Having basked in twenty-odd degrees through October, November has decided that we should have more seasonal temperatures. And a biting wind. I wouldn’t mind so much except that we still don’t have any heating, Max the chauffagiste is busy fiddling with all sorts of pipes but as yet, the radiators stand cold and useless, matching my mood over the last week. The woofers have taken to curling up with me at night which doesn’t leave me a lot of bed space but at least I’m toasty. Between Yogi Bear on my pillow, Arry spread out like an electric blanket on the end of the bed, Sherman snuffling in my face and the others squeezing into the remaining space, it’s unlikely I’ll freeze overnight even if I can’t move my legs in the morning.
As much as I would like to go into hibernation until Spring, there is always much to do chez nous. Manu, our incomprehensible Spanish plasterer has finished doing up the alcove and ‘bootroom’ under my front staircase leaving it for me to paint. Since slapping undercoat on external walls isn’t exactly aerobic exercise and therefore, unlikely to keep the cold at bay, I’m not exactly rushing to get it done. Mind you, it would be better than de-leafing the pool – never has there been a more pointless task, as fast as you skim them out, more drop in. The lovely Lionel assures me that he can start constructing the terrace at the end of next week which means we can put the extortionately expensive winter cover on and I won’t have to look at it again until the Spring. I’ve made darling Denis ‘directeur du jardin‘ which has delighted him and we spend hours discussing all the jobs needed to do over the cold days and months ahead. Of course, he gets the design and redo ones and I get the tidy up ones, mainly raking up the remaining walnuts before someone breaks an ankle on the flipping things.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. The Virginia Creeper has turned out her seasonal colours and much of the village is now decorated in glorious tones of red and gold. Now that my knee has had a bit of time off, we are back on the running trail through the stunning autumnal landscape bedecked with multi-coloured vines and early morning dew. Arry and Alice have been joined by the two pups which is great for them but less so for me, more high jig than jog as I try to avoid getting tripped up. Having said that, they are much more obedient than their elders – Arry seems to see the whole exercise as a sort of extreme assault course with the added excitement of bunny butts disappearing through the undergrowth.
With Christmas fast approaching, I coerced Mumo into taking my annual ‘family’ photo. Since Callum refuses to be present for my yearly festive card, I have to use the woofers instead. As always, trying to get them all to sit still, face the camera and not look like abused strays, and make myself look less than 55, ended in chaos. Still, we finally got a ‘take’ even if Mumo couldn’t work out my camera. And I’m not in it……
“Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year”(Chad Sugg)
Widow plus woofs 