.
We've been away for a few days in northern France and away from 'Bronco' Brown and his crew, government plans that suggest every one of us should have a criminal records check, the dire financial situation, the possibility that the EU may introduce a European income tax and all the other nonsenses going on at the moment.
We've been staying in a gîte in the little village of Beussent, around thirty miles south of Calais and tucked away in a lovely tree-lined valley not far from the walled town of Montreuil, and so situated that you might think you were a world away from the hustle and bustle of our usual lives. Which is how it should be when one is on holiday.
One of the things that I enjoy most of all is peace and quiet, and that is exactly what we can expect from our favourite gîte (see www.clubhousegites.com) which is tucked away in a lane just around the corner from the old mill through which races the local river in which can occasionally be seen cranes and herons. A short distance away is the village church and the bar with its most excellent gourmet restaurant, ‘Restaurant Lignier’.
So why am I telling you this and making what seems to be a blatant advertisement? It is because of what happened this morning.
What happened this morning? The answer is absolutely nothing.
Therein lies the beauty of life in Beussent and, as the Americans are fond of saying, I'd like to share it with you.
The gîtes have a no-smoking policy (which is fair enough) and, because I like my reviving cup of coffee and a cigarette first thing in the morning, I take them outside the apartment and settle for a while in total tranquillity and away from the light and noise pollution of where we live.
Until the street lights flicker into life at six-thirty, the outside world is completely dark and the only light is that of a light dimly shining a quarter of a mile away by the village church. Above, the stars shine brightly in a cloudless sky, and a satellite and the strobe lights of a passing, soundless plane can be seen among them.
Over the way, up and behind the church, in a forest ablaze with its russet fall colours where boar are said to roam among the fallen chestnuts and walnuts can be heard the owls gently hooting to each other. Except for the owls the world at that time is completely soundless, unlike where we live in Essex where the background noise is most often the wailing of emergency vehicles tearing along the nearby main road.
But, here in Beussent in the early morning, all is deafeningly quiet until a manic cockerel begins to proclaim the pending dawn and is joined by its competitors nearby. Not for a while yet do the other birds start chattering and the crows arguing, to be joined by the quacking of the ducks on the river. As dawn breaks I can see the cows in the field opposite the gîte busily and miraculously turning water and lush, green grass into milk.
The church bell tolling at six o'clock for morning mass seems to announce the start of the working day though, except for a passing car or the occasional tractor and trailer loaded with sugar beet, the world of Beussent remains a quiet and tranquil one. And, as I said before, that is just how I like it.
So I thought, as the Americans are fond of saying, I'd like to share this with you. If you want some peace and quiet in a place not too far removed from the various sights and sites of northern France, head for Beussent!
What a shame that just a few hours later I find myself back in noisy civilisation!
.
We've been away for a few days in northern France and away from 'Bronco' Brown and his crew, government plans that suggest every one of us should have a criminal records check, the dire financial situation, the possibility that the EU may introduce a European income tax and all the other nonsenses going on at the moment.
We've been staying in a gîte in the little village of Beussent, around thirty miles south of Calais and tucked away in a lovely tree-lined valley not far from the walled town of Montreuil, and so situated that you might think you were a world away from the hustle and bustle of our usual lives. Which is how it should be when one is on holiday.
One of the things that I enjoy most of all is peace and quiet, and that is exactly what we can expect from our favourite gîte (see www.clubhousegites.com) which is tucked away in a lane just around the corner from the old mill through which races the local river in which can occasionally be seen cranes and herons. A short distance away is the village church and the bar with its most excellent gourmet restaurant, ‘Restaurant Lignier’.
So why am I telling you this and making what seems to be a blatant advertisement? It is because of what happened this morning.
What happened this morning? The answer is absolutely nothing.
Therein lies the beauty of life in Beussent and, as the Americans are fond of saying, I'd like to share it with you.
The gîtes have a no-smoking policy (which is fair enough) and, because I like my reviving cup of coffee and a cigarette first thing in the morning, I take them outside the apartment and settle for a while in total tranquillity and away from the light and noise pollution of where we live.
Until the street lights flicker into life at six-thirty, the outside world is completely dark and the only light is that of a light dimly shining a quarter of a mile away by the village church. Above, the stars shine brightly in a cloudless sky, and a satellite and the strobe lights of a passing, soundless plane can be seen among them.
Over the way, up and behind the church, in a forest ablaze with its russet fall colours where boar are said to roam among the fallen chestnuts and walnuts can be heard the owls gently hooting to each other. Except for the owls the world at that time is completely soundless, unlike where we live in Essex where the background noise is most often the wailing of emergency vehicles tearing along the nearby main road.
But, here in Beussent in the early morning, all is deafeningly quiet until a manic cockerel begins to proclaim the pending dawn and is joined by its competitors nearby. Not for a while yet do the other birds start chattering and the crows arguing, to be joined by the quacking of the ducks on the river. As dawn breaks I can see the cows in the field opposite the gîte busily and miraculously turning water and lush, green grass into milk.
The church bell tolling at six o'clock for morning mass seems to announce the start of the working day though, except for a passing car or the occasional tractor and trailer loaded with sugar beet, the world of Beussent remains a quiet and tranquil one. And, as I said before, that is just how I like it.
So I thought, as the Americans are fond of saying, I'd like to share this with you. If you want some peace and quiet in a place not too far removed from the various sights and sites of northern France, head for Beussent!
What a shame that just a few hours later I find myself back in noisy civilisation!
.
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