De trôp

Trip Start Jul 19, 2009
Trip End Oct 25, 2010

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Flag of France  , Aquitaine,
Sunday, July 10, 2011

For the first time in 4 months it is raining. 
It is pouring down and the farmers will be thanking god on their bare knees. 
For us however, it couldn't have come at a worse time. Today we are going to sell our junk at the vide greniers at Saint-Leon-sur-Vezere. Something we have been talking about for years. Every time, and that is quite often, we drag ourselves across yet another flea-market we always say we might as well cart our own surplus down here and make an extra bob instead of buying more things we don't need.
Bernadette, whose house looks like an anitque shop inside, decided it was high time for a clearance. She has just started to rent the place out and all the bric a brac is proving more of an inconvenience than an asset. The most precious and favourite pieces have been stored away, the dubious and chipped items are being loaded into her van and we are invited to throw in anything we would like to get rid of too.
Ah, now this is a sore point. Talking about it is one thing but actually deciding what must go is something else. The thing is, I can't do it. Everything has a story and even though it has been sitting in a box in the cellar for years, decades in some cases, and I have totally forgotten its existence, which is a more than valid reason for Peter to flog it, then still, the moment he pulls it up, looking at me questioningly, I go: No! No, not that, no. Followed by a plea that would soften anyone's heart: I found it at a special place, on a happy day, it was a gift from, it reminds me of ........etc etc.
Peter is an organized, tidy, no-nonsense kind of man. He appreciates beautiful things, unblemished, he is not one to lovingly trail a finger over a crack in an old vase just because one of the children once tried to stuff the cat in it. We have tried to cross this bridge many a time and it always ends up in a row. And Peter carrying the boxes back into the cellar, 'where it can all sit till the end of our days and then our children will throw it out,' he grumbles.

I decided the best I could do was let him and Mieke sort it out and just distance myself from it all. They turned it into a major project, ship loads of stuff went straight to the dechetterie (garbage), and neat piles of saleables  appeared. Still too much for Peter's liking who would have gladly chucked out the lot, but Mieke was totally enthused, picking up anything and everything in the house, wondering if it might fetch a penny, excited by the very thought.

Anyway, this morning we had to get up at some ungodly hour, the alarm clock had been ticking like a time bomb so we didn't sleep a wink anyway. Sheppie was restless all night, thinking we were going to move and forget to take him with us. Dear me.
So we get up, well, Peter did, he and Bernadette went ahead, Mieke and I were to follow a couple of hours later.
It is pissing with rain, I don't want to go, I don't want to see my bits and pieces up for grabs anyway and certainly not all muddy and wet, inadequately covered by a sheet of plastic, miserable dealers knocking them to get the price down. And I know Peter will just practically give them away, anything for a tidy house.
But we go, for Jacques has arrived, I had promised him a ride down, all sprucey and rubbing his hands in anticipation.

Well, I'll show you some pics of the event. Saint Leon is after all a beautiful place. The weather picked up and Mieke and I went for a swim in the Vezere, that was lovely. After that I left, I'd had enough and drove back home where I am now, blissfully, all by myself. 
I am expecting a call soon for when the wheeling and dealing is done, the remains packed up or abandoned, we are all going out for dinner at a very nice restaurant.
Hopefully the spoils are enough to pay for it.
I know, I am being contrary but they seemed to be having fun and my little treasures are now sitting in someone else's kitchen or bedroom so I think I am entitled.
There's the phone ringing now, time to go. But what if my old salt shaker turns up at our restaurant table.........will it be all right to take it back home with me?
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