Rural Idyll

Can you hear the birds chirping from there? I look out of my window onto a scene of tranquillity reminiscent of any Wordsworth poem - a field full of sheep, fruit trees bending under their load, half a dozen chickens scratching the dirt aimlessly, the sound of a brook bubbling. Perfick.

That is until my mother (who has notoriously unreliable ankles) falls down a step outside the local post office and breaks her ankle. Two old ducks stop to ask if they can assist, one with a neck brace (!!), and after a fragmented conversation about weak ankles, how we're not as strong as we used to be, and expressions of envy at the jeune fille (moi) who has all this in front of her, I manage to bundle my mother into the car for the return trip home.

After a couple of hours 'resting', my mother decides that maybe she has done something dodgy to said ankle and maybe a hospital visit would be a good idea after all (do you think?). Therein insues a flurry of telephone conversations to see whether the car is insured for me (the only able bodied adult in the house), but sadly it is not, so we await a taxi. No sooner have ma mere et pere departed for the hospital than a monster storm comes through and blows the electrics.

So I'm standing in a dark, 17thc farmhouse, with no food, no light and no idea where the fusebox is. Luckily the phone still works so I call my ma but of course the mobile is switched off (only for emergencies you understand!). I then wander around the house looking in all the usual places (under stairs etc) for the fusebox but to no avail. My knight in white shining armour (DY) calls by chance on his way out of SL and suggests outside, or one of the outhouses. I brave the rain and squally winds to check the garage, studio and cellar (very creepy) but still can't find it. By now I have stumbled on 2 candles and some matches so am feeling very relieved as have light - am amazed at what a difference that makes to my disposition.

After a cheese sandwich I ring my brother in Germany to ask him if he knows where the fusebox is and he doesn't but his angelic wife does - praise be! Apparently they were staying and one night awoke to the site of my father creeping through their bedroom in his nightgown - the fusebox is in a cupboard in their (and now my) bedroom. Relief, lights on.

At 10.30 my parents return, broken ankle in plaster, impressed with the French medical system, weary and grumpy, but all in one piece. After assisting my mother up the precipitous stairs to her bedroom (don't ask - they love the house), we all settle for the night.

So now we settle into a slight change of routine - I'm driver, cleaner, cook all rolled into one and after 3 days the parental stomach for vegetarian food is obviously waning! One thing it has done is highlighted the difficulties of living in the remote countryside if all your eggs are in one basket i.e. only one person is mobile. Anyway, another day, another conversation. I need to run and prepare lunch .......