Have you ever had one of those weeks where you just can’t seem to find the motivation to do anything even though you have a pile of proverbial laundry sitting in front of you? It’s not as though I haven’t been busy, I just haven’t felt that feeling of satisfaction about completing my to-do list that I would normally get or maybe it’s because said list never seems to diminish. I blame the weather, there are some things about being an Englishwoman that never change. If one more person says “well, we need the rain”, I’m going to move to the Sahara. Knowing my luck, there’d be a freak weather system following me.
As I mentioned, I have managed to keep my eyeballs away from endless episodes of Masterchef and the addictiveness of TikTok, the latter being a new and dangerous discovery that requires extreme levels of self-discipline. I went over to L’Horte and finally managed to saw off a piece of the balcony railings to use as a guard for the pool stairs and I finished planting the other beds in the courtyard. Denis and I bought and put in 30 bushes to create a natural division between the pool and the garden and we finally finished my waterfall fountain. The lovely Lionel arrived yesterday with the final ‘ta da!’, the wooden steps leading up to the deck. Finally the bloody thing is complete except for the gravel and last bits of landscaping. Now all we need is the sun. Please.
I think part of my frustration with my lack of ‘oomph’ is The Book. Having decided where the literary chaos should start, my next task for the possible editor is to write the chapter breakdowns – something I have no idea how to do so therefore, got the hump with myself. Thank God for the ability to vent one’s frustrations out on her best friend (thanks Irene) who cleared away my cobwebs and gave me a good kick up the backside. I’m back in the driving seat and tap tapping away once again. I always love our weekly chats especially as I am beginning to worry that I’m turning into Dr Doolittle what with all the non-human conversations of late. Mrs Prat Pigeon has decided to nest above my outside bar area in probably the worst-designed residence imaginable, Mr Prat buying on the cheap no doubt (pun intended) unlike poor Bert the Magpie who spends his days trying to find whatever it is that Skirt is craving. Their abode by the way is a penthouse suite, nestled carefully between the branches of the huge fir tree. I can’t help thinking Mrs Prat must be a little envious. Then there’s GusGus and friend who have taken up extreme sports, mainly ‘let’s see if we can get down the stairs without being noticed by a woofer’. In fact, they have grown so confident, they don’t even blink when I knock and open the cupboard door (I know but knocking before you enter is polite). Oddly, the woofers especially the terriers, don’t seem to care too much about little mice preferring to stalk the rats in the woodpile. Luckily for me, the logs are at the far side of the garden so I am not expecting any new additions to my wildlife park. A widow with 9 dogs, one Peace Lily, two mice, a pair of pigeons and a couple of devoted magpies doesn’t quite have the same ring to it…….
‘In all things of nature there is something of the marvellous.” (Aristotle)
Widow plus woofs 