I’ve managed to burn the bottom of my most useful saucepan this week. I blame my faux pas on my lack of concentration whilst attempting the fine art of fudge making, all down to having a stuffed up nose. Denis is still insisting that that my sad state of feeling sorry for myself was because I went and got my Covid vaccination but the more likely culprit was the fir tree under which I spent several hours messing about with fairy lights on a very windy day. Those needles don’t half get down your throat. Two nights of dining out in sub-zero temperatures probably didn’t help either.
Mind you, I didn’t have much time for self-pity last week. Between emptying the supermarket on Monday, picking Callum up from Toulouse airport on a very wet and blowy night and carting Mumo round various shopping emporiums searching for the impossible to find grandchild gift, I’ve been busy to put it mildly. It’s not been all whizzing around town though. I dropped by neighbours, Jacqui and Terry, for a morning coffee that led into the afternoon – well, we had a lot to talk about and then cleared out Graham’s linen closet. I really can’t imagine how the village is going to cope without him as he leaves us for his beloved Scotland in the new year. And of course, the inevitable nights out. I have to be honest, it wasn’t my best idea to eat pizza under the stars on Friday – it was bitterly cold and the thermometer decided to plummet a few more degrees last evening over at chez Abraham. At least I wore thermal layers unlike Denis who only had a T-shirt under his jacket so shivered through most of what was a delicious meal of slow roasted duck cooked by our host whilst being serenaded by Felix’ blues-inspired harmonica playing. It’s not going to get any warmer before Santa comes so I’m going to make sure D stashes a pair of long-johns in his camionette.
At least he turned up this morning more suitably dressed for the season as we finally got round to moving the old fireplace that once resided in the main house. It’d been sitting inside the remis since the place was renovated and Mumo wanted it gone and where better a place that needed it than Abraham’s. And since the bloody monstrosity weighed a ton, most of last night’s guests turned up to lift it onto Denis’ minute trailer so it could be transported to its new home. I have to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure that either D’s camionette or its cargo would make it as we watched him drive very very slowly down the main street with tyres wheezing under the strain but I was reliably informed a few minutes later that the contents arrived safely and are now safely ensconsed under the roof at Le Jardin or chez Abraham as I like to call it. No doubt there will be many more cosy dinners with friends there in the coming days with lashings of my home- made mulled wine and oddly discoloured fudge…
“The fire is winter’s fruit” (Arabian Proverb)
Widow plus woofs 