The Chateau Diaries

In the wake of the news of the horrific attacks in Nice, today was rather a sombre affair. We cut short our plans to film in a metro station and spent the morning in a cafe watching the rolling news on TV. Paris is in shock. Yesterday we were getting together with the local community and sharing food and laughter, as was the whole of France, and then that happens. A truly terrible time.

In the afternoon we drove a full circuit of the Boulevard Peripherique, several times as it happens, which felt suitably miserable. We found a particular stretch where there is tunnel after tunnel, only popping out into the light for brief moments. So we drove back and forth along this stretch for a good few hours, filming out the front windscreen. We rested the camera on an old cushion cover filled with rice (sod you Amazon and your £20 photo bean bags) which worked a treat. The footage is stunning and we rather pleased with it.

Feeling a bit better we ventured to the cloud towers to shoot some more footage there. We got a few shots before the sun disappeared behind a massive cloud (ironically) and a friendly old lady suggested we put the camera away in case of hoodlums. The footage is a bit rubbish anyway so nae bother.

When we got back to the chateau we found the other artist had vacated our little flat and we were allowed back in. Oh my days! We are home and it feels good.

Tomorrow we are heading to find some factory chimneys that we spotted from the Boulevard Peripherique. They were pumping out what appeared to be clouds. How lovely. That’s where they come from! We shall capture this on film for all the world to see.

Today has been a day of disappointments and hard drinking. This morning we started on the sauce at 11am for the continued Bastille Day celebrations, quaffing blanc de blanc behind a rather impressive marching band. This was followed by a picnic. Now, Hermine had told us about the picnic, where all the villagers get together and share food, but she had said she would provide the food for us. This morning, she asked “Have you brought anything for the picnic?” Ah. Non. “Well I have made this quiche. But of course, this is not for you.” Ah. Bother. “There will be some left over food from the big village dinner last night. But of course, this is not for you. Do you not have anything?” Ah. Hhmm. Maybe. Poor Julie reluctantly handed over her secret stash of cheddar. Luckily, the mountains of booze WERE available for us, so we tucked in unashamedly.

So it was rather inebriated that we did circles of the chateau this afternoon, testing out our new go pros. These were attached to various parts of our body and we were walking very gingerly to try to get a smooth shot (which looked to the unsuspecting onlooker rather like we had shat ourselves). Understandably the results were a bit lack lustre but they have helped us formulate a plan for shooting tomorrow:

Suction cup a go pro onto the roof of the Ford Focus and drive to Paris around the Boulevard Peripherique until we go crazy. Stop near Clignancourt and film in a metro station we have heard some terrible things about. This will be with go pros strapped to our chest and head. Certainly one way to draw attention to yourself in Paris!

Bonjour tout le monde! We’re back!! After a long and uneventful journey from Blighty, we arrived at the Chateau de Sacy today. Ah, home sweet home. But sacre bleu! Another artist had taken up residency in our abode. The sheer audacity of some people! We couldn’t even unpack our groceries. Outwardly, we were very gracious, whilst inwardly we were distraught. It turns out she’s actually very lovely and invited us in for a cup of tea before we scuttled off down the corridor to our bedroom.

There is an overlap of artists staying at the chateau as Hermine thought we would all like to celebrate the Bastille Day celebrations, which consisted of a tiny tractor blaring out La Macarena whilst every soul in the village trudged behind swinging a lantern. The tractor also pumped out various English language songs with lyrics they obviously didn’t realise were quite so filthy (lay down girl, let me push it up, push it up). This was followed by extraordinarily over the top fireworks where it seemed they were literally recreating the storming of the Bastille. Sacy was lit up like a Christmas tree!

Whatever happened today we would still have been smiling as en route we received an email from the amazing writer Tom Jeffreys with the text he has written for our exhibition catalogue. He has got us so spot on that we actually wept with happiness. Now all we have to do is produce some work that lives up to the billing. BRING – IT – ON!

This morning we headed off on our trip, with everything we needed, including rose wine, cheese, lager, water and bread, in case those things are tricky to find in France. We arrived at the Eurotunnel terminal three hours early. Yes we were a little keen. The train journey was a glimpse into a futuristic dystopia, and a bit on the hot side.

Once on the other side we stopped in the services where we proudly showed off our French, and they promptly replied to us in English. Driving on the right side (or should we say wrong side) of the road went surprisingly smoothly. It all started to go wrong when we arrived in Sacy Le Petit and eventually found the Chateau only to discover it all locked up and nobody home. There was a lot of shouting Bonjour very loudly intermixed with Allo Allo, is anybody there. We did consider scaling the walls. Eventually we rang Hugo back in London to ask him to call Hermine. (She later told us she heard the phone ringing but left it). She only accidentally stumbled across us whilst watering the plants. Not her fault really as we were a tad early.

Hermine greeted us dressed in gardening slacks. She had been mowing the not insignificant lawn for an hour. She took us into her office (where we had to strap dusters to our feet as she had just had the floors polished) and asked us to sign what seemed like an historic document but actually turned out to be a receipt for our bursary money.

She cooked us dinner in her little kitchen (No, the sauce is for ends of the asparagus!) and showed us round the garden, an overgrown wilderness full of the most amazing herbs, vegetables and flowers.

During dinner, at 7 o’clock, the church bells started ringing, and carried on ringing (200 fucking times). Apparently they do so at 7am and at midday too, every day, to call the workers in from the fields. Even though there aren’t any workers in the fields any more. It’s quite a haunting sound, and one for further investigation. However, might have a change of heart at 7am tomorrow morning.

The main topic of conversation during dinner was how much booze we needed to order for the village Petanque competition that we are organising (they weren’t going to hold it this year so we have stepped into the breach to keep the tradition alive and ingratiate ourselves with the locals). Should we order from the wine merchant who do sale or return or get from Lidl who do a rather nice rosé?? Such are the dilemmas here at Chateau de Sacy.

We are back in Blighty now and gradually acclimatising to city life once again. Let us fill you in on how the last day of the residency went, which was of course the day of the big Petanque tournament.

They weren’t going to hold the village petanque in Sacy-le-Petit this year, it seems the game is in a gradual decline all over France. So we took it upon ourselves to organise it for them, since we like a bit of a get-together. Now, we were not sure how this was going to go down, whether anyone would actually show up at all, it was all a bit of a risk. So it was with trepidation that we went over to the village hall early to set up.

We loaded up a trestle table full of the booze and Brucey started to draw up an extremely complicated score chart. Then we sat waiting nervously for players to arrive. The 1.30pm sign up time came and went, and we got the fear and started laying into the Rose Pamplemousse. Then, at about 1.55pm, people began to appear with their boules under their arms. Then more, then more, until we had queues of people and had to add more rows to our score chart. 18 teams! More than last year! Some even came from over 50km away!

And then we were off. The sun was shining, the Petanquers were getting nicely drunk, there was a lot of measuring and ruminating on who’s balls were closest (or something) and things seem to be going well. Then Brucey admitted he might have made a bit of a faux pas with the draws, meaning some teams would end up playing each other again over the 5 games. Much number head-fuckery later, and after consulting various incomprehensible websites, we were back on track. Major crisis averted. Well done Brucey!

The Petanquers were ordering beers and kirs and downing them in one. Some of them started to get VERY sloshed. They were telling us how beautiful we were, and singing to us (that’s how sloshed they were). And they were still playing. In fact, it seemed to go on and on and on. Five games took 5 hours! 5 solid hours of Petanque and hard drinking! We almost ran out of booze. Thankfully we had a bottle of Ricard on hand to give each player a celebratory drink when they finished. Although this did seem to send them over the edge. By the time of the prize-giving they were well and truly plastered. One of them even gave Julie a piggy back! The trophies went down well, including the hand-crafted wooden spoon monstrosity, and it was time for a group photo, to chants of ‘Sacy! Sacy!’ and much cheering and hat throwing. If they haven’t erected a statue to us by the time we are back in July we will be bitterly disappointed.

Back at the Chateau, exhausted but exhilarated, Hermine said she was going to cook us dinner in her kitchen. We say dinner, it was just asparagus. A LOT of asparagus. One supposes you have to make the most of when it’s in season. Hermine sat us all down and flustered around the cooker with everyone assuming the crash position. Then, hysterically flailing, she exclaimed “Get out my way, I’m doing something very dangerous!” and rushed round us with a humongous saucepan with steam erupting from it and upended it in the sink. “Zorry for the fuss, but no one has ever cooked this much asparagus in ‘istory! I am suffering for you!” Then she basically force fed us, laying on a guilt trip if you said you might have had enough. Julie ate the sauce even though she is allergic to eggs. She would rather have a allergic reaction than face a scornful Hermine. Dessert was rhubarb cake, with stewed rhubarb. The stewed rhubarb was rather on the tart side and it was a real effort to force it down while still smiling. Then we were told “That concludes the entertainment for this evening” and we were dismissed. What a fantastic end to a fantastic trip.

The next morning we stuffed everything into the car, including Bruce and Hermine, and headed for Calais. Hermine had brought along 6 fragrant hard boiled eggs for the journey, which we expect Hugo had to eat when she got in. The journey was slightly quiet, as we gradually left the countryside (and the past) behind and headed to the London and the future.

Bruce had been amazing and we think he had enjoyed himself. Well, he said he could dine out on the experience for weeks, which we are sure amounts to the same thing. Indeed we felt the same, packing away our posh clothes that we had brought for an imagined chateau life that didn’t exist. Next time we will know what to pack and what to expect, but we’re sure the culture shock will still be there.

Apparently there are four distinct phases to culture shock: honeymoon, frustration, adjustment, and mastery. We think we had only got to the adjustment stage, so maybe when we return in July we can get to be masters of Chateau de Sacy.

We are now experiencing reverse culture shock (we can’t stand the telly, and miss the garden) which we have read can be even harder to get over. Wish us luck adapting back to our lives in the modern world.

We will be back with the blog in July. In the meantime, keep in touch on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. www.henrybragg.com

PS Rose Pamplemousse tastes awful in England.