Bombing back down the autoroute to chez moi after dropping my ‘baby’ brother, Moth, off at the airport hotel last night, a brief sense of poignancy passed through my thoughts. Summer is well and truly over. The last of my siblings is on his way back to his own nest and the dinner table again set for two. I say brief because although the last few months have been filled with sunshine (and drought), friends and family, I am looking forward to the Autumn and being able to get back to all things garden. The pool is still open although at 22 degrees, less appealing unless your name is Arry. I might have to don my wetsuit if I feel the need to take a plunge. The early mornings are cool enough now for me to get the running gear out of hibernation, we need to as Alice was told by the vet that she needs to eat more greens and get some exercise – lose the belly in other words.
Village life is also beginning to curl up its feet after the headiness of Summer nights. The last Bistrot get-together will be celebrated next Friday and with the vendange (the wine harvest) completed, another final hurrah on Saturday evening with the ‘Le Chant de la Grenouille‘ festival, a traditional knees-up to mark the end of the season. Singing frogs and all that.
With Moth burning the candles at both ends to finish the lighting and cupboards in Mumo’s kitchen and the downstairs bathroom and loo all done (thanks to the ‘boys’ Nick and Roy), we can now move onto other projects that have been on hold whilst the sun shone. The to-do list is out. The top floor of the main house is next in line for a make-over and hopefully above the apartment too. Then there’s the tractor house to construct, the dog shower room, the new veggie patch, the back of the pool deck, the right hand side of the back garden and do something with the top corner of the front one. Plenty to keep us busy. I’ve almost finished the first draft of The Book so once that goes off to my editor, Sally, I shall put down the computer lid and focus on all things maison.
I could have finished the draft last week except for two things; one was a visit to the dental specialist in Toulouse and the other was due to the first, no alcohol. I can understand why so many of the great writers were semi blotto when they penned their great masterpieces, a glass or two of red does awaken the mind and the muse. The pain of having a piece of fake bone fitted in the back of one’s mouth (I don’t have anything to attach teeth to back there) didn’t help either and I looked like someone who’s botox got botched. Mercifully, the swelling and aching is going down now thanks to a multitude of pills and ice packs. Who knows, I might just have a nice set of pearly whites in by Christmas and the local wine co-operative has a sale next week.
Life here in Rouffiac is not completely devoid of visitors however. We have a very fluffy four-pawed pup staying at the moment whilst her owners are spending a week in Blighty. It’s been over a decade since we have had a ball of German Shepherd in our lives, the last one was Gunner bless him. Before you lot get any ideas, no I am not going to rush out and get another woofer, the majority of mine are in their second decade and I have no intention of replacing them. Luna is a wonderful, albeit temporary, addition especially for Sherman and Arry who love tumbling around with anything that excuses their digging and general bad behaviour. I can see Mumo’s brain ticking though, perhaps in the future they may be a patter of fluffy paws in the main house?……
“Wine is the divine juice of September” (Voltaire)
Widow plus woofs 