I can tell you now that right after I have finished penning today’s words of wonder, I’m jumping straight in the bloody pool. Actually I shouldn’t put a swear word in front of her as a) we managed to get the little leak fixed quickly by Monsieur Martinez, he what put in the liner, and b) it’s flippin’ roasting out there and she’s a blessing. I would have been in those cool waters already but there was the small matter of Rouffiac’s annual Vide Grenier to get through this morning. I can’t say Jude and I raked in the euros and let’s not mention the ornate Moroccan birdcage on another stall that I just had to have but at least we managed to offload enough as not to bring embarrassment. No, I have no intention of adding an aviary to my zoo, I just happen to have a fondness for such objects.
We may well be under the force that is Mother Nature’s boiler right now but most of last week was unexpectedly cold. A bit of a shame as I had house guests but Heidi and her friend Simon didn’t seem to mind especially as they wanted to do the tourist thing around the Citié and the Canal du Midi – always more preferable when you aren’t sweating through sunblock. I always enjoy Heidi’s visits not only because she’s a patient listener but her own story is, for want of a better word, inspirational. To bring up three children; two of which were born with mental health issues long before such disorders were really recognised all whilst she dealt with domestic violence and single-handedly built what is now a very successful grooming empire, is well, just that. If she doesn’t write the book, I will.
Alas their stay was, as always, not long enough but we did manage to squeeze in a stroll up the road and to the right so I could point out where my next abode will be one day – it would help if potential big house buyers would stop finding stupid reasons not to add to the family coffers. Complaining about the terrain being too dry when you’re viewing property down here in June for a start or worrying about the amount of stairs (how do you expect to get to the third floor?) seems a little trite although the latter has booked a second look on Monday with her husband – perhaps he’s got strong shoulders.
Speaking of athletic ability and awesomeness, I would like to give a shout-out to my sister, known to us siblings as Bong for reasons we forget, who kept her poor brothers and I glued to the IronMan app last Sunday night. Despite getting two punctures during the cycling bit thanks to someone’s attempt to derail the race and her having to do the last kilometres with a protesting tummy, she can now call herself an IronWoman. I’ll not post her picture as she’ll kill me for that and I still think she was totally nuts to even consider entering the thing but so so proud of her for doing so. Me, no way. I’m going to take a gentle stroll across the arid lawns, walk up the three stairs to the deck before sliding indelicately into a large quantity of crystal clear, cool water…
“Teach your daughters to worry less about fitting into glass slippers and more about shattering glass ceilings.” (Melissa Marchonna)
Widow plus woofs 