Tuesday 9th September: L'eau‏

Had a rehearsal yesterday evening with Rodrigo and Alexander. Ines didn't come as she'd only just got back from holiday and said she has so much work to catch up with. Alexander's still thinking about giving up his job and concentrating on his luthier business. Although he did mention Simone doesn't seem that keen on the idea (she's probably worried about the money).

We rehearsed the backing for a couple of new songs: MiTierra and Como Fue plus improved some of the versions of earlier ones: Quen Sera and Corcovado, which I have been practising singing (although, of course I wouldn't admit it to the others).

Celine called around this morning. She had just been interviewing an elderly lady living nearby about her childhood memories of legends and folk tales. The lady remembered how her mother used to tell her stories of Les Lavandieres; three old washerwomen who go to the water's edge at midnight to wash shrouds for those about to die. Also known as Kannerezed Noz / Cannard Noz (night ducks); small figures, dressed in green, with webbed feet. She told Celine there used to be a stream at the end of her garden, and when there was a full moon, she would stare out of her bedroom window, terrified at at the idea of seeing them (Of course, she never did!). 

Celine said she was a very sweet old lady who gave her some biscuits and coffee. The coffee was so strong it tasted like... Celine made a face and tried to find the word.

"Mud?" I suggested.

"No, not this."

"Toffee?"

She shook her head.

"Treacle?"

"Ah, yes, yes, this is it!"

She also said the biscuits were "old".

Remembering how I'd been in the merchant navy, she brought along a C.D of traditional Breton sailor's songs by a band called Cabestan; songs of shipwrecks, accompanied by fiddle and accordion. While we were listening to the C.D and eating the remains of my butter cake there was a knock at the door. I was amazed to see Adele. She was about to say something when she caught sight of Celine and stopped.

I waited for her to continue. Eventually she explained that there was some problem with her car.

"I am driving and the temperature it goes up" She indicated with her hands. "You have the water to put in le reservoir?" She gave a frown at Celine.

I introduced them and Adele said something in French (asking how long she had known me).

Celine replied in English. "I think it is not right to speak French when James is here. We speak English, yes?"

Adele didn't look happy with this. I caught her glaring Celine again as I filled up a jug of water.

We walked out into the lane in silence. Her car was parked alongside the hedge with the hood up. She took the jug from me without a word and poured in the water. When she handed it back she hinted at coming in for a coffee. I was about to answer when Celine interrupted saying that we were about to go out. Adele turned to her. "What is your name? I forget," she smirked.

Celine headed towards the house. I started to follow.

"It was good to see you James," Adele called out. "See you again, soon, yes?"

I told Celine more about the relationship with Adele and how she had been possessive and controlling.

"I do not think she likes me!" Celine laughed.

We moved on to the subject of her book and I asked how it was going. She told me her grandmother had died a year ago and left her enough money to concentrate on the book for the next year. Celine said she'd like to stay longer but had arranged another interview.

After she'd gone I thought about Adele. Was she really serious about seeing me soon? 

PS Wednesday 10th September 2014

The new cover is live - at last! Amatore's Restaurant on Amazon

Read a Free chapter each week at James Sillwood website

Friday 5th September: En fuite‏

First of all, while it's still fresh in my mind, I must write down the details of the dream I had a couple of days ago. Now, for some reason, I rarely remember my dreams but on Wednesday morning I woke early with Pierre Dupchant (a character from one of my novels) in my head.

Initially, he was laying in the long grass within the grounds of what appeared to be a 16th century abbey. His battered body, covered with cuts and bruises, was resting against a high stone wall which I assumed he had managed to scale. The next moment the scene switched to a dormitory (not unlike my old school) where Pierre was being attended to by a couple of nuns. And that's it, I'm afraid - that's all I remember.

I'm no expert, but I can only assume this dream was brought on because I had been discussing the follow up to my book (Amatore's Restaurant) with Laura earlier this week. Pierre, who is on the run from the Préfecture de Police in Paris, is temporary employed as a waiter at the restaurant in London. Laura and I had been discussing the possible outcome of Pierre's story, and his inevitable arrest, when I had the idea that he could abscond from the police once back in France.

So that could account for the first part of the dream. The rest could be explained by the fact that I happened to be reading a chapter of Boccaccio's, Il Decamerone, which describes the adventures of a gardener at a convent who is seduced by the nuns in turn.

I guess Pierre would love to be in this situation!

Now for today. The warm weather has returned and I've been sitting outside in the garden most of the morning. Coco is now in my lap while I'm trying to scribble down these notes on a piece of paper. So much for all the work I'd been planning to do! Since the arrival of Pepin, I don't get to see much of the cat so I just don't want to disturb her.

Ines is back from her holiday (in Provence - lucky thing) and we were supposed to have a rehearsal today. But when I phoned Alexander to ask if it was still on, he'd forgotten all about it. I sent Ines a text and she said she'd only just arrived back: "Could we make it next week?"

I'm a bit relieved as I need to get to grips with marketing my books.

Paul came over with Isabelle and Mathilde to say goodbye (they're returning to Paris for the new term). I asked Paul if he's finished preparing his lectures and he launched into a five minute speech about the life and times of the composer Francis Poulenc. I wished them luck with the baby and Isabelle mentioned they'll be back up at the gite for the occasional weekend. They brought me a Kouign-Amann, a Breton butter cake they'd brought back from Dinan yesterday - looks delicious.

As soon as they'd gone Benjamin and Madeleine came running into the cottage. Pepin trotted after them, sniffing around for scraps. I couldn't resist giving him a piece of my cake (even before I've had a taste!) 

Tuesday 2nd September: Le Retour‏

Karl called around this morning. He told me, that when he dropped off Jean-Luc's shopping last week, he'd persuaded him to write down directions to the house where Marie was staying. So we decided to go and find the place this morning to talk to her. On the way over Karl explained how, when he returned to the farm, he attempted to lead Hilda out into the yard. But, even though Karl assured him it would only for ten minutes, Jean-luc became hysterical; swearing and accusing him of trying to find out the winning numbers of the next lottery. Apparently the "magic cow" had won him 100 Euros last week.

The directions were useless. We back-tracked along the country roads a few times, stopping at several properties. Eventually we came to a hand-painted sign advertising fresh eggs for sale: the only clue Jean-Luc had given us. We both noticed the misspelling of the word "fresh" (œufs fraise à vendre) which gave the impression they were trying to sell "strawberry eggs". Jean-Luc had mentioned this, calling them ignorant peasants. We drove down the long dusty track until we came to an old farmhouse and two outbuildings, their roofs patched with corrugated iron. A few rusted trucks and dismantled cars stood outside where chickens roamed freely, searching through the long grass. A black dog lay slumped in the sun and growled listlessly after Karl's van skidded to a halt.

Two men looked up from under the bonnet of an ancient Citreon Dyane. They were dressed in blue overalls and I was immediately struck by their similarity; matching pencil moustaches, long greasy black hair tied back, and identical baseball caps worn in reverse. They both stared at us for a while before one spat, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The other man did exactly the same: Marie's brothers.

Karl strode towards the nearest and held out his hand. "Bonjour, monsieur." Before he could reach him, the door of the farmhouse creaked open and a short fat woman waddled out. She stopped a few feet outside her door; grey hair tied in a bun, orange and brown swirls of her trouser suit (a symbol of the seventies) stretched over her middle, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. At the mention of Marie's name she nodded and beckoned us indoors. The twins continued to stare.

The kitchen was large, cluttered with mismatched cabinets, heavy oak sideboards and two big wooden dressers. Chickens strolled around the stone floor regardless while numerous cats slumped in every available space. I noticed Karl's eye roving over the furniture when we were interrupted by a rasping cough from the threadbare armchair in the corner. An old man, wearing grey underpants and a string vest was clutching a cigar in his claw-like hand. Behind him, alongside an ancient stove, Marie was stirring the contents of a large pan. She turned and gasped as she saw us.

Karl explained how Jean-Luc wasn't managing and needed her to be with him. Marie said nothing, but flung the wooden spoon onto the cluttered table, took off her apron and marched out through the door, without saying a word to her parents. The twins watched as Marie got into Karl's van and we dove off.

For once, I was relieved to hear the familiar tones of Muddy Waters as we made our way back down the track. During the journey Marie remained tight-lipped while Karl hummed tunelessly to the every song on the album.

Jean-Luc's face lit up at the sight of his wife while Bruno bounded over to Marie, leaping into her open arms. Hilda, meanwhile, stood her ground with glazed eyes fixed on the numbers around the dial of the kitchen clock.

Karl and I closed the kitchen door behind and left.

We called back to his place and had a couple of beers outside near the lake. Gary seemed happy, bossing the other geese and ducks around: King of the Pond!

PS: Wednesday 3rd September.

Woke up this morning to another dream about Pierre; the second one in the last two weeks. It makes me wonder if I should start plotting the follow-up to Amatore's Restaurant. Although I had planned to work on my historical novel (once I get all this marketing out of the way). More of this in my next blog post.

Friday 29th August: Contes d'Ankou‏

I was busy editing the last section of my interview this morning when Celine turned up. She had just been to care home in the area; interviewing the residents about Breton folklore, recording their stories from childhood.

While I made coffee she told me about the legend of Ankou who she dramatically described as the personification of death.

He appears as a tall, thin man wearing a long black coat and a wide-brimmed hat which covers his face. He has a cart pulled by two black horses; one young and strong, the other old and thin. Two skeletons walk behind, tossing souls into the back of the cart. Celine told me how many of the residents were familiar with a story of three friends who came across Ankou when they were on their way home after a night of drinking. Two of them threw stones at his cart, breaking the axle, then ran away, leaving the third friend to help fix the damage. Finding a branch he replaced the broken axle and gave Ankou his shoelaces to tie it to the cart. The following morning the two friends who had ran away were both found dead. The one who helped Ankou was alive, although his hair had turned white and he never spoke of the incident again.

Celine was animated as she recounted these stories and seemed moved by them.

I cut her a slice of my chocolate cake and that seemed to do the trick.

She went on to tell me about the Bugul Noz, a kind and gentle fairy spirit who lives in the woods of Brittany. However, due to his hideous appearance, he is a reclusive creature: so ugly even the woodland animals avoid him. I sensed Celine has a soft spot for this spirit. She showed me a book about Breton fairy and folk tales which she'd found at a market for only two Euros. She left the book with me to look at.

Pepin came bounding in and persuaded Celine to donate half her slice of the cake (He really is a greedy dog). Benjamin and Maggie also came knocking on the door. I was about to tell them the couldn't come in as I'd put down ant powder everywhere but - too late - Celine said invited them in (she's far too soft). She'd been on the beach at Ty Bihan early this morning and showed them the bag of sea glass she'd collected. There were all different shapes and sizes, mainly blues and greens. She's really after reds and purples.

I made pasta with tuna and salad for dinner and Celine left at about eight. (Still haven't got the edit of my interview finished!) 

Tuesday 26th August: Un Enlèvement

Went with Karl to pick up a bureau from a house clearance just outside Quimper. The house was owned by an elderly lady who'd recently died and her son met us and also showed us a mahogany sideboard which he asked if we would like to take at no extra cost.

Karl seemed happy to take it and sang tunelessly to John Lee Hooker all the way back. He dug out a CD of SeasickSteve which his daughter (who lives in Munich) sent him and asked me what I thought. I said the album is similar to J J Kale; a thoughtful choice, adding that the photo of artist also has a resemblance to himself: Karl wasn't impressed. I told him about Jean-Luc and Hilda (the magic cow), suggesting we call in on the way back. 

When we arrived, the farm had a desolate air about it. I thought it unlikely that Marie had returned from her mother's. The front door was locked and bolted which was odd as, on my last visit, I remembered it being open. Jean-Luc peered at us through the crack in the door and told us to hurry as he ushered us in.

The kitchen stank: a stale musty smell fused with an aroma of cowpat and body odour. The floor was scattered with hay and half-chewed corn cobs, swarms of flies darted around the dishes piled up in the stone sink, and cups of untouched coffee had been abandoned around the room, some starting to gather a layer of green mould.

Hilda didn't budge when we entered, but stood gazing placidly at Jean-Luc whilst Bruno sulked behind the threadbare armchair. Worst of all was Jean-Luc; dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes, his skin a deathly pale. He beard was a straggly mess and his hair stood up in tufts. He told us that two nights ago he had been woken at about three in the morning by loud whispers coming from the kitchen. He crept downstairs and discovered two of Marie's brothers, "Imbéciles stupides!" were attempting to lead Hilda out through the front door. He chased them away claiming they were trying to kidnap her. We said nothing to this. Karl filled up the sink and started to wash up the dishes and I collected up the coffee cups whilst Jean-Luc ranted on, calling Marie a traitor because she must have given her key to her brothers. He said he'd phoned her earlier that day, trying to convince her of Hilda's powers.

Karl suggested that perhaps the brothers had made their kidnap attempt so that Marie could return home. Jean-Luc considered this, but dismissed the idea. He shook his head vigorously. "They have always been jealous. They are ignorant peasants!"

We tried to reason with him, telling him he must put Hilda back in the field, but he was paranoid about another kidnap attempt. He told us he has to keep the door bolted otherwise Marie will use her key and try to snatch Hilda away.

Karl searched the cupboards and fridge: no food in the house. Jean-Luc asked him to take some money from a jar near the sink to buy milk and bread. He then pulled out a tattered piece of paper from his pocket and showed us a list of numbers he'd written down, insisting Hilda had told him the numbers. He folded the paper carefully, handed it to Karl, and asked him to buy a ticket for next week's lottery. Karl was reluctant but Jean-Luc pleaded with him, saying he could no longer leave the farm. The man was close to tears so we agreed, but only on condition that Jean-Luc attempts to clean the kitchen and speak to Marie.

Karl stopped for a coffee when we got to my place and we both agreed that Marie has to return and Hilda has to go. The problem is, how to convince Jean-Luc.

Friday 22nd August: Gig en terrace.

I decided to stay in today and get some work done. I spent some time looking at other author's accounts on Amazon, I just can't understand how some of them have thousands of reviews. How on earth do they get so many?

Pepin came bounding into the cottage this morning, followed by Solange, calling his name. Had to laugh at the expression on his face when he saw her -- he's in love with her!

"He has, how you say, a girlfriend! We get him to be father for baby dogs," she laughed.

I told her about Laura's cat, Buzz, who's supposedly been neutered, but humps her old teddy bear at lease once every hour. The teddy bear greets him with open arms and a fixed grin! (I think some of my Franglais was lost on Solange as she seemed a bit confused).

The gig with Rodrigo went well last night. We played on the terrace of a very nice hotel near Dinan. The place was packed. During our break I told Rodrigo what happened at the restaurant in Carnac.

He said I shouldn't go back there. He told me about the accordion player and the singer who play each Saturday at the campsite restaurant. The only people who seem to enjoy their performance are the campsite owners and their family who turn up each week. Rodrigo imitated them by linking arms and dancing around. He kicked his legs and placed his hands on his hips, swaying from side to side; "They are Louco!".

Rodrigo has classic Brazilian looks which attract a lot of attention from admirers. I pointed out that a couple of women at one of the tables had been gazing at him throughout our playing. He started to get worried and asked me, if they should come over, to tell them he's gay. This has happened before and it's so funny when he puts on his camp act: so hard to keep a straight face.

A few of the guests came up and asked about the pieces we played. A very nice couple from Arlington in Massachusetts came over. It was their first visit to France, to celebrate their 25th Wedding Anniversary and asked for a request (normally this would be difficult to oblige as all our music is rehearsed beforehand). However, they happened to ask for TheGirl from Ipanema which is an easy one for us to do. We were about to play it when someone else came up with another request: The Girl from Ipanema, would you believe it! So we ended the evening like heros. 

Tuesday 19th August: Yellow Roosters‏

Had my three-month appointment at the Dermatology Department in Vannes this morning. Arranged to go round to Celine's afterwards. I told her about my Bullous Pemphigoid and said if she wants to see what it looks like she should have a look at my video on YouTube. Just like everyone else, she's never heard of it.

Her little cottage is packed with so many interesting things. She has an old oak dresser filled with Quimper pottery which she inherited from her grandmother . She showed me how the pieces are all signed by HB Henriot. They're so distinctive, particularly the design with the yellow rooster on several of the plates and bowls.

She has saucers filled with sea glass and assorted seashells lying around. She told me there are five beaches near Carnac, the largest is Carnac Plage but the best for collecting are the smallest, Ty Bihan and Legenese. 

I asked her about her stamps and had a look through the albums whilst she was making us coffee. She has an interesting collection, mainly from the former French colonies (although I was horrified at the way the stamps were all crammed between the pages!) When I asked if she'd been to any stamp fairs, she told me not since she'd had a bad experience with one of the dealers. He wouldn't leave her alone; kept texting and turning up at the cottage. I asked how she rid of him. She explained that her brother had been staying at the time and answered the door, pretending to be her boyfriend. "That made to stop him!" Celine laughed.

She made some more coffee and brought a tray of gelettes (Breton shortbread biscuits) into the lounge. Napoleon was snoozing on the sofa. It was so peaceful.

I decided to tell her about Adele. I explained how I'd had a brief relationship with her which all started off well but after a few weeks became increasingly concerned at her possessive and controlling behaviour. Having learnt how vengeful Adele was about her previous break-ups, I decided the best tactic was to find ways to put her off me. This seemed to work and we finished the relationship a few months ago. I didn't go into more details at this stage, but told Celine how Adele turned up the other day at the cafe-bar in my village and spoke to me as if nothing had changed.

"It is simple, non? You must tell her your true feelings. You must be direct!"

I admitted that I've never found confrontation easy.

Later, as I got up to leave I noticed a set of three framed pen and ink prints on the wall. They all depicted beautiful elf-like characters with long flowing hair. The first picture showed one of these creatures peering from behind a fountain, the second showed another sitting near a tree combing her hair, and the third was was of one perched on top of a Dolmen (similar to the standing stones at Carnac).

Celine told me these creatures are called Korrigans; French spirits from Breton mythology. They have red flashing eyes and, similar to mermaids, they haunt fountains and wells singing and combing their long hair. At Halloween they hide near Dolmens and lay in wait for victims.

"I'd better be going before it gets dark," I laughed.

Celine smiled. "My Grandmother used to tell me tales of them when I was a little girl. If I was naughty she warned that the Korrigans would get me. But I was always good !"

Celine told me they are from pages of a book she found at a market in Dinan, around the time she was researching the subject. She said that, although she disapproves of plates being torn out of old books, she couldn't resist framing them.

Glad I told her about Adele. It's good to have a sympathetic listener.