The temperature may not have dropped much in the last week but la pluie certainly has. Along with impressive thunderstorms, it has rained almost every night. And we needed it. No matter how often I drag the evil hose across the garden to quench the floral thirst, there’s nothing like a torrential downpour or several of them to make the plants plump up their foliage. Of course, I have had to put the cover back on the pool – lightning and water don’t mix well and the storms tend to offload a lot of bugs in it. With the exception of Neo who hates anything that sounds like gunfire, the woofers love basking on the balcony whilst the storm rolls through before bringing their soggy selves in for bed. Even Lily, the Peace Lily plant, got dragged out for a drenching. Everyone loves a good rinse.
It’s been hard to keep myself busy when there isn’t much that can be done outside. Denis has managed to get one of three gates in and the main one at that. I jokingly told him that the back garden now looks like a wild animal enclosure except that one of the savages is still plotting his next escape route under the wire. You have to hand it to Sherman, he doesn’t give up even when you put logs and concrete slabs across the holes. I’m feeling a little bit guilty as he, Arry and Alice haven’t been able to expend energy running through the vines but they’ll just have to put up with the acres of garden instead. It could be worse, they could be languishing on a minuscule lawn in suburban London. Poor Gizmo had a visit to the vet with a bad case of runny tummy. At 14 years old and weighing less than 2 kilos, Gizmo is apparently, very healthy apart from his teeth. The few remaining ones are rotten, no doubt the cause of his upset and have to come out in a couple of weeks. Poor thing will be toothless but at least his breath will smell better along with his bottom.
Speaking of the old life, I’ve finally managed to get the first three draft chapters off to Sally, my editor. I need a break from The Book, not only because my bestie Rene arrives on Tuesday but also because writing until the wee hours of the morning is not conducive to a good night’s sleep. The trouble is I enjoy tapping away on the keyboard so tend to forget what time it is until the sentences become completely illegible. I have however, had a couple of nights away from my MacBook, life should never be all work and no play after all. I spent Friday evening down at Le Petit Bistro (or as I call it, Ye Olde Bistro Tavern) with a group of friends at our regular village get-together. As we sat there, chatting animatedly over pizza, padrón peppers (a Spanish delicacy of green peppers fried in olive oil and dusted with coarse salt) and wine, it slowly dawned on me that I was the only English person there. And I was speaking French. No doubt being around familiar faces and the ever-present, Denis, helped but I’m still rather proud of how far my grasp of this foreign tongue has got. Yesterday evening, I took Mumo with me to a soiree at our local vineyard – this was an invitation only event and somewhat more high-brow than the previous night’s paper cups and vin blanc conversation. With dark, threatening skies overhead, I decided to take an umbrella with us just in case. The Clos Teisseire vineyard, the same one I took Mumo’s Canadian friends too, lies up a steep stony track in the hills above Rouffiac. I was directed to park the car adjacent to the house on the edge of one such hillside – a going down sort of hillside. I know Josy my Jeep is a 4×4 but it was still a bit of a ‘heart-in-the-mouth’ moment as I circled the car around on the incline into our allotted space. Being one of my favourite running paths, I’m familiar with the loose gravel on the road and the gullies eroded into the tarmac but Mumo is not. I had to hold her upright whilst she negotiated her way along the path in slightly heeled, open-toed sandals. Mind you, we were greeted with a champagne glass and refreshing fizz before we joined the party-goers out on the terrace which was rather swish. Chatting away in both French and English with a group of old and new friends, I had a little boast about my new found confidence in speaking the lingo after the night before when suddenly big fat raindrops descended on us. Before you could say “it’s raining”, I popped up my little foldable umbrella and held it aloft. “Definitely English’ said a voice behind me…….
“Everyone smiles in the same language” (George Carlin)
Widow plus woofs 