The gas bottle is in its home where it will be living. The kitchen will be in the house right behind there, so I'm going to have to run a gas pipe through the wall eventually.
The way that the gas bottle will be moved when it needs replacing is between the two uprights to the left in the rear wall. It'll just about pass through there and then I'll have to bring it around to the front and then out.
The stud wall nearest the doorway will be covered with tongue-and grooving and heavily varnished. There will be a cupboard there and a worktop, with a small water heater over the top, running off the surplus electrical energy. The washing machine will be in that little corner and there will also be a sink. Now I have my diamond core drills for going through the stonework, the world's my lobster.
And you did hear me correctly. "Morning". Despite having had a bad night's sleep I was up with the lark this morning and outside fairly early, just for a change. That enabled me to get cracking.
And not "this afternoon" either. One of the projects that we have on the go for Radio Anglais is to do a programme about researching the history of your house. And Marianne rang me to say that she had such a project to do this afternoon and would I like to go with her to the Mairie and look through the records. Do bears go to the bathroom in the woods?
It was extremely interesting there and I learnt an awful lot. But then again that is the point of going. Records in France in the local mairies go back as far as 1833 and it's fascinating to see the evolution of a property. What is even more exciting is to see o the local tax rolls the reason for tax reductions. Just taking one example, a whole list of rate reductions on certain plots of land in 1884 clearly show exactly where and how the "new road" to St Eloy was built.
The problem is though that searching through records can show up many surprises, some of which can be extremely unpleasant. And such was the case today. There's a kind-of diary circulating around Pionsat, in which the author recounts quite freely a host of detail about his private life, including his birth almost 70 years ago. But quite interestingly the Deed of Gift of this property back in the 1950s shows that the civil status of his mother was "divorced in 1936 and never remarried". So who was the fellow she brought back with her from Paris when she came to resettle in the village in the late 1930s?
The plot sickens.
But at least I've had my snow tyre fitted on my new wheel so I'm ready for winter. I'm also ready for bed. Last night's late finish and this early start this morning had finished me off.
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