I broke my mobile phone this week and had to buy a new one – a seemingly straight-forward task unless you’re me. I had hoped that the screen could be easily fixed but alas no but at least the cost of a new one could be covered thanks to the cigarette savings. I went for the same make as that would make the data transfer from one to the other a simple task but then again, not when you’re me. And you don’t have your text savvy son standing next to you. Suffice to say that I highly recommend the nice young man who runs the phone clinic in Carcassonne, not least because he has the patience of a saint when it comes to dealing with those who can’t remember their pin codes. The funny thing is that the only things I really cared about were the photos and my lifeline to Callum that is Whatsapp and that’s what caused my near meltdown. Well, that and the woofer hair that somehow managed to get under the screen protector as I was smearing it down whilst unsuccessfully trying to get the air bubbles out.
Oddly, this past week brought a few other unexpected events of the more enjoyable and far less stressful variety and it all started with a wedding. Not mine before you think I’ve gone off the deep end but that of dear friends Adolphe and Sara who after having tied the knot, invited a few of us over for a wee mid-afternoon celebration. Naturally, after all one needs to be polite, I did have a couple of glasses of fizz and a piece of cake and helped out playing wine waitress amongst the guests which helped the flow of conversation no doubt between the locals and those visiting from the UK on Sara’s side. It was during one such highly-animated discussion about something I don’t recall, that I noticed a very glamourous lady walk into the throng. Now, I would like to point out that our hosts had made this a very casual affair i.e. no hats and mostly jeans so the sight of a striking, suited and booted blonde did turn a few heads – definitely not Rouffiac style. The latest addition to move into our little bit of rural South-West France comes by the name of Lisa and she’s bloody great fun.
I had such a great time at the do, it wasn’t until I got home later that I realised how isolated I’ve been since Mumo passed away. It’s not that I haven’t been sociable but me being around others has been more of an evening thing – most of the day I seem to have confined my self within the walls of this here property between work and estate agents with just the woofers for companionship and D popping in and out. Now that I’ve given up the fags, the only time I’ve walked down to the épicerie is to renew my lottery ticket and let’s face it, all that miserable rain has kept everyone indoors so no chats over the garden gate so to speak. So deciding I needed to get out more and learn something new, I posted an enquiry on a local ladies group Facebook page which resulted in an invitation to join a sewing club. I was honest with them, I can’t sew very well but would love to learn – come over, we’ll teach you was the reply. So I did and nearly walked straight back out again. A table of cross-stitchers and crochet needle twiddlers was really not my thing but I’m very happy to say I stayed and thoroughly enjoyed myself. No, I haven’t picked up anything yet except make more new friends and book some private lessons in the sewing department. Apparently we are making pin cushions next week which should make for some amusement – perhaps I could design my code into mine?…
“A friend may be waiting behind a stranger’s face.” (Maya Angelou)
Widow plus woofs 