Chair recycling

On the left: two chairs that came from our local recycling emporium for a couple of euros a piece. Eight years on, or so, the seats have worn through and re-caning is required. This probably won't happen; possibly hardboard will be nailed onto the seats as folk used to do, or they may become kindling. Either way, not bad for eight years use and then firewood.
The chairs on the right are from the same place at a euro a piece, except the Spanish one which was three euros!

Insect paradise

Oops, long time no post. The thoughts are often there, but they disappear into the mire of everythingelseness.

On our recent foray into the Dordogne, I saw this masterpiece of 'recuperation', and kindness to our insect friends.
We particularly liked the big log chunk at the bottom which has been chewed by the now dweller in the box with the tiny entrance hole and landing platform. A work of brilliance, whoever you are in the town of Lectourne.

Ezra has assured me he will try to replicate the construction. I will post the result.

Christmas savings

This year, instead of buying a cut tree and feeling more depressed each day by its slow demise, needle by needle, until all was left was a scratchy corpse to be hauled outside and dumped on the woodpile, we bought a tree in a pot. It was a good quality tree which cost a fair bit, but we rationalised that this would be good; one less tree thrown away, and in a few years we would have a happy little forest out on the piece of land next to the railway where it is sadly empty.
The tree duly survived, thrived even and after being stripped of festive stuff, we planted it.
Each dog walking day I've smiled at it and thought what an excellent idea it was, until . . . today when some ****** dug it up!
I stood in the drizzle staring at the space for a while thinking how mean it was, and how odd as we are (thankfully) many months away from the red and gold madness.
Oh, well, we'll do it again: a much more satisfactory tree solution, avoiding also the dreaded pot, stones, sand, wobbly tree and swearing. And I'll plane the next one IN the garden.

Post-mat lad

As featured on Mark's site — noise in the hothouse (link through main Hothouse site to hear the result) Ezra's fabulous noise box, created for Mark for Christmas.
Fabricated totally out of found materials, it's my idea of a real Christmas present.
Ezra is a budding electronics wizard, but interested mainly in re-using knobs, switches, motors and all the other detritus he winkles out of old abandoned radios, cassette decks etc from our local dump and the Aude's cathedral to recycling — le parchemin.
For some years we cowered downstairs while the small mad professor upstairs shrieked when something didn't work; soldering that fell apart, the LED that failed to pulse in the right sequence etc etc. Now, it's mainly calm up there, a more sanguine air about him when something fails; a new more dogmatic urge to keep trying until whatever it is succeeds.
We were walking the dogs the other day past a decrepit but attractive stone warehouse and Ezra informed me that he could imagine working somewhere like that in the future; taking in unwanted old electrical equipment and making useful needed items.
I for one can see this being very much the reality at some point . . .

Weed removal

Ooo, I have been neglecting this site. It's not that my Post Mat ideals have changed, I just don't seem to have much time to write my thoughts down.
Here's a saving post featuring Penny's brilliant gizmo for getting weeds out from between slabs/bricks — a knee knackering job.
Broom handle or similar stick, old paint stripping tool and gaffer tape and NO weed killer. Yey.

Chittings

I wasn't sure which blog to put these on, but Terry's lovely homemade chitting boxes steered me to the post-mat page.
I've never really known what chitting was. I usually just lob a bit of potato that is sprouting into the soil when it seems about the right time.

These are not just any old spuds: carefully chosen for flavour and each given it's own cocoon of card to provide just the right ambience to bring forth the correct type of sprouts, not straggly and long which is apparently what happens if you put them in the dark. Makes sense really when you think about spindly trees in a forest trying to reach to the light.
There was something so absolutely calming and comforting about seeing these nestling spuds. Think I might construct a box or two myself, and this year I will grow tomatoes, chillies and lettuce from seed . . . like I said last year.

things within things

Not strictly post-mat really, but I felt these images sent to me by Penny fitted this blog better.

I'm glad other people see faces in things — not just me . . .

St Polycarp treasures.

A quick stroll around one of our favourite villages the other day: two previously undiscovered post-mat objects. Ancient concrete washing thing (what are these called?) now full of irises and house leeks.

Wonderful green and rust gate made of lattice metalwork, fence and possibly some parts of an old

ornate day bed.

The future is in a bright green shed.

This is a sensible man.
We need more people like this and we need to stop thinking about our human waste as something that must be removed with vast quantities of water.
My mum says she remembers that her dad used to store 'it' up in a big compost heap and then was well rotted, in it would go into the garden, the veggies and then ultimately back into the members of the family.

Mark (Howie) designer and fabricator of the Ecolette loos, makes, sells and hires them, often used at festivals and other large events.

The 'end result' compost he showed me was like perfect top soil, odourless, and rich looking, just after a few months. Perfect recycling.
Just one of the million things we all have to address after the non-end of the world . . .

Link to Mark's site: http://www.ecolette.net

Everyone must watch this . . .

Simple, engaging explication of how we have got into such a global nightmare of 'stuff'

And the animals went in two by two

I wasn't sure which blog category these should come under.
Art, general life, or Post-mat.
I opted for the last as I think they are just such a perfect example of odd wool usage; also they would survive any form of apocalypse and still be around in the true age of Post-Mat.
A lovely friend brought them round knowing I would wish to photograph, and immortalise them on a blog. She was given them by an elderly lady, whose life mission is to knit. Hot water bottle covers, bed throws, baby clothes and slippers . . .this pair are called Fifi and Mitzi and were, in some previous life,  poodles, skipping on jewelled leads on the Champs Élysées.

coffee cosy

Dual purpose wooly hat. I just rather liked it, sitting on Helen and Malcolm's breakfast table.

Old dog new bed

Poor old Una, we think she must be at least eighteen!! We have banned her from the sofa as she leaves certain . . . smells and sometimes . . . other things — aaahhhh!!

I found this green plastic box/tray/? thingy on the woodpile and with a swift cut of a jigsaw, thank you Ed, and added unwanted cushion and throw, we have a lovely cosy dog bed. Una hasn't tried to get back to the sofa, in fact I wouldn't mind a similar arrangement myself . . .as winter approaches. 

Wall decor

I saw these . . .things in a backstreet in Sigean. Someone did tell me what they originally were for, but I have forgotten. Are they not wondrous Mr Darcy: how much more beautiful villages would be if everyone were so inclined .  . .

Death of a teapot

Not quite . . .our fave teapot from, can't remember which V.G lives again. It's lid knob has been re-glued about eight times, and the superglue cost versus saving teapot equation was no longer valid. two corks and a piece of wire . . .ta dahhh!

Holy holy holy

No big deal, a colander, but I was so pleased to meet it at the last V.G.and then take it home . . . Reminiscent of a B movie space satellite, it makes me feel cheered every time I see it. The fact that it cost fifty cents was even more gratifying.

Yes . . !! vide grenier season for real!

So far they have been a bit drab. Now the cold waether has gone (maybe) there is a new air of delving deeper into forgotten cupboards. This morning's finds: an 'abs improver, this stunning tureen, a pruning knife, two pairs of dangly earings, a book, and a lovely water bottle all for ten euros . . . yeeha.

Take me to the river . . .

To our local source actually. We have been filling bottles at the source for about nine years now. A friend told me the other day about the risks of storing water in plastic bottles . . .no surprise really. So, now we are using mostly old glass ones. These come from Parchemin (recycling heaven store) and furnished with new rubber seals (easy to find in our local supermarche).

Bath water irrigation

New exciting development after the bathwater butt was put in.
Huge length of swimming pool hose (found in the garden) and some other hoses that were knocking around, joined with a length of discarded downpipe, which reach around the house and over the terrace. Turn water butt tap on, and then have fun making little channels and damming them appropriately for each line of plants.
I think Mark is getting worried about water recap obsession chez moi!

Resting place

This is my bike that came from the tip about seven years ago, I upgraded it when I bought a fancy newer one from a Vide Grenier a couple of years back. It has no gears and is monstrous heavy—Jane Austin had one just like it—I took it to the bike shop in town to have its pathetic breaks repaired. I know it just sat there for a week, it was exactly in the same place in their workshop when I went back. He charged me five euros for garage space and I took it squeaking and grinching back home, where it sat sadly, propped up against the back of the house—sadder still when I started riding the new one down to get bread.
I steeled myself to take it back to the tip and then thought maybe it could become a post mat feature of the garden. Had to buy a non P.Mat can of spray paint, but it will be only once.
Now it lives on in its new blue incarnation against a quince bush, giving me happy memories of trips to the market, the bread shop and nearly getting squashed under a articulated truck on that awful junction near the fire station.