Welcome to La Lune, French for the moon. This is the name of the lieu-dit (locality) in southwest France where our 18th-century farmhouse is situated. We have lived here since 1997. The name almost certainly has nothing to do with the moon, but it’s intriguing nonetheless.
I’m a British writer and novelist. This blog includes episodes from our French life, snippets about French history, culture and customs, and details of things happening in our area.
I try to tell it as it is and not to romanticise life in France. After so many years, je ne regrette rien, and I love living here, even if aspects of French life are still unfathomable.
I also love hearing about other people’s experiences of France, so do leave a comment underneath a post if you feel moved to do so. I always reply.
If you would like to subscribe to my blog (completely free and you can unsubscribe at any time), please click on the email link in the right-hand sidebar. Your email address will never be publicly visible.
Life on La Lune now has a Facebook page! There, you’ll find additional photos, info and snippets about France that don’t fit on the blog. And you can comment on posts there, too, if you’re on Facebook. I look forward to seeing you there.
First, let me wish you a joyeux Quatorze Juillet. Today is la Fête Nationale in France and one of the most important holidays in the calendar. Today is sunny and hot. In previous years, we have been known to light a fire on 14th July. This year, the firework display in our local village seems to be going ahead, despite the sécheresse (drought). It has been cancelled before, notably in 2003, owing to the fire hazard.
on La Lune has been a bit quiet recently. One non-negotiable reason is that we had
huge problems accessing the internet during the past week. While it is back, it’s
wobbly. The other reason is that summer has arrived, and with it a raft of activities
that all seem to have come at once.
A few months ago, I posted on Life on La Lune’s Facebook
page that we were re-watching the films of Marcel Pagnol’s classic Provence
novels, Jean de Florette and Manon des Sources. Do watch them if
you get the chance. Someone commented that I ought to write about the films of
his childhood memoirs, La Gloire de Mon Père and Le Château de Ma
Mère. Your wish is my command. I will try not to give away any spoilers.
Some of you will remember the late lamented Fyfe Robertson, a
British TV journalist known for his trenchant views. A somewhat quirky figure himself,
with his tweeds and deer-stalker hat, he had his own series, ‘Robbie’, in which
he roamed Britain debunking myths and pouring scorn on affectation. In one
programme in 1977, he turned the spotlight on aspects of modern art. This was
the era of the bricks in the Tate Gallery and other such installations. Robbie
labelled these “Phoney Art – or Phart”. So he was in mind when I came up with
the title for this post.
Our walking group has recently taken some interesting routes,
which have introduced us to the patrimoine
(historic heritage) of the region. Some of the sites are quite off the beaten
track and we hadn’t come across them before in our 22 years here. Last week, we
took the road to Cordes-sur-Ciel in the Tarn, to explore the countryside around
this perched hilltop town.
For people like me who are not French citizens, voting here is a rare event, confined to the municipal elections (every six years) and the European elections (every five). The last time I voted was in March 2014, for the conseil municipal. I am not permitted to vote in the UK, having been out of the country for more than 15 years. So I was determined to exercise my vote today in the European elections, and we duly presented ourselves at our village Mairie.
been an eventful 10 days or so. My latest novel is now out, involving quite a
lot of last-minute effort. And the Irish Embassy in Paris phoned on Tuesday to say
that my citizenship application had been accepted. My certificate arrived
yesterday and was, in fact, a bit underwhelming. It bears a photo of me looking
as if I’m going to the scaffold as usual, plus some bare personal facts. It doesn’t
even mention my grandmother, by virtue of whose birth in Ireland I became eligible
I posted this on my writing site, since it’s background to my latest novel, but I thought Life on La Lune readers might be interested, too. It’s the results of my research on female agricultural labourers in France in 1900: how did they get hired? What did they do? How much did they earn? What were their prospects?
At the turn of the 20th century, the world of agricultural
labour in France was a patchwork of different métiers and social positions. Wherever you were on the social hierarchy,
your life was governed by the tasks associated with the different seasons.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I’m following the example of fellow blogger Midi Hideaways, who wrote a recent post about the statuary and carved stone faces on buildings in the towns of the Languedoc. In this post I look at some of the less flamboyant, but often charming, architectural patrimoine in our area.
Today is a rather special day for us. More of that below. It’s been a rather eventful couple of weeks, which explains my erratic blogging record just now. Having taken part in a concert in the hilltop village of Puycelsi in aid of restoring the church, the following day saw the semi-destruction by fire of Notre-Dame de Paris.
A couple of days later our cat, Bella, went missing and didn’t return for 72 hours, when we were starting to give up hope. It’s almost impossible to settle to anything when that happens. Fortunately, she was unscathed, if starving, and has hopefully learned a lesson. In addition, I’ve been getting my latest novel ready for publication and attempting to stop the garden turning into a jungle.
I posted this on my writing blog, since it concerns my latest novel, but as this post is about a famous singer who was born in Aveyron, SW France, I thought readers of Life on La Lune might be interested, too.
Have you heard of Emma Calvé? I hadn’t, until I read about her in a French novel. However, she was one of the brightest stars of her time in the singing world and had a highly-acclaimed international career. Hers is a fascinating rags-to-riches-to-rags story, which has inspired my latest novel, Overture.
One of France’s – no, the world’s – best-loved icons,
Notre-Dame de Paris, caught fire shortly before 7 pm last night. The flames
quickly took hold and, although the fire brigade was quick to react, it was
impossible to save the roof, composed of tonnes of wood and lead. This morning,
thanks to the tactic of playing water over the stonework, the towers and the
walls are still intact. And no one was killed, although a fireman was badly
injured while fighting the flames.
hope you remembered to put your clocks forward last night if you’re in Europe,
otherwise you’ll be a bit behind everyone else. We posted reminders throughout
the house so that we wouldn’t forget, but there’s always at least one clock
that slips through the net. However, in 2021, we will change the hour for the
The garden is burgeoning and it’s that time of year when one’s thoughts turn to planning and planting. While driving around France, you might have noticed village signs declaring “Village – or ville – fleuri(e)” and sporting one to four flower symbols. I had never really thought much about this until Le Figaro published an article celebrating the 60th anniversary of the Villages Fleuris organisation. Rather like the plus beau village label, these accolades are not given out lightly.
of the things I love about living here is local people’s interest in le petit patrimoine, the vestiges of a rural
life that has faded away. Groups of enthusiastic volunteers contribute to their
restoration to rescue them from oblivion. Today, I dragged the SF off to visit
one of these projects, lo molin de la
Gaventa, a windmill outside the village of Saillagol.
I’d love to know who lived in our house long ago. Elderly neighbours have always been hazy about this, perhaps because it doesn’t really interest them. This week, at last, I discovered a story about previous occupants.
Life on La Lune: I’m very keen on art, so whenever I visit a place, I always seek out the art gallery. The Impressionists and Post-Impressionists particularly appeal to me. They have a few connections with Southwest France: Toulouse Lautrec was born in Albi, Renoir in Limoges and Suzanne Valadon in the Limousin. However, they are better known for their attachment to Paris, Normandy and Provence.
Today, I’m delighted to welcome Jeanette Gory, whose website follows in the footsteps of these artists. She’s written a post for us on Cézanne and Van Gogh in Provence, including helpful tips on visiting places associated with them. Her post has certainly whetted my appetite for revisiting their haunts (the two images above are from my visit to Arles a few years ago on a very cold May day).
Life on La Lune passed its 9th birthday last week on 14th February. A few things have changed since then, not least our ability to access the internet. When I published my first post (the present one is the 628th), we were still using a dial-up connection. After all this time, the electronic tune the modem played each time we switched it on is engraved on my memory.
In Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the loud ringing of the cathedral bells has turned Quasimodo, the bell-ringer, deaf. Some of you will no doubt have seen Charles Laughton hamming it up inimitably in the 1939 film. I love the sound of church bells pealing, although I must admit I wouldn’t like to live next door to them. This week, news reports revealed that a part-time resident of a village in Vienne is taking the commune to court because he finds the church bells too loud.
As ever, this snippet inspired me to look closer to home for stories about local bells. Continue reading →
Today is la Chandeleur or la fête des chandelles. I had never heard of it before we moved to France, but I had heard of Candlemas – lovely name – which is the British equivalent. To those of you in the States, it’s also Groundhog Day. Nowadays in France, it’s an excuse for eating crêpes (pancakes), but, as ever, it has a host of traditions behind it. Continue reading →
Before you ask, flic is colloquial French for a police officer. Commissaire Jules Maigret is probably the best-known French fictional detective, created by the novelist Georges Simenon (who was actually Belgian). When we first moved here and my French was lousy, I cut my teeth on the Maigret novels, which are not that difficult. Recently, we’ve been watching DVDs of a long-running series of Maigret stories starring Bruno Cremer in the title role. Continue reading →
The Brits have a reputation for talking about the weather. Hardly a surprise, since you can experience four different seasons in one day in parts of the UK. It was a surprise to us initially that French people also talk about the weather a lot. In our region, which is mostly a farming area, the climate has always been an important matter and greatly influences the difference between a good and a bad harvest. The French have developed some colourful phrases to describe different types of weather. Continue reading →
Now that New Year’s Eve has passed, I can wish you all a very happy, healthy and peaceful 2019. In France, it’s considered bad luck to do so before midnight on 31st December. Although we have turned the corner of the year, I will still be writing 2018 on cheques and official forms until April. Continue reading →
I hope you had a lovely Christmas if you celebrate it. How did you get on with the quiz? Now is the time of reckoning. The answers are below. And there were a couple of trick questions, but if you’ve been doing it every year you ought to know that by now! Continue reading →
A very happy Festive Season to all my readers. Thank you for reading the blog this year and for your stimulating comments and emails. Welcome to the 2018 – and 8th – Edition of the Life on La Lune French Christmas Quiz. This is my traditional Christmas gift to my loyal readers. Something for you to exercise your brain on, once you’ve exercised your stomach. Continue reading →
When I lived in the UK, mistletoe was a rarity, only to be found in over-priced bunches in garden centres during the run-up to Christmas. Moving here, I saw that it grows abundantly in our area. Some species of tree are covered with spheres of it. In fact, it’s a bit of a pest, but mistletoe is so entwined with myth and tradition, that there is nonetheless something magical about it. Continue reading →
There’s been a slight hiatus in posting, as I’ve been dealing with some family health issues. However, this week, I’m delighted to bring you another interview in the Ma Vie Française series. Chris Bockman has been keeping his finger on the pulse of the news in SW France for around 20 years. He gave a talk at our local library recently, during which he regaled us with some of the stories he’s covered during that time. And he’s written a book about it: an ideal Christmas present for Francophiles. Without further ado, over to Chris.
Along with the Eiffel Tower, the baguette and the Citroën 2CV, the béret has become a (caricatured) symbol of French culture. Thus, it was adopted by people like Ernest Hemingway, who wanted to look French even if they weren’t – and the SF who has graciously consented to model his, above. For the people of the Béarn, where the béret is still manufactured and worn, it remains a badge of identity. Continue reading →
Wild boar. Not my picture – I’ve never got close enough to one. KoS [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons
When we moved here in 1997, it was not uncommon to see whole troupes of these animals, of up to 20 individuals. We have also seen the occasional lone male. Since then, our sightings of them have been much rarer. For quite hefty beasts, they can be remarkably invisible. Large-ish stones overturned in the woods and shallow holes dug in the ground are the tell-tale signs. Then we know the sangliers (wild boar) are around.