Cars I have owned - No 9: Datsun Stanza 1.6GL

A young Sam Rayner at the wheel of the Stanza

 I thought I'd made it when I moved onto the top car grade at Sharman Newspapers. Looking back now, I think I must have had a screw loose, but owning a brand new car, with a 1.6-litre engine and all the extras - it seemed like I had realised my motoring ambitions.

I went from a Vauxhall Cavalier 1.3L to a Datsun Stanza 1.6GL and I thought I'd got a limousine.

It had that bigger engine, although it was a bit slower and less agile than the Cavalier. Seats were soft, the steering (no power assistance) was really heavy, but it did have a cassette/radio, upholstered head-restraints, tinted glass, electric windows and velour seats.

A vinyl roof might have been the must-have accessory of the 1970s, velour seats were what counted in the '80s.

The Stanza has seemed like my dream car, but it was all show - the basic design was pretty poor. It was heavy, the engine wasn't powerful enough, it wasn't economical and it was awful to drive. Slow, sluggish performance and really bad handling. The Cavalier might have understeered, but you could feel what it was up to; the Stanza gave virtually no feedback at all.

The boot was smaller, although the hatckback design should have been better, and there was less room in the backseats.

Mine was Y-reg, but the same colour as this one.

You can read more about the Stanza here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nissan_Violet. The Violet was the saloon version and Datsun/Nissan was still having trouble naming its cars. Vehicles called Cherry, Sunny, Bluebird and Violet still sold despite their name badges.

The Stanza was introduced in 1981 — the first front-wheel drive Datsun. After 1982, Nissan tried to standardize the Stanza name in its export markets — in addition to phasing out the Datsun marque in favour of Nissan. You could also buy a Stanza in the US and it took the title Semperit Car of the Year in Ireland.

The Stanza was the only Nissan in the US market that was rated as more reliable than Toyota. It held the title from 1983 to 1986, but since 1987, has lost its ranking to Toyota and Honda.

We clocked up a few miles in the Stanza, including a trip to Dorset to stay with Margaret’s brother Philip, who was stationed in Weymouth. Because of its weight and lack of power, you spent quite a lot of your time at the wheel with your foot hard down which meant fule consumption didn’t pass 30mpg except on a long run.

I had a chance to have a fuel-economy device fitted for a newspaper feature, so the Stanza had this thing called a Gefarator fitted. This was a weird valve tapped into the inlet manifold which allowed extra air in (but not out). I guess the plan was to convert it to lean-burn. It made a funny noise and I did record a slightly better consumption figure, but I think that was probably because I was conscious of the device being there and moderated my driving a little. Gefarators never caught on, but there are some references to them online, see: https://groups.google.com/forum/#!topic/uk.rec.cars.classic/SgBn-UIDyXk

I didn't hate the Stanza, but I wasn't sorry to see it go, especially as my next car was a Vauxhall Cavalier 1.6.

Also see:

Ford Popular - click

Bedford HA Van - click

Morris Mini - click

Vauxhall Viva HC - click

Citroen GS Club - click

Morris Marina 1.3GL - click

Talbot Horizon 1.1 LS - click

Vauxhall Cavalier 1.3L - click

Drinks and Secret Santa

Back from holiday and there were just two full weeks left until my retirement. It still doesn't seem to be real. Even attending Gavin Bargate's retirement party didn't really bring it home to me. Gavin was managing editor and has held a number of senior editorial roles at PA. He'd been there for years and was the second longest-serving employee we had.

Gavin's leaving do was at the Jugged Hare pub and he'd bought a mass of food and drink. Almost everyone at the do was old and grey (former colleagues of Gavin's who had retired some time before him). It was a pleasant do, but pretty formal.

Annoyingly, just a week before my retirement date, the company announced a voluntary redundancy scheme which I may well have been accepted for and which would have paid me out around £70,000 (a big chunk of it tax-free). It would be easy to get angry (£70K would certainly come in very handy), but I can't really complain - I had no idea this was going to be on offer, retiring at the end of the year was the right choice and I'm not exactly on the breadline. Still, hard not to think: "If only I'd hung on for another six months ..."

My original leaving do was going to be December 12, but Davina and I decided to re-arrange it because we couldn't find any pubs with a free room. Trouble was that it was just before Christmas and all the rooms had been booked for office parties. It seemed a bit silly to have a leaving do after you'd already left, but that seemed like the right thing to do, so we switched it to January when we’d be able to get somewhere I hope).

Of course, some people who had the original date in their diary thought it would be nice to have a few drinks anyway. I'm talking particularly about John Fownes, whose wife and new baby were flying to Ireland a couple of days before. John has had a tough few months - it's their first baby and he hasn't slept much. It's been quite stressful for JF and he was looking forward to uninterrupted sleep and a few nights out.

We went to the Cask, which has Belgian beer and lots of English craft beers too. I went quite early with Paula Collins, who had been down from Howden for some customer meetings and, because she had been planning to take the train back north that evening, we started early (about 4.30pm). When you're drinking strong ale, plans can quickly change. Paula was drinking rose wine, but she ended up staying over and getting to bed about 3am. That was nothing to do with me - she abandoned my leaving drinks to join some friends in IT and started her own party. My night had planned to be a few nice drinks with friends, but I'd chosen to drink Westmalle triple, which is 10 per cent alcohol, so each bottle was like drinking a pint of fairly strong English beer.

I had about nine bottles, so I was well-oiled by the time I needed to leave to catch a train home. Turn-out was small, but select. There was: Paula Collins, John Fownes, Chris Perera, Laura Jones, Lorel Ward, Delphine Tsiranana, Mutesa (Tess) Sithole and Sean Otley (who has his eyes on Laura). John was concerned for my sobriety (or lack of it) and said he'd walk down to the tube with me. I'm not sure who was more drunk or more worried - we'd both had rather a lot and if John was worried that I might not make it to the tube, I was worried that he might not make it back to the pub. As it happened we both made it and I was safely home by 10.45pm. Next morning, my alarm went at 5am and I got out of bed quite woozy. It was one of those awful moments when you wake up and realise you are still drunk. Apart from the danger of trying to drive to the station, I'd every reason to believe a hangover would start about 11am, so I decided I should work from home. Actually, I did manage to do a little work, which was an achievement!

John Fownes and I

John, me and Laura - lots of 'selfies' being taken this week

Tess, Delphine and Lorel

Chris and Sean

The next day, we were due in London again for a party organised by Laura Jones at her new flat in Streatham Hill. Margaret didn't feel well enough to go, so I went on the train and stayed over with Max and Inna. The party was a surprise leaving do for me and Laura had invited a number of guests. It was good to see (again): Laura (of course), Lorel and Tess who were at The Cask on Thursday, Mel Machin and her partner Christine, plus Davina Page. I’m glad that Max and Inna came too, otherwise I would have been the only man.

We were nicely merry on G&T, but the party broke up about 11.30pm because people had to get Tube trains home and they stop running about midnight. We gave Davina a lift to Balham station in our cab and on Sunday morning Max and Inna bought me breakfast at a pub in London before I hopped on the Tube for home. That evening, we went round to see Pauline and Chris before they left for their trip to California.

On Monday, it was Leaving Do North, which was necessary because I've worked in Howden as long (or longer) during my time at PA than I have in London. There are a lot of very good people there, so it was nice to have an opportunity to say goodbye. Paula had booked drinks at the Wellington, a meal at the Chinese and then more drinks at the Wellie.

It was a good night. At the meal were: Paula Collins, Jane Kew, Margaret Hicks, Margaret Depledge, Stephanie Murray, Dawn Stevenson, Steve Feasby, Kevin Kenning and Russell Brown. Ken Alderson, Steven Brown and Gareth Bramhall joined us for drinks beforehand. They bought me a nice hamper of goodies, including gin, cake and cheeses.

Jane Kew was rather merry and folk said lots of nice things. There were attempts at drinking games, but everyone was too fuddled to play them. There may be a picture of me picking up a rose from the floor with my teeth ... Jane had invented a new drink called a gee-gee, which was gin and ginger ale. Jane is concerned that gin and tonic is a summer drink and thought this might be quite appropriate for winter. We tested several to make sure we liked it. I stayed over at Bridgegate House and it was nice, next morning, to see Liz the caretaker. In my days working at Howden, I stayed over two or three days per week and got to know Liz very well, so it was good to be able to say goodbye.

I caught the 11.50 train to London for yet another party – team drinks at Lowlander, a Belgian bar in Covent Garden. Just what I needed – more Belgian beer!

The trains had been all over the place this week, due to signalling problems. I was delayed about two hours getting to Howden and then an hour coming back to London. The big worry wasn’t so much the Belgian beer, but rather whether I’d be able to get home that night. The beer was good. I chose Mort Subite, which I’d drunk in Brussels with Tom earlier in the year. It’s a little less deadly (weaker) than Westmalle and is a gueuze, which I think means it’s made by wild yeast fermentation rather than adding yeast artificially. It’s the beer equivalent of sourdough bread.

It was a good evening, if somewhat busy in the bar, but Richard mailed me from King’s Cross to say the trains were a nightmare and it might be best not to leave it too late. Nothing worse than being drunk and merry one minute and sitting in a cold King’s Cross with no trains the next, so I headed back around 7.30pm. Richard wasn’t wrong and, after two days of rail disruption and delays of perhaps four hours, I chose to pay £43 for an East Coast single to Peterborough, rather than wait over an hour for a First Capital Connect train that would stop everywhere!

Secret Santa was done before the drinks and some of the gifts were shocking (not in a good sense). I got a plastic apron with blow-up boobs. I said I’d wear it if someone would blow up the boobs, but there were no takers. I also got a head massager and a foul-mouthed parrot. The parrot is a little toy and when you squeeze it, there's a small player which has a repertoire of five coarse phrases:

"Who's a pretty boy - not you lard arse.

"Polly wants a cracker, get Polly a fucking cracker."

Margaret thought it was the funniest thing she had seen for a long time.

The most embarrassing gift was a bottle of wine which someone (Darius was the guilty party) had bought for John Fownes. He must have done it in a bit of a hurry because he forgot to put a label on it so when Davina pulled it from the sack, no-one (except Darius) knew who it was for. It was in a wine gift bag, so we knew what it was, and when John pulled it out, everyone noticed it had been opened and a glassful poured out. Darius must have realised he'd forgotten Secret Santa and just grabbed a bottle chilling in the fridge.

The worst gift was from John Fownes to Leigh Ellerby. He'd got him a couple of scratch cards, one of which was a joke one which had a winning combination. For a few agonising seconds, Leigh thought he'd won £130,000. Some people were in on the joke, I wasn't so I thought Leigh was joking when he said he'd won. Thankfully, he was told it was a joke just before he poured beer over Darius' head and tended his resignation. Leigh did his best to see the funny side, but it did rather spoil his evening - probably the most cruel joke I've seen.

Foul-mouthed parrot

The company Christmas party was to be held on the Thursday, but with a week of heavy drinking, I was just too weary, so I decided to bail out of that one - lightweight!

The drinking wasn't quite over. On Friday, Laura and I took a client to COLD bar just off Fleet Street. COLD is an acronym for Company of London Distillers. It's a bar with a still at one end and over 100 different types of gin. We had cocktails, gin tasting and a few G&Ts. Just two working days to my retirement ...

Running for home

The last day of our holiday was the drive home. We were booked on a 3pm ferry and with the journey down taking around 10 or 11 hours, I wasn't that confident of making it - even with a revised route and a 5am start.

As it happened, we got started just after 5am with a deep frost and a slightly nervous run down to the main road. The road down was dry, so no ice except the bit near the farm, but it was no problem.

I was determined that the sat-nav would not take us via Annecy, Geneva and the Jura, but perversely, the sat-nav had decided the best way back was via Lyon and that was fine. It also kept us on the road past Dijon and Rheims, which was bang on.

My engine warning light was still on, but the car was running fine and the weather was pretty good, just a few fog banks caused by temperature inversions in the steep valleys. Southern France has a speed restriction when pollution levels reach a certain point and this was activated all along the route from Chambery to Lyon and on the Autoroute de Sol north from Lyon. It meant setting the cruise control for 70mph, rather than 80 and there were also long stretches where we were down to 60mph.

I was struggling to maintain an average of 50-55mph for the first couple of hours, but once the speed restrictions were gone, we were able to cruise at 80mph on really quiet roads. I'd got enough fuel on board to make it almost to Calais, but we'd need to stretch our legs at least once, so I decided to stop and fill up once we'd got within a couple of hundred miles.

As the sun came up, we had a magnificent sight away to the east. From the autoroute north of Lyon, we could look across at what seemed to be a distant mountain range. At first I thought it was low cloud near the horizon, but as the sun came up, the shapes grew more distinct and it was obvious we were looking at the Alps and the distinctive profile of Mont Blanc rising above the rest.

It was a nice farewell. Margaret has loved the mountain scenery, she's been sleeping at a thousand metres (about the height of Scafell or Skiddaw) and has been up to 2300 metres (over 7,000ft), which will be the highest she has trod on solid ground).

This is small potatoes next to Tom's Andean exploits, but when you've lived the last 35 years two metres above sea level, then it's pretty exciting.

We were now making better time and gobbling up the miles (and the motorway tolls). I didn't know whether it was a good thing or not, but my engine warning light had gone out and the car was now stuttering a bit before the turbo kicked in. Nothing to do but carry on and let Andy Bunyan have a look when we got home.

We did stop just once, for about 15 minutes, and we made great time, getting to Calais before 2pm and being put on an earlier ferry. That route via Lyon is so much faster.

British motorways seem very crowded after the French autoroutes, but we made decent time and were home a little after 6pm. As a treat, we'd bought two pizzas from Super U in Bourg and I got those in the oven as soon as we were unpacked. Margaret declared hers absolutely delicious.

Next morning I was dispatched good and early to pick up Holly from the kennels. The good things about Jo Gee's kennels is that you can drop off or pick up at the weekend, provided you do it at the start or the end of the day.

We were looking forward to having Holly back and as I pulled into the yard, I could see she was out in the run. She spotted the car and her tail started wagging and when I got out she was jumping with excitement. When we got home, Margaret was waiting, but Holly was so excited that she ran past her and spent the next 10 minutes running maniacally around the garden, barking and spinning around. It makes you sad to see how much she loves her home.

Christmas shopping and a short, but steep, walk to church

Our last day was to have been spent in Tignes, but Margaret wasn't up for the trip. The thought of a ride up the mountain by gondola and sitting it out in a high restaurant wasn't appealing and I could understand why. She said she'd stay at home, but it was only a short break and I knew she wanted to do a little shopping, so we called off the skiing and headed to Super U instead.

Sam was a bit sulky (he wanted to ski), but he cheered up after breakfast in the cafe. I got lots of nice things in the supermarket, including chocolates and biscuits for work, Beaufort cheese for Laura, something for Max (which I can't mention here in case he reads this); also a present of Leffe Belgian beer and glasses for me and some provisions for the long drive back next day.

We popped into Intersport where Margaret found a present for my sister; there was a weird music, books and games shop next door to Intersport, where I bought a set of cheap headphones to replace the ones that disappeared about the same time Tom left for Ecuador.

We'd thought we might have stopped in Bourg and had a look around, but we'd got pretty much all we needed and so headed back to Villaret.

Way above the village, there a small chapel built on the nose of a massive outcrop of limestone. It was obviously put in a place that’s difficult to reach in order to either be closer to Jehovah or to score more Brownie points for the pious making the journey from the valley floor. When we were here in 2012 for the first time, I'd tried to find out something about the place, but there was nothing on the internet.

It's called the Chapel St Michel on the map and there were quite a few references to shrines to St Michael, many of them established by people heading out on the Crusades. I guess it was the nearest they had to travel insurance. Although I could find many references, I couldn't find anything about this particular one.

From Villaret, it's quite hard to see how you would walk up to it. The front slope is massively steep, so that if you lost your footing, you would not be able to prevent yourself from falling. We assumed there was a way around the back, but there are deep clefts either side of the chapel and a sheer cliff above.

The notes in our chalet say that you can walk up to it and that it's also possible to walk up still higher to where there are some old gun emplacements, perhaps from the First or Second World War (perhaps earlier). These valleys have been the scene of many battles and have seen many armies pass through from Hannibal to Napoleon.

There are signs pointing up to the chapel in Villaret and so we set out early afternoon on a lovely sunny day. The tarmac road stops at Maison Blueski, so once we'd clambered over the icy snowbank piled up at the head of the village by the snowplough, we were on a dirt road (steep but clearly used by quads or 4x4s). These fields are wonderful summer pasture for sheep and cattle, but right now the grass is a little rough and covered with patches of snow. Soon, it will be all snow.

There's a clear track upwards, crossed in places by farm tracks, and in the winter sun we were soon too warm and having to discard clothing. Sam, Lucy and I were making the journey and Margaret was going to do a few jobs around the chalet. The path zig-zags upwards. There's a clear older path which is embanked on each side, but people have cut across the zig-zags to take a more direct route, so there are lots of little paths and a fair bit of soil erosion. In the places where the afternoon sun doesn't reach, the snow was building up. Untrodden snow gives good traction, but where people have walked, the snow is icy and quite treacherous.

After half an hour, there's a small shrine to the Virgin Mary where people had left offerings of flowers and produce (including a quince). From there, the path climbs and the views of the valley open out so we could see onto the bowl of Le Plan, the ski resort next to Les Arc and higher still, the track forked with one route leading to the chapel and the other one upwards towards the high plateau. That's a walk for June.

Now we were more or less on a level with the chapel at around 1350m and, to reach it, the path is cut into the sloping cliff for a short way before it arrives behind the chapel. This part is the most exposed, but is in the sun so ice and snow haven't built up. Behind the chapel, the path continues and leads down to La Rosiere, the area on the edge of Bourg immediately below Villaret (hence Villaret sur La Rosiere). You could use the path to do a full circuit.

The short walk up to the chapel was the most dangerous (especially coming down). Steps cut into the wooded slope have eroded and the snow has turned to ice so it was quite hard to walk. We had to go onto all fours going up and slide down on bums.

The chapel is well cared for. The heavy door is propped open, but a grille prevents you from entering. Inside there's a room with a small altar, a cross and a domed ceiling painted blue with stars. Outside is a large cross and floodlighting to highlight the place during darkness. A plaque on the wall says it was built in 1563 (about the same time as Thorney Abbey) well after the crusades. Of course the present building may well have replaced an earlier shrine.

The grassy face of the mountain below the chapel is extremely steep and you feel as it you're looking down directly upon Villaret and (below that) Bourg itself. 

Looking down the steep slope to Villaret and Bourg

Walking down, retracing our steps, required more care on the snow and ice, but we were soon back at the chalet and we walked onto the garden and took the steps down onto our patio. Margaret was sitting in the sun with a glass of wine petting Maurice (who had shown up again). They were having a very nice time.

Margaret had also had a glass of wine with the old lady next door who had been spending some of her afternoon working on the land behind our chalet pulling out and burning brambles. One had no French, the other no English, but they'd drunk wine, complained about hard work, commented on the fine weather and Margaret had established that it was a) OK to feed the dog and b) the dog was called Clarissa.

It seems a strange name for a dog (even a French dog) so I'm not sure if Margaret hadn't actually got the old lady's name, not the dog's. Anyway she now has a four-legged and a two-legged French friend.

Sam sent me this note on Dec 12: When we got back from shopping today, we saw the farm lady with a man who had a truck of dogs. She was buying a new collie for the farm. Interestingly he was from another valley and originated from Wales. He was retired here but breeds farm dogs. He gave her a deal of 400 Euro for a 3 month old. It was called Anushka and was going to be learning from the older dog, formerly known as Maurice and Clarissa. The dog's actual name is Roxy. 

Skiing in Val Thorens

I was looking forward to having a ski, although I'm always a little apprehensive. I think I'm a barely competent skier; I can cope with blues pretty well, but sometimes I don't have the control I should and my last ski holiday really took its toll on my thighs, so much so that I called a halt to my final day after an hour and went for breakfast instead.

This year, I'm a little lighter and a little bit fitter; also we were going to Val Thorens, which is where I first skied. It is ideal for learners as it has a large green area and some nice, gentle blues. I could find my feet in my own good time.

The drive to Val Thorens takes about an hour (although Luc, the ski instructor-cum-building-labourer, who lives next door reckons it is 45 minutes driving the Savoyarde way). The route involves going down the valley to the next town (Moutiers) and then taking a winding switchback road climbing up, up and up to 2300 metres. We thought we might be able to park in the resort, but there was a large car park at the foot of the village. It was obviously aimed at day trippers and it was free, so we went in there.

It sits at the bottom of the Caron gondola lift which allows you to go up into town or take a ride to the top of the Gentian blue run. Had Margaret been skiing, it would have been ideal, but we couldn't buy a pass to just go up to town and paying for a half-day ski pass only for that journey wouldn't have made sense. Sam drove us up into town and dropped us at the edge and went back to the car park. We were able to walk down a small ski slope onto the green area and down to a restaurant on the edge, where Margaret could be based. She was very nervous about the whole thing, but I put my skis on and went down with her, and she was much happier once we had a seat and coffee.

View from our cafe seat. The resort was so quiet and snow so good!

I texted Sam and Lucy to tell them where we were and they popped along to find us. We agreed that we'd have an hour or so's skiing and then meet up for lunch. It was lovely and warm in the sun; there was a great view and lots of people to  watch, so Margaret had a pretty happy time observing the world going by. I did a couple of passes of the long run down in front of the resort and tried a couple of the steeper slopes down into the green area. I seemed to be quite competent and went back to Margaret feeling quite pleased with myself.

She'd seen some interesting sights and had also been waving at a chap she thought was me (but wasn't). I was kitted out in new Buffalo walking pants, which are ideal for skiing except that the leg is a little too tight to go over a ski boot. It wasn't a big problem as I left one side unzipped, but I had expected the pants to have elasticated bottoms. I also had Sam's old ski jacket which he had given me, so, for a change, I actually almost looked the part.

With my Giro helmet, Bolle goggles and Oakley prescription sunglasses (all from the excellent RX Sport) at least my head has some of the right brands. RX Sport is perfect if you need prescription sunglasses. They even managed to fit varifocal lenses to Oakley semi-wraps.

Margaret and I were just getting a snack for lunch when Sam and Lucy arrived. The weather was turning a little colder and so we had another hour's skiing after lunch and then called it a day. Sam gave me a few tips (get my arms further forward) and it was good to tackle a few steeper bits where I had to turn more sharply. I picked up a bit too much speed in one section, but never felt as if I was going to fall, so I was well pleased with my day. This would be a great week to visit Val Thorens - hardly anybody about, no queues for the lifts and no jams on the runs.

To get back to the car, Sam and Lucy were able to ski down. Sam took my skis, so I could more easily walk up with Margaret to the Caron station in town and get the gondola back to the car. The steep walk and the thin air caused Margaret to have a coughing fit, but she just about got her breath back when we arrived by the car. It’s surprising how the thinner air affects you even at 2300 metres.

She'd found it quite stressful being in such a different environment, but very enjoyable. She was even talking about trying a lesson next time we come. I don't think that will happen, but it's good she's interested. I'd really like it if she could ski; she'd really enjoy some of the fantastic views you get from the pistes and also the cafes.

We were able to drive back down to Moutiers in the daylight, which was nice, and a real bonus was a fantastic view of Mont Blanc (Monty) with the setting sun turning its southern flank a beautiful orange/red. I would have taken a photo, but it was in sight for only 30 seconds or so, my camera was in the back and we were in a stream of cars snaking down the mountain.

In contrast to the bright uplands, Moutiers is a dark, gloomy place in winter. It doesn't seem to get any sunshine and the colder air at the bottom of the valley was trapping a pollution haze above the town. It's hard to imagine anywhere looking as miserable as Moutiers in the midst of such natural beauty.

Margaret had enjoyed her day and to cap it off with a perfect ending, it was tartiflette for dinner. She declared it her favourite meal of all time and I have to say, it does go down very well after a day's skiing.

The next day, we're planning a trip to Tignes/Val d'Isere.

Enjoying the sun and snow

The woodpile is laid

Big excitement today was the fact that we had something for breakfast, milk for tea and the wood was being delivered.

There was a bit of furniture shifting going on and Lucy had taken on the mission to wash all of the chair covers (which were a bit grubby, it has to be said). The chairs are all beige, which isn't the best colour for a holiday let.

I was keeping an ear open for M Vincent. We'd given him Sam's mobile number so he could call when he got to the village, but he just followed his nose up and bang on 11am, I heard the sound of his truck at the front. He greeted me like an old friend and I used my limited French to wish him good day and ask how he was. We then had to revert to grunts and sign language to explain where we were and how he would unload the wood.

He has a Mazda 4x4 with snow tyres and a tipper, so he can deliver wood pretty much anywhere. He was able to back the truck down the passageway between the chalet and the farm next door and tipped it reasonably close to the end of the building. It was a pretty large pile and it looked good wood, nice and dry and aged.

We were stacking the wood under the stairs leading up to the balcony around the top chalet. The stairs come down onto our patio, but they're for emergency use so I've never seen anyone using them. They also lead up to a level above (at the same height as the roof) where there's a small level patch (which is the garden). The chalet is the last building in the village (it was a cow barn belonging to the farm) and the hill is climbing steeply at this stage - a good 1 in 3.

The driveable road finishes at our chalet. You can get a car up there, but that last bit is steep, narrow and has a sharp bend. The road is cleared of snow, but the plough comes up the village pushing the snow ahead of it and piled it up just after our chalet, creating a large snowbank. The tarmac road turns into a dirt track after that and it's used by quads, jeeps and horses only.

Anyway, the space under the stairs off the patio make a great place to store some wood and keep it dry. Lucy was the stacker, Sam and I ferried armfuls between the pile and the stacker and Margaret was the loader. It proved a good system and the pile went down slowly, but steadily as the stack increased at the same rate.

Maurice arrived to check out what was going on and 'helped' a little by bringing some wood back to Margaret in the hope that she might throw it for him. We were very focused though, so Maurice was a minor distraction.

The wood store grew into two layers and Lucy had to add a small third layer to finish off. We also had about five bags of kindling from chips and sticks.

The nights are very cold, down to -5 deg C or lower, but we are on the sunny side of the valley, so once the sun is up, it gets warm quite quickly. The patio is a real sun-trap and it is nice to sit out there in the late morning/early afternoon. Sam had shovelled snow off the previous day and, without the snow cover, the ice underneath had begun melting in the sun. It was melting still more today and would be clear with a further couple of days' good weather.

With the wood stacked, we got changed and headed down to town for some lunch and a wander around. It was about 1pm, so all the shops were shut for lunch, but we had a slow wander and then went into a small cafe by the main square for lunch. It was good food and they were very friendly. Margaret has been practising her French and we're trying to get her to ask for 'van rouge' rather than 'vin rouge' and also specify whether she wants a glass or a bottle. She did remember ‘van’ this time, but when the waitress asked how much and suggested a carafe, Margaret agreed immediately and so ended up with over half a bottle of wine for lunch.

Afterwards, we had a little more of a wander and then headed back to the chalet. Sam was doing veal shank for dinner and it needed a long slow cook. I got the fire going with the last of the supermarket wood and we were soon very warm. The wood-burning stove soon heats up the lounge/kitchen and, if you leave the door open to the bedrooms, then the whole chalet gets warm.

Maurice had been around in the morning and had enjoyed a little more rabbit stew left-overs. Margaret had still more saved for her supper, but she failed to put in an appearance.

Next day, we were planning to go to Val Thorens so we spent some time checking out the options. We'd park up in town and get a half-day ski pass. Margaret would have happily stayed in the chalet, but I was keen for her to come, so she agreed and we planned that she could have a look around town and a few coffees or vin chauds by the side of the piste.

Mr Vincent and his very pretty dog

Mission on our second day was to do a supermarket shop, have some breakfast and investigate where we could buy some wood.

Sam was sure that he’d seen a sign for wood from the funicular railway as it headed up to Les Arc, so we started with a plan to have breakfast at the cafe by the supermarket and drop by the bottom of the funicular on the way to see if we could find the wood yard.

There was no sign of wood, just a garage, a tyre depot (where you could sort out your pnue) and a garden centre. Sam popped into the garden centre to see if they knew any wood merchants and we sat outside keeping the engine running. It was about -5 deg C down in Bourg, so the car was hardly warm on the short drive down from Vilaret.

He returned five minutes later to say it was a very good garden centre, they spoke excellent English and he had a name, a number and also some directions – the wood merchant was down by the canoe centre. We decided to head down there to see if we could find him. The road follows the Isere River and we found the canoe centre, but no sign of any wood. There was a sign which said “Commercial Centre” so we followed the road down for a good way and were just about to give up when we found the wood yard.

The proprietor Rui Vincent, had very little English, but he did have a pretty dog called Fidji and he certainly knew his wood. We managed to buy three ‘stairs’ of wood and arrange for them to be delivered a demain (or at least we think we did). Mr Vincent agreed that he’d be there at 11am the next day, I reluctantly put down Fidji (a small brown terrier) and we left in good spirits. That was one job done and, at €260, it was a bit less than Sam had expected.

As is the way with fate and fortune, one minute you’re feeling all’s well with the world and the next there’s a dark grey cloud. The cloud arrived with the journey back into Bourg. I retraced my route and was going to cut through the Funicular car park to get round the back of the station, through a small residential area and be on the right side of town for the supermarket. However, there was a ‘no entry’ sign on the car park entrance and barriers had been installed. The free car park we had enjoyed for the past two ski trips was not free any more.

We had to drive back and along the top of the car park. Nothing was open yet, but there were exit barriers too, so it was clear a charge was going to be applied.

By this time, it was nudging 11am and I was ready for breakfast. We all had the set menu at €5 each, which included a croissant, bread and jam, a hot drink and a glass of juice. It’s not quite a Wetherspoon’s full English for £4.99 value, but it’s pretty close.

The supermarket we use is called Super U and it’s a really good one. French supermarkets (in general) are so much nicer than English ones and we did a big shop to stock up for the week. Sam bought rabbits to make a rabbit casserole, veal hock and the ingredients for a tartiflette. There were also some items noted for possible purchase late in the week. They had some bargain Belgian beers. You could get three bottles of Chimay Blue and a glass for less than I paid on eBay for a glass. There was also a lovely big bottle of Leffe and two glasses at under €8.

Later in the day, we were cooking up dinner and getting the fire going when Maurice (the name we’d given to the farm collie) arrived to check us out. She was quite nervous and showed her teeth when we went out onto the patio to see her, but it was obvious she wanted to be friends, she was just a little nervous. Margaret and I gave her time to come up and sniff us, have a pat and a stroke and she was fine.

Margaret was missing Holly, so Maurice got all the attention she needed. She has a couple of chunks of matted fur that could do with being cut off, but she’s a lovely dog. She got a bowl of rabbit stew leftovers for her trouble.

View of the Isere Valley from our chalet, with early
morning mist filling the valley floor. Click to see it snowing!