It’s been the battle of the weeds and windows this week. With the sun blessing us with blue skies and warm air (noticeably clearer and odourless in London now), I just couldn’t put off two of the most hated jobs anymore. Both are somewhat thankless tasks that one only does when all other household activities have been exhausted. As any non-gardener knows, as soon as you’ve pulled up all known dandelions five more pop up behind you and plants you thought were okay turn out to be triffids once the sun appears. My hands still sting from an accidental encounter with a bunch of stinging nettles, note to self that regular gardening gloves do not protect you from this satanic leaf. The bi-folding doors are equally challenging because no matter what product you use, the glass will still sport several annoying streaks and I really hate ladders. Still, I battle on as there is nothing else to do. The house is pretty much packed up now aside from the kitchen and two bedrooms with bits of unwanted furniture regularly being placed outside the driveway for helpyourselfers.

The house and I are ready to part ways. Amicably I hope. A minor hiccup in the last week was the sudden disappearance of my solicitor. The firm had neglected to tell me that she had been furloughed which I found out by way of a somewhat bored company employee. I assume she had been charged with telling agitated customers the same thing. Despite the promise of “the manager will call you right back” which translates as “I can’t help you at all”, I was left to find a replacement myself. So I wrote a really stinky email to the firm ( my mother taught us well) and what do you know, I had a new legal beagle within the hour. Unfortunately I wasn’t the only one with the problem, the people who are buying chez knollys lost theirs too to the furlough universe. Hopefully Kim has followed my approach and if the solicitors step up a gear, there is a chance that me and my brood will be hot pawing it down to our new maison tout suite by the end of next month. And the pesky dandelions will be someone else’s responsibility.

I am looking forward to settling down in a house I have never actually seen except in photographs. It is a bit of a do upper but habitable I am told by my Mum and I’m oddly excited by the prospect of designing a home my way. No compromising or arguments about colours, styles, furniture. I know a new kitchen and bathroom are necessary so I will finally get that power rain shower I have always hankered for. Shame I have to have a budget really. However, despite the joyous prospect of bringing out my secret interior designer, I have to curb my enthusiasm until the all the legals are signed and stamped so I concentrate on the war of weeds and stingers. I really hope this lockdown finishes soon, the front lawn is getting so long even the wildlife are moving in…….

“what do dogs do on their day off? Can’t lie around – that’s their job” (George Carlin)

I hate losing things. If I was asked to write a list of my most annoying traits, my ability to misplace items would top it followed by my extreme meltdowns at doing so. The other day, I couldn’t find my house keys and I almost reduced myself to tears as I upturned any remaining furniture only to find them in an umbrella. The fact that said umbrella was perched directly under the key hook might have made it a good place to start but my lockdowned brain obviously couldn’t process that, it just went into scream mode instead. Losing one’s house key, albeit temporarily, is right up there with mislaying one’s mobile phone. How often have you used the home phone line to call your mobile, praying that it hasn’t run out of battery or that you’ve turned the volume down? However, misplaced keys and other necessary items pale into comparison to losing your enthusiasm. And this week, it’s been nowhere to be found.

In conversation with friends last night on one of the many amazing technological advances called Houseparty (I’m sure others are wonderful too but I can just about work this one), one of my girls announced that she was going back to work next week, virtual teaching so to speak but nevertheless she was returning to her job. Sort of. I honestly never thought I would be as envious as I was at that moment, after all I couldn’t wait to retire but I was. The initial wave of excitement at having time on my hands to do all those activities I listed has all but vanished. As the weeks of self-isolation merge into a beige mist, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to locate that boundless enthusiasm for the future. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who, much as I hate to admit to, misses the day to day work life when we actually looked forward to the weekend.

In my search for the misplaced zeal, I decided that as my dogs have to be on lead as per the park’s new guidelines we were going to walk to the local green space instead of the quick drive up. Well, not all of them but the early morning five and I could all get some extra exercise and the woofers would hopefully be at least slightly worn out in the process. Naturally the four-legged fivesome were thrilled with the prospect of a change in routine but I hadn’t quite realised how logistically difficult the exercise was going to be. Having a dog trainer as Mum has taught them all to walk nicely on lead but I hadn’t foreseen the problem of different leg length. You see, Arry has very long legs and so a long stride but Yogi Bear has very short legs (It’s a bear thing) so has a short stride. Alice, although small, likes to walk right next to Arry of course and I have to Neo in the middle lest he might lunge at an unsuspecting but non social distance conforming jogger. I did point out to said jogger that Neo’s lead was only about a metre long by the way. And our blessed Simi calmly trots by my side as if she is the only dog being walked. I now have a very sore neck and I’m sure all those yoga mantras about keeping the hips in line have gone to waste with one arm being dragged behind and the other attempting to control four leads at once. And of course, if one stops to sniff, the others follow suit which can often end up with one being pulled into a bush. Still, it does use up extra time during the day which leaves less time to miss that lost enthusiasm. Do you think physiotherapists are classed as essential?

“What do dogs do on their day off?; Can’t lie around – that’s their job!” ( George Carlin)

I almost forgot to write the weekly musings. I think the combination of sudden warm weather and no idea what day it is anymore have put my brain in dormant mode. Well, the ‘let’s get up and go’ part anyway, I’m sure most would agree that the initial enthusiasm for exercise, puzzles and DIY has started to wane. With the daily media diet of doom and gloom, it’s getting harder to keep the positive vibes flowing even in the rare Easter sunshine. But I am determined to keep the move motivation going so I push myself to pack at least one box a day, do my daily French lesson and bend my body into impossible yoga positions.

It’s been one of those weeks of IMT. I miss Tony. I don’t know if it’s just the sense of not being able to share my angst with him or whether the weather is weathering such thoughts. Sunny days tend to have that sort of effect as one lazes on the outdoor bed with headphones, book and woofers. Despite Tony’s preference for cooler climates, we always had our best holidays in the sunshine because he knew I thrived on heat. The word ‘lizard’ was often said with amusement and affection. But I miss his way of knowing how to talk me out of a funk even more and the way a hug would make everything okay again. Yup, this lockdown is bringing out the maudlin in me now.

A friend of mine asked me the other day how I was coping considering everything that has been thrown at me over the last few years. I love her dearly but she is one of the people who tends to look at the future with dark glasses on and an empty glass in front of her. I’m one of the lucky ones I told her; I have my health (I hope), a house with a garden, an amazing son and a collection of canines who give me a reason to shift my butt every morning. Whilst dogs are the most knowledgeable psychologists when it comes to reading moods, they also have the ability to see every day as an opportunity to divert one’s attention away from self-pity. A human lying on the outdoor bed with headphones on and a book in hand only serves as a machine that will repeatedly throw the toy that is dropped on a naked stomach back into the dog pool. A human that will sub-consciously stroke your own up-ended belly every time you scratch it’s arm even if said human is trying to concentrate on a juicy literary plot. When life throws you lemons, a dog will bring them right back to you and make lemon throwing a game. A dog’s water bowl is always full, they make sure you remember to fill it…..

“Petting, scratching, and cuddling a dog could be as soothing to the mind and heart as deep meditation, and almost as good for the soul as prayer.” (Dean Koontz. Author)

This week has been less of the ‘Dunkirk spirit’ and more of the ‘Dunnowhatdayitisanymore Spirit’. I have recurring nightmares involving me, my nightwear and a desperate attempt to get the bins out before missing the collection. Not only does my brain no longer recognise the difference between Monday and Thursday, it can’t seem to find where I put things either. My initial joy at finally being less stressed out has waned as I become increasingly annoyed with myself for not being able to remember anything. The old grey cells appear to have gone into lockdown.

In my attempts to keep the synapses sparking, I have decided to spread jobs out over the weeks ahead instead of doing everything at once. My to-do list which includes grooming two very hairy woofers, Googling Winnebago sellers, cleaning the outdoor furniture to pack away, washing the bifold door windows (this is not an enjoyable task, I have yet to find a product that doesn’t leave smears), retrying the false nail thing and fixing my front tooth. The last two operations have already been attempted once and whilst I have come to the conclusion that I will never be a dental or nail technician, they are necessary and lengthy practices. My first go at cementing my front tooth back in place ( one should not use one’s teeth to open a plastic seal ) went well until I discovered that the instructions said nothing about not eating Doritos after fixing. Thankfully there are 3 vials of cement, the manufacturer’s idea of 3rd time lucky me thinks. As for the nails, gel is much more difficult than acrylic let me tell you although mercifully easier to get off. Still both jobs entertained my stress molecules for a good few hours yesterday especially when I couldn’t find where I had hidden my tooth and the corresponding vials and who knew nail polish was basically impossible to get off anything that isn’t a nail?

At least the weather has started to recognise the seasonal calendar. However, the lack of noise that normally comes with a sunny day in London is eerie. Not that I like listening to other people’s ideas of volume control on their music systems whilst they wait at the traffic lights but it is something one gets used to. The same goes for screaming kids and the smell of BBQ’s and I kind of miss them. As I tap the keys of my beloved Macbook with my no nail nails, something else has grabbed me. My dogs are quiet. There isn’t anything to bark at. They are sprawled out in the Sunday sun perfectly content with life as it is, I mean it’s not as though they have to plan their days or even remember what a Monday after Sunday feels like. Right now, I don’t suppose I need to either except when the bins need to go out…

“The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment.” (Robert Falcon Scott)

Well, we’ve managed to get through the first week of lockdown without any major issues thus far. I did managed to dislodge my root canal, tooth cement on its way thanks to Amazon (who knew they sold this stuff and filling sets too!) and remove a thumb nail but otherwise things are relatively calm at chez knollys. I took a chance and pootled off to Sainsburys earlier in the week, I have to admit I thoroughly enjoyed the serene glide of socially distance trolleys and lack of screaming toddlers. No red wine though unless you wanted to pay twenty times your normal budget for a bottle of Merlot. Aside from such essential shopping, the daily dog walk has been our only trip out in the community. We are taking self-isolating seriously.

For someone who has spent so many years chasing the clock and appearing to thrive on being a control addict, the enforced down time has had an unexpected consequence. I still keep a routine, I think for all of us this is important especially if you are used to having one. I walk the dogs every morning even if it means battling the new swarm of pests called joggers ( social distancing doesn’t seem to apply to the swift of foot), I do my yoga every day and continue my French lessons online. Being one with a slightly elevated cleaning obsession means that the house, I hope, is well sparkly. Yet, it’s the lack of work stress that has had the biggest effect on my physical and mental health. Between the hours spent actually talking on the phone and not texting and discovering new video apps allowing me to have a virtual houseparty with the girls, I have pondered over jigsaw puzzles and warred with the NY Times Spelling Bee (very addictive). And I can feel my body and mind relax. I’m sleeping better for the first time since Tony died, I’m eating healthier and not reaching for the glass of wine as soon as the clock strikes 6 p.m. The dogs seem calmer too, although this is very subtle when it comes to Arry naturally but they are definitely responding to my change of mood. As someone who is self-employed and supposed to be moving across the pond, I surprise myself with my ‘que sera sera’ mindset.

I make it a point never to read the papers and ignore those pessimistic posts on social media. I’m determined to remain one of those who looks at life through a filled glass. Yes, it may take months for this insidious infection to leave our planet but there is little point in being dour about it. I’m going to take this time whilst it’s available to take a step back and look at what’s most important. And I hope once this is all over, I continue to ring friends and family instead of messaging and I remember how grateful my mind and body have been because I have taken the time to calm down. I wrote a blog last year in which I suggested we should be ‘more dog’, living in the present rather than worrying about what the future entails. WE WILL get through this and I WILL get to France, it just might take a little longer than planned. In the meantime, there’s always a phone call, a jigsaw piece or a French verb that needs me….

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” (Groucho Marx)

Despite the emotional traumas the last few years have dealt us, we are some of the luckier ones at the moment. We have a house, a garden, food in the fridge, wine in the rack and 5 toilet rolls. And the dogs. In times when we are advised to keep our social distance, the dogs are blissfully unaware of the global crisis and collectively expect regular tummy rubs. As I look out into the garden from my writing spot, I can see spread eagled woofers enjoying the much- needed sunshine. For them, life goes on as normal. When it comes to Postive Mental Attitude, we can learn a lot from our dogs.

In these ‘unprecedented’ times, a word that no government official can resist using at least 20 times in any interview, ways to occupy our brains and body are needed. In my case, desperately. Over the last couple of weeks, I have come to realise just how difficult I find not being busy which is amusing since I had made the decision to retire from training because I wanted to slow down and take things easy. Since I have never been good at watching anything on TV that lasts more than an hour and there is only so much cleaning and yoga a body can take, I have to find more constructive ways of keeping mind and body healthy. So here’s what I have failed at so far;

1. Cooking. Nearly set the kitchen on fire yesterday when I turned the wrong hob on and the oven gloves set on fire.
2. Packing. I’ve packed so much away that the stuff that could keep me occupied is now in a box buried somewhere in the garage.
3. Doing my own nails. Since the salons are all closed, I bought all the stuff to put my own false nails on. It’s taken me 2 days to to get the cement off my nails and unglue my fingers.
4. Gardening. Weeding is a necessary practice when gardening until you stick your hands into a bunch of stinging nettles.

Despite the above, life isn’t all stings and mishaps. Thankfully I have found some jigsaw puzzles not yet packed and of course I have my daily French lesson online. My girlfriends and I have decided that as we can’t meet up, we should have a virtual night out via Skype and Whatsapp. Gossip and giggles hold back for no-one! And I ring people and they ring me. Taking the dogs for their usual early morning exercise is relatively easy in as far as social distancing goes as Arry seems to have that effect on most people under normal circumstances and the park is still muddy. It’s a bit strange seeing so many joggers out and people walking without dogs but these are of course, unprecedented times.

I’m generally a positive person and in spite of the need to relieve boredom, I’m going to stay that way. I don’t read the papers and definitely not the doom and gloom on social media. And I’ll get to France at some point in the not too distant future. I did consider buying a Winnebago the other evening if I can’t get get there at the end of April, now that would be a great book. “The Widow plus Woofers and a Winnebago”. Keep safe out there everyone and above all, keep your distance.

“Scratch a dog and you’ll find a permanent job” (Franklin P. Jones)

Surprisingly I managed to get out and meet up with friends for dinner this week. With the number of social and work cancellations ongoing, it was a nice change to actually sit down with someone other than Callum. Equally remarkable was the number of people in the bar and restaurant going about their greetings in much the same way as they had always done. No elbow bumping here. Of course, the table conversation started with Corona chat but thankfully turned to more interesting reminiscences. I have to admit though, I wasn’t that immune to the media verbals and drove rather than take the Tube. My excuse was being able to hand over a load of dog crates to Mark, one more declutter done.

Speaking of decluttering, we’ve made great in roads in packing. I have to admit I was extremely relieved when I saw the last lot of books taped away and who knew we had so many CD’s? The annexe looks like a warehouse right now. I have tried to be brutal about what gets boxed and what gets chucked but it isn’t easy when you find an old album in cassette form that you remember dancing to with your hubby. Thankfully we still have an audio system which includes a cassette player as well as a record player which will be wrapped safely along with its music. The removal company might need to bring their super-sized lorry for this lot. At least I’m less attached to most of the furniture, the daily ‘pick up’ anything that’s left outside the front gate seems to be working well.

The box thing has had a weird effect on the dogs. Simi is definitely uncomfortable about the whole thing but that might just be because I’m constantly disturbing her sleep time. The smallies tend to hide, perhaps in case I accidentally pack them but Arry sees the whole thing as a chance to stick his nose in. I have managed so far to stop him from ripping up cardboard. Note on dogs; they are wonderful company when the world self-isolates but the conversation is a bit one way.

With all the daily dour news, I have had lots of conversations with friends concerned that I might not make it out. To be honest, I’m not worried. Yet. As far as I’m aware, the solicitors are carrying on as normal and apart from needing a few bits from me, no-one has raised the issue. So I’m going to just keep filling boxes and stay positive. After all, I am leaving the UK on a one way ticket. I might pack a few loo rolls in case I have to bribe border control though…..

“when a man’s best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem” (Edward Abbey. Author)

Since my departure time from this here mud island draws ever closer, my social diary is becoming somewhat crowded. That old saying ‘ you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone’ certainly rings true when it comes to friends. Whilst I have no doubt many will be regular visitors to chez maison a la France, it’s not like they can pop on the bus for a catch up over a glass or three of Pinot. I can’t say I’ll miss that much about London town except perhaps my Oyster card. I’m so glad I gave up the dating scene, the current fashion trend of soggy raincoat and wellies is matched by my besties.

Dogs don’t judge and give unconditional love to those they share their life with. So they say. Personally I think my woofers judge me a little too much and the biscuit jar seems to hold their affections as much if not more than I do at times. As a friend however, the above is exactly what is needed when life throws lemons at you. Sometimes you just need to be on the end of a phone or ready with the car keys (or Oyster card) when everything goes to pot. I have been incredibly lucky to have those who would do just that for me but this past week taught me that being there for others means just that. Just be there to listen (no texting), not judge and give unconditional love. And lots of biscuits.

Tony was always there for his friends and mine. His hugs were legendary as was his ability to just listen. He knew when to keep schtum and when to give his penny’s worth. And whilst I have to admit the number of his friends I keep in contact with has faded over the widow years, I know his empathy isn’t forgotten. No matter where we end up or which country we decide to land in, true friendship works both ways. As much as social media asks us to be #bekind , perhaps to #bethere is more appropriate. Just like dogs. And biscuit jars.

“Only my dogs will not betray me” (Maria Callas)

Those who know me well would say that I’m one of those people who plans everything so the fact that I am investing in a house I haven’t actually seen (except in photos) may shock one or two. My mum, a nephew and Callum have all seen it and my older brother will do so in the next few weeks but I haven’t. Since we can no longer live at L’horte (the family homestead) because of last year’s flooding, Mumo and I are moving into a new place a few kilometres away. Although the French government have bought the houses, we still own most of the land so it makes sense to stay close by. Summers could never be the same without dogs and kids cavorting in the river. So Mrs Control Button here is moving the entire contents of her house plus the woofers to a pretty much unknown location. And I’m not fazed one bit. If I’ve learnt anything from the last couple of years, it’s that life cannot be planned so you might as well go with the flow.

2020 seems to have had a similar effect on many of my friends. From two unplanned but much rejoiced pregnancies to quite a few sudden change of career decisions. The phrase ‘work – life balance’ seems to be the central topic at get-togethers. Most of us have reached that stage of life when the kids have started to leave home (with the exception of the belly bumps) and the mortgage is paid off and if you’re really lucky, menopause has left the building. And perhaps as the years pass and the grief fades a little, we come out of our self-built cocoons and start to take flight. As one friend described to me the other evening, it’s Me and I time. Not sure that’s grammatically correct but I like the definition.

In this period of metamorphosis, the couple who are buying chez knollys popped round to do some measuring and introduce themselves properly. It’s a strange feeling talking to those who are going to possibly own your house for the next 24 years or so and possibly bring up a family in the same room that you rocked your newborn to sleep in. They are a lovely couple and I’m sure the house will welcome them just as it did us back in 1996. It helps that they have a Labrador but I’m not sure my woofers would approve of their cat coming too….

“I have caught more ills from people sneezing over me and giving me virus infections than from kissing dogs.”  (Barbara Woodhouse). Topical I know!

You know that saying of sorts, “you don’t know what you’re missing until it’s gone”? Well, sitting in London traffic this week, I can honestly say that twiddling my thumbs and looking at red lights in front of me won’t be one of the above. And yet, weaving down the back streets of Kensington and Chelsea just to avoid the red light syndrome, it occurred to me how well I’ve come to know this little old town. Almost quarter of a century of pootling over potholes and cursing at the lack of car parking space has worn over me like a suffocating blanket and I won’t miss it. At least I hope not. I’ll miss the dogs and their owners though, I worked out the other day that in virtually every street on ‘my patch’ lived or had once lived, a dog I had trained. Memories of the halcyon days of running 14 or so dogs over Hyde Park (there was a time when we didn’t need a license kids!), Dog Hollow’s legendary lunchtime ‘meetings’, watching puppies grow into well-mannered members of society and holding an owner’s hand when that short life ended. I might not miss the traffic but I will miss the people.

In these ‘in between’ days as I like to call them, the bit after the house offer and before you can actually start moving, I am suffering from a severe case of boredom. I started packing books away but ran out of boxes. talking to a friend about this dilemma, she pointed out that removal companies generally provide boxes. Another job put aside then. I would go into town and do the museum and gallery thing but have you looked outside today? I don’t know which storm we are on now but frankly You Upthere we’ve had enough and promise never to complain about heatwaves ever again. So I’m here twiddling my thumbs instead of sitting in traffic doing the same.

Thank heavens for my woofers, as much as I hate getting up in the morning (I’m convinced you revert back to teenage bed love as you get older), they need to stretch their legs and occasional brain cells over the park. Even though this daily routine is somewhat mundane, same time same place sort of thing, the dogs never see life that way. It may be lashing a gale out there but they will always find something to make you smile or swear at. As my search for a better work/life balance is reaching it’s end, I will always be thankful for the memories that all those dogs have given me to tuck away and the boredom breakers that share my little world. I’m glad they have no idea about the future, one of us with itchy pants is quite enough.

“Dogs, like horses, are quadrupeds. That is to say, they have four rupeds, one at each corner” (Frank Muir)