the view from my writing table

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Domaine de Tabary is built around a central courtyard. My apartment, the smallest is in one corner. The larger one next to mine is occupied by an English couple from Somerset who are staying here until the paperwork goes through on the house they are buying in the next village. They have a six year old boy, Alex, who is enrolled in the local school–no transition, just immediately plunged into a French classroom. He plays with French kids and seems to switch back and forth quite easily between English and French and is considerably more fluent in the latter than I am. His dad, Ian, is helping the owner of Tabary build a new room which, after I leave, will be part of Le Pigeonnier. The new room and my living room share a common front door, but so as not to wake me when he starts work each morning (usually long before I’m up) Ian climbs through the window of the new room, which at this point has no glass. “Should be a bit warmer for you once that’s put in,” he said.
Tomorrow night I’ve been invited to a get together with all the neighbors. “Nibbles and a bit of wine,” as Ian described it. 
Rain continues to bucket down interspersed with puffy clouds and enough sunshine to trick me into thinking I can walk into the village without an umbrella. Today though, I wasn’t fooled which was a good thing. “Fair old thunderstorm going on out there,” Ian called out, “Electricity will probably go out, I shouldn’t wonder.” After finally making some progress on the book, I asked a bit nervously about surge protectors. “Ah no,” he said, “I shouldn’t think there’ll be a problem.”
Storm has passed for now, but I’m not entirely convinced…

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By La vie en France

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