Cheesemaking

Disclaimer: Making cheese at Ferme Foures is a very different affair from anywhere else; it is not representative of general French cheesemaking practices. Also, they are peasants, and proud of that fact, so it is not for us to judge them.

Below is the recipe for Jean-Louis' traditional, Pyrenees Mixte tome, written by a previous WWOOFer. Translate if you are curious, but the cheese is a little like a Somerset Caerphilly, with a smooth, semi-firm "Pyrenean" texture but with fine, irregular pinholes, and a surprising acidity for a cow/sheep blend. Natural, brushed rind. A rather rustic, though satisfying, cheese.

                   These are sheep                                        This is a cow

We milk them twice a day, as Julianna demonstrates below

Every three days, there is enough milk for five or six 4-5 kg. tomes. There are only six molds, so if there's any extra curd, it gets eaten fresh "dans le maison."

Jean-Louis usually makes the cheese, and it's not uncommon for some of the grandkids to help. From left to right, Julene, Louise, and Guilleme, all help stir the curd, break up the larger lumps (but more usually just eat them) and generally get elbow deep in the cheese vat. Sanitation is important, but what's more important is making sure that the cheese doesn't taste like soap, so everything is scrubbed with water before cheesemaking. Barn boots get washed off outside, and the lights are usually off and the door closed to discourage flies, but that's about it. 

I'll just reiterate that cheesemaking here is a very different experience from most other places. Julianna and I also got to help with cheesemaking, though I only have a picture of her helping fill the molds.

                                                                                                     

The weights to press the cheese are 10 kg. However, there are only three 10 kg. weights, so the others require improvisation. There are a few 2 kg. weights, a couple of random metal rings, and a sledgehammer.

Jean-Louis very kindly agreed to make brouss one afternoon, which is a traditional, Pyrenean, peasant version of ricotta (or requeso in Spain). There's a pot of whey ("petit-lait"), heated by a propane gas ring, some random heat and wind shields, and sundry children. The ricotta was delicious with confiture.


Far from the cheesemaking I've seen, which is rather serious and rigorous, and arguably somewhat sterile, this is entirely the opposite. The curd is stirred with a wooden paddle, but Jean-Louis is up to his elbows to make sure there's nothing on the bottom. If the curd heats up too much, the cheese misses a salting, "pas mal." When hand milking, there's going to be hay and other stuff that gets in the milk; it's not a big problem, just pour it through the filter into the holding tank and keep going. Again, he has a very different, rather "laissez-faire" approach to cheesemaking, but he's no less serious about his cheese than anyone else. It has been wonderful to see such a "rustic" method of production.

The Economics of Farming (or, Marxism lives!)

So I'll preface this post by stating a couple of basic assumptions:
1. Farming is no way to make money; it is a "living," not a career, and
2. I have had a very limited experience farming with animals, and none with other kinds of farming, so the musings below may or may not be at all accurate.

It's been a really long time since I studied Marx, but the agrarian, peasant lifestyle seems really, really close to the Marxist ideal of "labor," to which there is a certain appeal. While Marx's idealized world of equal labor for equal benefit, and everyone finding their own, preferred mode of work, never really made sense in the city (where it is hard to imagine someone choosing to work as a street sweeper rather than a banker, or whatever), in the country there is a solidarity of labor which is quite refreshing. Everyone works towards the same end, which is the quite basic one of putting food on the table. And while no one wants to be up to the ankles in cow shit, it isn't too bad if there are a couple of other people doing the same thing with you, and if it's something that needs to be done.

Further, there is a direct and immediate involvement in the work at hand, which is very satisfying. The definitive unit of measure is still the "man-hour," and on the farm it is still a scale-able unit. Unlike most modern work, two people can do twice as much work in an hour, or make the same amount of work go twice as fast; and if you've got three or four people, a "days" work can be finished in an afternoon. There is an increase in efficiency as well, so with four people, there is probably 4.5 man-hours/hour, since, for example, once person can till the field while the next can discard rocks while the next can dig the holes for the last to plant potatoes. One person doing everything takes much longer than four working together. This rarely seems to be the case in "modern" work, and further, there's rarely the sense of accomplishment and ownership and camaraderie that comes with finishing planting a field, or turning a tree into firewood or whatever.

As a slight aside, this implies an "economy of scale" that's a bit different from the normal definition. Getting too big, or trying to do too much, means that the work quickly becomes more than one person can reasonably handle, and either requires more people or lots of time. Running a farm of 75 sheep is a very different proposition than running one of 40; milking takes longer, cleaning takes longer, cheesemaking takes longer, shearing takes longer, there's more food to buy, etc, etc, etc. This makes expansion a potentially risky move, since the increased income can so easily be off-set by the increased expenses, and demands on your time.

At any rate, while two people can work 14 hour days and run a farm, it feels like the more or less full time labor of four adults would make things run more smoothly; one with the "primary" responsibility of taking care of the house and kids and cooking, and two or three to do whatever needs to be done on the farm. Since there's no cash income in farming (other than selling farm produce, which may not bring in much money) and quite a few cash expenses (though minimizing these is the first priority, but there are a few unavoidable utilities and payments, from toilet paper to internet access to diesel for the chainsaw, etc), it would be helpful for there to be someone working an off-site job, and contributing their income to the cause (which now makes the whole proposition closer to a commune, if it wasn't already). Cheese is one of the few items which can bring in income year round, though preserves and such also work; selling meat or veg. or such (particularly on a relatively small scale, such as would be manageable by a few people) means that sales are quite seasonal, with a big cash influx at one point in the calendar, and very little during the winter.

While all this may allow for a comfortable life, with plenty of fulfilling (albeit dirty and hard) work, and a reasonable amount of free time, there comes a point when one isn't able to work as much or as hard and starts to think about retirement. In France, as well as in the US, Social Security payments are based on the total contribution one has made over their working life; for farmers (and artists, etc) who've not made much cash money, the payout is quite small, and isn't enough upon which to live without working. Ergo, farming more or less means a lifetime of working until you are physically unable to do any more, at which point you can either a) try to leave the farm to a child, who doesn't mind supporting you until you die or b) try to sell the farm to some other sucker, and go live in town.

These aren't particularly attractive options, but it is hard to see how else things end. There's no way to be entirely self-sufficient, there's not much potential for rental income out in the country, and having an IRA or other personal retirement fund requires excess capital, which is rarely available, and never in a significant amount. It isn't hard to see why small farms are disappearing in France, and are virtually extinct in the US.

Nous parlons Francais! (un peau)

So this whole immersion thing has really done wonders for our French language skills.  Julianna, who spent two years in Paris living with Americans, is up to a significant level of proficiency and fluency, understanding the details of at least 75% of what's spoken to her (maybe like a 10 year old native speaker, and can eavesdrop on conversations not directed at her), and while I still speak French "like a Spanish cow" (which is an actual expression), the fact that I can make myself understood at all is impressive, given a quarter of French in Jr. High, and one class at the Alliance Francaise.

We've had a variety of conversations, conducted primarily in French, on the topics of:
The American system of government, including local and national election cycles
The similarities and differences between French and American dairy regulations
Social Security and the implications for artists, farmers, and other low-wage earners
The benefits of direct sales, and the differences between the Aspet and San Francisco Farmer's Markets
Job opportunities, or the lack thereof, in both France and the US.
The dilution of the AOC regulations, and the resulting difficulties for artisanal producers.

In addition, Jean-Louis and Ginette, our gracious hosts have told us about: 

Local history, including the WWI and WWII era ruins, (the hillsides are now covered with forests but as recently as WWII the entire area was devoted to small plot agriculture)

Their previous WWOOFers and the cultural and agricultural and touristic benefits of the program

Local fauna, especially "papillon" (butterflies, a particular passion of Jean-Louis), but local game is also a topic for constant contemplation, deliberation and preparation as suggested by the image below ("le chasse" i.e. "hunting season" opens in September and runs through February, for elk, deer, boar, fox etc)

This is besides all the work-related stuff they've told us to do, like how to properly plant potatoes and which sheep to milk and which ones not to, and where to throw the limbs of the trees we've cut down and suchlike.

Il y a un bon temp dans le fermier. 

"I'm going up the country, babe don't you wanna go..."

So we've been here at Ferme Foures for just over a week now, and have settled into a good routine. [BTW, all the previous posts have been in chronological order, though the dates don't reflect anything other than when I finally got around to writing and posting.  And if anyone is interested in additional pictures, I've uploaded a few to Picassa.]

Looking west from the hills north of the house.   ^^^^

Looking down on the house from the hill to the south.

Agrandir le plan
We are here. Approx. Latitude = 42.9856, Longitude = 0.8198




Jean-Louis and Ginette Foures are wonderful hosts. Reprinted below is their WWOOF description of the estate, for reference purposes.
Description:
Nous sommes paysans traditionnels dans les Pyrénées. Nous élevons vaches et brebis pour le fromage mixte (tome des Pyrénées...). Notre propriété de montagne fait 20 ha de prairies. Nous avons un petit verger, de petits fruits, et un champ. Nous ne sommes pas affiliés bio mais nous vivons en traditionnel extensif. La cinquantaine, nous aimerions faire profiter de notre savoir-faire et de notre vie agréable en échange d’aide pour soulager notre usure. Passion pour la chasse photographique et la nature en général. Français, Occitan parlés.


[Description:
We are traditional peasants in the Pyrenees. We raise cows and sheep for cheese mixed (Tome Pyrenees ...). Our property is 20 acres of mountain meadows. We have a small orchard, berries, and a field. We are not affiliated bio but we live in traditional extensive. The fifties, we would like to share our expertise and our good life in return for aid to ease our wear.Passion for wildlife photography and nature in general. French, Occitan spoken.]

Our day begins at 7:00, when we head downstairs for a hearty breakfast of tea and bread slathered with butter and a variety of homemade jams. 
By 7:45, the dishes are rinsed and we head up to the barn for the morning milking. Living on the farm are about 40ish 55+ sheep (35-40 milkers, plus 10 or so new lambs, and 10 or so unfreshened yearlings), five cows (and first three, now two calves), a horse and a donkey, a duck, a plethora of pigeons, a flock of chickens, five or six rabbits, and three "working" dogs besides the hunting pack of maybe 15... there may be some other animals I'm forgetting, but I think that's about right. 
Milking is finished by maybe 8:30-9:00, when we return to the house for morning coffee and another bite of bread and jam, if one desires.  By about 9:30 we're started on one of the sundry, continual projects for the spring; either weeding one of the various gardens and preparing stuff for planting, felling trees for firewood, organizing the basement, or, every third day, making cheese. 
Projects continue until about noon-ish (maybe 13:00 depending on the day), when it's time for "midi." Lunch is a good, solid meal, and then the siesta is about an hour, so we don't get back to weeding or whatever until about 15:30-16:00. 
We work at the daily project for another couple of hours, usually until 18:00, when we start getting ready for the evening milking. Julianna usually takes "cow duty," climbing the hills to find where they've wandered off to during the day and driving them home, and I'll start some of the barn work. We'll separate the agneaux from the brebis, clean up the feeding stanchions, entice the sheep into milking position with some corn, and begin milking. It takes Julianna and I about as long to milk the sheep as it does Jean-Louis or Ginette to do the cows, so it works out ok. After finishing milking and cleaning the milk buckets, feeding the rabbits, watering the pigeons, checking for chicken eggs, it's about 21:00 and time for our dinner. 
Ginette does great rustic, hearty fare, prepared with a reasonable amount of duck fat, though since spring foods aren't available yet (the peas plants are just getting started, the wild cherries are still in bloom, and the favas still have blossoms), the menu has been somewhat limited to meat, potatoes, and carrots. Since lunch is the main meal, dinner may be leftovers, or a brilliantly yellow omelette or a crock-pot based stew or something. By 22:00, dinner is done and the dishes rinsed (the kitchen water goes straight into the stream, so soap is used sparingly), and we're off to bed. 


It is a full day, but not one overly arduous, and includes plenty of "down time" to talk or play with the various children running around or whatever. I don't know that "civilized" is an appropriate adjective to describe rural, farm life, but it is satisfying in a certain way; one is involved with work in a direct and immediate way, and things are usually done in tandem with someone else; it is surprising to realize how much longer it takes one person to finish a project, than two or three working together. And after a day hauling branches up a 60 deg. hillside, there's a great feeling of accomplishment, though it is a feeling intimately combined with relief that one won't have to repeat the experience for a couple of days, at least.


But it has been quite a wonderful time, and the weather, barring a few days of heavy rain (which made the little stream below the house flood), has been very fine. The trees are becoming more green with each day, there are lots of little wildflowers out in the fields, and the fruit trees are in bloom. There's a bit too much shit in our lives to allow me to say that things are "idyllic" or "pastoral," but it is a near thing. 

From France, etc. '10

From France, etc. '10

From France, etc. '10

From France, etc. '10

The Road Trip: Leg 4 (to Milhas)

What little of Limoges we saw upon arrival the night before wasn't particularly impressive, so our departure the next morning was but the work of a moment, (though we did take the opportunity of being in a reasonably-sized town to get a replacement 1/8 in. stereo patch cable, finally allowing us another music option besides random French radio). Such was our Limoges-related ennui, that we left without breakfast, assuming we could find somewhere more picture-esque for a croissant and coffee.

We headed towards Uzerche, a town that Julianna's guidebook said "is an impressive sight: grey slate roofs, turrets and belltowers rising from a hill above the Vereze river." And, the natives have got a bit of style; on the point of surrender after a seven year siege by Moorish forces, they sent out a huge feast to the Moors, who thought that the Uzerchians had scads of food if they could afford to send it to their enemies, so lifted the siege and went home (which doesn't make particular sense, though the Moors could have had such a sense of propriety that they thought it rude to kill the people who just gave you a nice meal).

However, upon arrival, it was a little underwhelming. While the grey slate roofs were nice, they are grey slate roofs, and are not particularly spectacular. The town is built on top of a cliff over a river, but there are quite a few other towns with the same attribute.  And no one offered us food upon arrival, though we weren't especially threatening, so that could have been our fault.

So we left Uzerche, and still feeling peckish, continued south.  Not too much later, upon the cusp of being not just hungry, but hungry and irritable, we spotted another turn-off, this time to a town called Sarlat-la-Caneda. Julianna checked her guidebook, saw it was good, and off we turned... onto a beautiful country road, one that wound its way along a river, through a handful of small towns, and had a maximum speed of about 50 km. so it took us 30+ mins. to finally reach Sarlat, which is a long time to drive for a croissant and a cup of coffee.

Upon arriving in town, we appreciated the "narrow lanes and archways, and ancient, ochre-coloured stone town houses rich in ornamental detail" for about three minutes, before discovering we had come on a market day, and all of the "narrow lanes" were lined with stalls selling knives and antique copper cookware and clothes and odd, recycled metal sculpture and bee-related goods and suchlike. We wandered through the first half before stopping at a nice cafe, and splitting the Menu Perigord, starting with a reasonable pate d' foie gras, a tasty duck confit (accompanied by rather indifferent fries) and finishing with a tasty Cabecou (a quite small, rather mild, local goat cheese). And with the sunny terrace and the lax service, and the market and everything, our quick lunch turned into a three hour pause, requiring quick work to arrive at the Farm in the Pyrenees before 6:00, which is when we said we'd get there.

We nearly, almost, didn't really quite make it before 6:00, and then we got lost because the farm doesn't have a proper address we could put into the GPS and then we got lost because the directions weren't really very good, but we had the cell phone and everything worked out and we pulled in about 7:ish. We met Jean-Louis and Ginette and their daughter, Gaelle, and helped with the evening milking of the sheep and got our stuff settled in the very spacious and private room with a view of a barn on a hillside above a stream are looking forward to the next couple of weeks...

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The Road Trip: Leg 3 (to Limoges)

A thousand thanks to Christian, Dominique, Julie, Camille, Kevin for being such incredible hosts. We had thought to leave Basse Indre at a "reasonable" time after lunch, and get to Limoges (or somewhere thereabouts) in the late afternoon. But that wouldn't have left us any time to see Nantes, which Christian decided was unacceptable.

In the morning, after a lovely breakfast, we went with Dominique to a local, smallish farmer's market, which is not the one that she usually goes to, but does have the traveling cheese truck. This is, for me, very nearly almost the height of cheese sales; there are wonderful, beautiful, incredible cheese shops, but there's something tremendously charming about selling a wide selection of great cheeses out of a specially modified van. We picked up a couple of things (a ash-rinded, very mild goat cheese, and a piece of Salers) and while neither were really *great* it was still a wonderful experience.
Being able to buy cheese and meat and such is a typical part of French farmer's markets. I was admiring the butcher truck to the left, and Julianna and Dominique had just finished with the vegetables, so I picked up a piece of salame. Didn't realize until walking away that this was not any typical butcher truck, but one that specialized in "cheval" i.e. horse.  There were a surprising number of cuts, including a lovely (gigantic) standing rib roast, a couple of steaks, a bit of "poulain" (foal), and horse salame.... an example of which I had just purchased.  And while horse may not be my the first choice for salame, it's not actually much different from pork or beef or whatever. The spices were balanced, there was a bit of citrus, the texture was nicely variable and not too tough... all in all, a lovely salame.

Upon our return to Basse Indres, Christian took us on a tour of Nantes. His knowledge of and passion for the city are quite remarkable, and the very brief tour touched upon such distinct sites as La Cigalle, an incredible, Art-Nouveaux brasserie dating to the late 1800s, the local Castle of the Dukes of Normandy, the original LU factory (those are the guys who make Petite Ecolier and such) and a charming, though somewhat worn, covered arcade from the early 1900s. A wonderful tour, though necessarily constrained by the fact of our imminent departure later that day. However, we were able to make a stop at one of the other places I remembered from my previous visit to Nantes, the Boulangerie d'Honor, an incredible bakery with lovely pastries and real, serious French bread, presented in beautiful, golden brown piles. Some of the best bread I've had, and certainly one of the most intoxicating buying experiences.

Christian, Julianna and I got back to the house about 2:30, just in time for the lunch Dominique had prepared; roast chicken, a variety of cheeses, a bit of salad, and some wonderful wines, including a delicious Muscat Cap Corse, a light, golden-green dessert wine. What with the long, lingering "midi," and expressing our thanks with sufficient vigor and emphasis, we weren't on the road to Limoges until about 5:00.

It is not unreasonable to say that in France, all roads (and trains, even more so) lead to Paris. And since we were heading East-ish, we weren't going to be able to take major autoroutes, even if we had wanted to do so. I mentioned earlier the joys of driving on the small, quiet back-country roads, and while it is certainly my preference, the autoroutes aren't too bad either. There's a very different sense about driving in France than in the US. First, it is quite expensive; gas is highly taxed and each major road has a toll both every 50-100 km. The tolls aren't cheap either; I think we've spent around 50E thus far on the trip. However, those tolls and taxes are reinvested in the transportation system, so the trains are great and the highways are in great repair. Also, rather than having Highway Patrol cruise around looking for speeders, there are automatic cameras along the route, who take a picture of cars going too fast and send a ticket to the address associated with that license plate. It is refreshingly consistent, and it means that people don't really speed; the limit may be 130 km, and while there will be a few people up around 140, the vast majority of cars are 120-127. The passing lane is only for passing, and people get quite irritated if you drive in the left lane and don't get back to the right as soon as possible (particularly when the person behind you is in a BMW and isn't content with the 130 limit). All in all, a rather civilized experience.

At any rate, we drove for about four (five?) hours, taking the long way to Limoges, and though it didn't get dark until 21:30, we didn't pull into town until late, and while I made an attempt to find interesting lodging, said attempt was ill-advised and we ended up an hour later pulling in to the Ibis (or whatever standard chain hotel) we should have landed at in the first place. However, everything worked out in the end and we were able to take showers and check email, so the evening was judged a success.

 to 
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The Road Trip: Leg 2 (to Nantes)

We departed Bayeux after completing some necessary preparations for the day (looking at The Cathedral, finding a French SIM card, and buying a pile of apple- and pear-based booze) , and continued south.

It is wonderful to have a car, and be able to get off the main routes. The bit of country-side south of Bayeux was lovely, all green and lush and filled with wonderful, tiny roads that allowed the Prius to hit 50+ mpg. Though one doesn't cover much ground, the additional time is very well spent, as the vistas from the Autoroute aren't nearly as impressive.

Julianna wanted to see Mont-Saint-Michele, so we took a slight detour west, and though she was disappointed that it is no longer a periodic island (the permanent causeway being built sometime in the 1800s), it is still quite a lovely vista. Since we didn't feel like paying the outrageous fees to park, we just pulled the car to the side of the road, out of the way of all the tour busses whizzing by, and took some pictures.

We are staying with some family friends in Nantes (specifically in Basse Indres, a small suburb to the west). The Le Denmat's have a gorgeous house, in a small private enclave, on the top of a hill, with a beautiful yard, a beautiful view of the Loire River, and a perfect deck from which to enjoy everything.  The families got to know each other through a partial home exchange five years ago, which is a pretty tenuous connection to milk for room and board, but milk it we did.  From the Champagne and tuna rillettes, to the Salade Italiane with a couple of rather lovely wines, and a wonderful homemade chocolate "mousse" for dessert, we were treated royally.  And our room had shutters on the outside, which are greatly under-appreciated, and I for one look forward to installing them on any subsequent houses.


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The Road Trip: Leg 1 (to Bayeux)

On the road....

Drove and drove and drove and drove and got lunch in Amiens or somewhere and drove and drove and drove and got to Port-en-Bessin-Huppain to pick up some Omaha Beach gravel and drove and stopped in Bayeux, which is cute and medieval. Featuring a great big cathedral (which was nice) and the Bayeux Tapestry (which we didn't see), and a store selling local cider and Calvados (which we purchased).

We found a lovely "chambre d'hote" with a chambre featuring Audrey Hepburn,












in the guesthouse La Castel











with a great view of the Cathedral










at which point we went to dinner and had a terrible experience.  Though the food was reasonably good, the two hours it took for us to get a starter and a main eventually became laughable, and a topic of conversation among all the other English-speakers in the restaurant (the dearth of whom was probably a bad sign from the start). Though lukewarm frites are unforgivable, regardless.

Brussels

I would just like to thank Stacy (or Lucille, or Wendy, or Judith or whatever) for providing the best ever customer service I have ever experienced.  After we missed our Eurostar train because we drank too much the night before and didn't leave the house quite promptly enough, she not only a) didn't charge us whatever the going rate was for same day tickets (which was going to be rather more than $300 for the two of us) but b) upgraded us to First Class and c) included meal service!  We waited two hours for the next train, but had big, comfortable seats, across a little table from each other, and were promptly offered Champagne.  And because this is Eurostar (and runs through France) this is real Champagne, not "sparkling wine".  A choice of red or white wine with our meal; I had a Ham Hock Shepherds Pie, and Julianna had the Spinach, Leek and Goat Cheese tart. An incredible experience, which reminded me of the way flying used to be "back in the day" when it was still new and exclusive and stewardesses actually cared about customers, and there were little tables and nice chairs to sit in when you weren't standing at the bar drinking a Sidecar or something.

The only down side was that I hadn't slept for the last few days, and was feeling lousy so couldn't revel in luxury in quite the way I usually do.  [Said illness is one of the reasons that this is only getting written now, and I'm not going to go into any more details, other than that Brussels is a bit of a hazy, sleep-deprived blur. BTW, Belgium without frites, moules, or biere = fail.]

However, I did recover such that Julianna and I were invited to dine at La Clef des Champs, Kris and Mark's personal "place". This is an incredible restaurant, the kind of mythical, small, Michelin-starred Michelin "recommended" place with one waiter, one chef, and someone hanging around maybe helping plate food, maybe washing dishes, maybe doing something else. It was a privilege to be one of the 30-or-so people served that night. Julianna's veal was delicious, my lamb knuckle was succulent and tender... the emphasis was certainly on the food, as the wine list extended to about 12 reds and 8 whites, but the Pouilly Fume was quite nice and paired wonderfully. Tres joli.

Oxford

What a treat to share some of the wonderful memories I have of Oxford with new people. I don't know that there's much to say about the town that's interesting to anyone else, other than it makes a great day trip from London, or a wonderful couple of years while studying. Beautiful buildings, great pubs, and scads of students, who are mostly very bright and very talented and often found drinking in the pubs.

Attached are pictures of punting, which is a very traditional way for Oxford students to get themselves psyched to either a) asking their significant other to marry them or b) go swimming.

And Kathleen and Guy, if you happen to read this, thank you for a wonderful meal and great conversation. I wish you both the best of luck with job stuff, and hope that we can return the favor the next time the American Society of Dramaturgs meets in the Bay Area.

Je vous ici!

Arrived in London, safe and sound. The flight went well, customs and immigration were quite painless (though we did get interrogated about our trip, and how we plan to support ourselves over the next few months), and met up with the wonderful Alice Obrecht at the airport (thanks, Alice). We got the trip started right with a long wander around the old neighborhood, with a stop at Neal's Yard Dairy for Stilton, Ardrahan and Tymsboro (a wonderfully sweet goat cheese from Bath). Quick dinner before Alice in Wonderland in 3D @ the massive IMAX in Waterloo... impressive movie in many ways, but Johnny Depp's 15 second, computer animated, break-dancing scene at the end was totally worthless and lame....


Anyway, it's not quite 1:00 am here, so I'm off to bed.

T -2

T -2: House is clean. Renters have a set of keys. They'll send me money... Dinner with friends (not in our house).
T -1: Finish dealing with taxes. Move car to South Bay. Pack.
T -0: Move bed and futon to basement. Go to airport. Cross fingers that Kris is able to get through to Westvleteren.
T +1: Sleep in London.