I would say that, as happens every year, my birthday was a day best forgotten if it wasn’t for two of the best presents a girl could get. After having spent most of it either trying to fix little problems before they became big ones or in the dentist’s chair, I was in a less than genial mood until Denis appeared with a gorgeous lamp. He knew how much I loved Jonathan’s works of art and this one is particularly stunning. Mind you, I did tell D off because I know how much it costs. My living area is now adorned with three of Jonathan’s creations as well as most of the furniture from the freshly painted but still needing a new floor spare room.

Denis will forgive me for saying that his lovely gift wasn’t as special as the one that came a few days later. There was I, standing in the kitchen talking to Mumo about munchies for the guests coming over for aperos – our new neighbours had just moved in and I wanted to introduce them to the other Rouffiac ‘Brits’. Anyway, as we were fussing about fancy foods we could feed vegetarians and that Denis wasn’t coming as he had a cold, big brother Simon charged through the front door with a huge bag of bread. It was odd as I don’t eat bread and Mumo rarely has more than one slice but I didn’t have chance to say so as he shot back out again muttering something about baggage. Well, he had just come back from spending a week in New York celebrating my brother-in-law’s 60th but he did seem more than a little flustered. And then the front door opened again and as I turned round to ask my brother what the rush was, Callum was standing in the hallway. “Happy birthday Mum”. I think you can imagine the look on my face.

I know it’ll take him a few days to recover from the long flight especially as he suffers from stomach-emptying air sickness but I am one hell of a happy Mum. At least he’ll have a couple of months here before he has to make the return trip Down Under via the UK to see Jenny, my mother-in-law. Even though we speak virtually every week, I haven’t seen my man-child in almost 2 years and the change in him is incredible. The Callum that left back in 2021 was a shy, introverted character but the one that’s currently cleaning up the workshop is now an outgoing, confident and may I say it, a strapping young man. I’m so proud of him. He’s yet to catch up with Denis as my other favourite man wants to be rid of the sniffles before he pops over but there will be plenty of time for that what with plans for mushroom hunting, fishing and finishing D’s to-do lists around the property. Did I say I was a very happy girl right now?…

“The most important thing a man can know is that, as he approaches his own door, someone on the other side is listening for the sound of his footsteps.” (Clark Gable)

Forgive me if this week’s blog is full of grammatical bloops but I didn’t get in until the early hours this morning on account of a riotous Halloween knees-up at chez Abraham‘s last night. Actually, it was earlier than the time the outside security camera registered a 50-something dressed up like a Peaky Blinder making her way unsteadily across the driveway as the clocks went back an hour sometime between numerous glasses of wine and a rather delicious mechoui à la broche. And I’m not the only one trying to keep her eyes open, Denis has put back our afternoon mushroom hunting mission to Thursday so he can sleep off the rest of today.

The poor man deserves a rest anyway as he and his brother, Thierry, have been up ladders all week, sawing off tree branches around the property – a yearly must as telephone cables surround most of our fence line and we like to keep our neighbours (and the Mayor) happy. Little Louisette, Denis’ beloved van, dragged precariously over-filled trailers off to a secret location (we aren’t really allowed to dump dead-wood in the countryside -why I have no idea) like an underpaid baggage handler doing the late shift. I have to say the garden looks much brighter now which is just as well as the weather is not. Overcast skies and drizzle have now replaced the early Autumn’s heat and whilst it isn’t ‘see your breath’ cold, the sharp snap that greets me when I let the woofers out in the morning is enough to make me want to get straight back under the covers. Luckily, Mumo’s sitting room with its new wood-burning stove is right below my bedroom as my radiators aren’t kicking in – Max chauffagiste has promised he will come round as soon as to to boot them up.

Speaking of clearing the view so to speak, I’m trying very hard not to do an impression of Hyacinth Bucket at the moment. Our new neighbours, those who have bought the house behind us, are due to arrive anytime today and, well, I’m just nosey. Graham tells me they are keen runners and have a dog, hopefully the woofers will be more polite to her than they were with the previous inhabitants canine. Whilst I don’t want company when I run, the solitude is part of the reason I love to get up in those hills, I’d be more than happy to show them the beauty this little bit of France has to offer. I bet they don’t have to spend 10 minutes strapping various joints before taking to the road, unlike myself – they probably won’t face-plant either, unlike myself. Mind you, I did manage to stay upright on both runs last week which was a miracle in itself as it was pitch dark and wet for most of the kilometres. There’s an advantage to losing that hour even if I didn’t appreciate it this morning.

I shall finish by saying a big thank-you to everyone for all the messages asking how Mumo is doing after her little stunt a couple of weekends ago. She’s doing fine, no doubt helped by the tootsie-warming furnace below me. I even dragged her out for a little retail therapy mid-week so she could stock up her winter wardrobe. Unfortunately, although she did buy a swish pair of walking shoes, she didn’t manage to find anything wooly-wise – navel skimming jumpers mostly in fuchsia or glittering purple, not being her clothing of choice. Well, it is almost Halloween. I wonder if the new neighbours know there’s a witch watching over the wood pile next door?…

“Halloween is the only time that people can become what they want to be without getting fired” (Sylvester Stallone)

So there was I pulling the remaining pins out of one of my ‘Adolphe’ chairs last Sunday afternoon when I got a phone call from Mumo’s hairdresser. I will mention briefly that Chantal works from home and home is St-Hilaire, a couple of minutes from our L’Horte. Anyway, back to the scenario. Mumo had had an accident in her car and could I get over there right away but don’t worry, she’s fine. Naturally, I whizzed over as fast as I could but as I turned up the sharp rise that is their road, I couldn’t see Mumo or her little Toyota. Chantal, who had been waiting for me outside, pointed to the field below the road – Mumo’s car was lying on its side surrounded by firemen and trucks. As we made our way down to the site, I have to point out that I assumed Mumo was in one of the trucks – not as I found out upon arrival, still in the car. Amazingly, unhurt. And after an evening in the emergency bit of Carcassonne hospital, she was carefully retrieved by Denis and I. Whilst a hundred and one things can go through our heads about how and why she ended up sideways in a field, it really doesn’t matter – I’m just thankful that my Mum is okay apart from a few bruises. And I did look up to the stars that night and say thank you to Pop.

As you can imagine after such an active start to the week, I spent the rest of it doing slightly less stressful things, even the phone calls back and forth with the insurance company I had to deal with (and all in French) were dealt with in a very unlike Sophi calm manner. The tedious task of painting the preservative (this word means something totally different in French I found out during a recent conversation by the way)on the pool’s wooden deck is now done and although I accidentally bought a tin that wasn’t ‘no colour’ but ‘teak tint’, it actually looks rather swish. And yes, the winter cover is now on and bolted in until next year. It wasn’t the easiest of jobs rolling the bache into place, not just because it’s extremely heavy but also the weather decide to bring one last hit of summer vibes and we were working in full 28 degrees blue sky.

But finally the winter wardrobe has been pulled out and the bikinis put into hibernation. Simon has got the fire up and running in the main house and the two of us moved the sofa into a more cosy position so Mumo could relax in her sauna-like salon. Outside definitely has that Autumn nip in the air now and we have even had a bit of rain – not as much as we would like but its a start. The Virginia creeper that blankets the road side of the courtyard is beginning its annual red-leaved extravaganza and the the ground below my terrace is covered in walnuts. All very seasonal if not a little late.

Next week of course, is the dreaded birthday. I’m saving the celebrations for a couple of weeks when my girls, Rene and Sophy, pop over for a wild weekend. I have plans in mind, down at chez Abrahams as long as the weather doesn’t suddenly decide winter cancels out Autumn. Denis and I were over there comme d’habitude to boogie the night away with friends, well one of us was swinging her hips, to an incredible DJ set – my knees are not thanking me this morning. They say you’re as young as you feel which doesn’t bode well, I run with more straps around my joints than a leather-clad dominatrix and my hands ache after pulling out all those tiny pins from the chair. Perhaps I should be joining my incredibly tough Mumo on the sofa curled up in front of that roaring fire – nah, I’ve got too much bop to stop and anyway, its only 9 weeks to Christmas and Denis and I still have to untangle the fairy lights…

“You are only young once but you can stay immature indefinitely” (Ogden Nash)

I managed to duff myself up good and proper last week. To fall over once can be seen as unfortunate but twice in the space of 2 days? Definitely careless or maybe it’s age creeping up on me. Both body-bashing incidents happened whilst I was running, the first left me with a swollen ankle and the second, scraped knees and bleeding palms – the latter already sore from pulling nails out of chairs. I could blame my stupidity on a wandering mind, part of the reason I love to run is to sort out all the busyness in my head but the more likely culprit is the ground on which I landed. No rain makes for loose shingle on dry, parched chemins. It may be cooler now with the temperature finally thinking about Autumn but the wet stuff has yet to make even a brief appearance.

Having said that, I wouldn’t mind if we had just a few more days without it pouring as we are closing the pool in the coming days and I have the onerous task of scrubbing down the decks and painting on the preservative. I’ve managed to sparkle up the longer edges without too much interference from the still too skinny Arry but the rest will have to wait until Roy, Denis and I can heave the heavy winter bache up from its sleeping quarters and put the summer one in its place. The boys and I are well-rehearsed in such manoeuvres so once the steel bars are bolted down and the rattan furniture piled up in the old hen house, I can finish what needs to be done wood-wise and say ta ta to the bloody thing until next year.

As I mentioned, the digits have dropped to more October-ish degrees – that is to say the mid 20’s which are closer to the norm and not the 30+ we had in the previous week. Whilst it hasn’t quite got to the wardrobe-switching stage, bikinis and shorts have been exchanged for jeans and the occasional jumper. I’m still wearing flip-flops though. And, if Friday night’s meal over at our friends, Felix (the harmonica player) and Sylvie’s place, salads have given way to carbo-laden comfort foods. Piles of home-made pasta followed by crème brûlées and cream-filled cake were shown appreciation whilst we talked the night away over most of their wine stock. Between that wonderful calorie-laden soiree and last night’s usual over at chez Abraham, I’m going to need those hills next week – knee pads and ankle straps if necessary.

You will relieved to hear, or at least I was, that I didn’t go to Denis’ brother’s funeral on Wednesday. His daughter, Marina, suggested that seeing all the family weeping might bring back awful memories for me – it wouldn’t have but I was grateful for the thought. And that I wouldn’t have to wear a hat. I have a nasty habit of drinking too much at such events and since I didn’t know his brother, I would have felt awkward being there. As for the memories, Tony is never far from them and I’m sure that he’s protecting me from the not so great ones. Mind you, I wouldn’t have minded a little heads up before I up-ended myself par terre…

“Jogging is very beneficial. It’s good for your legs and your feet. It’s also very good for the ground. It makes it feel needed.” (Charles M. Schultz)

Mumo’s back, the word-burning stove is in, I bought two very dilapidated chairs, Arry’s been at the vet again and I stayed out too late last night so I’m struggling to keep my eyes open- that’s the past week in a nutshell. Oh and it’s still hot.

The lack of sleep is not entirely my fault and not because I was partying into the wee hours. One of Denis’ brothers lost his battle with cancer yesterday morning, it was unexpected as he had been ‘dying’ for months but the news still hits hard. What with sorting out all the funeral arrangements (funerals here are done within a matter of days) and fielding phone calls from relatives, D wanted a break so decided chez Abraham was the place to have it. One might think it is a little odd to go out for dinner and drinks at such a sombre time but being amongst friends was what he needed and got. Putting the world to rights and planning a Halloween night whilst discussing the finer elements of pasta making was the perfect distraction for a few hours at least. The funeral is on Wednesday and apparently I am accompanying him – I couldn’t really say no although I have no idea what sort of a service it will be or whether I’m supposed to wear a hat. Mumo says that if it’s in a Catholic church, I’ve got to wear one.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I am now the proud owner of a couple of chairs. Well, I hope to be proud one day but right now it’s more a case of ‘oh Sophi, what on earth have you taken on”. I have managed to strip most of the ancient and rather stinky fabric off the smaller one but have had to put it to one side until Denis can come and remove the spider that has been residing in its depths. Those of you who have read my blogs over the years will know that I have a healthy fear of araignées for good reason. They bite. On the plus side, I ordered a nifty little tool for pulling out all the metal buttons on the larger chaise so I can have loads of fun popping off several hundred of them. And I know where to aim them.

I have to say that the main house’s living room does look cosy with the new installation. The funnel tubey thing going to the roof will also heat my spare room as that was the only way up so to speak. For the moment, the stove is merely a decorative ornament as the sun is still burning what little vegetation is left. I almost cried when Denis discovered that our gorgeous Reine Claude fruit tree had died and there’s no hope of making Grenadine this Christmas as all the grenades have shrivelled up and dropped off their perch. And as much as I love the bloody pool, I’m sick of cleaning all algae off its bottom. The nights are drawing in though, to the point where I have had to move my daily lengths forward half an hour so that I’m not swimming in shadows. Still, being able to run as the sun rises and breaststroke as it starts to go down makes one feel quite spoilt.

Speaking of running, one of our erstwhile team members is worrying me a little too much. I took him off to the vet on Thursday to have his usual ear check-up and a visit to the weighing machine as he’s been looking a bit on the skinny side. Skinnier than normal as he has always had a slight ‘Wily Coyote’ look about him. A jump on the scales showed he’s lost 3 kilos which is somewhat unnerving especially as all his blood results and worm tests came back normal. At times like this, I miss my late great friend Keith Butt – he’d only have to look at an animal and know what was wrong. The thing is Arry is mostly his usual high-octane self although he is sleeping a lot but remember it’s 30plus degrees outside and all the woofers are flat out on my tiled floor. For now I just have to feed him more and as the newly interned vet told me, reduce his exercise – the latter making the nurse giggle at such a ridiculous suggestion. Anyone who knows my crazy German Shepherd will know he’s just like his Mum and can’t keep still. I wonder if he’s scared of spiders though…

“Spiders are always big in the Autumn, they’ve had all summer to grow” (Alice Roberts)

During one of our occasional catch-ups over the phone this morning, I mused to Callum that, despite it being the 1st of October, it’s 30 degrees and blazing sunshine outside.

“Pretty much the same here, Mum”

Yes, but it’s supposed to be warm and sunny in South Australia, not up here on the other side of the Equator. Even the pool is warmer than the U.K where Mumo is currently visiting friends. Thankfully, the nights and early hours are cooler – enough at least for Arry, Alice, Sherman and I to get back on the running trials again. Four months is a long time to be hanging one’s trainers up as my body told me after the first 13k stint. I couldn’t even walk down the apartment stairs. The woofers, however, were primed and ready for the new season’s adventures although judging by the distance between Arry and that deer he flushed out – I’m not the only one needing to build up my stamina.

It’s not that I’m in any way inactive. Between looking after this place, swimming, boxing and hauling bits and bobs around the garden, I rarely get time to sit on my backside. Except that said backside has been sat on quite a lot this week as I got down to the fiddly job of painting my little canapé. Mind you, after a lot of contorting my sore muscles into all sorts of positions just so I could get to each metal button, I have to say my junk shop purchase is now very bling. Denis thinks I should go back to Adolphe’s and buy up the rest of his sofas and chairs, up do them and make a mint on Ebay. I just might.

As I mentioned earlier, Mumo is currently freezing her assets off in the old motherland. I’m reliably informed that the weather is unseasonably warm there too, although ‘teen degrees are not what Mumo would consider balmy. The ever-reliable Roy is looking after Mumo’s dog, Sappy, and I’ve managed to cook half-decent meals to keep us from starvation. That being said, Roy took Sappy back to his place on Friday – he feels more comfortable there I think and probably needs a lie-down after politely eating all my culinary inventions. So, little ol’ me has been on her lonesome all weekend, aside from over-heated dog hairiness panting all over the place. Well, that isn’t entirely true. Denis, his daughter Marina and I went out for pizza on Friday night, joined by our friends Saba and Roy and then it was the usual chill out at Abraham’s last night. Callum, being his father’s son and therefore ‘an eye on the money’ kind of man, questioned as to how I could afford to eat out so often – darling boy, this isn’t the city was my answer. Here, you can stuff yourself on 20 euros including a bottle of wine and anyway Denis never lets me pay – he says he’s just old-fashioned. And I don’t mind a bit.

I’ll be off to the airport tomorrow to pick up Mumo, I’ve missed her which is odd as, living in separate houses albeit attached ones, we don’t see much of each other during the day. But her cooking is better than mine and with my first three chapters back from Sally editor (for once, not too much red ink), I need her to bounce ideas off of. She’s very useful for that sort of thing. Luckily for her, this heat is due to be with us for another week so she will be able to defrost, this aided by the arrival of the chimney installers on Tuesday. Well, it is October after all. Before you know it, what leaves haven’t been burnt to a crisp will turn gold and I’ll be swearing about the ‘nip in the air’. The apartment will smell of soggy woofers and I’ll be checking my wellies for spiders. I’ll take another week of sun and swimming pools gladly thank you…

“The end of summer is not the end of the world. Here’s to October…” (A.A. Milne)

We nearly had a run in with a tornado last week. I had been standing out on the terrace wondering if the rumbles of thunder in the distance would bring us some much needed rain when Denis called me. He knew Arry and I had an appointment with the vet, this time just a check-up on his permanently problematic ears, so D was in a bit of a panic as to where I was. He’d been on his way to the supermarket in nearby Limoux, when he was told to turn back due to the impending weather phenomenon. At first, I thought I’d got my French words mixed up – tonnerre being thunder and tornade being well, a tornado but then the wind suddenly whipped itself up into a frenzy and the sky went bullet-grey as the rain pelted down. All rather spectacular even if the whole scenario only lasted a few minutes. Luckily for us here in Rouffiac, the tornado bypassed us but on my way to the clinic half an hour later, I saw the aftermath. The main road between us and the shopping centre has a beautiful tree-lined road next to which is the local railway, both of which were littered with huge branches and bits of trunk. It was a blink and you’ll miss it sight as by the time we’d finished at the vet, almost everything had been cleared before the fire service and police arrived thanks to those working in the neighbouring businesses. No leaves on the line here.

Thankfully there was no major damage done to any buildings, least of which, Adolphe’s second hand emporium. Sadly, Adolphe is selling up and moving to a village a few kilometres away to updo a chateau he has bought with his girlfriend so everything must go. Not wanting to miss out on a possible treasure or two, Mumo and I popped down to comb through the heaving piles of what-nots, broken stereos and dusty furniture. Adolphe had erected a huge sign declaring ‘80% off closing down sale!’ which provided great amusement for us villagers as he never puts a price sticker on anything. As luck would have it, I did find a couple of gems – a beautiful chair needing only a little renovation, that looked like it came from the same place as my theatre seats and a couple of ornate iron frames. Adolphe wanted me to take the door they came out of too, very rare wood apparently (Del Boy would have been thrilled), I managed to persuade him that we had quite enough spare portals in the garage and the ironwork was going in the garden. Anyway, his chateau might need one.

Mind you, he won’t need to close any doors just yet as we have another heatwave due next week just as Mumo is about to fly back to the UK to see friends. It’s almost the end of September and I’m still in bikini and shorts although the nights are turning autumnal and require additional clothing. Once Mumo gets back, I’ll hopefully be able to get back up the hills in the, now cooler, early mornings with Arry, Alice and Sherman – Alice certainly needs to get her booty in check but in the meantime I still have the luxury of the pool and its balminess. And since it is still warm enough to eat outdoors, no doubt the barbecue will keep Roy and I from starvation as he moves into the main house to look after Mumo’s dog Sappy. It won’t be all fun and lazing about however, Roy has a few jobs on the list to do like putting a new socket in the covered area below my apartment so that Denis and I can build the outdoor kitchen. We might be needing it at Christmas at this rate…

“The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer” (George R.R Martin)

I’m sure I’m not the only widow to experience such annoyances but sales companies really need to update their information before making their pitch over the phone – especially when ringing my phone and asking to speak to Tony. I have to admit I lost my cool with this particular rep – it’s a long time since I’ve used that many swear words but the whole minute or so conversation left me physically shaken afterwards. Just because he’s been gone 5 years, it doesn’t mean that reminders like the above can roll off your shoulders like the proverbial duck’s back. And whilst I’m not one to highlight things like anniversaries or T’s birthday as in my mind, he will never be any older and we aren’t technically married anymore, I still go out on the balcony every night to have a quick chat. I wonder what he did with my suggestion of a couple of lightning bolts down a certain business’ phone line to make his Sophi happy conversation the other evening.

Luckily for me, I have the always happy to see me Denis to keep me focused on the here and now, the poor man is going through a hell of his own as one of his brothers is in the last stages of cancer. At least he had the last night of the Bistrot to think about all week as he prepared his famous shish kebabs for the occasion. Word gets around Rouffiac when D is on the grill and Saba and I are on the service so as it was the closing night, the crowds poured in. Well, actually the rain poured down but we still managed to get everyone fed and wined albeit under cover before partying into the wee hours. Mind you, even though such closures normally mark the end of summer and a change in your wardrobe, we are still in the high twenties temperatures and the pool thermometer shows no sign of dropping degrees just yet. I’m not complaining as I still have something to burn off the agitations in, running is still a no-no.

I drove our Canadian guests back to Toulouse airport on Thursday morning, thankfully a calmer journey than the one they experienced when I picked them up. The day before I had taken them to Alet-les-Bains, a village about 20 minutes away known for its thermal spa. The water comes from a number of springs which have risen up in the area due to its location along the River Aude. Being at the bottom of the Corbières, the river rushes by Alet at an incredible speed bringing up minerals from its bottom – its these that are believed to cure all sorts of ills and its not unusual to see people driving up with several dozen empty bottles to fill up at the little spa. And stick their feet in the surrounding shallow pool which I can honestly tell you gives you the softest tootsies ever. I’m collecting bottles ready for the next trip already. Such stuff soothes the souls, or soles, I’m told…

“Life is like the river, sometimes it sweeps you gently along and sometimes the rapids come out of nowhere” (Emma Smith)

Upon taking my customary 4.30 p.m swim the other day, I noticed that half the pool was already in shade – the evenings are starting to draw in already as we move towards Autumn. The poor garden is getting very confused with the cool nights and hot days, my roses have decided to bloom again and the tomato vines are bursting with renewed redness. Mind you I’m still having to drag the hose out much to the delight of Arry whose idea of the pursuit of happiness is to stand in front of whatever flora I am dousing and open his mouth. The body of a German Shepherd and the IQ of a Panda. At least the mozzies are retreating now, my darling woofer is costing me a fortune in veterinary fees what with all his chewing and scratching and I’ve had one too many nights listening to him.

If there was a week made for staying in and snoozing, the past one would have ticked all the boxes as, apart from a couple of soirees, I barely saw Denis. Don’t worry, we haven’t had a falling out, in fact quite the opposite. My man has been making plans. The retirement sort. You see, D has been the ‘go to’ guy for Rouffiac and a couple of the surrounding village for eons but has now decided he wants, in his words, une vie tranquille. Knowing him as I do, he will still keep a few clients and be there for those that are in desperate need for a verge to be strimmed but there’ll be fishing rods instead of power tools in the back of his camionette. And of course, he has plenty to do here – it’s as much his garden as it is ours. He also told me last night at chez Abraham’s that he would be helping out with kitchen side of things, nothing makes D happier than cooking – except fishing that is. And me.

Aside from the usual Saturday night at the afore-mentioned, the only other time I wore something that didn’t include shorts was a dinner out at the rather grand Hotel Chateau de Cavanac. Stephanie (D’s niece) had entered on of those back of a packet competitions and won a table for five. The downside was that we would have to be subjected to a sales pitch about renewable energy devices beforehand – one that went on for 2 and a half hours in a hot room without any refreshments or bathroom breaks. Me, being a fidget and not a particularly patient one at that, ended up in a not so humourous frame of mind – not helped by one eager potential customer who kept asking questions. Thankfully, we finally did get to sit down in the restaurant a couple of hours before midnight and enjoy the actual meal – a complimentary bottle of wine soothed the Sophi too.

With the main house full of guests and it being still warm enough to sit in the courtyard, there has been more than enough chatter and Chardonnay to chase away the ‘miss you Denis’ blues. Next week, our Canadian friends will be leaving us for their return home and sadly, we said goodbye to my nephew Maxime yesterday but not before he managed to fall off his bike and land on his Dad, my brother Simon. Max faired better than his human cushion with just a few cuts on his knees, Simon is hobbling around with badly bruised ribs and a bump on the old noggin. It was far too brief a visit from my nephew but he has promised to be back for Christmas – yes I have thrown subtle hints Down Under but as yet, just a vague perhaps from Cal. Mumo is already trying to calculate how many extra beds will be needed and where to put them, judging by the current climate I predict most will be outside on the pool deck…

“Wine is the divine juice of September” (Voltaire)

If the last three years are anything to go by, time certainly flies when you’re having fun so what other way was there to mark the anniversary of my family’s arrival in Rouffiac d’Aude than to throw a party. Naturally it had to be a pool party since the bloody thing took most of that time to build and since Denis is a dab hand on the barbecue, make a feast of it all. If the number of sore heads around the village this morning is anything to go by, everything went swimmingly well – except that no-one actually got in the water as the wind was whipping up a hooley and stopping one’s paper plate from ending up in the piscine became a priority in itself. Still, at least the temperature has returned to decent digits after the week before’s get your sweaters out and we saw the beginning of September in and the end of summer out with our now very familiar friends and show off what the lovely Lionel, my darling Denis and little ol’ me had made all by ourselves. Unfortunately the fourth member of our construction team, always reliable Roy, wasn’t able to join us but he will be pleased to know that we soaked up all the compliments over our spectacular creation on his behalf even if it will always be referred to as the bloody pool.

With the Super Blue moon shining above the terrace, August has disappeared and with it, hopefully for a little while at least, the see-sawing weather. The poor plants don’t seem to know if they’re coming or going and frankly I’m sick of changing my clothes every five minutes. At least the mozzies have pretty much given up their seasonal sucking now and the nights are cool enough to turn off the fans – dog hair and whirling air don’t mix well. Going out in the evenings has also become a little more pleasant without having to winge about the sweat running down your back or listen to the constant cracks of bug zappers. No doubt I will be complaining in a few months about my frosted fingers but for now, I shall enjoy the serenity of September.

Unusually for us, we have had a quiet summer in terms of visitors but now, with the arrival of Mumo’s dear friends Greta and Gareth from Canada and my nephew Maxime, we have a healthy houseful. I picked up the former from Toulouse Airport on Friday afternoon and promptly subjected them to peak hour traffic and my equally-peaked temper driving home. The girl who used to drive into central London daily for over 20 years was definitely left there, this one will be quite happy never to get stuck in a jam again. I’ve never been so relieved to see the hills of home ahead of me as I drove us the last few kilometres home. It won’t be long before those hills and I become re-acquainted either when I put my running shoes back on – if Alice has hidden them that is. I’m looking forward to puffing and panting my way through the vines once more, not least because my writing muse has left the building and I need to get the brain cogs ticking away once more. There’s a little place I need to write about called Rouffiac d’Aude…

“There is a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Solomon)