Helena Frith Powell

So my Zeldafication begins in earnest on Tuesday when I go to an advanced adult ballet class with our lovely new lodger Una, who was at ballet school until she was 14. Yes I know that I am not advanced, but did that ever stop Zelda? So wish me luck.

Meanwhile if you have a moment please sign this petition to save a library in Montpellier. I had this email from a friend yesterday and said I would do all I can to help: ‘The Anglophone Library (formerly called American Library) here was abruptly closed by the university Paul Valery in January. A group of us are trying to save the books( 30,000) as the university was planning on putting them in boxes and storing them. We are hoping that a new venue will be found for them and have a lot of backing, including that of George Frèche, but we’ve been advised to build as big a support base as possible. One of the things we’ve done is to put a petition online and if we get signatures of stars that gives us even more credibility. Now I know there was at least one of your books in the library, because I read it, so your name would be very significant. If you feel the cause is good, here’s the link :

www.ipetitions.com/petition/savethelibrarymontpellier’

Dancing and reading are the two things we Zeldas most appreciate…..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Sainte Cecile was burgled yesterday. I got the news from a friend in the village and felt like weeping. The children were even more upset than I was.

“You have to remember it is only things,” I told Olivia, trying to keep calm. “It is not a person.”

She looked horrified.

“Sainte Cecile is like a person to us,” she told me.

She is right of course. The thought of someone breaking in through the kitchen door, rummaging through our belongings and then eventually opting to steal the television before leaving is horrible. A stranger marching through the house, fiddling with things, breaking things, looking for anything of value is very upsetting. We all feel protective about our home and love it like a family member, which is only natural as it has been part of our lives for so many years. Even if I did hatch a callous plan to sell it earlier this year and move to the Savoie.
From here we also feel totally unable to do anything and cannot even ascertain what is missing apart from the flat-screen TV. One of my first thoughts was ‘I hope they didn’t find my UGGs’ – how sad is that? But I didn’t really feel I could ask my mother-in-law who kindly went to assess the damage to see if they were missing.

Meanwhile it has given the children more fodder for their ‘let’s go back home’ campaign.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

I have a strange (according to Rupert) and enduring love of England, and more specifically an England that I suspect no longer exists.

It is an England full of nice middle-class people drinking tea on lush lawns and playing tennis as the sun sets while someone mixes the Pimm’s and everyone behaves like they’re in a PG Wodehouse book. It is an England that you probably only see in films like Howard’s End. But nonetheless I get a glimpse of it every now and again and I am filled with longing to be there.

I had a tearful and terrible longing on Friday as I watched the Household Cavalry perform the famous Musical Ride. The music was emotive; I vow to thee, my country; the Black Beauty theme; Land of Hope and Glory. The Horses and men in perfect synchrony and the buckles all so shiny you could have plucked your eyebrows in them. I was unaccountably happy that the children were witnessing this. Even if it broke my heart that they knew none of the words to any of the songs.

The other thing that is heartbreaking is that much in the same way that I have a terribly romantic view of Blighty, they have a rose-coloured view of France. Everything that is bad here is followed by a “that wouldn’t happen in France”, every time any holidays are discussed all the talk is of going back to Sainte Cecile.

I wonder if this is a symptom of any child taken from a country at an early age? And I also wonder if by the time they grow up, the France they long for will still exist?

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

You couldn’t make it up. The trial of former French Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin for allegedly plotting a smear campaign against the man he affectionately calls “the dwarf” and known to the rest of the world as Nicolas Sarkozy, President of France is just the most amazing tale of political betrayal and lust for power.
Just his name is like something from Dangerous Liaisons. Dominique Marie Francois Rene Galouzeau de Villepin. Can you imagine? How his parents ever remembered the whole thing is a mystery.
I have to admit I always found him rather attractive. “At last,” I sighed when he showed up on French news. “An attractive man in politics.” The Silver Fox could certainly have turned me into a Jemimah Puddleduck. He is suave, intellectual and deeply dodgy in a rather aristocratic manner. Just the sort of man we all know we should avoid but can’t help wanting to get close to.

Anyway now it seems we may have to queue up at the prison gates to catch a glimpse of him. If convicted of trying to discredit Sarko he will face up to five years behind bars.
But somehow I just can’t imagine it happening. Sometimes villains triumph, but we don’t mind too much. Especially is they are French and rather posh. And taller than the president (which wouldn’t be too difficult).
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

We leave the day after tomorrow. In fact Hugo and Rupes left yesterday. We are staying on until the last possible moment to let Olivia’s ear infection clear up and also to enjoy some last-minute walks around the green fields.

Yesterday we spent the day in Annecy with my mother (who flew in from Rome) and our great friends Jean-Claude and Alex as well as their children Astrid and Elisa. Olivia and Elisa have been best friends since they were one. We met Jean-Claude when I fell in love with one of his wines and a friend of ours was looking for suppliers for his London wine bar. He is an amazing man, he now has an incredibly successful wine-making business, selling millions of bottles all over the world, but he also has time to do things like sell our car for us (which he did a few weeks ago) and give me advice about my novel which is about a housewife turned winemaker.

Annecy by the way has to be one of the nicest places I have ever visited; there is a stunning lake, great shops and swans gliding around the city centre’s waterways. Here is Leo on a boat on the lake.

My mother, the children and I are back with our other great friends Norrie and Mary. It feels like coming home. And talking of home….THE house. Well the news is not good. They want a price much closer to the asking price than we can come up with. That may change of course and I am not giving up. Meanwhile the upside is we can stay here and I can’t think of anywhere else I relax quite as much. The children are off playing with the rabbits and I am in Norrie’s office catching up with some work and admin. It also means we don’t have the stress of trying to sell Sainte Cecile and all the worry of what to do if it did sell (there are tenants there until March) or the expense of moving. And to some extent the heartbreak of leaving our family home of nine years.

It has been a lovely holiday and I do have that ‘going back to school’ feeling today. But I am not sad to be going back. I have great friends there too whom I am longing to see. And I am looking forward to getting back into my yoga/work/school routine. Last night I spoke to Rupert who said “It’s nice to be home.” So I guess for the moment Abu Dhabi is where home is. We’ll see what happens in the future.

The other great news is that the updated edition of Ciao Bella is in the window of Waterstone’s in High Street Kensington. Bang in the middle according to my friend Peter who saw it there. This is it, if you see it, buy it please. Then maybe one day we will be able to afford THE house!

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

My stepson Hugo is here. He is wonderful. But he wears his boxer shorts underneath his swimming trunks. What’s that all about?

Right, down to business…we saw the house. It is heavenly, totally heavenly. It was built in 1750 and looks like it will last another few hundred years. It is all marble, stone and wood. Solid, safe and glorious. It reminds me a little of an English farmhouse.

We played tennis on the tennis court. I played well and Leo lost a tooth. A sure sign that we must buy it. Having said that we can’t afford the asking price, but are keen to offer less. In part because we have just been told by the lady in the boulangerie in the nearest town (and they know everything) that we it is only worth a third of the asking price. But when you’re in love it’s hard to be practical….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

This morning I went for a run around the lake, not the whole way round, it is 18 kilometres, but for about 15 minutes. Suddenly it started pouring with rain. My instinct was to shriek and call a taxi. But then I thought; rain, there’s a novelty, let’s see what it’s like. And you know what? It was heavenly. I had the same feeling I sometimes have on a sunny evening wandering through a green field. It was really lovely soft warm rain that moisturised my body and soul. I am not sure after however many years we will spend in the desert, I will ever complain about the rain again. Which is almost genetically impossible for someone brought up in England.

Last night at dinner Leo announed he wants to be a “popular singer”. I wonder if it is possible for someone who calls it that to ever make it, but feel sure his rendition of ‘the lion sleeps tonight’ will help him enormously. The girls are so grown up and beautiful after their Roman holiday – they are speaking Italian and seem so much bigger than the boy. Olivia is in love with Europe and calls Abu Dhabi “the onion, because it makes me cry”. Bea is at her happiest with her favourite people in the world Norrie and Mary. My mother has been staying with them and today we take her back to Geneva and her flight to Rome. After a month with the ferals she is looking forward to sleeping for several days.

Unlike our last holiday, I fear we will not be losing weight. Here at the dreamy Chalet du Lac we have breakfast then a three-course lunch followed by a three-course dinner, all washed down with fine wines. We stay here until Friday before heading back home to the Languedoc. Although it doesn’t really feel like home any more. It will be interesting to see what we think of it and whether Olivia changes her mind about the onion. I hope so, because we are quite happy there.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

When we left France, we needed to find a home for was Sushi Sam, Olivia’s goldfish. He ended up in a lovely place. In fact he ended up where I want to end up – in the Savoie. I don’t want to live in a washing trough but I do envy his view of the green hills and the little lane he lives on that leads to our friends’ house one way and the church the other way. Sushi Sam has a friend in the Savoie as well. He is called Sausage John. We left them in August and were confident they would remain close friends. Then we had this email from our friend Norrie…..
“As you know I walk past the old stone washing trough near the dairy-farm twice every day and always check on Sushi Sam and his friend Sausage John. Three evenings ago Sushi Sam was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he is hiding in the weeds,I thought. But in the morning he still wasn’t around and I prodded the weeds and dead leaves at the bottom just to make sure. Sausage Sam swam away from my stick, but no sign of his friend.
I then remembered that I had seen a family with two children looking into the trough on Sunday afternnon. The schools are on Easter holidays and there are a few strangers about.

The Rescue: I waited around one evening until I saw them again and asked if they had seen the missing Sushi Sam. I explained that he was the friend and pet of  a family I know and especially their older girl who would miss him if he wasn’t there when they came back in Summer.  There was an exchange of looks but no-one said anything.

Yesterday Sushi Sam was back and swimming happily side by side with Sausage John.
It seems that the little girl only wanted to keep him during the holidays and was sorry that she didn’t know he really belonged to another little girl. Could she still come and watch them from time to time on their walks.
End of story.
Love from The Rescuer.xxx”

How could I ever have left him? Or is it her? Actually I always think of Sainte Cecile as feminine, I suppose Cecile is. And as for selling up…..what a stupid, mad, cruel and short-termist notion.

I can’t tell you how nice it is to be home. There is something deeply satisfying about it. I feel grounded, happy, content, like donning an apron and making fresh pasta.

The children are like, well, kids in a sweet shop. They are exstatic. Around every corner is a toy they missed or a tree they climbed. Every few minutes they tell me how happy they are to be home. Irritated as they are by the mess left after all the summer rentals. Bea is most idignant over her trampoline. The cover has been broken. Olivia suggets we make the tenants pay for it and then we will be rich enough to stay here for ever.

It’s a nice thought, but actually I am not unhappy with our two homes. If we can keep things ticking along. In seven years there will be no mortgage to pay here and we can look forward to watching our grandchildren play on the swings just as our children have done.

As Rupert says; Sainte Cecile is part of us. Selling it would really be the maddest thing to do and I am sure we would regret it for ever. I have fallen head over heels in love again, and not just with all my shoes (although the reunion has been extremely emotional) but just with HOME. The slight bend in the road before you get to the house, the roaring fire, Max (who is looking great, fatter and younger than when we left), the Olive trees in the garden, the sound of the source. All that’s missing is my dog. He moved in with Madame Fontenon up the road. Maybe today he will pay us a visit and complete the perfect homecoming.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

No, nothing to do with waxing, but Two Lipsticks & a Lover is now available in Brazil. The news was a lovely way to end an otherwise fairly unremarkable birthday. The highlight was lunch with Olivia and Bea at IKEA where they looked and behaved like princesses. Leo was at a friend’s house and all was apparently going super well until he tried to leave with said friend’s Spider-Man socks. Any grandparents reading please take note – I can’t find a pair anywhere in Abu Dhabi….

So tomorrow we head off back to Sainte Cecile. How do I feel about this? I’m not sure really. I know there will be lots of admin chores and things to sort out (although thankfully Max now has a home thanks to my lovely in-laws). I am almost nervous about how I will react at seeing our home. Will I lock myself in the bathroom when the time comes to leave and refuse to go? Will I long for the sunshine and domestic staff in Abu Dhabi? Will I feel emotional every time the children say or do something they could only do at Sainte Cecile?

Our home is a little like an old boyfriend you split up with when you were still in love. Seeing him again might re-kindle your feelings or you might realise you are totally over him.

I hope it’s the latter when it comes to Sainte Cecile. I think we will have to sell. And there’s nothing worse than parting with something you still love. As Leo’s friend realised when he saw his Spider-Man socks walking out of the door.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008