Between writing The Book, keeping the pool clean, putting the grounds and houses into some sort of order and the daily woofer tasks, life is beginning to have some sort of routine. I like routine; I like to know what jobs are set for the day whether it’s me who’s doing them or one of the boys. I get up and either go for a run or stretch a few aching muscles before feeding the woofers and getting my caffeine intake to max level. Then it’s time to take the cover off the pool, clean the filters and whizz round with a net to remove any leaves from the water. Once that’s all done, the boring task of the morning ‘poo pick up’ is followed by a pootle along the back roads with Gunner or a shopping trip. Most shops in rural France close between 12 and 2 p.m. and in the hot weather, I prefer getting in and out of town before lunch. Afternoons are spent either with Denis in the garden or me shifting something or other either into or out of the garage and finished with a swim (and the familiar battle with the hosepipe) before I give my evenings to The Book. Having done the first draft of Chapter One, I’m starting to enjoy the process more and more. Sally, my editor, tells me the first chapter is always the hardest as you have to ‘engage with your audience’ from the get-go – unsurprisingly, it’s taken me three weeks to write.
Naturally, there are always days when the routine goes out the window because that’s the way of the house. It all started with what we thought was either a leaky washing machine or a broken pipe causing water to stream across the utility room floor. Roy and Nick, two friends of ours who also happen to know quite a bit about building, came over to cast their expert eyes over the problem. They disconnected and pulled out the old shower and units (all needed to come out anyway so at some point we can put a nicer bathroom in there) and found the source – the whole drainage system was blocked and backing up. Darling Denis of course, came to the rescue once again, calling out a man with a van and lots of hose things. It took the poor chap an hour to shift years of lime, sludge and God knows what else out of the connected pipes – I did wonder whilst holding my nose why anyone would choose such a profession, it’d have to be the pay. And the drains weren’t the only things to be cleaned out, Max the chauffagiste arrived yesterday with a huge mechanical digger to lift the old oil tank and boiler out of the same utility room. Luckily he had given me a day’s notice as I needed to move about two hundred floorboards piled up against the room’s main wall and the remnants of the old bathroom suite to make space for such manoeuvres. By the time Max had finished, not only did every muscle in my body scream at me, I also had a nice purple graze running down one leg after dropping plaster on it. Have I ever said how much I love that bloody pool?
Tuesday marked a year since the puppies were born. I’m lucky enough to be in regular contact with 5 out of the 6 pup families so the first birthday photos made me beam with pride. Sherman celebrated by shooting up the road (we had been out running) to greet a Cavalier and its somewhat terrified owner. Before I could blink, Alice joined her demonic son causing the poor woman to pick up her dog and stand frozen right in the middle of the street. For once, Arry didn’t throw himself into the chaos as just as I clipped the lead on Sherman, Alice decided to say hello to a couple of dogs in a passing (very slowly) car. After mother and son were collared, I gushed apologies to the shell-shocked dog owner and sheepishly made my way home. I don’t think Arry dared to look for cats judging by the storm clouds gathering over my head. Definitely not my plans for that day…..
“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal” (Paulo Coelho)
Widow plus woofs 