Whilst my head may be thinking that the past week has gone all too quickly, my body can’t wait for all the festivities to be over. Not only do I still have the last lingers of a cold, the amount of meat and alcohol consumed over Christmas has left my guts feeling, to put it mildly, a little sensitive. Not getting to bed until the wee hours every night hasn’t helped either but the bags under my eyes and bloated belly are unmistakable signs that it has, for the most part, been a bloody brilliant Noël. I’m pretty sure we will see in the New Year in similar style tonight even though it won’t be the whole family singing Auld Lang Syne out of tune as my sister and her lot left on Friday.

And so it was that for the first time in three years, Mumo had all her offspring and their offspring and other halves at the table at the same time. It’s quite a feat considering one came from Australia, 3 from Kenya, one from Chad, a couple from the UK and 4 from New York. Add in myself, Denis, Simon and Alba and you get 16 trying to find a place to sit comfortably in the living room. Unfortunately, I got the floor cushion as I’m always the last one in the building so to speak and my sister did her level best to stay at least 2 metres away from me at all times. But I minded my manners and kept schtum as I promised Mumo I would. I ought to be used to her aversion to my presence by now but it still upsets me, the one upside to being side-lined being Callum who knows his mum so well and gives the best hugs in the world. And gave her an Australian ‘cowboy’ hat which she absolutely loves. Putting all the death stares aside, the few days that the Collins/Stewart/Plevin clan were together were full of rowdiness, constant banter and sides aching from so much laughter. And food. And wine. It’ll probably be another few years before we are all together again and I am trying very hard not to think about Cal returning Down Under in a few weeks so these rare moments of family are priceless.

Having 16 for Christmas lunch on Boxing Day, Moth who is traditionally late for everything arrived on the 25th, had required months of pre-planning. The meat and potatoes were cooked over at mine and the rest in the main house. I roped Denis into cooking because he’s such a good chef and actually likes slaving over a hot stove and I don’t. He did himself proud and produced restaurant-worthy platters of lamb and chicken with lashings of roast potatoes. My only contribution was the gravy I’d made the day before which left everyone amused as Pop would always berate Mumo for leaving it to the last minute. Then, once the pudding was eaten and the 2 Buches de Noël were decimated, we all plonked ourselves around a garden bench on an unseasonably warm day for the necessary photos. Moth captured some great shots although I couldn’t help but slap myself for drinking red wine beforehand. Everyone had nice white teeth except for yours truly.

And so as the last vestiges of 2023 tick down with the clock and thoughts of resolutions and diets pass through heads, I wish one and all a Happy New Year. Who knows what 2024 will bring even if I did take a gander at my zodiac and the Chinese one too – apparently I’m set for a period of personal growth and success but have to watch my stress levels. Whoever wrote that has never lived in the idyll that is Rouffiac. I hope everyone has a right good knees up tonight and drains the last of the drinks cabinet in style. Bonne Année à tous!

““For last year’s words belong to last year’s language, and next year’s words await another voice.” (T.S. Eliot)

I almost forgot it was Sunday today what with all the rushing around last week. For once, it wasn’t last minute gift shopping as I sorted out most of what Mumo hadn’t got on a certain website specifically designed for such, instead its been a whirl of getting the house ready for the incoming family and a few festive get-togethers with friends. Oh, and I managed to fit in a visit to the coiffeuse so I wouldn’t look like I’d been rushing around like the proverbial fly. Frankly, I’m exhausted and could probably sleep for the next few days which, considering my just arrived sister’s rather cool greeting as I walked in the door laden with bouches Noël this morning, may not be a bad thing. Don’t worry, I have promised Mumo I will play nice and not react – I know, very unusual for me.

As I mentioned, I’ve done most of Mumo’s Christmas list for her as she hasn’t been very well the last few days. She blames it on too much vegetarian lasagne on Wednesday. She had hosted a small lunch for Terry and Jacqui next door and our other neighbour, Louise who is always referred to be me as the Contessa – there isn’t much she doesn’t know about Rouffiac as her family once owned most of it. We were supposed to be joined by some old friends of Mumo’s but unfortunately they came down with the dreaded Covid so a large pasta dish was shared between only a few. And she’s had a dicky tum since. I’m keeping my fingers crossed as my sister bought some stuff with her that should put our Mumo right.

Personally I blame the wind for her misfortune, it’s been blowing a hooley since Monday although things do seem to be settling down for the week ahead. Gusty weather in these parts is known for bringing blue moods and bugs. Even the normally upbeat Denis started out in a sour mood when we went over to chez Abraham’s on Wednesday night – I don’t think he had quite forgiven our host for the previous soiree’s icy temperatures. Mind you, a night with fabulous music and friends does wonders for the spirit – and it’ll be the last down there until Spring as we shut Le Jardin down for her make-over. She could do with some walls for a start.

It wasn’t just us humans who got brought down by the nasty wind, it took down my painting too – the one I had done for the information panel next to our corner wall. Luckily the new one that I spent hours slaving over is now wrapped in heavy duty plastic and covered in so many thumb tacks that it’s going to take until the Spring to get it off. Mind you, I’m told my second attempt is a veritable masterpiece especially as I added Denis’ little camionette into the canvas. Mme who lives across from it is still in a mood about not being able to park on our bit of land so does her best to stick her car in front of my artistic work instead. Ah well, I’m being of good will to all at the moment.

And that’s it I suppose until after Christmas. I hope you all have a jolly one and eat too much. I know I will as I have Denis’ family one tonight at which I have been informed that you don’t eat until midnight, such is the tradition in these parts but at least I’ll have a day to recover as we don’t do the Collins one until Boxing Day. So enjoy one and all and as we say here Bonnes Fêtes à tous!

““May you never be too grown up to search the skies on Christmas Eve.” (Anon)

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)

Well, it took a few days and a fair amount of fingernails but we did it. The roadside wall is now blinding passers-by with festive fairy-lights in abundance and Papa Noël sitting proudly in his sleigh. Actually, it’s an old chair but Denis worked his magic with a bit of tinsel and lots of bamboo so a sleigh it is. I got my creative side out and made a ‘tree’ out of wire fencing and hung presents (empty wine boxes) from some plastic tubing I found in the back of the car port. But I didn’t stop there. My bête noire that stands in the form of a somewhat seen better days ‘information board’ now has a Winter Wonderland themed painting stuck on it. Okay, so I’m not a great artist and most would think a child had done the artwork but the ancient wooden structure looks a lot better with something other than a lotto advertisement slapped on its front. And almost everyone in the village, including the Mayor, have given D and I the thumbs-up and five stars for our effort. I say almost everyone, the lady who lives across from said exultant exhibition of everything Christmas is less than pleased as I’ve stopped her from parking in front of the wall. The space technically belongs to the family property and her car hides all the work D and I have put into the corner over the years so we plonked a few wire cages full of rocks unearthed from the river across it. I don’t like upsetting anyone in Rouffiac but if the gossip in the epicerie is anything to go by, I got another thumbs-up and the Mayor’s blessing.

You will be pleased to know that we didn’t plug the lot into the French National Grid, all the garlands are either solar or battery-operated. A bit of a pain when one has to turn all the lights on and off whilst trying not to break an ankle stepping over Santa but at least, apart from the odd day or two, last week gave us plenty of early morning sunshine to charge up their panels. My pre-dawn runs have also become slightly easier with the frost hardening the clay – my knees aren’t grateful for the jarring though so I’ve strapped them well. It really is beautiful up there in the hills at the moment even when the silence is broken by Arry careering through the vines after rabbits and the occasional deer. It’s a relief to see him back to his old self after all the allergy troubles the summer gave him. He’s looking less like Wily Coyote now that his chest hair is starting to grow back.

I had a chance this week to drive East into the Corbières, a mountain region about 40 minutes or so away from us as Abraham and I had a meeting in the area. Amusingly, such is small-town vibes, a tall Rastafarian and a blonde made for quite a few stares from the inhabitants – this is Cathar country which I’m reliably told by Denis means the descendants of the religious movement are generally short in stature and dark-haired. Like Denis basically. The landscape however, was anything but small. Thousands of kilometres of grapevines and olive trees tucked under the shadow of the impressive mountainous forests stretching across the skyline with ornate church spires popping their heads above stone-cottaged villages that looked like they’d been stuck in a time warp. Being a man who knows everything there is to know about agriculture, Abraham pointed out all the different flora and fauna as we sped through (I was driving) and told me that they even grow rice in some of the fields such is the lushness of the Corbières. A place really worth visiting if you are ever down this way.

Talking of visiting, I took Callum to the airport on Friday as he was off to see his other granny in the former homeland. Weirdly, I miss him dreadfully which, when you consider he’s been living in Australia for the past almost 2 years, is a little odd but I’ve gotten used to having him around again. He’ll be back on Wednesday though, just in time to help Mumo get enough beds in bedrooms for the eagerly anticipated arrival of the rest of the family. She’s panicking a bit as I’ve bought all my presents but she hasn’t so I’ll be ferrying her around the shops for the next couple of weeks as we are still a one car house at the moment. The news that her accident was a result of mechanical failure with a whatsit in the Yaris (i.e.blame it on Toyota) has given Mumo a little relief that it wasn’t her fault but it’ll be a while I think before she is confident enough to get behind the wheel. In the meantime, I will play chauffeur and squeeze her needs into my busy lighting up Rouffiac schedule. Who knows, I might even find something else to add to our wonder wall – Denis did see a rather fabulous set of blinging reindeers the other day…

“Christmas is a baby shower that went totally overboard.” (Andy Borowitz)

December has arrived. I’ve got a Christmas pudding simmering nicely on the hob and piles of baubles and lights spread out on the kitchen island. Since Denis and I will spend much of next week blinging up the corner wall so that everyone arriving in Rouffiac will be mesmerised by our seasonal display of Santa et al, what goes where requires a lot of organisation. One also has to allow an extra day beforehand to untangle what you put away last year. The pudding by the way is not for me, I promised D’s sister Nathalie I’d make their family one – for some reason she likes lashings of dried fruit mashed into a dome and boiled until Doomsday. I will explain to her the necessary fire drill when she sets the thing alight on the big day – this pud is already tipsy.

Mind you, the Maybon family might need the boozy boost given as the temperature has dropped into the single figure zone. At least it’s been blue sky and sunshine for most of this weekend as most of last week had us drenched. I know I bang on about how we need rain but did it have to come down all at once? The morning run became an extreme sport on Tuesday, going uphill was like negotiating rapids and downhill even worse. I’ve never had a skiing lesson but I bet I’m pretty adept now. When D and I decided to go out for pizza on Friday night, we should have packed a dinghy such was the lake in front of the restaurant’s entrance – it wouldn’t surprise you to read that the place was practically empty. Perhaps the boat shop (yes, we do have a shop that sells boats on the village’s lower road even though there isn’t anywhere near here where you could set sail) had sold out. On the plus side, staying inside and dry meant I got a fair few chapters written and sent off to my editor, Sally. I still don’t like Chapter 5 but I’ll wait for her thoughts, no doubt covered in red ink.

Before I packed the pud into a bowl this morning and set it to bubble away for several hours, I told Denis he had to stir the mix and ‘faire un vœu’. His questions as to why and how were precised by me into ” I have no idea, it’s just tradition’. I know it has something to do with the Three Wise Men but frankly I was far too tired and my linguistic skills had yet to get out of bed. I would normally have blamed Saturday nights chez Abraham for my lack of sleep but with the place being closed and most of the rest of Rouffiac too, I played hostess last night chez moi. Our new neighbours, Terry and Jacqui, had yet to meet Denis or Abraham so I’d invited them over for intros and entrees along with Saba and Roy. Callum and Mumo popped up too. The woofers were thoroughly delighted to have new fans – even Neo, who as you know isn’t the most sociable sort, happily accepted attention. This may also have had something to do with me losing my temper with the lot of them trying to get the annual Christmas shot. I gave up in the end and ordered my cards with their picture tucked away in one corner. For us humans, it was an evening filled with sparkling conversation and fabulous food, the latter having more to do with Abraham’s contribution than mine. I did not know it was so easy to burn rice. I don’t think anybody noticed, apart from Callum who has a great deal of experience regarding his mother’s culinary skills, all were too busy making new friends. And if yesterday’s introductions are anything to go by, Terry and Jacqui have already become part of our little community. As Denis pointed out, everyone needs great neighbours especially when you’ve got 8 hair-brained hounds…

“It is December, and nobody asked if I was ready.” (Sarah Kay)

Its been a busy old week. And a flipping cold one too. I woke up this morning to a frosty view from the balcony which considering the balmy temperatures we had last weekend, was a bit of a shock. We’ll have to start wrapping the citrus trees soon and drag out the Christmas decorations from their summer hibernation – Denis and I have already planned our festive extravaganza. As we drove over to chez Abraham’s last night, I noticed a few of the village residents had already bedecked their homes with fairy lights, a little early perhaps but with the last of the social get-togethers closing down for a few months, we all need a bit of cheer. Yes, our regular Saturday night social, chez Abraham’s, has closed its doors for a few months. Apart from being absolutely freezing, the place needs a make-over with a little help from yours truly.

Speaking of doing places up, I had the chance to help my good friend Laetitia, she who runs her family’s vineyard in Rouffiac, organise a wedding. A couple from Colorado who have a second home in a nearby village asked me if I knew anyone that could house the celebration and as Jacey, the bride, wanted a view of the sunset to be photographed with, I suggested Closteisseire (the vineyard). Actually I also mentioned chez Abraham’s too but Jacey thought it was too big for what was to be an intimate joining of hands. I’d never met either her or Joshua, the groom, before – Joshua and I have been pals via Facebook for a while, since we discovered we lived close to each other and were both looking for tradesmen. A few days before the big event, I caught up with Jacey to show her the venue and since they were here at the time, I dragged Sophy and Rene with me. Luckily, the bride loved the place and assured by Laetitia’s father-in-law that it wasn’t going to rain on her big day, she planned a couple of sites to put up the flower arch for the pics. Well, they may not have had the forecast they’d hoped for, windy and wet was the afternoon but Joshua and Jacey tied the knot in the warmth of the tasting room, accompanied by his two children, beaming smiles and quite a few tears around. I feel a new career coming on.

Trying something new is part of the fun of living in the middle of the countryside so I coaxed Callum into going mushroom-hunting or as I like to refer to it, chasse aux champignons. Our expert guides, Denis and Rashid, arrived at the crack of dawn and we drove off into the deep, dark forest. I can’t tell you where, such sacred sites are kept secret in case another fungi fancier decides to take his pick. Now, if you have read previous blogs, I have partaken in the sport before under the careful eye of Denis but it seems, my son is a natural. Paired up with Rashid, Callum beat Denis and I hands down in the moss. I have to admit I thought I was doing rather well until my other half told me I’d loaded my sac with fake chanterelles (the stalks are a different shape I was informed) but with the new champignon champion’s hoard, the freezer is now full of various woodland edibles. The massive Cèpe he heaved out of the ground taking up most of the space. Hidden talents obviously run in the family.

If the last couple of weeks have been all about introducing old and new friends to my little corner of the world, the next few days will be counting down to Christmas and the bonds of family. The whole lot of us together for the first time in two years, having the surprise of my boy from Down Under being the icing on the cake. Despite my occasionally rocky relationships with some of my siblings, I am looking forward to everyone talking over each other and arguing about who gets the last mince pie. And as most will not be arriving until the 25th, we’ll be stuffing ourselves the following day which means Denis will be there to – we’ll probably both be still trying to digest his family’s feast from the night before, combining families as well as friendships…

“The best things in life aren’t things” (Mike Ness)

Aside from having my hair coiffured and going to the vet only to find I’d got the wrong day so Arry has to suffer until Tuesday, the past week has been all about this weekend. Two and a bit days spent with two of the best friends a girl could have. Sophy (spelt with a ‘Y’ unlike me who has an ‘i’) and Rene. Naturally, like all eagerly anticipated events, time passed far too quickly and before you know it I was back at the airport this afternoon saying goodbye instead of bienvenue.

Mind you the build-up to what promised, and delivered, a fabulous few days was slightly fraught. Firstly, Roy and I had to put a new floor down in my spare room so Rene could actually get into bed – I say Roy and I but truthfully he did all the hard work whilst I made coffee. Luckily, it isn’t the biggest of chambres so everything was done in a couple of days although I was more than a little worried Roy would have another heart attack. Hoisting planks up my front stairs is quite a feat for a body-builder, I know I’ve done it before but with a double bed. Then there was the mistake with the vet appointment – poor Arry is suffering from something other than his normal and extensive allergy symptoms. I’m pretty sure its immune related so I’d hoped to get him back to his usual mischievous self before the girls arrived. Well, he may not have felt that great inside but he loved all the fuss bestowed on him – a temporary but much needed dose of happy hormones and cuddles x3.

It was the first time Sophy had visited chez nous so I had planned a bit of a whirlwind 48 hours, a bit of tourist stuff combined with a couple of knees-up Rouffiac style. Seeing as they were landing at Carcassonne airport, I had intended to take them straight up to La Cité, the medieval wonder that Carcassonne is most famous for but the weather was frankly almost English so we went to the boulangerie instead. I don’t often entertain guests who get excited by a quick stop to buy bread and croissants but judging by Sophy’s reaction, I think it went down as one of the highlights of her trip. We did go to the castle and its surrounds the following morning which turned out to be gorgeously sunny and warm, perfect for endless photo poses and window shopping. Actually Sophy bought a hat, one that didn’t have her location emblazoned on the front and both her and Rene bought me a beautiful piece of local ceramic art that I’d had my eye on for my bedroom. Then there was the necessary pop over to L’Horte and a walk around Rouffiac D’Aude – the latter obviously being a must-see what with its signposted ‘Centre Commercial‘. A post office, the epicerie, the social centre and the Mayor’s offices. But I saved the best part about living here for the nights.

Saba and Roy came over the first evening, Denis too, plus Mumo and Callum. Since Callum knows both Rene and Sophy , we were the mums and our sons went to the same prep school, he had a chance to catch up with all their boys’ news whilst I dished up a rather delicious (even if I say it myself although it was D’ recipe) chicken affair and copious amounts of wine. Bruce next door had given me a homemade bottle of Sloe Gin so a little tasting was in order. Very nice if somewhat heady. It doesn’t really need saying that the night ended with Saba, Rene and I destroying songs with our out of tune warbling and a lot of hip wiggling – age does not define us and somethings never change when we’re together. And then there was the inevitable pop across the road on Saturday to chez Abraham for yet another soiree and mixing of my dearest friends from the old land and my new amis from the most special place I call home. And despite the language gap, Rene and Sophy were treated like one of the family – more than a few including Abraham asked me why they couldn’t stay longer. Both were swept onto the dance floor as a reggae DJ spun his tables and whooped at the ‘Ladies from London!’ – turned out he was originally from Brixton, couldn’t make it up. And as I sat with Abraham watching the two get swirled around by various wanna be suitors, I felt incredibly proud to have introduced them to my little corner of this world. I miss you already Sophy and Rene, as does everyone else down here…

“There are friends, there is family and then there are friends that become family.” (Unknown)

The man-child has been back a week and I’ve finally stopped hugging him every 5 minutes. It still feels weird not to check my mobile for messages every morning as has become a habit over the last couple of years – at least I know where he is now. In the workshop as if he’d never left. He’s already re-wired what was once a gloomy, can’t see what you’re doing space into a veritable DIY heaven and put all the tools back in their correct locations. The latter being mainly down to too many handymen in the lab. And it hasn’t just been all about fixing electrics and preparing doors for purpose, Callum’s also helped Denis trim the Virginia Creeper that covers the courtyard doors and facade even if D’s face turned a lighter shade of pale when my boy climbed to the top of the ladder in a pair of flip-flops. Obviously Cal’s endless talents in all things ‘tradie’ doesn’t include health and safety.

Luckily for Cal, it’s been a quiet week – he is still battling jet lag for one and we’ve had almost non-stop rain which has put pay to do anything much outside. Apart from a trip to L’Horte which was a bit of a shock for him, I’d forgotten that he hadn’t seen it since the Stable and garage were demolished and a couple of debit card- draining trips to various tool emporiums, I’ve left him in his place of worship amongst the sawdust and concentrated instead on up-cycling an old book case and even done a fair bit of writing. I’m trying not to think about getting the Second Book finished anytime soon – between the beautiful interruption of my son’s arrival and me having to get up at the crack of dawn to hit the trails, I’m still only on Chapter Four. Just sixteen to go.

Despite the early hour, running through the Autumnal red and gold vine-covered hills still never fails to bring sighs of awe, albeit peppered with swear words as I attempt to rid my shoes of the heavy, wet clay that loves to adhere to their soles. At least, so far, the extra weight prevents me from tripping over again – my knees have only just recovered from the last bruising. I’m hoping that the meteo is right about next week being dry and apparently warm as my girlies, Rene and Sophy, are flying in for a wild weekend Rouffiac style. Mumo suggested it might be nice for the three of us to have a quiet one catching up, yeah right. If my 3 plus years of living in this tucked away village has taught me anything, it’s that there’s always an excuse for a party. And an excuse to put the laptop away. Again…

““I just sit at my typewriter and curse a bit.” ( P.G. Wodehouse)