If the week before was all about flip-flops and warm toes, this one has been back to boots and mittens. Normal February weather has resumed. I only hope my Mimosa tree won’t be affected by the drop in degrees as she’s blooming already. I think the whole garden is getting a little confused as what season it is. What we really need is rain and as much as I hate the thought, we need quite a few days of it. After all, I have a potager to plan and all those tomatoes and lettuces like a lot of water. Alas, according to the local weather station, that is to say anyone you talk to in the epicerie – snow is about to descend on us.
I spent most of last week being bored. Although I went back to running up the hills albeit with knees strapped and eyes downward watching out for rogue roots but feeling good, everyone else seemed to think I should be taking it easy and putting my legs up. With my offers of help being turned down politely and not much to do in the garden except amuse the woofers, by Friday I was ready to punch something -unfortunately, we can’t put the boxing bag up until the painting is done in the converted utility room. I am not an easy person to be around when I’m not doing – ask Mumo. I get tetchy, twitchy and liable to fly off the handle about the most insignificant annoyances like not being able to find my sparring pads. So with cabin fever beginning to reach dangerous levels, I decided a visit to a couple of second-hand shops was in order. The new space needs a sofa bed for a start and I do love wandering around trocantes looking at the oddities mashed in with the ordinary everyday stuff. Naturally I roped Denis into coming with me, apart from knowing the various patrons of such places, he never fails to put fun into our days out. We didn’t find a sofa bed and even if we had, I wouldn’t have paid the extortionate prices scrawled on their labels but we did have a bit of a giggle over a matching set of Spanish Toreador outfits. Very short Toreadors. Boot empty and not ready to return to chez moi, we then opted for a trip over to l’Horte and a bit of pygmy goat cuddling- tearing up the back roads in Giselle was great therapy even if Denis’ knuckles were turning white. To use a quote from one of my favourite movies “this baby corners like she’s on rails”. I also had a load of bagged up prawn shells on the back seat to off-load into the river which were a bit whiffy. I think more of the seafood scraps ended up in the bushes lining the bank than the actual water – I don’t have a good aim and those what didn’t make into the fishes mouths ended up being scoffed by the resident dog. A veritable Labrador buffet. With the houses now nothing but bricks and mortar, literally, there was something quite poignant about a Lab wiggling its way down to the water’s edge – the first L’Horte dog was one too.
Finally, one offer of servitude was accepted and I skipped the short distance between our house and Saba and Roy’s. Both were taking advantage of some holiday time to paint walls and chase up construction mishaps, like us they’ve bought a property that needs a complete overhaul and since neither likes cleaning very much, I donned my Marigolds and got to work. Bathrooms sparkling, I left a few hours later armed with a cake-filled box and a bottle of wine for the dinner I was hosting the same evening and headed home. I do wonder what the residents of Rouffiac must have thought about seeing this regular runner wandering up the road, jeans covered in plaster dust and arms loaded with sugar and alcohol. Saba suggested I finish the look off with a cigarette dangling from my lips but I didn’t want to drop ash into the gateau. And it was a very nice gateau too shared between great friends who know how to banish the boredom blues and put a smile back on my face. Speaking of smiles, I have two dental appointments next week. Oh whoopee…
“Friendship is when people know all about you but like you anyway” (Unknown)
Widow plus woofs 