A series of snakes (France)

In the course of trying to help a student’s cousin from Hong Kong find work teaching Chinese in 2006, I’d stumbled across an online advertisement for unpaid work in France:  “Help needed with gardening and general work.  Mornings only.  Afternoons free for exploring the French countryside.  Bicycle provided.  Sorry, no remuneration.  Food and board only.”  

The gardening bit rang all my bells and whistles.  I immediately emailed them to find out what they meant by ‘general work’ and where they were located in France.  The couple turned out to be British, and their "small B&B" only a two-hour hop from the French farm, so I arranged to go and visit them afterwards.

The "small B&B" was a huge manor house—the 'chateau' in the house name gives you an indication—which Ann and Don had bought practically in ruins and converted, by their own hands and taste, into a sumptuous pile.  They just loved such projects, being DIYers long before it became a daytime TV fashion.  Each of the four rooms upstairs was a self-contained unit of sleeping area (twin beds or double bed), a lounge area, and an en suite bathroom.  Rather like a studio flat without the cooking facilities.  Each one with a special style of its own—whether rustic or regal.

The grounds were extensive and starting to get colonised by weeds and fast-growing plants (like lilac), hence the need for some help with the gardening.  It was a gardenholic's paradise!  I was out of the house by 6am—pruning, hacking, weeding.  By 11am, the temperature in the shade would reach 38C, so I'd be forced to retreat indoors to read and write my journal.  After lunch, an enforced siesta, then out of the house again at 5pm for more slash and burn until 830pm for dinner, followed by massage for Ann (and three days later, a converted Don) before bedtime at 930pm.  Half an hour of reading, then lights out—both in the room and in my head.

I'd never been able to get to grips with meditation—this emptying of the mind stuff—but for those ten days, I was in a constant and continual state of spontaneous TM (Transcendental Meditation), with the gardening replacing the mantra.  Ten days of sheer bliss. With a capital B.

At some point in casual conversation, I found out that Ann is 12 years older than I, and therefore born in the Year of the Snake as well.  Being 12 years older than she, her husband Don was also a Snake.  At 36 years younger than his mother, their son Ross is one, too.  So we are four Snakes in a row.

Colette of the French farm is 12 years younger than I (and 12 older than Ross).  Her mother Jeanette is 24 years older than she, and 12 older than I, so she's the same age as Ann.  (This is beginning to read like a maths homework exercise, isn’t it?)

That makes us six Snakes in a row.  What are the odds of that??

Note:  B&B = Bed and Breakfast.