Here we go again… happens every year and in every season. No matter what the weather does these days, it is, according to the French around here… not normal.
It snows in December… c’est pas normal. (Look, I know that is not good French, but, that is how they say it around here!). It rains in March… c’est pas normal. It is very hot in August… c’est pas normal.
The Year 2003
I used to believe them. When we pitched up all bright eyed and bushy tailed, in April 2003, the temperature plunged to below freezing and the old stone farmhouse in Meyronne we were renting was like a fridge. Literally, because the stingy and wretched little man we rented it from did not heat it at all during the winter (even when he was there!) and the massive stone walls just “radiated” intense cold.
Anyway, there we were, beginning our much anticipated vie en France, expecting balmy spring-like temperatures and we were freezing our b******s off. “C’est pas normal”, said our new French neighbour. Well, eventually, the mercury dragged itself above freezing and May blossomed with mild temperatures and… rain. God, did it rain. Day, after, day, after, day. “C’est pas normal”, said the little shop keeper, as she disdainfully eyed the son and heir’s dripping push chair, adding to the puddle that was her shop floor.
These things can kill
Caterpillars
Can’t remember much of June, as I (mercifully) spent most of it in London that year, except I do remember the caterpillars.
Caterpillars? Yep… those processionary thingies. We had a plague of them, spinning their webs in the hedges. Webs? Well, they look like spiders webs and they contain thousands of little black dots. These black dots eventually grow to become caterpillars that can kill. Kill? I’m not making this up. Honest. If you brush against these damn things, it can cause an anaphylactic shock and… you can die. Bloody French caterpillars can KILL, I tell you. Anyway, I only mention this, because I was looking over a semi-derelict barn for sale with a macon and he spotted these things in the hedgerow. They weren’t hard to spot, as they had just about eaten all the leaves for miles around. “Mon dieu” he said, or words to that effect. “C’est pas normal”, he continued shaking his head. When pressed for an explanation, he said that his Grandmother, had it from her Mother (are you following this?) that if ever these things were seen in such profusion in June, we were going to be in for a very, very hot summer.
Which brings this story to July 2003, when, someone (thing?) turned on the celestial sunshine tap and it poured forth and warmed the sodden earth and the rheumatic ever-so-pale English “newbie” bodies that dared show themselves scantily clad about town. It was a scorcher and it went on, and, on, and… on.
Canicule
Until, come mid-August, the word “Canicule” entered the slowly filling French vocab part of our slow Anglo brains. Temperatures soared way past 100F and the French started to drop like flies. Dead. And for the most part, there they stayed… where they dropped. Because all their relatives had pootled off to the beach, like they do. “C’est pas normal”, said the barman at Le Voyageurs as he deftly poured six cold beaded ones all at the same time, to try and quell the braying pack of dehydrated Anglais. “C’est pas normal”, said the chap who runs the Parc Aquatique as he counted his takings etc. etc.
Armageddon
Now last week in August that year brought pretty much the end of the world. Armageddon, in fact. Dragging myself out of the son and heirs paddling pool (well, there was no swimming pool where we were renting and it was hot, hot, hot) that day, I glanced up at the night sky rushing at me from the west. Er, the what? It wasn’t the night sky, as it was only late afternoon… 6.30 to be precise. How can I be so precise after all these years? Well, as all expats know, that is gin and tonic time, of course!
Anyway, there was this immense horizon to horizon black THING rushing at me. Closer and closer until, with a roar of wind and immense explosions, the German SS 88 artillery battery on the hill opened up on us… right on target!
OK, silly me. Hands up. It only felt like being on the receiving end of an artillery barrage. Fact was it was only a summer thunder storm. Only! This was biblical. Continuous thunder and synchronised lightning raged for at least 2 gin and tonics, as the storm enveloped this poor soul all alone in his rented French home. On and on it went, until it seemed, well, personal. Just me and the storm. And there I was, right inside it. Literally, because the only place it wasn’t, was beneath me! Not sure how long it lasted, as I took the third G&T to the shower and I don’t remember much after that!
C’est Normal
Dragged myself into the Voyageurs the following lunchtime. “Quel orrage”, says I in my rehearsed best French to the sleepy looking barman… “C’est pas normal”. I added (as you do). Mais, monsieur, au contraire… c’est normal… c’est Aout” he added with just a slight hint of malice, as he slapped down my first cold beaded one. Typical!
You Have Been Warned
So, lest I rant on and on, just thought I had better warn you. We have just had a winter that lasted longer and was colder than normal. We have had an incredibly cold and wet spring so far. The processionary caterpillars have eaten their way through about a mile of hawthorn hedge in our hamlet on the hill and, all in all, like 2003 and pretty much every year in between, the locals are all saying….
C’est pas normal.
