On the tiles

These are two floor tiles from the little house in the village which I’m renovating, with a lot of help from my son and daughter and their partners, and a few professionals. When we bought the house eleven years ago these tiles, on the kitchen floor, had been covered by glued-on linoleum squares, and now we’re taking those off we discover that the floor has been levelled here and there with cement. It’s proving hard to remove, and so far I’ve tried elbow grease and a chisel, and now vinegar as shown in this shot and recommended by several internet sources. If that doesn’t work, stronger acids lie in wait.

I was also reminded today of a scene last night. Together with fifteen others I was invited round to friends for a meal – daube of wild boar – and cordially warned beforehand to watch out for what would come out of our host’s armoire at the end of the evening. It’s where he keeps all his home-distilled spirits and fruits preserved in alcohol. I didn’t need the warning because I’d been there before and tried them all – plums, cherries, nectarines, peaches, and apricots. The next morning my IQ had dropped to single figures.

So last night all eyes were on B as he opened the doors and pulled out a selection of odd bottles and jars. He opened the first jar of cherries, stuck in a spoon and took a big mouthful. His eyes went as wide as saucers and he clapped a hand to his mouth, unable to speak. It turned out this was a jar he’d pickled in strong vinegar to eat with cheese and sausage. Merry uproar round the table, and I only hope someone’s got a photo of B’s face. He took a while to recover, and I also hope his voice has come back by now.