Autumn: normal service resumed

Since we came back from France on October the 22nd, life has reverted to the usual autumnal offering of wet, windy weather. We were blessed with some gorgeous sunny days down in the Haute-Marne, but it's true to say that the day before we left even the weather there changed and our drive home ended in ploughing through the back spray from speeding cars on the highway north to the Netherlands.

From that day on, it's been hard to find moments to walk Zoe without getting drenched. My poor little pup doesn't enjoy being wet, so even though I've got her a raincoat, she runs so close to ground, she's pretty much always  a soggy, mud-spattered sausage by the time we get home. This sad and sodden state is usually brightened somewhat by the great game of 'fight the towel'–a romp she enjoys with gusto – but it takes ages for her to dry, by which time we have to go out again and repeat the process.

Of course our dug-up road, which is still not finished, isn't helping matters. The company doing the work is supposed to have completed laying the new surface by the 10th of November, but owing to the daily downpours, they can't do much other than turn up every morning, inspect the sandy base, decide it's too wet and go away again. Sometimes, like today, they scrape the sand smooth and do a few more metres, but then the rain starts again and off they go.

Maybe I should explain why the process takes so long. Here in the Netherlands, almost everything is built on sand and that includes the roads. Being a country that was largely wrested from the sea, our soil lacks the kind of substance that 'real land' has. While the tarred main highways and through routes are constructed on solid bases of hardcore that has to be added to the sandy loam, our village street is made up of bricks laid straight onto sand. There is a layer of rubble-type material to give some firmness to the base, but  above that is thick, smooth sand onto which the bricks are laid in a sort of hounds-tooth pattern. It looks great when it's finished, but it takes forever to lay when the weather is inclement. The men tell us they cannot work on wet sand because it has no 'give', which seems to be important. I admire their skill, however. It's fascinating to watch them work so neatly and speedily when they have the chance.

The current status, but they still have about 300 metres to go

They first dug the road up at the end of August, two long months ago, but I honestly don't see them finishing it before the end of November. And so we trudge through our own personal beach every day, bringing mounds of it into the house every time we come in. Such is life.

Boat work has also reached a hiatus. There's nothing that can be done when it rains at least part of every day. My dearest wish would be to have something like a large boathouse where we could just work on under cover; wouldn't that be great? If anyone knows of one for hire in this area, do let me know.

By the way, I know I promised you all some more on the area around my daughter's new French home, but work has been very busy this last week, so I haven't had time to do any further research. Next time, I promise. For now, we're just waiting for storm Ciarán to move on. Like a hyper-active child on the rampage, he's made something of a mess on our country roads, but so far, no other damage. My thoughts are with all those on the French and British coasts who've taken the worst hammering.

That's it for this time then, allemaal, so here's a gratuitous photo of Zoe, courtesy of Koos, and a boaty pic or two to remind you of where my interests really lie.

Update on the storm: we've lost most of the edging tiles off one end of our roof, one of which also smashed the windscreen on Koos's scooter as it went flying. Fingers crossed Ciarán has finished with us now as we'll need to get up there and replace them asap.

On the tidal Schelde/Scheldt in April
What a wonderful trip that was