I’ve been keeping tabs on Callum all week as he’s made his way down the South-East coast of Australia from Sydney to Melbourne. I know he’s 24 but it’s still a helluva drive to do by yourself so he had to put up with Mum angst whether he liked it or not. As has become the norm with my darling son, he didn’t tell me until he’d got to Melbourne that he had had to negotiate flood conditions too, I’m still not sure whether to hug him or slap him for that. Virtually of course. I hate flying as you well know and anyway, I’ve got enough work here to see me through to next year.
With the weather still unseasonably warm and sunny, Lionel, Denis and little old me, are cracking on with everything external while we can. The corner wall that Denis and I cleaned up and painted last week now has plant containers along the bottom part thanks to Lionel, all ready to be filled with compost and horse manure before I head off to the jardinerie and all things bright and beautiful. And while the men have been doing butch jobs like painting and cementing blocks together, I’ve been stripping down the old farm machinery and sanding down wood planks. Again. No tears but plenty of blood and sweat, those wire brushes are evil and the old bits of ironwork weigh a ton. Seeing as how I sanded down all those ceiling beams last year for the main house, naturally who else would be called upon to get panels perfectly smooth so Lionel can replace the old rotten ones that surround the massive window at the top of my external stairs. I’ll take a picture when the frame is finished.
A workhorse by day and a writer by night, one might think my life has turned into a rather dull routine but nope, I did get to have a bit of fun this past week along with Mumo and Denis. We went car shopping. Mumo has been umming and ahhing about buying new car for the last two years and since Denis had a friend who knew the director of Toyota in Carcassonne (why wouldn’t he), it seemed the most logical choice. Actually Mumo wanted a Yaris, a little hybrid that has all the bells and whistles needed to pretty much drive itself, and I had already decided that I wanted to exchange Josy for something a little bit bigger. I think Mumo was a bit nervous about test driving a brand new car so took Denis with her and I found myself behind the steering wheel of the director’s swish Rav 4. My ‘co-driver’ was a charming young man who chattered on about this all-singing, all-dancing piece of amazing technology although he probably wished he hadn’t mentioned the cruise control. “You don’t need to do anything” he proudly spouted; “this car will keep the same distance from the one in front, look at the monitor” – this being the size equivalent of an Ipad, you could probably watch the latest James Bond film on it. So I took my hands off the wheel, just for a second but I’m pretty sure his tan faded. “Umm, Madam? We are approaching a roundabout and you do need to use the brakes, we’re in my boss’s car”. Just to reassure you, we safely returned without a scratch, the sweetheart of a salesman kept his job and my new Rav 4 will be delivered in February. As will Mumo’s Yaris.
Autumn is the season of fruit fall – its falling everywhere. Chestnuts, acorns and walnuts regularly clonk onto the pool deck and the surrounding gardens and the grenade tree is literally bent over with huge pomegranates. With so much of what nature has to offer, I’m a bit stuck for ideas. I’ve scooped out about a kilo of pomegranate seeds and frozen them so I can make Grenadine for Christmas and Lionel’s tortoises are being spoilt rotten but their diet doesn’t stretch to nuts, unlike the woofers who are partial to walnuts. I am resigning myself to the daily task of sweeping piles of ankle-breaking ammunition up and into the compost until a better solution can be found. Perhaps I’ll set up a little stall outside the gate and sing “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire”, except that its still over 20 degrees here and the Mayor has banned bonfires…….
“Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits” (Samuel Butler)
Widow plus woofs 