At this time of year, a rumble of thunder on a hot summer’s night is music to one’s ears but the downpours that usually follow are currently carrying excess luggage – the unwelcome kind. Green algae and gorging midges. You can slather yourself in citronella but it’s no match for the minute munchers and you spend most of your days slapping various body parts like some sort of 1920’s flapper girl. Luckily we have the pool which provides much needed respite from the ‘small but mighty’ raptors and we have, thanks to a bit of yours truly’s ingenuity, clear water to cool off in. We are the fortunate ones for once, if you remember this time last year I was plugging holes in the liner, as many of our friends and neighbours have bottle green piscines. The always much needed rain is packing the slimy stuff – algae and it likes swimming pools. Last weekend, I did notice that the underwater lights had an odd tint to them so I went out and bought several gallons of the antidote and dosed up the bloody thing. And then, because I am one of those wot dots ‘i’s and crosses ‘t’s, I swam up and down the vast meterage with a mop like a demented charlady. If anyone passing had strange ideas about English people’s odd customs, I’d like to reassure them that witches like myself often use household objects for more than just one purpose.
Eradicating the green gunge from its watery depths wasn’t the only bit of seek and destroy I had to do this week. Denis and I finally found time to clear the weeds and cut the overgrown grass around Pop’s tree at L’Horte. Well, I say ‘we’ but it was mostly Denis and his dream machine aka his débroussailleuse. While he strimmed and styled the plot, I wandered off to nosey around the flora and fauna. I think Pop would be thrilled with all the wild flowers and orchids popping up all over the place even if you need a machete to see them, I can see him now wandering down the tree-lined path towards the river at dusk admiring his land. Actually, I can because something a little weird has happened to a photo I have of him in my bedroom. I have put the picture below so you can see what happens when I turn the overhead light on. Spooky but serene at the same time.
With all the mopping and tidying over the last few days, a decent shower was what we both needed. Preixan style. Nick-named ‘Le fête de la mousse’, the neighbouring village’s annual party brings in the crowds. DJs on a massive stage, pump out thumping tunes as thousands of people of all ages boogie the night away. Everyone had a blast; no arguing, fisticuffs or foul language – something I have noted on many a night out, nobody swears. I asked my friend Saba about this once, she is French but lived most of her school years in England and she’s married to a Brit. She told me that family is the most important thing in this part of the world, the children are brought up to respect their elders and those in authority. Families dine in together, dine out together, dance around together. I have never heard Denis curse either. But it wasn’t just the music and chumminess that brought in the throngs and thongs – it was the mousse. Hordes gathered under something that looked a bit like a giant microphone hanging from the scaffolding, reminiscent of that scene in Independence Day when the aliens arrive to be covered in what I can only describe as frothed up Fairy Liquid (other brands may work better, who knows). By the time I got home in the early hours this morning, I was soaked but boy, does this little pocket of France know how to party. Small but mighty brilliant…
“Nothing inspires cleanliness more than an unexpected guest” (Radhika Mundra)
Widow plus woofs 