I’ve done it, I’ve bitten the bullet. You can blame me if there’s a frost next week as I’ve switched wardrobes. The woolies have been packed away and the bikinis have come out to play. But whilst it’s definitely T-shirt weather this weekend, just in time for Easter bunnies, I have no intention of taking the pool cover off just yet. It’s one thing having 22 degree blue sky balminess but we still have the sand-laden Spring winds to come. I have been a nice little sister though, I pulled out the sun loungers from their winter storage so my big brother Simon could have a well-earned snooze in the sun. He’s been spending a lot of time travelling back and forth from Scotland so I figured he needed defrosting. Mind you, my friends back in London tell me that they too have a yellow orb above them – happiness all around.
Purple is the colour according to the garden at present. Denis tidied up our verge, after which the irises burst forth with their plumage and the Judas trees have added a sharp contrast to the otherwise pink and green foliage of the fruit bearers. And whilst rain is never far from my mind, I am relishing the heat warming up these middle-aged bones. Thankfully it is still only a few bips above freezing at dawn so we can still get up and running, at least until mid-May I hope. Then we’ll heave off the cover and wait several weeks for the pool to reach the desired temperature. With everything arboreal and fruity getting ready for the summer, I’ve left Denis to do what needs to be done outside and concentrated on finishing my theatre ‘sièges‘ – delicately sanding the grime off the little brass pins that frame the cushions with an old electric nail drill. I’d bought it during lockdown back in the UK all those years ago so that I could keep up with my false nail addiction but never quite got the hang of how to use it without ripping the enamel off my poor digits. Who knew it would be just the ticket for sparkling up little gold-coloured buttons? D just has to finish re-upholstering the arm rests, I unwittingly bought the entire stock in the local DIY store the other day (we have had to replace all on said rests) so the last task has to wait until next week. In the meantime I have moved my ‘travaille’ down to the courtyard, all the rattan furniture has to be cleaned and re-oiled which isn’t exactly a walk in the countryside. What the flood waters left behind at L’Horte back in 2018 is still firmly stuck to the chairs and rattan doesn’t like getting soaking wet – a bit of a ‘wax on wax off’ job.
Last week was actually a comparatively quiet one compared to the ones before. Roy and Nick have all but completed the new suite in what was once the boiler/utility room and are now preparing the space below my main staircase for what will be a dog parlour of sorts with a shower and all my grooming stuff. No, I’m not going back into the trade but it would be nice not to have to share my bathroom with a load of woofer hair. I’m hoping the work won’t take more than a week or two as the next spaces to overhaul are my bedrooms and I’d like them done before my guests descend on me and the sun deck.
Tomorrow, Mumo and I are taking the short walk down to the ‘petanque’ ground at the bottom of our road. Aside from the annual Easter egg hunt, Denis is preparing a picnic for friends and family along with a giant omelette, a tradition in this part of France. It is said that this practice dates back to Napolean who once feasted on one made by a local innkeeper in a town called Bessieres, North of Toulouse. So overwhelmed with this culinary delight, he ordered a giant version to be made for his army the next day. The over-sized eggy creation became a tradition as it could feed the poor people at Easter and since has become a symbol of friendship and family togetherness. The omelette, known as ‘pâquette’ is laced with honey and rum, I’m assuming this has always been the case although it might be D’s swing on things and with another fine day beckoning, I’m looking forward to it even if I’m not sure about the combination of eggs and alcohol. And I haven’t met his mother yet…
“Easter is the only time when it’s perfectly safe to put all your eggs in one basket” (Evan Esar)
Widow plus woofs 