The chaleur has broken. Rather dramatically. If Thursday evening’s soiree over at Saba and Roy’s meant wearing the floatiest dress I could find that could make the heat bearable and Friday’s barbecue next door had the bug zapper under the table noisily disposing of mosquitos, then partying over at chez Abraham’s last night was all about jumpers -the temperature dropping by 20 degrees in a matter of 24 hours. And whilst we are all grateful for the rain, it’s come a little too late to save most of the potager – we lost all the haricot beans and two of the tomato plants. Still, it must be welcome relief for all those involved in the vendange or grape harvest – working along those vines in 40 plus degree temperatures can’t have been much fun. Perhaps they can now get up a couple of hours later to rev up their tractors and not have the need to wake me up at 3 a.m.
Aside from the usual fêtes with friends, the past week has been a quiet one, mainly because stepping outside was akin to putting your tootsies on burning coals. Poor Denis had to get up at the crack of dawn every morning to water down everyone’s gardens and then go back out again at sunset to do those what he hadn’t had time to do earlier. He’s still recovering from the ordeal. I wasn’t much happier either as the apartment’s thermostat proudly displayed the internal temperature as hotter than the external one and to cap it all, one of my two electric shutters on the patio doors has decided to get stuck in the down position. A bit like looking at the bottom of a roasting tray although thankfully someone has now turned the oven off. Little brother Moth is coming over later this afternoon so that’ll keep him busy.
Speaking of friends, I took mes filles, Saba and Stephanie, over to the Cave in St-Hilaire on Friday morning. Caves or wine shops are commonplace in these parts but the one located a kilometre or so down the road from L’Horte is the one I like best, they’ve known my family since the shop started and naturally always stock the best stuff. Since it was the first visit for both of them, I elected to drive and therefore forgo any tasting of the grape. Now I have to be honest, my fluency in the native tongue is always better after my two coffee morning ritual and even more so when I’ve had a couple of glasses of rouge so having had neither, trying to follow any part of the conversation between Saba and Stephanie post-Sherbet inhaling was near impossible. I would suggest that Duolingo might want to include machine-gun French in their course and advise a good dose of caffeine beforehand. A stop at the afore-mentioned L’Horte helped clear the cobwebs for all afterwards and for Saba, it was a chance to see and understand why the river is so special – she’s reading The Book.
According to the somewhat unreliable météo , we will be back to normal end of summer temperatures in the next few days with added downpours. I hope so as I’ve been able to dodge a bullet this weekend but I still have a target on my derrière. Somehow Denis has persuaded me that going sea fishing on a boat is a fabulous idea and there’s no chance of me getting sea-sick on the Med in summer. Incidentally, sea-sickness in French is mal de mer which when said, sounds like rolling waves – not helpful. Alas, we cannot go out in a little pea-green boat when it’s windy and raining so such enjoyment has been put on hold. Quel dommage. Mind you, I would like sun next weekend as we are having a party to mark 3 years since we arrived in Rouffiac. And what better way to celebrate than to be with all those who have made me feel a part of this kooky village than by the thing I am most proud of creating – the bloody pool…
“Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people” (William Shakespeare)
Widow plus woofs 