Maureen left on the night train to Paris on Wednesday 15 January for her flight to Perth on the morning of the 16^th and so the long (ten week) bachelorhood began. A routine began to emerge as the cold of winter settled around the boat and some evidence of ice forming on the port surface began to appear. Waking later with the sun and doing routine chores on the boat occupied most mornings, while the afternoons were dedicated to writing or exploring local towns.

I joined the local church choir, as much for contact and the chance to practice French as for the singing, which is mostly in unison. The choir adopted me after realising that I was capable of holding a tune, reasonably quick to learn the very different hymns and psalms of the French Catholic church. I have not been asked what faith I am and the fact that I do not take the mass wafer does not seem to phase the choir members or the Cure (priest). Maybe they suspect that I am a lapsed Anglican.

My second choir practice was a highlight as the self appointed leader of the choir, a middle aged man with a commanding voice, had taken to directing the practices, much to the frustration of the Cure - who, I suspect, is a bit of a control freak. After telling us to change the phrasing of the start of a particular hymn, the >leader= was assailed by the Cure in a torrent of virulent French - some pretty fruity phrases being used. There ensued a loud argument which ended with the >leader= and his wife, departing in a state of ruffled dignity. A subdued discussion followed among the rest of the choir but none were willing to take the Cure on and to point out the very valuable contribution the departed two made to the choir. Some weeks later and the two had nor re-appeared, so I assume that is the end of the matter.

The choir practice is interesting from another point. The diocese issues the printed order of service pamphlets which include the lessons and hymns. The practice regularly sees the order being dramatically changed for the preferences of the local folks. Its no wonder I could not follow the services before I joined the choir.

Another form of music was required for I felt I could not get through the whole of the five months of winter without some live music. Sensing that in a town the size of Montauban there must be some live music, I took my query to the Tourist Office and was directed to >Le Barfly= a bar / restaurant on the perimeter of the central part of town. Here, on Friday and Saturday nights, real musicians play and sing. There is no cover charge and the drinks are only minimally inflated in cost to cover the music so the only real downer of the deal is that inevitably the place is full of the particularly cloying French cigarette smoke which needs to be washed out of one=s clothes the next day. The upside of the deal is that the music is pretty good, varied and the place another chance to meet the locals.

It was at Barfly that I met Laurent. A 30 something guy who mistook me for the father of a couple of girls he had his roving eye on, he rapidly lost interest in them when he found out I was Australian and had a boat at Montech.

Laurent spends half each year in Thailand and Cambodia, picking up latex mouldings of the local gods statues which he brings back to his parents farm near Montech to turn into concrete garden ornaments. These he executes with some flair and sells through a number of local >jardinieres=. He is also a >decorator= who is used often (when in France) to decorate Expo displays, having worked on some major expositions in France, Germany and Spain, including the release of a new Airbus aeroplane a couple of years ago.

Laurent=s parents are retired but still operating their timber farm which Laurent is supposed to be assisting with. His father, a 60 something, gentle, white haired gent, is more like a University professor of philosophy than a farmer and his mother, of Italian stock, a small, bird-like creature who cooks a mean dejeuner. I found this out since Laurent invited me to lunch with them before he left for his current sojourn in Thailand.

My other >playmates= - Val and Rolly the Kiwis and Judy and Barry the Canadian and British couple, have all taken to travelling during this period so we get together at odd times when they return to check their boats. Rolly and Val are based in Castelsarrasin while Barry and Judy are further away in Valence d=Agen. The other couple I have some contact with are Andre and Cathy, the owner / operators of >Cathy= the converted hire boat that is now a tourist day tripper boat out of the port of Montech.

The two boats that operate here - Cathy and Pente d=Eau are about to be joined by a fleet of hire boats. My contact at the Mairie, Mr Dumas, has informed me that Nicholls Hire Boats are moving in here on March with 9 or 10 hire boats. They will take over the operation of the port as well I am led to believe but our contact will remain with the Mairie.

And so time rolled on with the routine taking is such mundane occurrences as taking on new batteries, more red fuel (the untaxed version of gasoline), shopping for rope and other boat parts, getting pump kits sent from Ireland and visiting the Airbus Industrie plant in Toulouse.

Airbus is the constructor of the A3xx aircraft that are now enjoying up to 50% of world demand for aircraft since they have consistently taken a more innovative approach to their designs. Parts of the planes are manufactured in the various countries that have an interest in the parent company. They include France, the UK, Germany and Spain. A guppy like transport aircraft fleet is used to ferry the parts, including wings, fuselage sections, tail assemblies etc into Toulouse where they are painstakingly assembled to make completed aircraft.

The tour is about 2 2 hours and is pretty boring as it is all in French and consists of a bus ride through the grounds, a video about the planes, and a narrative while on the fourth floor balcony inside the assembly hangar for the A340. If you are lucky and arrive for your appointment on a special day, you may also be able to visit Concorde 001, now firmly on the ground and the nearby aircraft museum. The days for those visits are definitely not in February.

Getting a bit bored with my surroundings after 5 weeks of winter single living, I decided I would take a few more distant side trips.

I really only meant to check out Bordeaux and Castets and possibly the west coast a bit but ended up a week in and around Bordeaux, Cognac and La Rochelle and then when I got back, the weather was lousy, the car had performed brilliant during the Bordeaux trip and the weather reports looked better south, so I went south. I meant to only go for a day or so but ended up in Barcelona and a few other little Spanish sea side towns, so stayed away a bit longer. This time of the year, if you can find a hotel open (most are closed till Easter), they are cheap and include breakfasts or even for a few extra Euros - full board. That cuts down the costs quite a bit and while I felt a bit guilty spending some money on myself, I overcame the feeling and enjoyed myself.

Bordeaux - big (very big), ugly (since they are renewing the whole of the river front which is the whole of the town), and very unwelcoming for boats like ours.

The river is big, muddy and VERY tidal, and in the centre of town there are a few commercial floating pontoons but nothing for the pleasure boater. There is a marina / port which was built for and used by the German submarines during the war where they built a huge concrete bunker which the Allies could not even dent with aerial bombing. This port is accessed only at high tide - so you have to be there and waiting an hour before high tide to get in, and since you have a 5 hour trip from Castets bringing the tide down, I'm not sure how you would be there at the right time. When you get there the port is old, decrepit, full of rubbish and old boats. There are also a few laid up commercial barges in a separate area, right over the other side of the marina, away from the town.

The marina itself is some 2-3 km from the town centre - although where the city centre is exactly is anyone's guess. The city is the fourth or fifth largest in France and it seems that all the French cars are there. It is impossible to park anywhere except expensive and hard to find parking buildings which are sparse. The 'attractions' are spread out throughout this big, traffic laden city and so, hard to access. For my money, Bordeaux is a big no-no.

The river front is perhaps 5km long and in complete turmoil and will continue to be as they rebuild it in its entirety, until 2006 or so. This screws up the whole traffic for the city as it extends the length of it. I fought the traffic for a day, found the marina, checked out some ships chandlers, looked for a tourist friendly area and hotel, thought the better of staying for an extended time and proceeded to the La Rochelle area.

La Rochelle - entirely different. This is a tourist town built around an ancient fortified port, much of which remains and is now home to visiting boats (from the sea with no connection to the canals unfortunately) and to some commercial tour boats. There is a 'new port' and a 'new fishing port' to the north west of the old town so the central area is left tranquil and is now filled with restaurants, bars and hotels. The 2 star cheapies I found were charging as much or more as the three star 'best in town' hotel which boasted a great central location and a lift. I managed a deal based on the number of nights, no bath, a shower and WC only, and the fact that they were doing renovations (so it was noisy during the day) that ended up being very cheap and very comfortable. The hotel Jean d=Acre was a great base to explore the local area.

Again, the Germans built sub pens in La Rochelle, in what is the >new= commercial port and there they remain. I don't know what they will eventually do with them as they appear indestructible and certainly were during WWII. I went up to the new port as the chandlers in town did not carry big ropes and found a substitute to our current mooring lines at a reasonable cost. I spent some days in this area, visiting the local towns, looking for the old canals I had been told about. Found a few bits and pieces of waterways - especially at Cognac. The river / canal system is pretty run down as are the hire boats that are lying around waiting for the season to re-commence. Cognac was closed till the first of March and therefore I missed tasting the brandies. I went to 3 of the big names, only to be told that at number one I didn't have an appointment, # 2 not open at all and # 3 come back on 1^st of March with a reservation.

The countryside is quite pretty but no better than around Montech and busier, with trucks going to and from the vineyards to the distilleries and towns.

Back to La Rochelle. Three defensive towers dominate the skyline and were the way the English warships of the 17^th century and later were kept out of the town. You buy a ticket to visit all three and the German lady guide said, they are good for three days and each tower should take thirty minutes or so - but I=m sure I will see you back here in 8 minutes ! She thought this was a great joke and laughed her head off. I thought she should have been a bit more enthusiastic about her employment. Anyway, I took much longer, as one had been used a prison for (mostly) English privateers. In the 17^th and 18^th centuries, if you wanted to supply your own ship and work for the government you could get a 'letter of marque' that qualified you to legally prey on enemy ships. However, you had to share the spoils of war with the government. If you didn't want to share your prizes and you therefore had no letter of marque, you were a pirate. Captured privateers were held as prisoners of war while pirates were executed.

Many of the prisoners carved their names and pictures of their ships into the stone walls of their tower prison and these have been preserved for the tourists, some of whom have added their own graffiti to them ! The two towers on either side of the tiny harbour entrance had a chain which was pulled up from the bottom of the channel to stop enemy ships getting in to damage or steal French shipping. Now, there are many British (and other nation=s) yachts, all being fleeced (presumably) by the French.

The hotel (Jean d'Acre) is right on the waterfront, and while my cheapie small room at the back had no view, it is a pretty place to be and fun at nights, as the restaurants and bars fill up with early season tourists and locals who work in the tourist trade. Behind the port is a lovely old town area worth many strolls. Lots of yummy cheap food shops to fill up on instead of three course, restaurant meals.

The car performed really well, purring along the country roads as well as the Autoroute, which gave me a great feeling of security, so I headed into the countryside and off to the Isle de Re. Connected by a causeway similar to the one to Garden Island, the Isle de Re is a tourist island with some farming squeezed in between the camping areas and beaches. It has a couple of VERY pretty little ex-fishing villages (St Martin the principal one). There are still small fishing smacks that go out daily, some for the local restaurants and some to take avid fishermen. The island is some 15km long and in parts just like Rottnest, in others like the surrounding farmland. There are forts on the island since it forms an outer defence for La Rochelle from both sea borne enemies and the sea itself. The sea during the several days I was there was very placid.

The island and other towns north and south of La Rochelle are where people go to swim, since at La Rochelle itself there is only one tiny beach about 150 metres long and right near the entrance to the outer port area at which stands the 'French Sailing School' with its large numbers of small and smaller dinghies. The Marina on the other side of the port, and some 3-4 km by car, houses the fleets of ocean racing yachts and cruisers from all ports of the world. This is a serious sailing centre of the world with an amazing array of powerful ocean racers.

While the weather was infinitely better than at Montech when I left, it was still not hot enough to swim so I didn't see any Bridget Bardot look alikes sunning their entire bodies on the beaches. Mostly, the tourists at this time of the year are the older folks. It=s like they empty out the retirement homes onto tour busses and send them off to the country. That's not bad however since if you see where they are staying and follow them there you find good hotels with very good off season deals.

There were of course other people around, including Russell Wilson and his son from Perth Western Australia. He operates the Fast Ferries from Hillary's Harbour and was over in France to check up on some new engines which he buys from a local La Rochelle Company. It also gives him a chance to visit France and get the government to foot part of the bill. I don't know how he manages to get away during summer in WA though - I would have thought it would have been better to come in the WA winter. He was however, having a VERY good time tasting the local food and wine.

The area is great for seafood and surprisingly - Paella - which with Moules Frites, is on just about every menu. Good and cheap food, washed down with flavoursome local wines.

I went back to Montech through Bordeaux to check that I had not been too harsh on that great city but was disappointed again. It=s not a town I would recommend, there are too many hassles there and not enough to enjoy - by comparison with the much more accessible enjoyments in the smaller towns and cities east, west, north and south.

This part of Europe is easy to access, with autoroutes connecting the major areas and good departmental highways linking in the best tourist places. Getting from (say) Montech to Bordeaux, about 200km, takes much less than 2 hours and costs about 20 Euros in tolls.

I returned on the autoroute and nervously checked everything on the boat, which I had left locked up and with the electric heater warming the engine room and the central heating set on 12 degrees to ensure neither froze and broke pipes. Since the weather had warmed considerably it was apparent that the heating precautions were not necessary, the boat was still afloat, power was still operating fine and the batteries working to peak performance.

The water pump - always noisy, grew noisier and then stopped. Checking, it was obvious that the problem was terminal and I happily changed it for the spare I had bought from the Shell fuel barge in Maastricht 18 months earlier. The pump noise, which we had endured for 18 months, almost completely disappeared with the new pump, which is far more efficient and has also eliminated the endless clicking sounds as it re-charges the pressure cylinder. Happiness ! Unfortunately, now that the weather has warmed up, my use of fuel has reduced and the 400 litres of red fuel seems to be taking a very long time to be used. Hopefully we will not be inspected early in the season as there will likely still be a fair amount of 'red' fuel in the system. This is the untaxed version, not to be used for propulsion.

The day after I arrived back - carefully planned to fit in with choir duties and practices, the weather went south - turning to rain and quite a bit of wind. As I had such a good time travelling I decided, rashly, to venture forth again. This time south I thought to see where the roads take me - perhaps to the border to get my passport stamped in case of driving license problems. (You are supposed to get a French license within a year of entry to the country).

The distances between cities and countries look large on the maps but when you get into the rhythm of driving on the autoroute, they shrink quite rapidly, and I soon realised that I could easily make the Spanish border after reaching Narbonne about an hour and a half after leaving Toulouse. I wanted to get off the big roads and look for Don Quixote's towns so I left the system shortly after arriving in Spain for a small road that pointed towards the coast.

The France Lonely Planet guide (I had not even taken the Western Europe book since I had not thought I would go that far) only extended a small way into the border area of France and Spain so it was not too useful and I found myself on a road filled on both sides with furniture factories and other manufacturing companies. After about an hour however I arrived at Roses, a HUGE tourist town on the coast. Lots of very large (Surfers Paradise like) hotels grouped together around the bay looking very forbidding and expensive. I kept going and found on the other side of this large bay a smaller centre that was much older in architecture and scale. It boasted 2 star tourist hotels - cheaper than France - and I selected one on the waterfront before venturing out into their Carnavale.

It seems that at this time of the year, all the tourist towns (and others) celebrate Carnavale - which I guess must be linked to a religious basis. It meant lots of wildly dressed locals partying with very loud music in the streets. This led to fun in and with the crowds, a few beers, a few Sangrias and - of course - Paella.

Here again are fortified town buildings, and in Roses the fort, very large, is quite overgrown with its walls quite broken down but easily seen and walked over. The main road stretches around the bay, which has a number of big breakwaters and a brownish, gritty sand. There are lots of hotels and restaurants. The place must be a zoo in the summer, especially since their road network was never built to handle it.

The road leading out winds precariously along the cliff sided coast for some 40km to Tossa de Mar, a beautiful sea side village that was only accessible from the sea until the late 1800s when a road was finally established through the mountains behind it. It was a centre of cork production and a trading town with sea routes as far as America. Tossa was also prey to pirates and opposing naval fleets and so was fortified by a canon encrusted fortress on its precipitous cliffs.

Most of the town was closed - even the bars that were open were closed. I wanted to watch the sunset from one and was told 'no drinks - closed' by the shapely but sour femme guarding the bar. She seemed to have changed her mind some 10 minutes later however when 6 young French men came by for a drink. They had no trouble getting them. That didn't unduly worry me however as there was another bar right next door where the man was keen to sell me a jug of sangria. Besides - this is seaside Spain right. Hasta less fasta.

I tried a half dozen hotels in Tossa and finally found the one used by the oldies tour company, a big hotel with very good facilities and with undercover parking (free) and full board for 3 euros more than the room cost. That took care of dinner and breakfast and I got a reduction on the cost since I didn't want lunches. The food was cafeteria style stodge but hey - it was cheap and filling and quick.

There are a few little fishing boats in this charming little town. These are pretty and obviously a local design, and, after catching enough for the restaurants they serve they use winches to return up the steep, gritty beach. This practice, steeped in tradition, plus the tiny size of the waterfront, the medieval fort and charming sea-side atmosphere, made the place a great find, being equal with La Rochelle and its Ile de Re. Being now only a hundred kilometres from Barcelona, I could hardly not go on to see what everyone finds so entrancing there, so I took a day trip there and back from Tossa. With the ever present autoroute, it=s easy and quick to get places. When you arrive in the bigger towns however it is often a different thing to find your way around and to be able to stop, park and explore the local sights.

The three major sights of Barcelona for me were the Temple de Familia Sagrada - the rather weird looking cathedral building started in the early 1900s (and still under construction), the port area and its Marina, and La Rambla - the pedestrian mall through the heart of the city.

Exiting the autoroute in the city, you can see the towering spires of the Temple and following the one way street system it is not too difficult to get close to it. There are a number of small parking stations nearby, so it was not too hard to get to see that attraction. It really is a construction site with good explanations about the way the design came about, the architect (now dead) and the future plans for completion. There are credit card donation machines littered throughout the building, which is still very much open to the elements, and huge cranes and construction things happening under, over and around the visitors. I had to think that it might just be a big money trap with a few actors pretending to be construction workers. I have no idea when they hope to finish the thing but it is very impressive.

Next, follow the one way streets down to the waterfront and find another parking station near the Marina, having circumscribed the zoo and other large and impressive public buildings. This area is a magnet to all and sundry as it is a bit like Sydney's re built port area behind the Rocks. Big walkways that float on the tidal sea water carry wandering tourists and locals to the shops and restaurants found there. Big, Australian-built car ferries loading and departing for African and other European ports are here mingled with yachts and all kinds of other boats, all being observed by innumerable tourists and office workers on their lunch break.

Right on the waterfront are the big, old, port buildings, Customs, Bourse, Port Administration, all in fine condition and overlooked by the man (unnamed) on a tall plinth as a memorial to the discovery of America. Vasco Magellan Amerigo whoever. Strangely there appeared to be no name on the plinth - just lots of Spanish declaiming the act of finding the Country.

Behind the marina area, across a 6 lane waterfront main road is La Rambla, the wide boulevarde exclusive to the use of pedestrians. This is predictably lined with hotels, restaurants, tourist shops, bars and is thronged with legal and illegal street vendors. Artists doing portraits and selling small watercolours, people acting as statues and men hiding a pea under three match box lids, trying to trick the tourists. One sharp eyed girl kept following one pea game trickster and beating him each time she played. He kept moving on trying to shake her off and she kept following and winning. He gave up when he went broke.

Lots of young backpackers and lots of different languages in this area. The traffic is more manageable, the sights more accessible and the outlook more serene. However, I felt I had seen enough of Barcelona during the day and wanted to get back to Tossa before heading back to France, which I did. The trip back was uneventful and since it was Thursday I came straight back for the choir practice that night.

Only one annoyance and one little problem with the car. The little plastic mud flap under the right front has come adrift again (and should be fixable with a plastic tie), but the passenger window has stopped working. The car used a little oil on the trip (less than a litre) and I guess the local mechanic should be able to fix the window - I'll find out.

In between trips further abroad, a sign indicated that there was to be a Fiesta at St Pierre de la Grave. Worth a look I thought, so off I went to investigate. St Pierre de la Grave is a town steeped in history as it is a place where Richard the Lionheart stayed on his way back to England after one of his crusades. The building in which he made his stay still stands and is now a proud monument to the fact. It was in the shadow of this imposing, tower bedecked building that the Fiesta was in full swing.

Many decorated tractors pulled floats of every level of sophistication through the streets of the town. They were hemmed in by the enthusiastic crowd, jostling between the parade and the gaudy side-show alley booths of shooting galleries and food stalls. The crowd were in the act as much as the paraders as they wore every imaginable costume and by 3.00 in the afternoon, were well into the lubricating liquids.

The day was overcast and cool so I headed off to the town=s large basketball stadium from where loud music could be heard. A brass band, of the kind that officiates at bull fights, was in full voice, accompanying a group of bored looking female line dancers. This was boot scooting with a difference - French style. The girls, ranging from 12 to 70, carried a scarf in one hand and castanets in the other. They whirled and twirled and beat their rhythms and waved their scarves - all looking entirely somewhere else. The band was into the event in a big way however and the whole atmosphere was loud, energetic and entirely appropriate. On the side of the stadium was a bar which had attracted a large crowd of enthusiastic patrons and, no doubt buoyed up by the singing syrup dispensed there, a couple of brown leotard clad girls danced, arm in arm, becoming more and more enamoured of each other and familiar with each other=s bodies.

Outside the side-show people plied their trade on the onlookers. The usual range of suspects were there. Fairy floss, sugared peanuts, shooting galleries, fishing tanks, ball throwing, crepes, french fries and rides of every description, all in a noisy, fun filled atmosphere. I tried a number of new items - like the deep fried batter cakes and retired to Van Nelle at Montech as the night was drawing in and the temperature dropping like the barflies.

A number of the choir personalities had recommended a trip to Lourdes, only 170 kilometres away and so after church on Sunday I took off for a look. Getting there is easy down a good departmental road which, at lunch time Sunday, was relatively quiet. A number of interesting towns like Auch and Tarbes are met along the way. Auch is especially historic with a large church and religious buildings imposing on the hill. The old town is well preserved for walking around and a slow river meanders through the centre with artists under sun shades making portraits of it.

Less than two hours from Montech and you arrive in Lourdes, city of the 9 apparitions of the Virgin appearing before an uneducated young girl in a grotto on the bank of the fast flowing river that bisects the town. Bernadette Soubirous, later Saint Bernadette, saw the visions when a teenager and under examination from the Catholic church, convinced them the visitations were real. Since then a number of miraculous cures have been attested to which seem to have petered out in the 1970s.

St Bernadette found a spring in the grotto (now preserved under armoured glass), the water from which is supposed to have healing powers as well. You can bathe in it at the 17 baths just next to the grotto, or you can fill water bottles and take it home for later. The many, very tacky tourist souvenir shops lining the roads leading to the grotto, sell every conceivable shape and size of receptacle for the water - including very tasteful bottles shaped like the Madonna..... ! They also sell every known variation of postcard, medallion, decoration and trinket, all emblazoned with the town or the Saint=s name and with pictures of the vision, the grotto and the other attractions of the town.

The town, on the whole, is very commercial and tacky, and difficult to take seriously. There are over 350 hotels in the area of the town, more than in any town outside Paris. There must be that many souvenir shops, even >authentic souvenir shops= inside the grand grotto area. As is pointed out, many people spend life savings to attend this place, walk through the grotto (a small niche in the side of the hill), to worship at the many church services in the many chapels and churches, and to take part in torch light processions during the season.

Fortunately March is outside the >season= so the place was easy to navigate by car, finding a cheap hotel room was easy and parking right near the grotto, possible. I cannot imagine what it is like in the height of summer.

From various vantage points in the town can be seen the snow covered peaks of the Pyrenees mountain chain that separates France from Spain. The snow fields beckon from a distance of only 30 - 50 kilometres and so after a day and a half investigating the power and religious interest of Lourdes, I struck out for Cauteret, a small village noted for its snow areas.

Small was correct, Cauteret is about the size of an Australian Alpine village during the ski season. Pretty, old and still a half hour=s drive to the ski field - without traffic. In the rush hour during the morning I guessed it would take an hour or more to negotiate the steep, winding, mountain road to the parking area and ski lift buildings. Entry to the park was only i 2, which I thought was pretty reasonable.

I bought a ticket for the ski lift - another i 4, still reasonable I thought, and went on the 10 minute ride to the other end. Deposited on the track next to the cable car depot, I found a number of trails leading away into the rather steep looking terrain. The majority of users of this facility were on snow shoes or cross country skis so I surmised that Cauteret is not a great downhill ski field. Walking the various trails I ended up at chair lifts that were not operating and wondered where all the people were whose cars were in the car park outside.

I finally took the trail that led to the >Spanish Bridge=, a rather small and un-prepossessing structure that maybe once had led into Spain, and had a cup of tea at the restaurant there before walking out of the field and back to the car to re-trace my journey to Lourdes and then Montech.

I had a flash of inspiration while in Lourdes again and so bought a large water container, complete with printed picture of the Virgin. And filled it, plus the two 2 litre water bottle I keep in the car. The large container I delivered back to the Cure in Montech, the two water bottles I drink from while driving - well, it can=t hurt.

The next few days saw me start the long postponed work details, cleaning and painting, tidying up cables inside the boat and going through accumulated oddments to find appropriate storage for them. I still had quite a deal of firewood which was taking up space in the wheelhouse and now that the temperatures have risen considerably, I felt I=d better dispose of it. Somehow I managed to store it all in the fireplace, the woodbox and under the pot belly. The old, broken toaster finally got the heave ho and the winter insulation has come down. Black >boottopping= paint has been applied to the gunwales and white touch up paint to a few little scratches on the forward decks. The hull needs painting in parts but I need the dinghy in the water to do that and will wait for Maureen=s assistance to achieve that.

Saturday 15 March was the date for the celebration of St Patrick=s day in Montauban and a locally displayed poster indicated a grand Irish dinner and event was to be held that night. Why not I thought, so I called the number and booked a place for myself.

The Soiree was held in a huge Salle de Fete on the outskirts of the city centre and by 10 to 8 the cars already stretched well down both sides of the approach road. Fortunately there was a space not too far from the entrance and I eased the old Renault in and headed for the entrance. Yes, they had my reservation, were happy to take my money and point out that my seat allocation was on a grand plan inside the hall. It was. I was on >Aran= a county of Ireland, and after a false start I found the table. Down both sides of this huge ballroom were tables for 25 people, most already occupied. There was space for me between a couple of French girls and a family party. I introduced myself and made for the bar for a 50cl glass of Caffreys - Irish beer. The choice was that or Guinness.

Shortly after I arrived a group of young Irish musicians set themselves up in the centre of the room and proceeded to wow the crowd with a range of upbeat Irish tunes. The twelve members consisted of two violins, two guitars, two drums (Irish hand held version), two flutes, a lute (?) and a banjo and two squeeze boxes. The musicians were (I guessed) between 14 and 18 years old but were very, very good.

They were followed by a pretty ordinary French band playing 60s R&R and eventually they were replaced by Phil Fasan, a local Montauban country and western singer - very good but not a bit Irish. The young band came back on the main stage later to do another hour or so including a couple of Irish ballads and a dance bracket - very Lord of the Dance stuff.

Meanwhile the >Irish= repas was served. First course was smoked salmon, the plat principal - boeuf avec pomme de terre gateaux frit, and the final course a tarte pomme avec custard. Irish ???

Anyway, the food was quite good and the music also of good quality. One of the girls was celebrating a birthday so, after consuming a bottle of Frontonais (local red) that I supplied, we enjoyed a glass of Champagne on her - or should I say - from her.

During the >repas= another young couple had arrived and were mostly into each other until one of the two girls inquired as to who they were. The answer - she was French - from the area - and he, her fiancee, was Australian. Nathan hails from Geraldton WA no less and is a school teacher taking a year to travel. He met Ellen and they soon decided to marry. We chatted about boats and marriage and beautiful girls - and Ellen was certainly that - and exchanged addresses and phone numbers for a meeting some time in the future.

I left just after 12.00 as the music was becoming repetitive and no one wanted to dance since a very large group of local bootscooters had taken over the dance floor. They were also very good but not a bit Irish. Apparently the reason for the soiree was that a number of Irish had settled in the area around Montauban at some time and the connection is quite strong.

Sunday 16 March had me rushing off to sing in the church choir before driving to nearby Castelsarrasin to join New Zealand couple, Rolly and Val, for lunch on a glorious sunny day. Oysters and Oeufs, salads, breads, gateaux and rose and white wines.

I had done a bit of the black boot-topping around the boat at the end of the previous week and settled into a bit more paint repair on Monday before driving off to find a vineyard that I had not been able to re-discover after French mate Laurent took me there weeks before. I finally found it with the help of the local post office - actually the two men in the queue behind me rather than the post people who had no idea. Getting >misplaced= again on the way there I stopped at a small farm. The lady did not know but her husband jumped into his little van and led me right there - some 8kn away.

The vigneron and he knew each other so a spirited wine tasting followed as I was led through every one of their last three year=s wines - including his amazingly good private bin, which I was unfortunately not able to buy. I did however come away with 18 bottles of a mixture of 1999, 2000 and 2001 wines. Excellent value at Euro 50 the lot - about $ 3 each. They are a mixture of Cab Sauv, Shiraz and Sauvignon blanc and are very good wines, currently under threat by the thought of putting an airport right in the middle of the vineyards.

Monsieur Dumas from the Mairie turned up at 9.00am to decide where I should re-locate Van Nelle for the balance of the month since the boat hire company, Nicholls, and the owner of the mooring I am on, both arrive this week. We decided to put the boat on the end of two passarelles at the other end of the port, right next to our friends Andre and Cathy. I will move on Tuesday with the assistance of Andre on shore to take the lines. He and Cathy are invited for dinner with Val and Rolly on Wednesday so it will be an interesting week.