 Czech sisters who played gypsy music on accordions, and fiddles, where we sat next to two English men. One looked familiar and turned out to be someone we met on our first night here in our new house. We went on a nocturnal walk in the mountains, leaving our bare house behind with the beds yet to be put together, and Ralph told us of his first morning in his new house, where he was woken by the speaker, mounted on the walls of his house just outside his bedroom, announcing LES BRITANNIQUES SONT ARRIVÉS. 

I've told the story many times so it was reassuring to meet the central character again and know that I had not imagined it.

The Gaza pig

Jon let himself be talked into going to see “Le Cochon de Gaza ”, a film in Arabic with French subtitles. We sat through the adverts and the trailers and then a film in Arabic with French subtitles. No pigs and nothing obviously Gazan, and we thought it might be a trailer, but after half an hour or so decided maybe it was just the wrong one. So we stumbled out of room 2 and into room 3 where there were plenty of pigs, and one of them dressed up as a sheep, (because pigs are impure to Muslims, of course – why did you ask?)

There's no end to the blunders you can make when you don't follow quite enough of what's going on.

The carpet saga

This still continues. We are now down to only 9 days left before returning. When I went in to complain on the Monday, Madame was on the phone to the boss so she handed the phone over to me. He assured me he would ring me back with a date for the fitting when he had access to his diary. Thursday we rang again and Madame said she would get someone to ring back. Late afternoon we went in to complain, having heard nothing and spoke again to the boss, who said he would come and see the job at 5.30. And he did!!! with two workers. They said they would do the job (which was supposed to be finished before the end of September) on Saturday Oct 1^st at the very latest. When I expressed doubt the boss said I could cut his throat if it didn't happen by then. Saturday Oct 1^st – no sign of anyone, no knife to cut the boss's throat with,the fitters shop is closed, so we go to the carpet shop to tell them that the fitters they recommend are rubbish. They ring the boss who tells us to go back and wait because they will be coming. But the carpet is still in the shop, which is about to close for the day so it's clear there's no possibility of doing the job today.

You'll have to watch this space (if you can be bothered) as the next instalment will be tomorrow when the boss has until 11 am to ring and tell us when it will be done! Why, I wonder, has my customary optimism deserted me?

UPDATE – it's Monday morning now, 10.50 and no phone call, so we're off shortly to try and retrieve our deposit cheque, as yet uncashed! Where's my kitchen knife????

I'm a star!

I had an email following up the citizens' choir which I took part in earlier this year. It invited members to go to Toulouse to record a CD destined to go on sale in time for Christmas. I feel a bit unworthy as I have not been to any events over the summer, but decide to go anyway and it's just as well. Of the 30 or so original members, only 15 turn up. The studio is a pretty professional one and for once the day proceeds without the long sessions of sitting round waiting to be called for. We're focussed and hard-working and it's interesting to see how it all works.

Because we're 15 instead of 30, the studio will double our part, so we record the same parts lots of times, they choose the best versions and make 15 voices into 30 or 45. Easy when you know how! We have a bring-your-own lunch (only 1 and a half hours!) with plenty of wine provided and get back at 6 pm.

We only recorded 2 songs (!) and the CD will cost €5. My question about who on earth is going to buy it was greeted with shock and surprise. Apparently it will be very popular. Well, I'll buy one.

The first fortnight.

I arrived in France on Monday Sept 5^th, met as usual at the airport by my kind neighbours, full of talk of the terrific storm of Saturday night/ Sunday. It rained so hard that the street drains couldn't cope and the water poured off our courtyard and down the steps into the cellar. There was 10 cms of water in the basement suite and garage. They had mopped up but everywhere was still very wet. Fortunately, the weather since has been hot and dry so everywhere is now aired. These are a couple of pictures from the local paper.

Several of you have inquired after Tom, whose briefcase was stolen from our car the night before we left in June. I spoke to him recently and he feels he got off lightly because he was in time to stop his cards and cheques. What he mourns most is the briefcase itself, which was his constant companion for more than 30 years.

I've had two lots of visitors from the U3A French group. One couple only spent a day with me

but the others have just gone on their way today after spending a week at the camp-site in the next village. We've done lots together and it seems quiet without them now.

One victory and one “work in progress” to report. I have finally got the van on French plates. Actually remembered to take not only the whole of the English log book (only brought the export slip last time) but also the mandatory ID and proof of domicile. Easy really – I don't know what all the fuss was about! And the total cost was €60 MOT, €250 registration charge and €32 for the plates.

But the other task is the carpet-fitting saga. And that is proving as difficult as ever. When we left in June, we had paid for the carpet and the suppliers had agreed to keep it for us till we got back. We had signed and put a deposit against the quote for fitting the carpet, and all we need now is a definite date for the fitting. But it's the usual story of the receptionist saying she's asked the fitter to ring us - “Oh, hasn't he rung you yet?” but no follow-up call. We've already lost 2 weeks so I'm going to bang on the desk on Monday morning. I could do with a whole new French vocabulary – how to get what you want in French.

I've been doing quite a lot of cycling, comme d'hab, as usual. Had to laugh at myself on one occasion. Last time he was out here, Jon managed to fall off his bike while stationary. He was astride it, turning round to go back and caught his foot somehow. He fell heavily and banged his head on the road. Hearing the story later, it was only the large bloody lump on his head that kept my sense of humour under control. So here's my own version. I had been shopping and had the panniers well stuffed when I needed to dismount to get over some rough ground. The bike has a cross-bar and I forgot I'd bought a broom handle which was sticking up out of the pannier behind me like an antenna. I only just managed not to fall off when my leg encountered the handle, and then nearly completed it by falling about laughing.

Other notable events have been two wonderful concerts near Quillan, part of the traditional music festival which takes place there every year. It's a long way though for an evening concert on my own. Because they always start late and insist on encores, I don't get back till half past midnight.

And I went out with Marie and Michel on a walk up on the Col de Sallettes on Wednesday. I was a little concerned as they said it would be 13km and I hardly ever go walking any distance, and they are younger and fitter than me. We drove up to the start, watching the temperature dropping as we went, from 25 to 16, so I was glad of my jacket to begin with. But the sun came out after an hour or so and it was a beautiful day. The countryside was very open, with patches of heather rather then trees, and the views simply magnificent. Michel is a great cook so the picnic was superb too.

And on top of that, we talked all day in both French and English, each of us learning a lot.

The final chapter - eventful departure

The night before we left the English class was followed by a knees-up at Tom (the English prof) and Dominique's. We gave Tom and Nicky a lift in our car to Tom's house which is situated just below the remparts of the old town.

Scene from Tom's garden

It's an idyllic situation with a lovely courtyard overhung by the illuminated walls and towers.

Dominique, Cecile, Tom, Nicky

So we had a great evening, but on returning to our car found a back window smashed and glass everywhere. Fortunately there was nothing of value in the back - evidently our coats were not worth stealing, nor our empty shopping bags.  However, it was still very inconvenient as, having to be at the airport at 9am, we clearly had no time to report it to the insurers and the next people hoping to use the car are non-French-speaking friends coming out on honeymoon.

So next morning we made sure our neighbours had a garage key in hope that we could arrange a repair at the house, and checked in for our flight. Shortly before boarding we were summoned to the information desk as there was someone wishing to speak to us.  It was Tom, asking if we had found the briefcase he had accidentally left in our car. He looked shocked when I said I hadn't and that the car had been broken into. His briefcase contained valuable items, so I only hope he is insured. We hadn't time to talk as the airline staff were anxious that Ryanair might not be able to play its fanfare (when you land on time, they play a rousing trumpet fanfare) so I hope he's OK.

We took off at 10.10am and arrived home at 3pm having achieved the whole journey from the airport by public transport, and free because we're that old! Bus to Leicester, Leicester to M Harborough, M Harborough to Rothwell and we walked up to Orton.


So there we are, closing the diary for now. See you all soon.

Last few days. Choir concert, Mad bands day, and a curious cake

The citizens' choir is committed to at least 2 more concerts but somehow they're going to have to manage without me because I'll be back in England. On Saturday we were part of a concert in Le Viguier.
After the rehearsal there was a meal provided.  Sylvie, who is always full of amusing stories (if I could only follow them) was once more the centre of attention when she realised, part way through her meal, that her plastic fork had two missing tines. Lengthy searching only revealed one of them so she thinks she must have swallowed the other!

The group La Grande Bouche who have been coaching us, once again started off the evening.  There were reported to be 2,500 people there and
The main act was Idir who sings Algerian songs, which most people seemed to know, as the area is a largely immigrant quarter.

Yesterday we went to Montreal which plays host to 9 brass bands over this weekend.  Its another high-energy event with bands marching round everywhere playing and dancing.

Elderly (deaf?) resident enjoying deafening rhythm band outside her window.

Pig playing saxophone

Pigs can smoke pipes and drink beer at the same time

.

The curious cake.
We went to say goodbye to the lovely old couple in Alzonne who sold us a car and now give us home-made jam and eggs and lessons on local traditions.  There always seems to be something new and this time it was Étriér, a strange thin crisp cake about 8 inches across and embossed with a picture of a local village church on one side and a church tower on the other. It's made from a batter of eggs and flour poured on to a hinged cast-iron double griddle, which is closed and then put on the fire till it's cooked. I loved it for the rustic look of the design. And the cake itself, which tastes faintly of aniseed.

Isn't it great?

One week to go - what have we been doing?

Well.............

We went to look at Lastours and have a delicious home-made ice-cream (the choice includes a citrus fruit and Prickly pear fruit sorbet!)

Part of the Lastours châteaux complex looking threatening

Part of a huge field of solar panels near Villanière

We've had visitors from the Lot. They have a house there where they spend the whole summer. They have had a small vineyard,, from which they made wine for their own use, and have therefore had to be there at critical times during the season.  This year they decided that it was not worth the trouble and have dug them out. This meant they were free to visit for my birthday. So we had lunch out by the canal in Trebes, in the first sunshine we've had for several days.

But first we went round the vide-grenier (like a car boot sale without the cars) in our own village. Jon and I don't really do birthday presents any more, so I was told I could spend €5 at the VG if I could find anything I liked. And I did!   €3 got me a razor-sharp long-handled secateur which is great.

Then €2 found a ball-hitch to go on the van to carry my bike easily. Yipee! Job done.

Apart from that, we have had a pleasant evening with Tom (the English conversation group leader) and Dominique, at their house just below the ramparts of the cité. The group is still working on English language songs to perform at the end of term. Cockles and Mussels, Cleaning Windows, and the Wild Rover are favourites and there's talk of dressing one of the men up as Molly Malone and offering cooked mussels from a barrow. On verra!  We shall see!

And our second meeting with our French friends, who came to us this time for a couple of hours of English conversation (our last meeting was conducted in French). This scheme is working out well and will continue next time we're out here.

After all the trauma with the "new" car we went last week to have the headlights and tyres changed, as well as brake pads and discs and a leaking oil seal. In France, if you fail the MOT you have two months to have the repairs done and, within this period, you can have a "resit" for free.  So we went back yesterday, only to be told that the tyres were still (or rather, again) the wrong size. Fortunately the chaps at the garage who fitted them were very helpful, but it seems it is a rare size and there are none available in that cheap brand for about 2 months. So we're another €160 down for the Michelins we had to have.

Right now Jon is working on the 1924 Renault, hoping to finish the job of improving the brakes so we can return the puller to old Mr Salvetat before we go back.

Our new musical link, Nicky, the banjo-playing Irishman, has told us of a Cajun evening on Saturday by a lake near Limoux, so we'll definitely go there. But before that there's the citizens' choir concert in Carcassonne, so we'll have to go late. Then on Tuesday, the last evening of the English group is finishing off with a party at Tom's, and it seems we just have to go, although we're leaving Wednesday morning and weren't even going to go to that class.

All in all it seems that, after a couple of fairly quiet weeks, we'll be coming home for a rest!

For Adults only - what happened to our little man

I'm sure that you are all worrying about our little terracotta man, so here's a couple of pictures. I've fixed him myself! He's very grateful though he finds it hard to admit as he still harbours some resentment about the carelessness which led to his predicament.
It was modelling plasticine which came to his rescue.

Kalashnikovs, drug rings and songs

I'm only here for one more concert with the community choir and that, true to its ideals, will be in Le Viguier, one of the deprived suburbs of Carcassonne.
Yesterday's paper describes the arrest of 12 people said to be part of a drug ring, and the seizing of a Kalashnikov, a first for the Carcassonne police apparently. And this was in Le Viguier.

One of the pieces we will be performing is a rap composed in one of the Chapeau Rouge workshops and sung/spoken (very rapidly) by a young man, with references to the deprived quarters of the town. Some of the lines go "From Viguier to Grazailles, from La Conte to Ozanam. There aren't only criminals, there are poets too.  Pass me a pen, I will beautify my town."  Sorry about the translation - it scans in French.

I'm still going to the choir in the next village, where I took some Dundee cake for the break this week. It's different from anything you see round here, where the cakes are all very light and not heavily fruited like that. Felt slightly embarassed though that I couldn't give the recipe as it was just a supermarket buy.

Other singing is going on in the English class where Tom has decided to get the class singing songs in English to work towards a performance at the end of term, which, unfortunately, we will miss. Tom has enlisted the help of an Irish singer/banjo-player and we're working our way through When I'm cleaning Windows, Molly Malone, My Way, Beyond the Sea (La mer) and Just a Gigolo.  There are (over-)ambitious plans to produce mussels and chips from the barrow when we they do Molly Malone at the end-of-term party. OMG!

Great cheese discovery

I just have to share this but I'm not sure how useful it's going to be in England.

While travelling down we were offered Chaource as one of the cheeses at dinner, and it's lovely. A soft cow's milk cheese with a slightly firmer, chalky centre (when young, I just read) and a lovely nutty flavour, from the Champagne/Ardennes region.

Just couldn't keep it to myself.

Tied in knots

Jon thinks I'm mad.  I've a new passion - knots.
Most motorway boutiques here have a stand of laminated leaflets on a variety of subjects, all bite-sized nuggets of information on topics such as Travelling in England,  French kings, Wine-making, Conjugation, etc etc. Well, last year I was admiring one of these on KNOTS. I really wanted to buy it but thought it was one of those soon-regretted impulses and besides I was on an ant-consumption kick, so I left it.

And thought about it off and on ever since.

This time we drove down so we had to stop at every motorway service area to look. No luck. Eventually I thought to look on-line and found the publishers web-site.  Whoopee. Went through the usual rigmarole to make my way finally to the checkout, enter my French card details , only to fail the "Verified by Visa" extra security question - my date of birth. Three strikes and they block your card so I tried twice and gave up. At the bank next day, Tuesday, it appeared that they had my DOB wrong in the system despite my having sent in a form and a copy of my passport at their insistence a month ago. Corrected it with another copy of my passport and was told to try again on Thursday. Duly did, failed again, third strike so card can no longer be used on-line.  Great. Bank again. Probably need to give Visa even longer to amend my details.  Try again on Monday, or order a new card. It almost certainly won't work on Monday so we'll have to see where we go from there.

Meanwhile, I have found a little book by the same author, not nearly so nice and well-presented, but I'm hooked. There are bits of knotted string all over the place and Jon looking slightly bemused, as if reading books on Kindle, playing arcade games on my phone and listening to French podcasts weren't enough he seems to say!

What seemed to amuse him was watching me have to close my eyes to complete a knot! Not that funny - I just needed to recall the diagram.

Anyway, if any of you understands what I'm talking about, I'd love to hear from you!  I seem to be on my own so far.

For Adults only

Two amusing incidents to share with you.

The first was at English class which we attend every week when we're here to help Tom with his English conversation group. The topic was the English press coverage of the Royal wedding, as seen in the Guardian. Everyone had a piece to read and explain to the class. When it came to Claire, she told us that

"During his apprenticeship on Savile Row, the late Alexander McQueen sewed something bad into the lining of a suit jacket being made for Prince Charles." This something was so bad that Claire couldn't bring herself to say it aloud. Apparently the offending phrase was "I am a C***". Not many people know this, as Michael McCain would say.

The second story is about a certain little terracotta figure which we bought from the pottery market in Carcasonne last year. He was quite a well-endowed fellow taking a pee, but somehow lost an essential part of his anatomy. It not only fell out but is lost altogether. 

We are hoping that the pottery market will take place again this year but didn't know quite what we were going to ask the stall-holder if we found him. So we went round to see Roger and Evelyne to see if Roger, well-known for his love of puns and word-play, could help. We had a fairly hilarious time explaining as you might imagine but it seems that the commonly used word is "zizi" which is nice and easy to remember. The "correct" word is "verge" for those of you who are curious.

Problems, problems

Considering my husband's whole life revolves round cars, we've not done as well as might be expected lately on that front.  Our trusty old Opel Astra estate packed up towards the end of our last visit and had to be scrapped so we drove out here in a LH drive Opel van bought in England and under English plates. Jon asked when we bought it if the headlights were adjustable, so they would be acceptable in France and was told they were. He also noted that it had non-original wheels, but thought it would not matter. Wrong twice over!

So we submitted it for MOT to find it needs four new tyres, as they are not the "correct" size, and two new headlights, as well as a new transmission seal ? (a Soufflet Cardan) and new brake discs and pads. A potential bill of €1,000!  We've nearly got over the shock now, having sourced two headlights through a helpful scrap dealer - brand-new but a third of the price, and cheap parts for the rest.  It's being done right now but it's still going to cost us over €500.

On top of that, someone who shall remain nameless only brought out half of the log book, the bit you have to send up when you export a vehicle permanently, so we can't register it this time. One can only hope that she will be better organized next time!

And then there's the matter of the stair carpet.  Before we left we had agreed a price for fitting, and that we would order it from England to be ready when we got out here. Made the phone call, emailed the order, posted the cheque. Went to the carpet shop on arrival - no cheque received, carpet not ordered. We cancelled the cheque (€16), issued another and the carpet arrived in time for the agreed start date of Monday 16th. No word from the fitter, however, so I rang only to find that he was in New York on holiday and probably not coming back. Furthermore, the quote was only pending on the system, not accepted. We reckon he was going to do it "on the black" as he had undercut his original quote considerably.  Anyway, we had someone else from the firm round to see the job.  He was to give us two quotes by the end of the week but we've not heard from him yet. Meanwhile our cheque arrived yesterday - nearly 4 weeks in transit!  Thanks a lot Royal Mail/La Poste.

However, it has given me time to finish decorating around the stairwell and it looks great. (The carpet will be on the treads only)
(For those of you who haven't been here, what appears to be a door halfway up the wall is just a window)

The citizens' choir

Before we left home I received a newsletter which mentioned the formation of a scratch choir to end up taking part in three concerts.  There had already been two rehearsals but there were still 3 to go, two being on the weekend we expected to arrive.  I asked by email if I could join and was sent a link to the music in advance.

It has proved great fun, musically not that good but very sociable as most members were coming together for the first time, so it was very open, no cliques. We only sang 6 songs but had to learn them by heart, which was particularly difficult for me of course, both from the point of view of serious memory challenge and 2 foreign languages - 3 if you count "rap". One song in English, 4 in French and one in Catalan.

We rehearsed all day Saturday, with a lunch break when several people brought home-made food to share, and Jon came with a pack-up for us. All very convivial. It was organized by the Chapeau Rouge, which runs various music workshops and holds regular concerts, all in a rambling building in the arty quarter just outside of the city walls.

Convivial citizens' choir at lunch

On Sunday we met from 1 till 6, and it was gradually dawning on me that all the songs were revolutionary. We sang about the bourgeois in Paris being well fed, but there being poor people with empty stomachs, and that those who sow misery reap anger. And if you heave from there and I heave from here then the whole thing is sure to come down - together we will win - let's dance. Another one sang of having bread as golden as...., and wine that sparkles like... and we'll have beds, and the sea next to the stars etc etc. when our golden age arrives. (The one song in English was the Banana Boat Song, by the way).  And my favourite - Tout bradé, oo ils ont tout bradé - All sold off, oh yes they've sold everything off. Anti-privatization or what?

Rehearsal

Another rehearsal on Friday 13th all afternoon, home for 20 minutes to change and eat and back for the concert, which was amazing. We were just a small part of it but the place was electric. The concert hall had no chairs and people danced and leapt around like mad things. The guys who had been rehearsing us were a very lively group who got the whole thing off the ground and by the time we came on, the audience were ready for anything. all joining in and waving fists in the air. We sang our hearts out and swayed and stamped to the rhythm so that the raised platform some of us were standing on started to bounce alarmingly and the sweat was running into my eyes!

Video of Tout Bradé from the first concert    And the Banana Boat Song

Now we don't meet again until the next concert which is in the open air in one of the poorer suburbs just before we come back home.  The main concert is part of the city festival in late June and I'm really sorry I shall miss that.

Getting here

Drove down this time as we had our replacement car to bring out, having scrapped the other one last year.

On the way we stopped at Loos-en-Goohel to see my grandfather's name inscribed on the war memorial. It was so strange to see that familiar name in a place I'd never seen before. He was killed when my father was 2 years old and I don't think his wife, my grandmother, will have seen his memorial plaque. I know him only by seeing that name written inside many of the books that I grew up with. The cemetery was beautifully planted and immaculate, and it struck me how many families' lives were changed so drastically like ours by those millions of deaths (about 16 million over all nations involved).

Attwood J C, my grandfather

Apart from that we also visited two car museums, the Schlumpf collection of over 500 vehicles near Strasbourg, and the Peugeot museum, which houses a mere 200 or so. After this we got our heads down and drove continously, arriving on Thursday night, May 5th.

We spent Friday tackling the most pressing matters such as car insurance and MOTs, banking and carpet ordering (all gone haywire as our cheque had not arrived so the carpet wasn't ordered and was now out of stock, and the fitter is due next Monday). All this so that I was clear to join rehearsals for the Chorale Citoyenne de Carcassonne all weekend.

Final chapter of Nepal trip

I didn't quite finish the account of my trip to Nepal - that is, I didn't include getting back home - so, for the sake of completeness here's what happened. From those of you who are familiar with the story I have had much sympathy, but I have to say it is largely undeserved for, though uncomfortable, the experience was very much part of the whole trip and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
To start with, I met up with a very interesting lady at the airport in Kathmandu, a Brit now living in Sweden who had just done the Annapurna trail. Like me, she had the feeling of time running out, and infirmity steadily approaching and felt it was "now or never".  She said it was extremely challenging and she definitely needed to have left it no longer - she was 65, by the way, and with no particular health issues. From her account, I am sure I was right not to attempt it. She was going on to a two week tour of Rajisthan, S India. We chatted comfortably as our departure hour came and went and announcements in Nepalese caused minor eruptions of activity. Seeing our confusion, a lovely Nepalese gentleman took it upon himself to interpret and to seek information. He was a Gurkha named Sher, returning home to London after a family visit. We eventually left 2 hours late, after waiting for the Kathmandu pollution to lift away and fortunately our connecting flight from Delhi was waiting for us.
But this was Friday December 17th and, as we approached Europe on Saturday 18th, Heathrow closed due to the snow and we were diverted to Brussels. This turned out to be just like all the acounts you've ever heard reported, the prime problem being lack of information. There was only one restaurant/cafe open and no fast-track for drinks only so the queue was never-ending, and it was several hours before bottled water was brought in by the Red Cross. Each flight looked for news from their airline and some were better than others at this. There were no tannoy announcements and the best way to find out what was going on was to follow any moving group of people. Often this would lead only to another airline's information provider but occasionally it would be general information about camp beds or meal vouchers, and if you were lucky you'd find yourself listenening to information from your own airline.
We managed to miss out on the first batch of camp beds and were told by our airline that there were no hotel rooms to be had in Brussels, so lay down on the tiled floor.  Sher was immediately asleep but I wasn't that efficient, so at 1a.m. I decided I might as well join the cafe queue with my meal voucher.  It took me till 4.30 before I had my meal on my tray!
Next day there were rumours of Eurostar tickets and connecting flights, but the worst situated were those passengers who were non-European, who could therefore not leave the airport and had no option but to wait for a flight.
We were told that there were 117 Eurostar tickets for EU passport holders and rushed to baggage claim to collect our luggage and tickets but after a couple of hours and no luggage appearing, it seemed there were only 54 tickets and I missed out. However at least I was
accommodated in a hotel that night, unlike Sher who couldn't leave the airport.
Next day there was to be a flight at 6.30 am but we sat on the tarmac for 4 hours as there was no deicing fluid available. Frequent texts from Jon telling me that Heathrow was going to close again and Was I on my way yet? No, still waiting. Anyway, thankfully we did eventually take off, one of the last planes to land that day, Monday 19th.
Quite an adventure, but I don't think I'd like to repeat it.