I ought to title this week’s blog, “Sleepless in Rouffiac” based on the lack of kip this past week. The health app on my watch is starting to get testy about my irregular night time routine, I can feel it rolling its techie eyes at me every morning as I struggle out of bed. And it’s not just inanimate objects holding judgement, as I got ready to go out for a meal with friends last night, Arry stood in the bathroom doorway with the most guilt-inducing face as if to say, “seriously Mum, not again!”
The social distancing between me and my duvet over the past few days hasn’t been all my fault. It all started last Sunday when Mumo called me to say she was sick and in bed. We put the cause of her maladie down to perhaps eating something that hadn’t agreed with her so tucked her in with lashings of ginger tea and strict instructions not to leave her bedchamber until her tummy had settled again. The following day and having done the daily food shop, I popped over to Carcassonne with Denis to pick up my new motor and say goodbye to Josey Jeep. A couple of hours later and having sent most of the Toyota showroom into hysterics (there’s only so much you can absorb about the latest whizz bang technology before you just want to lighten the conversation), I drove Giselle Rav 4 home to join Mumo’s little Yaris. Feeling unusually thirsty and knowing I had to feed the woofers, I returned to chez moi and that’s when it all kicked off. One minute I was watching Denis pootle off in his little camionette and the next, I was praying to the porcelain Gods. For six hours. Eventually, drained and shivering, I crawled under the covers surrounded by very concerned four-pawed medics and crashed out. And I woke up feeling perfectly fine. Whatever the bug was that had tried to fell Mumo and I, had left the proverbial building although it did take my desire for any coffee with it for a day or so. The odd thing is that neither Simon or Alba succumbed considering they were sharing the same crockery, nor did Denis but then again, he says he’s too tough for weedy tummy troubles.
I did manage to get a decent night’s sleep mid-week which was just as well since I had back to back dinner do’s by the end of it. Friday was a belated birthday celebration for Denis’ daughter, Marina, with members of their family and Saturday, as I mentioned, was a feast with friends over at Adolphe’s (he who owns the local brocante , a sort of cross between a flea market and a second-hand antiques emporium). Adolphe is a larger than life character who was once an international rugby player. On first meeting, you’d think he was a bit like the French version of Arthur Daley only much taller but he’s actually a total darling and much more worldly that most would give him credit for. And an excellent host. Needless to say I got home in the early hours and my body isn’t thanking me for that. Or the woofers. I have promised them faithfully that I won’t be going anywhere for a while, at least until my health app is happy again.
Finally with the arrival of February and Denis being able to start work again, we will be able to get back out into the garden in the coming weeks. The potager needs planting, I have no idea with what but apparently tomatoes, salad and beans are on the menu. I have insisted that before anything commences, we need to sort out the far too penetrable fence – I still have anxiety attacks every time I let Sherman out so I walk around with treat-laden pockets. He’ll be too fat soon to get down any of the holes. It isn’t just the worry of terriers roaming the street of Rouffiac, it’s also the local cats who, knowing the dogs aren’t running wild in the back garden, are using it as a communal toilet. And it seems, it isn’t only felines ferreting around. Alice is on the hunt and has decided Sherman should learn the art of sniffing out what I can only assume are rats in the woodpiles. I’m not sure he’s totally convinced of the fun to be had standing dead-still and cocking your ear against a rotting log but Alice can do just that for hours on end. Mind you, she’s keeping her son occupied and far enough away from the liberty line so I’m all for the terrier tutorial. And I’ll be able to sleep at night….
“A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.” (Irish Proverb)
Widow plus woofs 