This time next week, it’ll be Christmas Day. The main house is still looking rather bare with the lack of decorations but at least Denis and I found a nice tree and I’ve put the lights on it. The baubles and bits will have to wait until my nieces get here at the end of next week. I better warn those family members who will be descending on us for the holidays to pack a pair of shorts judging by the weather forecast, it could reach a balmy 19 degrees by Friday. It might sound wonderful, especially for those over the Channel but it’s definitely not good for the garden and I won’t be able to wear the usual garish Christmas jumper.
My language skills have really been put to the test these last few days. Friday was the AGM for the P’tit Bistro – a challenge as comprehending what one person is saying is one thing but trying to follow a discussion when three people are talking at once is a practically impossible other. The main theme was to elect the committee and then sort us volunteers into different teams; organising the music, manning the bar, putting up decorations and running the food side. Denis of course, put me down for the latter which could be potentially disastrous for business – he can cook, I just burn things. My dear amie Stephanie suggested over dinner last night that I might want to just be the serveuse, waiting tables is far more up my Bistro. Denis, Stephanie and her other half, Rashid came over for a bite to eat and a glass or three and no, I didn’t blow up the kitchen. Being such lovely people, they brought the food and very nice it was too. Again it was an evening of parler Français but a much easier one and Rashid thoroughly boosted my confidence with his compliments about my grasp of the language. I’m by no means fluent but I am starting to hold my own in conversation.
We had an apartment guest for a few days. Remember that little German Shepherd puppy that our friends, Gavin and Ann-Marie, bought a couple of months ago? Well, she’s not so little anymore but still utterly charming and just as clumsy. Gavin and Ann-Marie’s daughter, Emily, had had a nasty skiing accident up in Chamonix so they had to go and get her, hence me looking after Luna. As much as I loved having her here even if she kept climbing onto my bed and trying to sleep on my face, my apartment is far too small for an extra furry beast and the mud she, Sherman and Arry covered my walls with after their high jinks in the garden. 9 woofers is quite enough thank you.
If I don’t have time next Sunday to write, then I wish all of you a wonderful Christmas. Eat too much, raise one too many and pass out on the sofa watching The Muppet Christmas Carol – it’s my favourite. Joyeuses fêtes à tous!
“May you never be too grown up to search the skies on Christmas Eve” (Unknown)
Widow plus woofs 