I played in my first competition on Sunday and although I didn’t do as well as I have been doing in informal games it wasn’t a total disaster.

Over the post game refreshments the conversation turned to Erse.

The initial capital will have alerted you to the fact that we are not talking bottoms here but language. It seems that in French crossword puzzles erse generally means Scottish Gaelic. (There is also a French word erse whose meaning need not detain us here.)

I maintained that this was nonsense and that Erse is Irish Gaelic. Later investigation via the OED, Chambers, Collins, Marian-Webster, Britannia and Columbia revealed that the origins of the word go back to Old English “Irisc” and/or Old Norse “Irskr” meaning Irish.

Point proved you might think but not quite. Various quotations show that Erse was applied to Scottish Gaelic in the past, often on the basis of its supposed derivation from the Irish(or its true one for all I know). But the authorities are pretty unanimous that currently its use is restricted to Irish Gaelic.

So I’m counting that a draw and suggesting to my French buddies that their crossword compilers need a boot up the e**e to bring them up to date.

My postman was born and spent his early years in Chile and this winter took three months leave of absence to visit his former home and travel in Chile, Peru and Ecuador including Easter Island and the Galapagos.

Thanks to the miracle of digital photography he was able to record this trip in some detail. He promised to share the joys of the journey with me and last night together with some neighbours we gathered in my kitchen for this treat.

Now we all know that the pleasure of viewing other peoples’ holiday snaps has its ups and downs so to cater for the downs I had laid in some nibbles and a few refreshments. The downs were immediately apparent when he turned up with four DVDs and announced that he had 4000 photographs. My heart lightened somewhat when he said we could skip quickly over many of them and lightened a lot more when it proved impossible to read his DVDs on my machine.

I was all for making polite expressions of regret, refilling my glass and tucking into the nibbles but in view of his obvious disappointment (he has been waiting since February for a means to show the neighbours his pics) I felt impelled to ask if he still had the flash memory cards. Indeed he did so dashed off home and returned with camera and cards.

Then came the tedious job of transferring them to my PC. After some false starts we had 5 gigabytes of pictures loaded with 3 to go. We were now an hour and a half into the proceedings and hadn’t seen a single photo except for when they lumbered past during the transfer.

So we started to view. Now some of the pictures were really interesting and a number were lovely and with a slideshow of say 25% of the total Jean might have stayed the course. But he is in his 90s after all. He was the first to go – no I tell a lie – that was Alain who was glad of the excuse of the non-readable DVDs, downed his pastis at that point and fled. Josette followed Jean an hour or so later and I was left showing the postie out some five hours after his arrival with his cheery promise to return to show the remaining 3 gig at a future date ringing in my ears.

Since the old lady across the road died some years ago her house has stood empty despite the fact that her son Alain has declared from time to time his intention to do the place up and move in. To be fair to him he has kept the plot in reasonable trim and has occasionally shown signs of activity, such as stripping out the byre a couple of years ago.

But now serious work is underway. The house has been reroofed since I saw it last in October and Alain or one of his many chums is here most days beavering away.

This has proved to be to my advantage. I got my strimmer on the go a couple of days after my arrival and had done the driveway and the strip alongside the road and had started on the jungle that was the garden when Alain wandered over and opined that I was never going to manage. I retorted that I’d done it often enough before and that tedious and back-breaking work though it was I’d have it done in a very long jiffy. No way, he said. If it doesn’t rain this afternoon I’ll do it. He has of course an industrial scale mower and he was as good as his word.

So all I’ve had to do is rake up the cut grass, and believe me that was tiring work that took a few hours, and trim the edges and corners that he couldn’t get at.

Shall I drop the news casually that I’m away in July and August in the hope that he’ll volunteer to keep the grass tidy?

I fell foul of the French obsession with lunch within minutes of landing on Monday.

My usual travel pattern was disrupted not by ash but because I went to see Fiona's excellent production of The Hired Man in Woking on Saturday and stayed over. So I found myself driving off the boat around 1 pm local time and thought I'd just nip into the Carrefour that's on my route just a few miles from the ferry terminal and buy some essentials for my tea and Tuesday's breakfast.

But I forgot. All good Frenchies are lunching at that time. Fortunately the petrol pump is automated otherwise I'd have had to twiddle my thumbs for an hour. So the only harm done was that I had to pay motorway prices for my victuals.

I'm so glad the return of the volcanic ash spared Newcastle yesterday and allowed me home to spend the night following the election. What fun it was and continues to be - and such great graphics.

I thought Gordon Brown was about to propose a government of national unity a few minutes ago in his Downing Street statement. What a marvellous prospect that would be. The uneasy relationship between Gordon and Tony would pale in comparison with Gordon and David. But for the moment he's holding out enticing titbits to the Libdems in the hope of putting David Cameron in difficulty in his talks with Nick Clegg and getting his own claws on Nick.

We'll see what the three little piggies get up to over the weekend.