Spring sale at Normandy Cottage - come inside?

Still got a touch of post festive cabin fever? Longing for a different view on those glorious hill walks... or maybe jumping on the train for a day trip to Paris? This place... could be your base. And what's more, there's a spring sale on right now.

Our first ever sale means you could stay a week in this cosy, comfy Normandy hideaway for just £235 this February and March. It's a little three storey detached cottage in the tiny hamlet of Breel, right in the heart of Suisse Normande's prettiest walking and cycling country, but less than an hour from the Caen-Ouistreham ferry port.

And talking of boats, if you book with Brittany Ferries and stay here, you'll get a discount off your sailing.  

The cottage has had a busy first year of bookings, and some great feedback from guests. It's just up the road from the famous Normandy beauty spot, the Roche D'Oetre, and is perfect for two, (also a great solo escape if you just want to get away from everything. And everyone!) Almost everything you need is here waiting for you, so you can literally contact me....throw some clothes in a bag...and leave. That's how I love to travel. You too?

How about coming for a look around?

OK... this Normandy stone cottage is called Les Deux Sabots - probably something to do with the footwear the farm workers wore, way back when.There's even a tiny pair of clogs nailed to the front door, as a reminder.

Vino veranda looking down on garden

Opens out into large double!

Wooden steps lead up to the main front door and to the tiny vino veranda where you can sit out and have a bottle or two, or a cup of coffee and a quiet read, and another set of steps, in stone, lead back down from this level into the garden.

Step inside the front door and you're on the middle level of this three storey cottage. It's a beamed and full height sitting room, with a large, open log fire. plus two highly effective radiators (full central heating throughout) You'll find a couple of comfy sofas in cream/neutral shades, loads of gorgeous cushions and throws, and a dining table beside the shuttered window, overlooking gardens, Jacques' selection of chickens, geese and ducks... and apple orchards beyond.

One of the sofas opens out into a good size double bed, and you can curtain off this area if separate sleeping accommodation's needed on this floor. There's a neat flat screen TV, an i-pod dock, books, CDs, DVDs, maps, tourist guides... and the little orange vides greniers calendar which will tell you where to find these lovely jumble/carboot/fetes events throughout your stay - and all year.

Made up and ready.

There are open, twisting wooden steps up from the sitting room straight into the a large, light, airy bedroom, with the same neutral shades and a few splashes of blue. 

At one end there's the double bed and bedside tables and lamps, with a new wardrobe and chest of drawers, and at the other end, a Velux window overlooking those garden and apple orchard views, plus a little sofa and a wicker chest, perfect for you to put your feet up and read, or rest your morning breakfast tray. Your bed will be made up and ready for you with freshly laundered linen - no need to bring your own.

The other end of the bedroom...breakfast is served...?!

Breakfast table in the kitchen

OK, back down into the sitting room and there's another set of open, twisting wooden steps down into the beamed kitchen.  It's a bit lower in height than the other two floors, but has everything you need... including, as a thankyou for booking, your first couple of bottles of vino. There's a cooker and microwave, breakfast table and chairs, fridge and separate freezer, washing machine and tumble dryer. 

Also on this level are coat hooks and a utility store, the loo/shower room, and a lower door out into a tiny gravelled area and the lane beyond that. The three storey cottage is perfect for couples, and a secret, spacious escape for solos but has had one or two adults plus a couple of kids staying too. Bear in mind that the steps make it unsuitable for toddlers or if you're frail though - and the 'feel' of the place is pretty open plan.

From the veranda down into a private, sunny garden

The small, lawned garden, which is at the side of the cottage, is very private. There's a gravelled parking area and double gates, which open onto the lane, and a little garden store under the stone steps with a barbecue and chairs and a parasol or two. On the other side of the cottage is a second or alternative parking area, the open fronted stone garage/log store. It's on a private little lane with just five houses, one of them owned by the lovely Jacques and Annick, who, as you`ll hear, keep an assortment of chickens, ducks and geese (oh and you might hear from the donkey at the top of the lane too...! ) ...our neighbours seem to be almost self sufficient in poultry as well as fruit and veg, like so many other families in rural French communities.

The cottage boasts a lovely walnut tree - help yourself if you're there at the right time!

The lane leads straight into a network of footpaths and ramblers' routes - all just metres from the front door. This is a real beauty spot, and walkers, cyclists and horseriders amble past from time to time and sometimes ask how they can book a stay, which is nice!

Breel's bloomin' lovely - this was a cycling festival

The paths take you to some beautiful, steep, breathtaking scenery with stunning views, woodland routes and the occasional beautiful house along the way, some of them thatched. Just up the road is the Suisse Normande's famous Roche D'Oetre - you can stand on the cliff top and gasp at the sheer drop below and hear the rushing waters of the River Rouvre. Then scoff an ice cream at the restaurant/coffee shop adjoining the tourist centre there in late spring and summer months. Nice little gift shop, too.
There's also a (terrifying, frankly, but I don't like heights...) series of rope ride adventures through the forest, just up the lane, suitable for all ages from little children to adults - I've heard great reports about them!

The pretty village of Breel boasts a collection of stone houses and cottages, the Mairie's (mayor's) office with the French flag flying proudly outside, and the most beautiful 16th century Church - well worth a visit. Your fresh croissants and crusty baguettes (and a pastry or two for later...) are just a few minutes' drive away in the village of Segrie Fontaine, where there's also a butcher's shop, a little convenience store (avec vino, naturellement...) a hardware shop, a village school and church, and more lovely views.

I-spy a bar...in historic Falaise 

There are other little villages close by, offering a pizzeria and a couple of bars, other mini-supermarkets, and a beautiful cider farm run by a young family. You can buy apple and pear cider here - it's great to support them and brilliant to bring home a bottle or even a box or two for your friends. When you need bigger supermarkets, the larger towns of Flers and Falaise are only 15-20 minutes drive away.

Falaise is particularly rich in Normandy history - its castle with strong William the Conqueror connections is fascinating. The railway station at Flers (20 mins from the cottage ) takes you off to the coast in one direction (an easy beach day out at Granville) or straight into Paris if you head east. There's a train around 7am from Flers which gets you to the capital around 9 - plenty of time for a warm croissant, strong coffee and an entire day out in this fabulous city. Oh and the parking's free all day at Flers station, too.

Fromage at one of the great shops in nearby Flers

Both of those towns, and plenty of others,such as Conde Sur Noireau, have vibrant, bustling markets which are perfect for fresh fish, meat, fruit, veg, spices, pastries, cakes and most things you'll need to rustle up a French feast. Delicious.

Frites with your mussels? Honfleur is a beautiful day out 

The cottage is also well placed for visits to the cities of Caen and Rouen, Monet's Giverny, the Normandy landing beaches, dotted with stark, chilling reminders of conflict, the classy, chic coastal towns of  Honfleur (above), Deauville and Trouville, and further south, the chateau studded Loire Valley.

If it's spring and summer, check out a vide grenier or two, the French equivalent of a car boot sale (a different kind of clutter...really good fun to browse and haggle...). Most have coffee and hot, barbecue style food stalls with tables for a lunchtime re-fuel. Occasionally there'll be a band playing too, and even a little impromptu dancing...!

Pastries on board your Brittany Ferry (discounts available!)

Breel's within an hour of the ferry port at Caen-Ouistreham, with an excellent Brittany Ferries service to Portsmouth (ask me for a discount code if you're thinking of staying here, so you can get a quote online), with new, `no frills`  BF sailings to Le Havre, still within range. Or you might prefer to book the shorter, cheaper crossing from Dover to Calais and drive down to Normandy. You can choose dates and length of stay... from a night or two, to a leisurely few weeks - and there'll be a couple of bottles waiting for you on the kitchen table.You won't find the cottage on loads of holiday websites because just enough bookings to cover some bills and my vino/ fromage habit will do nicely, thankyou.

If you're not there, I almost certainly will be: out in the garden reading a book, walking the local footpaths, catching some rays in the garden or treating myself to a shot of city culture in Paris. Book a break? Bet you'll  love it as much as I do. 

Want to find out more? www.romanticnormandycottage.co.uk

@normandycottage on Twitter

@janemcintyre12   on Twitter
janemcintyre1@btinternet.com

Or call me: 07791 669889

PS: If you've found this through Twitter, could you possibly RT the link for me? Thankyou... or tell a friend about the place?  And did I mention that I LOVE travelling? In the UK as well as abroad... London especially but love seeing other cities and adore the coast. So... if you ever fancy swapping your apartment/house/cottage with Les Deux Sabots, then get in touch!

Survival of the fittest?

I've just got back from my so called 'morning miles'. I headed out around seven thirty, when it was still dark, cold and damp. And then something happened which made me question whether there's actually any point in trying to keep fit at all.

I started a couple of years ago, running just one mile through the village. Then one of the fittest people I know, (morning Jo...) started coaching me on the 'couch to 5K' programme. All good.

A health blip meant I had to stop for a while, for some treatment. Then I got back out there. These days, I feel great and have more time, so I try a mix of running and walking four or five miles, as often as I can.

Today I ignored the gloom and was soon strolling, then speeding along to a ridiculous mix of Springsteen, the Stones, and some vintage soul. In fact, I felt so good, I even slowed down to let Kenny Rogers croon 'Lady' to me, just by the Shelton water tower.

I was about a mile and a half from home when I saw a bloke I know vaguely. Our kids went to school together. He was walking his dog, so I pulled the headphones off, grinned and asked if he'd 'survived Christmas' ok.

Bad choice of words. He had. But one of his children, it turned out, has been fighting cancer. The 'child' is now mid twenties, a lifelong runner, one of the kids that would bring everyone at sports day to their feet as they pounded round the track to another first place ticket, way ahead of the field. Young. Strong. Fast. Lean. And fit? The treatment's gone well, apparently, and they're hoping a scan soon will confirm things are improving.

But as the runner's dad walked away with his dog, I just wondered: 'what's the point?' If someone so much younger, leaner, fitter than most of us can get a knock on the door from the Big C, why bother? Same goes for any number of people you and I know. Too young. Too careful with their diets, too conscientious with their lifestyles to fall foul of nasty diseases, surely.

And then they do.

I contemplated abandoning my run, strolling over to the bus stop and scraping the small change from my running belt into something like my fare home.

I glimpsed back and saw the runner's dad turn into his lane, shoulders down. I slammed my music back on loud, and ran the hardest and fastest I'd ever done, all the way home.

And so I'm here. Shaking a bit. Freezing now, and wrapped in a huge jumper and so dizzy I'm seeing stars.

I'm wondering what the answer is. For me, I think it's this. You can only do your best, and look after yourself as well as you can, and take responsibility for your own health. Even then, some people will smoke forty a day from the age of thirteen and die peacefully in their sleep at 103, with nary a cough. Good luck to them. Nobody 'deserves' cancer. It's a vile disease. Others will eat pies all day and carry the additional avoirdupois with them into their dotage, without a twinge or a palpitation. Hooray for them, too.

Meanwhile, some will live a textbook 'healthy' lifestyle, and get the worst news they could hear; early doors. Life ain't fair. It turns horrible right-angles sometimes. So do what makes you happy. And live for today.

What do you reckon?

The sun's shining now, by the way. Have a good day.

Comments:

This one from a friend of mine who's being treated for breast cancer:  1One of the people I see in the waiting room when I go for radiotherapy is a little lad of no more than about 5, with no hair. Chirpy little fella. Always on his iPad, playing games. Cancer's just so bloody indiscriminate1.

Netherton Foundry has left a new comment on your post "Survival of the fittest?":
That's a tough one - I think we each have to do what feels right for us, whilst taking responsibilty for our lives and our wellbeing. Cancer is non discriminatory, but we can't use that as an excuse not to take care of ourselves

Shrewsbury Morris ‏@shrewsmorris37m

@janemcintyre12 @IronbridgeAAC nice one Jane :)

Oh my days. Hope yours were happy too.

2013.

Was it good for you?

Thanks, if you played any part in the pictures above, or just tweeted me, met me for coffee, encouraged me to keep running, chatted to me or turned my Metro map up the right way in Paris or Rome. Thanks if you shared a laugh over lunch, helped while away those endless hours waiting for 'action'... on set... cheered me up when I worried about Dad, or just listened. Always happy to be a listening ear for you too. So... ready?   Here's to the next one  xx

Top row, left to right: Juliet on the beach at Aberdovey, freezing February at Harlech, my 'hometown' from the Shard, yeh, right, beautiful woodland near Shrewsbury on my morning mile, Rome in July.

Second row, left to right: Alice, as 'Meat' in We Will Rock You, view from my Rome apartment, Emanuale at his veg stall in Campo di Fiori market, the Severn on my morning run, home, beautiful little studio in Vieux Nice from outside.

Third row, left to right: inside my Nice hideaway in November, Nice - the view from the Castle, 'extra' friends on set, Trafalgar Square this Christmas, autumn path out running, Alice(left) and Juliet in The Witches of Eastwick.  

Fourth row, left to right: Juliet at Stokesay Castle, Marbella palm trees in April, junkshop in Normandy, Juliet on the Brooklyn Bridge, Dad in his fine hat, Alice.

Fifth row, left to right: Harlech beach,Scott rolls up (eventually...!) to mini Tweet up at the Steam Rally, boots, made for walking, etc, lol, Big Cuz Phil on his Olympic London cycle thang, Normandy cottage (Twitter mates' rates...!), Happy Day at the Big Busk, Shrewsbury.

We'll have to muddle through somehow...

How many Christmas days are you having this year?

We had a sneaky one on Saturday morning before Juliet flew out to America.

And then another at Dad's house on Sunday before I headed home.

He's 85 now, with advanced dementia, and spends all his time in bed. I tried to stir up some festive family memories. 'Have yourself a merry little Christmas' was always his favourite song - one that would make this big, brave man's eyes glisten, year after year. It's always been special to our family.

I tried a singing few lines, wobbling a bit when I had to negotiate 'next year... all our troubles will be out of sight...'

Nothing.

So I remembered the laughs we'd had as children, singing 'We wish you a merry Christmas' with him. We'd always end up giggling over the mention of 'figgy pudding...' and then defiantly shouting out the 'won't go until we've got some' verse.

Furrowed brow.

OK... I'd try a present. It's hard to know what to buy the man who had everything, but has forgotten most of it.

So I'd  got a 'John McIntyre's Memory Book' made up. There are press cuttings of various proud and heroic career moments. A picture from the fifties of him marrying mum. Beach shots from sunny holidays on Hayling Island. And more recent views of his pretty garden, his partner Phyllis, Dad's new hat, my sister and me, and our three children. All with simple, printed captions.

He flicked through, not really registering. I'd steeled myself for that, vowing to bite my lip if he clearly didn't recognise my mugshot, even though I'd be standing right beside him. I was, and he didn't.

And then he turned to the very oldest picture of them all. A now sepia shot of him as a bonny blond toddler in his mother's arms.

'That's my mum,' he said. 'My mummy'.

Seven words, shining like a beacon through the now dense fog of his dementia.

One picture, from more than eighty years ago,stirring instant recognition in a man who struggles to name people he's seen five minutes before.

I gulped a bit, then smiled. As 'Memory Books' go - this one had done its job. As for the rest of it?

Yes, Dad. We'll 'have to muddle through, somehow...' And we will.

Happy Christmas xx

Note: Our lovely dad died in May 2014. I will never be able to hear that song again, without shedding a tear. Sometimes in sadness....but mostly with fond and happy memories of a wonderful man 

Dear David: A tale of two parents.

Dear David Cameron and all at the G8 dementia summit. Got five minutes to hear about my mum and dad?

First: Jeannie.

She was 48 when she developed breast cancer. It was found just weeks before she was due to get married (to a man whose wife, sadly, had died of breast cancer). They went ahead with the wedding. A Londoner, Jeannie had worked in the city since her teens. She met Bertie at one of the big banks. She travelled to some fantastic places on business with him - on Concorde once. And when she needed it, the care Jeannie received at London teaching hospitals was among the best available anywhere in the world.

Although Jeannie had some good, 'clear' years, the cancer was to return in a very aggressive form, and she died seven years after diagnosis. She never knew her grandchildren: all of them lovely and sources of great pride.

The disease had claimed the life of one of her five sisters, and was to prove fatal, later, for another. A third sister has beaten breast cancer twice, and has survived into her eighties. So, it's 'in the family' and has knocked at my door too. Because of that, I have regular screening, was accepted on to a pioneering MRI research programme and another looking into DCIS. I feel 'watched over'. In a good way.

Now: John.

Down the mines near Musselburgh at 14, he 'escaped' to London to join the Met police. He was on the beat in London, then selected for royalty protection duties, often solely responsible for the security of key royals. He stayed in palaces around the world, worked the longest days, was an excellent marksman, fit and strong; protecting people. And looking after his family.

He's been battling Alzheimer's for over five years, and so now, we're doing our best to look after him. These days, he's bedridden, but at home. He needs help with every aspect of daily living. His face lights up when he sees me, but sometimes he forgets my name. He got to know the grandchildren well, but now struggles to remember their names or what they're up to.

I never expected to be standing over my big, brave dad with a toddler cup and a feeding spoon, but that's the way it is. His partner and carer, Phyllis, does an amazing job, backed up by visits from a local carer, paid for by Dad. She needs a break. Lots of breaks. Local carers' groups are helping, but it all takes planning, and Dad's not always receptive to newcomers who might 'sit' with him. He's had some bad days lately. Sleepy weeks. Not sure what the future holds, really. It scares me.


I was shocked, Mr Cameron, to see a report by Fergus Walsh on BBC news last night. It contained a statistic from the Alzheimer's Society, on how research into cancer receives eight times as much funding as research into dementia. Eight times! Is one condition more 'cruel' than the other? More deserving of investment into its prevention? I don't think so. From where I'm sitting, they both hurt like hell.

I know you've said you're working to address this, planning to double the amount of funding over the next decade or so, to £132 million, and increasing support for carers, like Phyllis.

But I'd like to hear that you're not 'just' doubling dementia funding... but quadrupling it, and then some. It seems that because dementia was for so long considered to be a sad and inevitable fact of life for some elderly people, it's slipped down the priorities list, and it shouldn't have done. You have the predictions and the projections at your fingertips now.

Cancer and dementia are equally cruel conditions in their way; for patients, and for families like mine. Both are dreaded and feared. I hope you use this G8 summit to make dementia research and care as much of a priority as that surrounding cancer, and as an opportunity to think about devoting more funds to those with other life threatening and life limiting conditions. Please keep support for carers uppermost in your mind. With the dementia timebomb ticking, you're going to need them more than ever. And they will be looking to you, to get the funding, the support, and the respite they desperately need.

Was:snappy.Now:happy.

Instead of a blog today, I`m leaving you with some pics...by way of a kind of `test card`. Remember those? I used to work with someone (hello Andrew...) who was an expert in their different guises. And the music they played. Don`t ask me why.

Anyway...I`m really feeling the sandwich generation thing this week...and as the filling, I`ve probably spread myself far too thinly. That means that today, I`m a little bit knackered, a bit grumpy, and snappy (step away now...) It`s not helped by having some really crap recollections of stuff kicking off in November a couple of years ago...stuff I walked away from but which still resurfaces sometimes.

But if things get me down, I`m now lucky enough to be able to jump in the car and head...anywhere. And today I thought I`d keep my snappiness to myself, and hit the beach. Aberdovey is one of my favourite places on the planet...especially on cold, bright, winter days when there are just six people and me on the beach. And a couple of ridiculously happy, lollopy, splashy dogs...hilarious to watch. I walked the length of the sandy beach and back, then did it over again, collected some shells, gazed out to sea, paddled in my red wellies,and then had a hot cup of coffee and a slab of cake, and headed home. Life is good. And sometimes a Monday like this will kick me up the backside and remind me of that. Hope yours was happy too xx

You said..

Geoff. Lamb ‏@Onceatenor15h

@janemcintyre12 thanks to ' Yours grumpily' Monday was better. We of a certain age have baggage and it does resurface. Kick it to the kerb!

Dave Rhodes ‏@rockyrds25 Nov

@janemcintyre12 would you say your blog was an F, C, PM5544 or ETP1?

Alistair Gordon ‏@AlistairGordon125 Nov

@janemcintyre12 Great photos! Lovely place!

Love_Life_Live ‏@SmileLaugh_More Protected Tweets25 Nov

My kinda girl RT @janemcintyre12: Was:snappy. Now: happy. http://lovemymondays.blogspot.com/2013/11/yours-grumpily.html?spref=tw …

Fiona Wright ‏@Fi_Wright25 Nov

@janemcintyre12 it's so beautiful there. Especially in the 'off' season. :)

ferndell-b&b ‏@fern_dell25 Nov

@janemcintyre12 love love love Aberdovey but lets not tell too many people

Meanwhile in Normandy....

....in a tiny village called Breel, there`s a still new war memorial to three British airmen. 

The stone, plaque, and the research that went into it, are all thanks to a wonderful man called Ron Vickers. 

Ron was a great bloke; a former teacher. He was entertaining, caring, incredibly clever and a joy to be with. His death was mourned not just by his family and friends in England, but by people in Breel, near Falaise, where he`d been holidaying for more than twenty years.

Ron was fascinated by the tale of three British airmen, who were killed in action on August 8th 1944 when their Wellington crashed at Breel. He spent many, many months painstakingly researching their lives and families so that there could be a lasting memorial to these young men in the village, and to a fourth airman who died later that year.

He managed to trace their relatives and bring them together from all over the world to join a poignant memorial service to them on August 8th 2008. It was a moving, bitter-sweet occasion, with grieving family members supported by villagers and expats. There were readings in French and English, smart uniforms and medals, a few tears, and some smiles too at the French national anthem firing off on the loud speaker at the wrong moment, but that added to the charm of the occasion.

And on every August 8th since then, flowers have been laid at that little memorial in Breel as a mark of respect.

I was there last year, missing the wonderful man who`d helped bring the memorial, and that special act of remembrance to fruition. Seven of us gathered at 11am on August 8th to support Margaret, Ron`s widow, as she laid flowers at the memorial. Martin Weston, who`d worked so hard alongside Ron during his research, read a poem and then invited us back for coffee.

There were cheese scones, rich tea biscuits, some friendly banter and a chance to check out Martin and Linda`s chickens and sheep. It was a lovely morning.

When it was time to leave, I went off for a wander through the village that Ron Vickers loved so much. I pushed open the creaking door of the tiny,16th century village church and stepped out of the August heat into the cool stillness of this simple, beautiful building. And because it seemed right, I dropped some euros in the box and lit a candle for Ron, and for the fallen airmen .

You can struggle to remember the right word sometimes. But some things...and some people....should never be forgotten.