As we sat down with an aperitif or two last night, my mum noticed a small bug in her glass. As said bug was carefully removed with her fingertip, she told me how you dealt with such incidences in the tropics said a lot about how ‘native’ you had become. Most newcomers would naturally throw the contents of the glass out and refill it whereas those who had been in the country a while would simply remove the insect. Then there were those fully immersed in the culture who would drink the lot regardless. I aspire to be one of the latter eventually here in the little village of Rouffiac.

I finally moved from L’Horte to the new house in Rouffiac on Wednesday. Once I had put everything necessary in it’s place, the woofers and I decided to explore the rather palatial garden which is a lot bigger than I had originally thought. Within an hour I had met two neighbours, one English and one French and two more passing by the gate. I ought to mention here that they all had dogs which as we all know, is a conversation starter but I was immediately struck by the welcome. In all the 24 years I had at chez Knollys, I don’t think I new more than half a dozen neighbours and for some of those, just a fleeting hello. Yet here, everyone says “Bonjour” and gives a smile. I even braved going down to the local epicerie ( a sort of French corner shop that sells fresh croissants as well as washing up liquid) to get some breakfast, I was told later that she was impressed with my French but I was astounded that she understood any of it. The first day ended with an invitation to have drinks with the previous owners and our French neighbour, how could one refuse?

My nephew Max tells me that the easiest way to learn a language is to immerse yourself in the culture. Since he is a multi-linguist, including various Arab dialects, I am taking his advice. The sort of drink the whole glass including the bug type. However being able to be understood by those around you is not the only lesson needed to be learnt by this ex-Londoner. Life here goes at a completely different pace. Shops close at lunchtime, on Sundays and pretty much nothing happens on Mondays. You can’t just open a bank account online, you have to get an appointment with the local branch. Before I get one of these, I need to go down to the Mayor’s office and get a certificate of domicile ( an official ‘she lives here’ document) but there are only certain days and times that they are open. I am assured however that one doesn’t need an appointment as they never seem to have anything to do. Life here means slow down and stop stressing about the small stuff. Quite an education.

So as I sit here in the garden tapping away at the keyboard, I can feel myself starting to relax. I can’t say I’m not a little frustrated at the lack of internet ( a problem to deal with next week ) but if writing this surrounded by snoozing woofers shading under trees, life can’t be too bad. Even if I have to swallow a few bugs…..

“Sometimes we can only find our true direction when we let the wind of change carry us” (Mimi Novic)

I started the week feeling a little off kilter I have to admit. Despite the hot weather and endless fun in the river, boredom was beginning to creep in. I’m not used to doing nothing. Whilst everyone else was fussing around, moving the contents of L’Horte over to the new house in Rouffiac, I was left to amuse my dogs. Much as I love them, there is only so much time you can waste on the woofers before you start feeling suffocated. I needed to do something to get my future plans back on track before I went stir crazy. Time to tick things off my list.

First things first, I went car shopping with my nephew, Max. Max is a very useful young man when it comes to dealing with the language barrier, in my case I cannot speak car sales in either French or English. I knew what I wanted and had done my research so off we drove to Carcassonne and the Jeep showroom. Actually it was more like a large parking lot next to a very posh Mercedes building but my budget only went so far. An hour or so later, I had reserved a rather swish Jeep Renegade Hybrid to be picked up in a few weeks. Naturally, being an impatient person, I had hoped to motor out of the lot in a brand new 4×4 but I had chosen the newest model which of course they had to order in. One item on my list ticked off though and it felt good to be doing something.

Having done the car buying thing, I then had a meeting with my kitchen/bathroom designer, a plumber and a builder at the Rouffiac house. My younger brother came with me because he knows more than a few things about doing up properties and again, my French vocabulary doesn’t yet extend into builder speak. I am determined to conquer all aspects of the lingo but when it comes to spending money, best to have someone who isn’t going to say the wrong thing. Let’s be frank, he knows a thing or two about how much everything should cost too which is a bonus. Two hours later, I was desperate for a drink and a little disheartened at how long all the work is going to take. Thank Covid for that. Having said that, there is a lot of work I can do myself which will keep me busy until they come to rip everything out.

On the subject of moving forward to the next phase of life, we move out of L’Horte next week so my next blog will be from Rouffiac. I’m not sure how the dogs are going to take to moving yet again but at least there, they will be fenced in which should calm my nerves slightly (no more Bear wanderings). I am a little nervous about what the neighbours will think when 11 dogs suddenly appear but hopefully all will settle quickly and fingers crossed, quietly. Well, I’m not sure Alice can ever be quiet but I’ll cross that bridge once we are in house. At least L’Horte is only a few minutes away so I will still be able to run them on the land and give them a swim. Thankfully the recent rain has cleaned the river up after my brother moved the festering body of a boar further downstream. I can’t think why I ever thought I was bored?…..

“You have to keep busy. After all, no dog’s ever pissed on a moving car” (Tom Waits)

Having managed to confuse a few about where I’m actually living en France, I though best to explain. Currently I’m at the family home, L’Horte, which my parents owned for well over 20 years. Sadly due to repeated flooding in the River Aude area (yes that gorgeous bit of water my dogs love), the government decided to buy up all the homes at risk, including ours. So despite it being a several hundred year old mill plus another non-flooded house, we are moving out in a couple of weeks to a new abode 5 minutes away in Rouffiac. However….we will still own a large portion of the land at L’Horte including the gorgeous swimming pool aka the river bit. It will be heartbreaking to leave the home where our family has seen children grow up and dogs live their whole lives but Rouffiac will be a new start for both my Mum and I. We will still have two homes but my bit is much smaller and the massive garden is well-fenced for the dogs. There is a lot of work to be done on both properties at Rouffiac but for me at least, I get to create MY home and hopefully become part of the community. Anyway, I’ve popped a few photos of the river at L’Horte below so you can see how lucky we are to keep it. I shall post pics of Rouffiac through it’s progress but I hope I’ve clarified my sitch as they say.

They say dogs reduce stress in your life and so help you live longer. This doesn’t seem to apply to my hoard of miscreants. Whilst the wheelies plus Evee and Gizmo have a large fenced area to move around in, the others pretty much have a wilderness in which to roam. Having said that, they rarely go out of sight for long, even Simi has managed to curtail her wandering spirit, so this mornings near heart attack was not what my new life called for. Yogi Bear went missing. Unbeknownst to me, my little bear decided to follow Max, my nephew, who had gone out on a bike ride. Both houses were searched and I managed to cover the entire property in a time even Usain Bolt would be proud of. No Bear anywhere. My incredible mum even got in the car to check the local area but came back empty-handed. Thank God for the kindness of strangers and my new dog tags. I got a phone call from a lovely gentleman to say he had found a ‘petit chien’ down in the local village and had kindly taken him to the address on his tag. That being the new house address which was 5 minutes down the road in a different village from where he rang me. Bear collected and no worse for wear except thirsty, I am one extremely grateful Mum.

Apart from the adventures of Yogi Bear, the others have seemed to settle quite easily into the French lifestyle. They have already learnt that running around after 9 a.m is just not the done thing under the blazing sun, snoozing on cool floor tiles is the native way of passing the day. Except for Arry of course, he spends more time in the river than out of it. On the plus side, I get a totally exhausted German Shepherd every night, albeit a wet one.

Despite the constant shepherding of the woofers, I think I’m beginning to relax a bit. I do need to sort a few things next week such as a French car, a French bank account and a French phone. I hate not being independent and I can hardly pop to the local supermarket in the Mothership. Speaking of the great white bus, I have decided that she should return to the UK and be sold. Unfortunately there really isn’t anywhere to park her at the new house in Rouffiac so the wonderful Natalie and Ian (of Surrey fame) will come down and drive her back at some stage. Of course, she will need to have some minor repairs, the mud guard incident not forgotten but with less than 6000 miles on the clock she is worth selling now. I am off to find a new set of wheels so I can feel like a local even if I haven’t got the confidence to speak quite like one yet. At least bears can communicate in any language and thanks to the kindness of a stranger, get themselves home….

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart” (Winnie the Pooh)

This time last week, I was penning my last blog from chez Knollys. Now I’m back at L’Horte after a wild 800 mile adventure in the Mothership with 9 woofers, my best friend Irene and a 4ft tall peace lily. You couldn’t have made it up. Thankfully the Mothership got us here safe and sound even if she occurred a few ‘minor’ injuries in the process and the woofers are now happily investigating the smells of home.

Our epic journey started Monday morning when the amazing Natalie and her partner Ian arrived in two cars in which to stuff canines and the remaining household bits needed for France. And a large peace lily. How we got everything in Lord knows but off we went down to their place in Surrey filled to the brim with dog hair and mostly unnecessary items. As Nat put it, they do have water bottles in France. Still we got to the first resting place on our trip and the woofers were happily off-loaded into the palatial gardens to be greeted by the resident pack. Arry immediately took advantage of the hose being used to fill a dog pool and managed to soak anything, human or otherwise, within a 5 ft radius. Country living has its perks.

Having settled the dogs and Irene, Ian and I then whizzed off down the M25 to retrieve the Mothership from the motorhome dealership. I have to admit, she looked amazing and I did have a little flutter of anxiety about driving her, I’d forgotten how big her rear end was but Ian reassured me. “Take turnings wide and don’t worry about how slow you’re going, everyone gets stuck behind a motorhome”. Sage advice. I negotiated tiny country lanes, two motorways and Natalie’s driveway without any mishaps only to remove the mud guard off the right hand side as I parked it. A little too close to a hitching post. Thankfully it was only cosmetic and did give the Mothership a certain ‘I’ve done many travels’ look about her. Thank you Ian and Andy for managing to disengage the beast from the post especially as you had to remove said post.

Still, after a wonderful evening with friends and a relatively peaceful night, Irene and I carefully left Surrey and headed for the Eurotunnel. On a blazing hot day, I manoeuvred a motorhome on to the train and off we went. Now, as many who travel this way will know that you are asked to place your vehicle in Neutral (or Park) and open your sunroof. This I dutifully did, or at least I thought I did. Travelling under the channel is pretty level going but as you enter Calais, it begins to angle downward slightly. At this point I should mention that as we were the first to be loaded on to the carriage, we were at the front. Approaching the terminal, the Mothership suddenly started to move forward into the huge doors preventing our exit. With an inch to spare, I slammed my foot on the brake and prevented disaster. No-one noticed we mused as the doors opened, this may have been true if I hadn’t run over the wheel stop they had placed at the front. “Could I reverse slightly?” the perplexed attendant asked . Note that cars are squished into these metal containers with only a couple of millimetres between bumpers but incredibly none were hurt in the process and wheel stop removed, we headed off on the long road home.

Now I bought this massive Mothership so the dogs could be transported in comfort to their new home. A four berth, loads of seat and floor space so they could spread out whilst we ate up the miles. I might as well have bought a Mini as they all decided to get as close as possible to being in the footwells including Arry. The only one to partake of her luxurious surroundings was Simi who loved the wide window seats even when the seat slipped off during precarious roundabout driving. Irene’s co-driving seemed to entail shoving the seat back every time we got back on a straight road. Simi wasn’t perturbed. And after a relatively quiet night in a lorry park just outside Chartres, we hit the final stretch of the expedition in good spirits. It was also at this stage that we discovered on making morning coffee that we had lied to the transport police at Folkestone, the gas canister was on. Anyhow, caffeine’d up, we hit the road home easily covering the hundreds of miles towards Carcassonne. By this stage I was beginning to feel ‘at one’ with the Mothership and rather enjoying the power of a monster vehicle (you can see into lorry cabs you know) so it was a little annoying that I missed the familiar turning off the autoroute to Carcassonne East. Actually more than a little annoyed because I really didn’t want to drive into the centre of town in a big white bus. Temper flaring and several missed turns later, I got back en route thanks to the ever patient Irene and Google and headed off towards home. At the final toll booth, my foot slipped on the brake and the Mothership careered straight into the gate. Luckily the toll tag on the car beeped just as we hit it and the bent gate rose unsteadily to let us through. I wasn’t stopping to check for damage and floored it for the remainder of the short trip to L’Horte.

I made it. I’ve finally come home and so the next chapter in my life starts. A new beginning and hopefully many many more blogs and a book to begin. As they say in France; Bienvenue dans ma vie….

“The journey of life is sweeter when travelled with dogs” (Bridget Willoughby)

By the way, The widow plus woofers now has a YouTube channel on which I have started to put videos!

After 24 years and a couple of months, let’s face it some of those I wish were just bad dreams, today is the last full day I will spend at chez Knollys. The removal company has been and gone so nothing is left but bare floorboards and copious amounts of dog hair released from behind the furniture. The stairs echo with the sound of paws pattering up and down, confused by the lack of beds and in Simi’s case, her futon. As I walk from room to room, perplexed woofers in my wake, I surprise myself with the lack of emotion attached to the house. I am reminded of Callum’s words as he left the place a couple of weeks ago, “it’s just bricks and mortar, Mum” he said as I asked him if he felt upset at leaving. He patted the side of the door in a sort of salute. Yet, this was the only house, Tony and I ever bought together and upstairs is the room he died in. More than a few dogs have come in and out of the gardens woofing and wagging and digging up the rose beds. We bought our newborn son back from the hospital here and watched him grow up into an amazing young man. But maybe Callum is right, a house is just a house, memories stay with you forever no matter where you end up.

I spent the week saying goodbye to friends and neighbours, I dread to think of what the new owners will think of the number of champagne bottles in the recycling bin, and it seemed fitting that last night was spent with Phil. Phil was with Tony when he had his cardiac arrest, I am forever grateful to him for holding me upright both then and now. We talked of T’s final days and for the first time, I woke up this morning with a sense of closure, as though he was saying it’s okay to move on. It’s just bricks and mortar. I’ve cleaned out the cupboards, sparkled up the oven and left the fridge smelling of Flash. The skirting boards are scrubbed and the historical dirt wiped across the lower parts of the walls removed (it’s a dog thing). Even the radiators have been dusted. I know builders will be in very soon but I feel a sense of pride leaving the place spic and span.

So here I am trying to cram what is left into as few bags as possible for the Mothership adventure. I say a few bags because I accidentally left the empty holdalls in the front room so when the removal men asked if everything in there was to go, they went. I can’t help but feel as though I’m packing for a holiday now, suitcases overflowing with clothes and dog paraphernalia dumped in the hall. I wonder what my thoughts will be tomorrow as I close the front door for the final time? Hmm better remember to count the woofers out…..Goodbye Chez Knollys xx

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”
(Maria Robinson)

As predicted, it has been a week of mixed emotions. On the one hand, I have had to say my farewells (but please come and visit) to former clients and colleagues and on the other, a rising excitement with the countdown to a new life ticking down. Days are spent packing endless boxes and nights are spent reminiscing about the years gone. Most poignant was the evening spent with the old Dog Hollow gang reliving the halcyon days of the Hyde Park walkies and all the dogs that have come in and out of our lives. Unfortunately I forgot to take any photos of such a memorable event so all have been instructed to repeat the event in France.

If the last week of tears and goodbyes has taught me anything, it’s that any lingering self-doubt about moving has all but dissipated. I’m ready to go now. Friends will be friends wherever you go and let’s face it, I’m really only a short flight away so mes amis really have no excuse and neither do I. As I pack up each room, the house seems less and less mine. The new owner has been around a couple of times with various builders discussing which walls are to come down and how best to rip up my exceedingly expensive floors so that they can add underfloor heating. I kept my mouth shut, they have no idea how warm chez knollys is even in the winter. In little over a week, all the bricks and mortar will belong to someone else. I’ve called all the utility companies and even managed to cancel the Sky account, this is a task better suited to MI5 for any thinking of doing the same. So now it’s just me and nine very confused woofers and a whole lot of half-filled boxes.

So the removal company comes on Friday, I’m slightly concerned about the amount of stuff they have to take but I’m assured all is in hand. At least I will see the end of the battle between me and the gaffer tape. Have you ever tried sticking it in one line and holding the top of a massive box together at the same time? I dread to think how much dust will appear once the beds and sofas are removed but I am looking forward to seeing the back of the cardboard mountain. And just in case I felt a little sad at leaving the house Tony and I bought a little over 24 years ago, one of my neighbours has decided that Sunday mornings and Balalaika music played at full volume is what every person needs. The last time he did this, I played ‘Let it Go’ on repeat behind his fence but I think I can live with the cacophony today. I’m not telling the new owners…..

“A woman is like a tea bag – you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.” (Eleanor Roosevelt)

The dogs are beginning to notice. As I move from room to room putting things in boxes or bins, I feel 9 sets of eyes watching me constantly as if I’m under suspicion or in Arry’s case, need to be followed at all times in case I accidentally fall in a box. He is a Shepherd after all. As I packed away the last of Callum’s bits and pieces so they could be taken off to his new abode come September, Evee and Yogi threw baleful glances at me as though I had done something terrible to my son. Despite my rising excitement about the move (only 16 days to go), I am now beginning to worry a little about how it will affect them. I know that once they are there, they will thank me but logistically this is quite a big operation. And they have me in charge. As far as I’m aware, there isn’t an app on how to move 9 woofers across the channel in a motorhome.

I really wish I had a PA. Much as I like being in control of my life, I also like passing the buck when it comes to paperwork. Tony loved the stuff, so I never got involved in any of it but now the never-ending lists are all mine to deal with. I spent two days ringing around various insurance companies for the Mothership, who knew it was so complicated? Apparently motorhomes have to have more security accessories than the average house, I even had to buy a steering wheel lock which looked like it would be better fitted to an army tank. I also had to lie repeatedly about how long I was going to be on holiday in France, best not go there. I have not mentioned that we are being accompanied by 9 dogs which have been known to start barking when a bee knocks at the door. Neo, as we all know, has a penchant for an unexpected knee nibble and let’s face it, Arry can look pretty scary to those who don’t know what a pushover he really is.

I think the week ahead is going to be a tough one though as I begin the many mini-gatherings and visitations to say goodbye to friends, colleagues and clients. Whilst so many have expressed their happiness for me and the big adventure, it’s still going to be an emotional one. I think the dogs will enjoy it though, they do love a party. Thankfully they don’t do farewells, 9 dogs sobbing would not be helpful. Yogi though…hmmm…

“Dogs teach us a very important lesson in life: The mail man is not to be trusted.” (Sian Ford)

On Monday morning, I got an email from my solicitor to say the contracts had been exchanged and congratulations. It wasn’t a total surprise and I had been informed it would be happening at the beginning of the week but with all the see-sawing emotions over the last six months, I still felt a huge sense of relief. Actually relief was somewhat fleeting as reality then kicked in, we are actually moving. Not maybe, perhaps, sometime in the future – the Dog Hollow pack are going to France on August 10th. It might sound like months away but when you count the days, 22 of them to be precise, a slight sense of panic takes over the brain. Packing boxes have taken over the front room and pages of lists are scattered over the kitchen. There are utilities to sort out, motorhome insurance, Eurotunnel booking and the dogs microchips (I have already got their new tags).

The first priority has been getting Callum packed up as he is going to France next week and all his belongings needed to get to his new ‘digs’ near college. Fortunately he is a lot more organised than his mother, he is his father’s son, so it hasn’t taken him long to box everything and relocate all the necessaries. It’s not the first time Callum has left home but this time he’s not coming back to the place he spent most of his 21 years, he doesn’t seem overly attached to chez knollys which is a good thing I suppose. Yogi Bear however has gone into his ‘Greyfriars Bobby” mode, he doesn’t do Cal and suitcases very well. I am amazed how nice his room looks without all the junk in it though.

Thankfully the dogs in general, don’t have a clue about the great adventure ahead. It struck me that 4 out of the 9 have never been anywhere other than this house since they were rescued, for Simi that is more than 7 years. And apart from the occasional ‘staycation’ when I’ve been away, Evee and Gizmo have pretty much been here all their lives. Only Arry, Alice and Yogi know how to chill out on the long road to France and I am grateful to the dog gods that they are blessed with ignorance at this stage. It doesn’t take much to over-excite Arry and Alice but it takes a lot to calm them back down. I do keep any photos of the new house for human viewing only though, just in case.

So I have much to do over the next few weeks and all of it myself. No doubt, quite a few friends will be roped into last minute packing but for now it’s just me and endless repetitive music at the other end of the phone. I have to admit, it’s a great feeling when one more is ticked off the list and knowing I am soon to be mortgage – free is enough to make one reach for the champagne. I am not indulging yet however, somethings are best shared and I’m sure there will be plenty of that in the weeks ahead. I have promised to add a French photo or two in the blogs so excuse my indulgence…

“To a dog, motoring isn’t just a way of getting from here to there, it’s also a thrill and an adventure. The mere jingle of car keys is enough to send most any dog into a whimpering, tail-wagging frenzy” (Jon Winokur)

I came very close to giving up this week. It seemed that every time I took a step forward, another rug was pulled from underneath me and frankly, I’d had enough. Just as I thought we were about to exchange on the house, problem after problem got thrown in my face to the point where I just wanted to go to bed and give up trying. And yet, no matter how many times that rug was pulled away, someone managed to shove it back under my feet again. Despite my determination to prove I could do this alone, I am forever thankful to those who helped me get through the endless questions and legal stuffs. Frances, Ayca, Richard, Maham, Sophie, Irene and Jenny- I owe you big time. I have had quite enough of emotional rollercoasters thank you very much universe. They say a true friend is one that never gives up on you and this week has certainly proved as much. Embedded in my dining table is a favourite quote, “A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you become, and still, gently allows you to grow”. Shakespeare for your information.

Oddly yet very well- received this week were a flutter of emails in relation to this here blog. Amongst them there two from old friends of Tony’s that I have never met and another from a former client who I haven’t been in touch with since they moved Stateside in 2013. All had come across the blog in various ways but had written to me in person to say how sorry they were to hear about T’s passing and how much they had been moved by my writing. Funnily enough, despite my internal funk, these really gave me a mental boost. I love writing these blogs every week but it’s always nice when you get praised for it. And yes to those who keep pestering about a book, when I’m ready.

With all the swerves in the road this week, there was nothing more needed than a Saturday evening spent with my bestie and a chilled spritzer in her garden even if our flowing conversation was somewhat peppered with my “Arry, don’t swallow that” and “Arry, put that down” accompanied by excited yips from a German Shepherd who had just found a new pet rock. Nevertheless for the first time in a very long time, I felt the layers of stress start to peel away. Life, fingers crossed, is finally on the up.

Sadly tomorrow I say goodbye to another trusted friend, my Land Rover aka the Black Rose (Tony named her because he said she looked like a pirate ship). Our Rose is off to her new life as a country girl, something she would prefer much more than sitting in London traffic. After all, she was bred to get muddy. Much as I adore her, there is little point in keeping her when we only have 30 days to go. Think about it…….

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.” (Oprah Winfrey)