One of our village ‘voisins’ stopped by the other day to tell us that he was selling up and moving back across the Channel. Graham shall be missed, not only because he’s a fellow Brit (actually he’s Scottish and I hope I haven’t offended him) but he is also well-loved and respected in this little village. Graham has lived here for over 15 years so it wasn’t a surprise that his announcement was the main topic in the local epicerie the next day and darling Denis was practically in tears. Naturally I assured him that I wasn’t intending to go anywhere, much to his relief but it did get me thinking. Would I still be happy living here in twenty or so years time? Is this where I’m supposed to end up in the grand scheme of things? I certainly can’t see myself ever wanting to live in a city again but hey, it’s a big world out there and who knows what the future holds? Thankfully it was but a fleeting thought especially for Denis (he’s never lived anywhere else) and as I drove back through the shadow of the Pyrenees the other day, I knew I was home.
I went for a mammogram last week. As much as I hate hospitals and anything to do with scans terrifies me, it’s one of those necessities when one is over fifty. As I handed over my Carte Vitale, I realised I had forgotten to change my health insurance from the private one to the mutuel. Once you are a resident in France, you can apply for a Carte which basically pays for your medical stuff but you need to have a little extra insurance policy to help cover the bills – a mutuel . The nurse politely asked me if I was okay to pay for the mammogram now and get the reimbursement later – 20 Euros. Considering the care and attention given and the doctor doing an extra echograph as I had had the previous one in England and the NHS have lost all my records, it seemed a rather paltry amount of money. I’m told I’m good for a couple more years and to expect my scans in the post next week. Does one have a special file for those?
Aside from the visit to the Radiography unit and more trips to the vet with Coco who, having got better is now worse again, life at Rouffiac has started to get back to normal post-holiday season. The rain has gone and we are blessed with blue skies albeit flipping cold temperatures. I finally got round to hanging curtains over the big balcony glass doors which has made the lounge look much more homely and the lovely Lionel and I met at the wood warehouse in Carcassonne so I could spend a small fortune on planks for the poolside decking so he could finally finish the bloody thing. Amusingly, he insisted on sending me texts whilst I was standing next to him in the shop so I could translate what was being said – I didn’t have the heart to tell him my French lessons have been well-worth the money. Denis, of course, is the complete opposite and assumes I understand everything he says until I get a blank look on my face and even then he just says the same thing but slower.
My newly-found and becoming a great friend, Pip popped round at the end of the week with a packet of Twiglets for me. Such a delicacy was very much appreciated because although there are “English’ sections in the supermarkets, everything is very expensive and pretty boring. Poor Pip had been expecting a delivery of Christmas treats from the island which got stuck at Customs because it contained prohibited milk products. Thanks Brexit. I love catching up with Pip, rants and all, as we can both talk about anything and everything for hours and not just about our dogs (we both have to many according to our kids). Perhaps there is a Podcast in the making…..
“Life was meant for good friends and great adventures” (Unknown)
Widow plus woofs 