Read Online Our House is Certainly Not in Paris by Susan Cutsforth - Free Book Online Page A

Populaire , (literally, a popular French bank), is next door and on the other side of the café is Les Marchands de Journaux, where people grab their copy of Le Figaro to read over their espresso . Next there is the pharmacie and like all other chemists in France, it displays a poster of mushrooms to be able to identify those that are poisonous. Mushroom gathering in spring is a very popular pastime in France. Each year Brigitte and Erick tell us when they are setting off for a few days’ break to pick mushrooms. By now, as we have our espresso, we actually know a few locals passing by and going to the shops, to exchange ‘ Bonjours, ca va? ’ with. This simple greeting fills me with delight. In some small way, we do belong.
    It was on one of our café sojourns the previous year that I glanced across the road and my eyes landed with happiness on a newly opened petite shop, complete with a hat stand and other second-hand wares out the front. I exclaimed with pleasure to Stuart that I simply had to go and investigate straight away. Knowing my predilection for any possibility of second-hand treasure, Stuart settled back with another espresso while I skipped across to investigate. A second espresso can only last so long, and by the time he thought my time for exploring had definitely been sufficient, I had my arms laden with potential purchases to eagerly share with him.
    When friends and family come to stay, Isabelle’s shop has now been woven into my personal itinerary. So now mum has her pink jacket in Australie and Liz has a petite watercolour in Wales. As with all my treasure, I eagerly display my new chapeau to Françoise next time I see her. She duly shares my pleasure in my pretty pink hat. Not long after, when I go La Vieux Prieuré, Françoise and their youngest daughter, Bénédicte, show me what they have unearthed in Isabelle’s shop, for they too call la petite shop by the name that I do. Just like last year, when Dominique appeared in her first-ever purchase of second-hand clothes, it is when I introduce my French friends to sources of second-hand delights, that I truly feel a part of life in Cuzance.
    Actually, I don’t know the name of la petite shop at all. However, I always chat to Isabelle the immaculate and chic owner, so that is what I call her treasure trove. I’m thrilled to actually say it’s part of my weekly routine in a new village, in a new country.
    To start to establish rituals, means that I feel a part of the rhythm of life in Cuzance.

14
Bon Courage
    â€˜ Bon courage ’ are words that I would be profoundly grateful to never hear again. It seems that every passer-by, every casual drop-in, every artisan and all our French friends, utter this phrase when leaving our petite maison . No translation is needed. The meaning is absolutely clear. Underlying this seemingly casual, polite phrase is an undertone that distinctly conveys, firstly; they think we are extraordinarily mad to tackle such a project and secondly; how grateful they are that it’s not them. Shades of one of my frequent thoughts, ‘Is a working holiday a vacances at all?’ rise to the surface whenever I hear this phrase. Somehow too it is always uttered in a tone of the utmost bonhomie .
    As I continue to labour long and hard at whatever the current task is, I always gaze wistfully after their rapidly departing backs, knowing full well, that they are returning to relax in their jardin to linger over an afternoon apéritif ... I can only begin to imagine the sage nodding of heads and absolute concurrence that yes, the madness of foreigners knows no end. My limited understanding of French would certainly not impede my understanding in this instance, of the speculation about a couple who come all the way from Australie each year to spend their vacances renovating.
    As I get older, my penchant and inclination for renovating seems to rise in inverse proportion to the passing