I’ve spent most of the week removing a century’s worth of grime off the old theatre seats with an old toothbrush. It’s a painstakingly slow task but after three rounds of scrub, rub and wipe, the wood is just about back to its original colour. And since the last week was almost non-stop drizzle and gusty winds, being undercover and busy in the remis suited me just fine. At least the garden is looking better now that the terre has had a decent soaking – there are daffodils popping up all over the place and the skyline is covered with pink blossom. I did notice however, when I was doing the usual hike up the hills, that the clay surrounding the vines is nowhere near as bad to run on as it was last year. My ankles are thankful even if the grapes aren’t.
I went up to the city mid-week with a friend of mine. Toulouse to be exact, destination Ikea. Denice is an interior designer and I’d wanted to have a look at the kitchens they had to offer. After getting lost and having to negotiate more roundabouts than the SatNav dictated, we found a parking space, grabbed our big yellow bags and followed the arrows. You have to hand it to Ikea, all their stores have the same layout as far as my experience goes and unfortunately for my wallet, the same marketplace. Naturally I bought more wineglasses even though I don’t need them and a very large packet of paper napkins – always useful. By the time we got to the cashier, I’d added a curtain pole for the converted utility room’s new glass doors and a set of serving cutlery for Mumo. I just wished I had remembered to bring a carrier bag because trying to balance a long metal pole and a box of breakable glass whilst trying to get back to the car was a bit of a stressful experience especially since I’d parked near the exit where everyone was trying to get home for lunch. At speed. You will be relieved to know that all items made it home safely even if I dinged a few Citroens on the way with my curtain rod.
Swedish home furnishings weren’t my only purchases last week, Denis and I finally got around to salad shopping. Our potager now has almost perfectly straight rows of lettuces and spring onions, all waiting to grow up and be summer suppers. Denis strung some bits of white plastic sheeting on bamboo poles to keep the birds at bay – I did suggest putting Papa Noël in the enclosure but apparently, the oiseaux are wise to portly men with white beards who don’t move a muscle. Speaking of winged creatures, I fear we may have had a death or two chez nous. I think either Mrs Pratt the pigeon or her bird-brain of a husband are no more, the incredibly messy construction of their nest above my terrace lies empty and I did see Arry carrying around a feathered corpse the other day. I doubt he is capable of catching one but the local buzzards are partial to a pigeon pie so one might have dropped its prey. I will miss seeing their ugly babies poking their heads out from the roof space.
Whilst I’m not about to mourn the loss of buzzard bait, I did go to a sort of ‘Remembrance and Celebration’ evening yesterday with Denis and several members of his family. His niece who is also a gal pal of mine, lost her 17 year old son to a car accident a decade ago. I don’t know if it’s a traditional French thing or just this household but the event is marked every year with a party and a table over-loaded with delicious plates of everything her son loved to eat. Stephanie told me that one should never cry on such days, remembering a life should be one of celebration not weepy wailing or words to that effect. I didn’t think I would but I thoroughly enjoyed myself despite eating far too much and waking up this morning with what I hope is just Spring sneezes and not a cold. I’m pretty sure Stephanie and Rashid (her other half)’s girth-challenged Chihuahua had an equally bad tummy ache this morning, she has her own seat at the dining table you know…
“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die”. (Thomas Campbell)
Widow plus woofs 