As always, the last strip is the latest oneā¦
Meanwhile, in France, Winter Draws On..
Here in south-west France, the menace of winter is now a palpable subject of consideration. Daylight saving time has just ended and for the first time in many a long day, itās actually cold indoors. The locals are looking at their wood stores, a thoughtful Gauloise hanging on the collective bottom lip, gauging whether they have enough to see them through the hibernation period. If the woodpile is looking lacking, there will be money to be spent, and plenty of it.
Wood was once cheap but now, itās a toss-up between natureās sylvan provender in the burner or a dose of EDFās renewable energy in the radiators. Both are now so pricey that the government, feeling pity in these difficult times, gives us all a generous payout to help with the bills in winter.
And our abode, a capacious and airy three-storey townhouse in what was once the high street, built around the time of the Peninsula War when Bonaparte was rampantly going about Europe installing sewers everywhere (apparently), is especially frigid.
Houses here were built with a view to protecting people from the sun during summer. Even though about half the year it ranges between cold and Baltic, the good masons of the region saw fit to build accommodation rather like an old-fashioned ice box, with lumpen, thick walls and tiny windows, through which the troglodytic, sun-dried inhabitants could squint, ruminating in cool comfort on the parched scene outside.
Summers here can be unforgiving, I can attest. I have the complexion of an especially wan Irishman whose body simply canāt produce melanin at a rate sufficient to prevent third degree burns on a walk to the end of the garden on a summerās day. Over the last two years, for example, there have been three heatwaves during which the mercury rose to around 42 degrees, or around 108 degrees American. In such times I huddle away indoors, where our house does the job it was built for. Itās actually rather pleasant and we all lounge about in vests, with cold drinks on hand the whole time.
Now, though, itās different.
I tell people that in the summer, I live in a big house and in the winter, I live in a small house. If I tried to heat the whole place Iād be broke after one winter. There are four bedrooms big enough to put a kingsize bed in a corner and still have room to play table tennis, two generous bathrooms, a long and large kitchen and three corridors that you could play cricket in. A massive acreage with high ceilings. I dread to think what the cubic size of the place is but itās a lot to heat. Thereās plenty of modern insulation but I have to ask myself, āWhy pay to heat places that you spend no time in?ā Thatās a truly wasteful concept.
Back in England, our living space was about a sixth of what we have here. Thatās because we bought this place as a holiday home, so didnāt have to consider heating as winter visits would be few. This was a family asset, as we saw it, for the extended family to use whe the weather was good.
So, in our previous existence, back in England, the heating permeated the whole house and really didnāt cost much by comparison. I could swan about in a polo shirt and lounge pyjamas and be comfortable and snug from dawn ātil bedtime.
But not here. Not during winter.
And Iām not alone in this. Most British immigrants to France bought places that were far too big for their needs, mostly for the simple reason that we could. Thatās because a little box in a boring but pretty street in the UK costs around three to four times what a large and airy country house costs in rural France. You could sell a prefabricated lock-up garage in Cleethorpes and buy a three-bed country cottage with an acre of land in rural France. And all these British immigrants have to find a way to stay warm when winterās icy claw comes scrabbling at the door. I know one or two who stay in bed all day watching TV so as not to lose all their money on heating.
All of which means that in winter, I will be huddling away just as I do in the summer.
But this time, I have a secret weapon against the cold! Leona and I are going down to Portugal, to the Algarve, where itās around 20-25 degrees during the daytime throughout the winter. Iām not giving any dates away but itās going to be a nice break. Weāll drive down through Spain, stopping at San Sebastian and Salamanca and then at a town called Zafra, not far from Seville. From there, itās a few hours on the road to Lagos.
There, I will indeed be living in a small house during the winter but wonāt be heating it during the day. And that could well pay for the whole trip!
I usually leave you with a video about drawing but this time, itās a film about the town of Lagos, our retreat for the worst of the winter.