Laying foundations

The floor has finally been put in the pool house so the last bits can be installed including the liner and actual water dans la piscine by the middle of next week. Just in time for the end of summer. Having had no rain for at least a month, the heavens are due to open just as we start filling the bloody thing. Any chance of me being able to get a swim in may involve donning a wetsuit at this rate but honestly, I’ll just be relieved when it’s finished even if it means putting the cover on for the next 9 months. At least I will have plenty of time to landscape the area, at the moment there’s nothing to see except the huge mounds of earth dug up to make the structure. Said earth will be buried under the decking, there are rumours about Lionel having a digger, but until I see it I’m breaking my back offloading the stuff around the walls. Patience has never been my strong suit and I’m bull-headed enough to believe I can do it myself.

With big brother Simon leaving last Thursday, the place suddenly seems strangely empty. We still have Callum and two of his cousins here but the chatter around the dining table seems somewhat muted, odd considering I’m always the one told to keep their voice down. Having had a house full of siblings and their entourage for the last few weeks, I’m already missing the chaos. Still, Christmas isn’t that far away and by that time we should have completed enough bedrooms for all. For some reason, no-one seems that keen to share my spare room with a couple of woofers to keep company.

As we now start drifting into Autumn, I have started to look at French courses in Carcassonne or maybe Limoux. Although my grasp of the lingo isn’t bad, I still lack the confidence to hold a conversation in group situations. I also thought I might be able to get a bit of a social life outside of our little village as well, I do need to get out more. Mumo is worried that I spend more time chatting to the woofers than I do people which is probably not very healthy. As much as I adore Arry et al, they aren’t very good at keeping up with global events and debates tend to be rather one-sided unless liver treats are involved.

Along with expanding my social horizons and with the imminent prospect of becoming a French tax payer, I’m busy perusing the local property mags with the hope of buying a couple of rental homes. A small city apartment is first on the list, Carcassonne has so much to offer and the airport sits only 10 minutes or so away. Perfect for weekend travellers and city breaks means buying something that doesn’t need any work done to it. The next property will be a holiday let in a more rural setting so will no doubt need over-hauling. Since I have discussed renovating and adding the space above the apartment to chez moi, I will need an income to pay for it. I’m hoping that Callum might want to stay and help me with the projects but it’s impossible to know what a 22 year old is thinking. He seems happier and more settled now in his workshop messing around with old doors and a multitude of tools but like me, he needs to get out more. There is a wonderful local college specialising in artisan crafts of the building type that he is interested in attending so I keep my fingers crossed.

Oh and Sherman is still here…….

“He was born in Bercy on the outskirts of Paris and trained in France, and while he knows a little Poodle-English, he responds quickly only to commands in French. Otherwise he has to translate, and that slows him down” (John Steinbeck on his Poodle)