He was the last of the original ‘Dog Hollow’ pack. Yesterday afternoon, Gizmo slipped peacefully away to join Macgyver, Rupert, Jordi and his beloved Evee. Back in 2010, I took on a 2 year old, tiny whirlwind of Yorkshire Terrier after his owner decided she didn’t want him and with a change of name, Gizmo became Evee’s ‘other half’ and Tony’s little buddy. It took a while to find the feisty, intelligent, fun-loving terrier inside. Up until he joined us, Gizmo had been either left in a seventh floor apartment with no access to a garden or stuffed in a doggy handbag to be paraded around ladies’ luncheons. He was terrified of the outside world but Evee took him under her wing and taught him the delights of barking at birds, chasing tennis balls and sunbathing on the back terrace in South London. Bought at Harrods, he wasn’t the healthiest of specimens and suffered most of his life with a sensitive tum but that never stopped him from living life to the full – even when he got a piece of carrot stuck in his oesophagus and ended up at The Royal Veterinary Hospital inches from choking to death. After Evee died in 2021, he lost some of that spark but still took to lying out in the sun whenever the opportunity arose but age crept up on him quickly. His sight deteriorated and then dementia started to kick in but ultimately it was a likely cerebral stroke that made the decision to say goodbye inevitable. Denis and I stayed with him until he closed his eyes for the last time. He was almost 15 years old.

I hate to say it but the rest of the Woofers don’t appear to have noticed that one of their members is no longer with us. Mind you, they have been somewhat spoilt this past week as everyone came back to work after the Christmas break -much barking and tail- wagging has ensued. Poor Nick (a dab hand at pretty much everything and considering he once bit him, Neo’s best friend) had to contend with having his face licked off and tools repositioned down the garden whilst he tiled the lower part of my kitchen island. Max the chauffagiste returned from his skiing trip, thankfully in one piece, much to the delight of Arry who finds Max’s eternally ebullient personality right up his street. Unfortunately Max still can’t get the thermostats to work as the walls in the boiler room are too thick for an internet connection, something that I have commented on several times but on deaf ears it seems. At least the weather is still thinking its September so we haven’t needed the radiators on full blast but that in itself is causing a worry. If we don’t get some decent frosty weather soon, the garden is going to get very confused and starting budding everywhere instead of hibernating until Spring.

Speaking of coming out of hibernation, we finally moved the old, and in desperate need of repair, red tractor into the carport so it can be restored to its former glory. Apart from the fact that it had become a bit of an eyesore rusting away under the sapin, I wanted it put away so that Denis would have something to keep him busy whilst he recovers from his hernia op this coming Tuesday. Although in her heyday, she could do the work of ten men or more, shifting the mangled mass of machinery that Callum had retrieved from the river at L’Horte after the last big flood in 2018, wasn’t an easy task. The first few attempts at trying to tow this broken one with our working tractor didn’t even shift a wheel and neither Lionel or Denis could figure out how to get the handbrake off so the bloody thing refused to budge an inch. Eventually my guy had a light bulb moment and sped (can you ‘sped’ in a tractor?) around the back of the small but once mighty Massey Ferguson circa 1970 and with the help of Lionel and Nick, pushed her into the carport. The whole debacle provided much amusement for me as I attempted to untangle the lights I’d removed from the exterior Christmas decor (no doubt the fairies will make sure they are once again tangled in about 11 months time) – boys and their toy tractors. Eventually both tractors will reside in the almost completed new home in the former chicken coop at the end of the property.

With the last of the big jobs done in the garden, at least until the Spring, I’m feeling a little flat. There is loads to do inside the house, we have a few more rooms to create for a start but I miss not being busy outside. There is always of course, The Book Part 2 to get my tap tapping into but I’m not feeling very motivated. The Book Part 1 is waiting for the photos to be organised and the cover design finished so it makes sense to concentrate on its sequel. I think Callum was right when he said, as we chatted over the phone earlier today, the first is a rollercoaster of a journey but the second is more of a gentle meander. And I’m not very good at meandering. Still, as someone I’m sure once quoted, it won’t write itself so I must go and power up the old keyboard and flex those fingers…

“To call him a dog hardly seems to do him justice, though inasmuch as he had four legs, a tail, and barked, I admit he was, to all outward appearances. But to those who knew him well, he was a perfect gentleman.” (Hermione Gingold, actress).

And just like that, 2022 has vanished into the history books. The Christmas tree is beginning to look a little wan without presents under it and Papa Noël is sagging on top of the wall. I’m itching to take down all the decorations – I don’t do the whole 12th night thing, once the festivities are over that’s it for the baubles. And with the last week of the year being filled with family and friends, I’m looking forward to getting back into a calmer routine and back to my computer.

I managed to get through the festive season without too much over-indulgence (alcohol probably being the exception) and kept my temper in check (almost). I blame the first set of brackets on friends and an apero evening that turned into an all-nighter and the second set on family – I love them dearly but three days of being pretty much ignored at the dining table does start to grate on one. But then you miss them when they’ve gone, the exception being my big brother Simon and his wife, Alba, who have finally made the move down here permanent by buying an apartment in Narbonne. They’ll be spending most weekends here chez nous, gladly welcomed by Mumo and I. Mind you, my sister Bong and her family nearly didn’t make it out and back to the US as their hire car decided to pack up the day before their departure. Being the season of ‘sorry everyone’s on holiday’, the rental firm had their only spare wheels in Toulouse, an hour away, and nobody available to drive them there. It was a good job I’d made sure the Josey Jeep had got a full tank of petrol before Christmas and being a person with an occasionally quick-thinking head, I lent them my precious car so that they could go and pick up the replacement vehicle. Why do things always break down on Sundays or holidays?

As much as I’ve taught myself to focus on the present and not on the past over these 4+ years (yes, I’ve been writing this blog since January 2019!), I did take a trip back up memory lane on Christmas Eve, or should I say, back to L’Horte. Although I don’t pop in to say hello to Pop’s tree and the three Shepherds laid to rest beside him as often as I used to, there are certain times of year when I just like to go and spend some quiet time with them all. L’Horte, like these years gone by, is fading with the houses are marked for demolition and the ivy taking over the roof of the main one but not all of our former homestead is suffering the same fate. As I turned down the driveway, for once I wasn’t greeted with silence and sadness – the terre is alive with new inhabitants. And very noisy ones too. Our tenants, Nicolas and Severine have brought in pygmy goats, donkeys, a couple of very large pigs and best of all, a whirl of woof in the shape of Pastis who greeted me with dog kisses and waggy tail. Pop may not have been that fond of goats but seeing Pastis run up and down the river bank, that he would have loved.

So off we go into another year brimming with excitement about what may lay ahead. My phone messages have already burnt up with news of ‘Surprise, we’re getting married!’ and ‘we’re having a baby in 2023’ – the first not associated with the second by the way because that would be very weird for the couple who announced the former. Here at Rouffiac, the next phase of building will begin in a couple of weeks and the calendar is filling up nicely with friends wanting to come and stay. Our new ‘neighbours’ (well 2 minute walk down the road), Saba and Roy will be moving into their newly-renovated house in the next month or so which, if it were possible in this buzzing little village, will breathe even more fun into the year ahead. I’ve got a whole bottle of Ricard to share having won the grand prize in the epicerie’s tombola so they better hurry up and move in. What with L’Horte looking like a petting zoo (I don’t trust those pigs though) and new amis about to add to Rouffiac, 2023 looks like a promising year. And better still, this girl gets to start the whole shebang with her Woofers and a new love in her life…

Happy New Year all!

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

This time next week, it’ll be Christmas Day. The main house is still looking rather bare with the lack of decorations but at least Denis and I found a nice tree and I’ve put the lights on it. The baubles and bits will have to wait until my nieces get here at the end of next week. I better warn those family members who will be descending on us for the holidays to pack a pair of shorts judging by the weather forecast, it could reach a balmy 19 degrees by Friday. It might sound wonderful, especially for those over the Channel but it’s definitely not good for the garden and I won’t be able to wear the usual garish Christmas jumper.

My language skills have really been put to the test these last few days. Friday was the AGM for the P’tit Bistro – a challenge as comprehending what one person is saying is one thing but trying to follow a discussion when three people are talking at once is a practically impossible other. The main theme was to elect the committee and then sort us volunteers into different teams; organising the music, manning the bar, putting up decorations and running the food side. Denis of course, put me down for the latter which could be potentially disastrous for business – he can cook, I just burn things. My dear amie Stephanie suggested over dinner last night that I might want to just be the serveuse, waiting tables is far more up my Bistro. Denis, Stephanie and her other half, Rashid came over for a bite to eat and a glass or three and no, I didn’t blow up the kitchen. Being such lovely people, they brought the food and very nice it was too. Again it was an evening of parler Français but a much easier one and Rashid thoroughly boosted my confidence with his compliments about my grasp of the language. I’m by no means fluent but I am starting to hold my own in conversation.

We had an apartment guest for a few days. Remember that little German Shepherd puppy that our friends, Gavin and Ann-Marie, bought a couple of months ago? Well, she’s not so little anymore but still utterly charming and just as clumsy. Gavin and Ann-Marie’s daughter, Emily, had had a nasty skiing accident up in Chamonix so they had to go and get her, hence me looking after Luna. As much as I loved having her here even if she kept climbing onto my bed and trying to sleep on my face, my apartment is far too small for an extra furry beast and the mud she, Sherman and Arry covered my walls with after their high jinks in the garden. 9 woofers is quite enough thank you.

If I don’t have time next Sunday to write, then I wish all of you a wonderful Christmas. Eat too much, raise one too many and pass out on the sofa watching The Muppet Christmas Carol – it’s my favourite. Joyeuses fêtes à tous!

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

As I write this, Max the chauffagiste is busy drilling a hole in my lounge wall so he can put in a thermostat. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s here at all considering last night’s football and the corresponding text messages he was sending me. His presence this morning is very much appreciated though because it’s flipping cold outside. Yup, we are officially in winter temperatures now with the thermometer barely touching above one or two degrees. Denis is convinced it’s going to snow soon so has started to wrap up the younger trees to protect them over the next few months. I doubt we are going to have any of the white stuff in the near future but with the ground and surrounding landscape covered in frost, better safe than sorry.

Most of the past week has been about getting the last of the Christmas decorations up and the illuminations working, including wrapping the big fir tree outside in strings of lights using a giant bamboo stick ( a novel idea – should patent it). I think our stunning display of twinkling stars and Père Noël sitting on the corner wall prompted the Mayor into switching on the village’s seasonal street sparklers – if there was a competition this year, we all know who’d win. Denis has been inundated with requests for his home-made sapins, we could make a few bob I reckon and such is the popularity of our stuffed Santa Claus, Denis has bolted him to the chair in case he gets stolen. And with the two of us off to search for the main house’s Alpine tomorrow, everything is beginning to look like Christmas. I’ve had my hair done too.

Two new ‘residents’ have taken up their places chez nous; a massive tumble dryer delivered by Max – in his words “you can stick Arry in it after his run” and the sideboard I found in Adolphe’s second-hand emporium. Whilst the retro piece of furniture probably won’t get used until the summer, the Tardis sized sèche-linge will come in useful once the family wot can make it here, arrive in a couple of weeks. At the moment my spare room is doubling up as the laundry which is all very well when it’s just Mumo, me and the woofers but there is a limit to how many sheets and towels I can hang in there. Mind you, it will be more of a skeleton family gathering this time with Moth not being able to make it in account of the extortionate airline costs from Kenya, Callum staying in Australia as he can’t leave until his visa renews in February and Louis and Kate (niece and nephew) joining their brother at his home in Namibia. Nevertheless, I am as always looking forward to entertaining those wot can make it here – hold off on those strikes please. And snow….

“Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation” (Sinclair Lewis)

If it wasn’t for the early morning wintry snap in the air, one wouldn’t think we were in December already. The rain has stopped and the sun is out, hardly bikini weather but much milder than usual. I seem to remember howling winds and drenching rain this time last year – all the Christmas decorations ended up water-logged. Naturally, as the festive season comes upon us, I’ve been busy untangling lights whilst Denis is designing and deciding the corner wall display. If we have to be minimal about tinsel and twinkles this year, the two of us are going all out to give the village something to look at. Ingeniously, he found some old wooden pallets and artfully made Christmas trees out of them which we then painted green. He’s kept one of the pallets back to make a sled for Papa Noel who we’ve dragged out of the old chicken house – he will definitely need a wash first as he’s been sharing his digs with a colony of bats.

Speaking of digs, I’ve sparkled up the apartment once more. Denis found an ancient contraption which to be honest, I thought was a former torture device but turned out to be what wine- makers used to dry bottles on before they were filled up. Mumo suggested it might make an alternative Christmas tree which I thought was a great idea. Cleaned up and sprayed silver, it now looks like an over-dressed Dalek sitting in my lounge – I love it. And the woofers can’t pee on it either.

It was the third anniversary of Pop’s passing last week so I took Mumo out shopping for Christmas presents in an effort to cheer her up. I don’t know why I thought wandering aimlessly around shops without a clue as to what you want to buy for your beloved children and grand-children was the perfect pick-me-up – poor Mumo was even more miserable after the failed expedition. Still, thanks to the Gods of online purchasing, I did manage to help her choose almost all her gifts without having to leave her cosy kitchen – happy Mumo again. For some reason, the third is a tough one.

The coming weeks I’m sure, will be busy ones. The party season is upon us for a start so I’m off to get my hair coloured on Tuesday and the diary is filling up nicely with invitations for drinks and dinners. Stock up on aspirin me thinks too. I will have to go and get a real tree for the main house although Mumo refuses to decorate until Christmas Eve – a waste of ho ho ho in my opinion. Mind you, I am going to put the fairy lights on it before the family arrive – only one person should be subjected to the stressful task of unknotting knotted wires and no-one ever hangs them properly except me. I wonder if there is a ‘Who’ living in the garage making merriment for themselves by scrunching up my carefully wrapped lights that I put in there after last Christmas?

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

It’s been one of those ‘blink and you miss it’ weeks. Having constant rain for the first few days meant not being able to do much except twiddle one’s fingers which was just as well as I came down with a stinking cold. The whole sneezing, runny nose, sore throat and muscle achy sort. Mind you, it’s funny how times have changed as I did two Covid tests before I concluded that it was just a rhume. The tests were best done anyway as my darling friend, Saba, who had been up here with me on last Friday night, along with her husband and Denis, messaged me to say she was in bed with the real thing – luckily the rest of our little gang all came up negative. And Mumo had her flu jab and Covid stab number 5 on Friday.

Having been dosed up with a wonder drug, Christelle the best pharmacist one could wish for, I am back to full bounce once again. I’m sure everyone around me is thoroughly relieved as I am the world’s worst patient. I get very fidgety and stroppy when I can’t do anything except snuffle and blow. The woofers are feeling the benefits too, not only because Mum is back pootling around the garden but the sun has come out again too. There isn’t a lot to do now apart from pack away any remaining non-weatherproof outdoor furniture and finish the fencing on the top corner wall but I’d rather be outdoors than in. It’s still very mild considering we are a month away from Christmas and the bougainvillea is still blooming marvellously – all good for the soul. Running however, has become an exercise in kicking large lumps of clay off one’s soles – I almost threw my knee out in the process. I shall suffer it though for the sake of Arry, Alice and Sherbs as the thought of running these three down a main road, well no. Whilst they might move in a straight line alongside cars, try adding cats and rabbits to your early morning mindfulness program.

The Book is now finished. I do have to put all the photos into some sort of order but the pen has been put down. Hopefully it’ll be off to find an agent or two in the next few weeks with the help of a couple of my former clients and friends. With that in mind, I’ve started preparing for the second one – so much more fun to write about starting life in this little village and the people who have become an important part of it. Speaking of Rouffiac, Mumo and I went down to the local Christmas market yesterday. Not exactly bustling crowds let’s face it, but it’s always nice to see familiar faces. Denis tells me that the Mayor has decided we will have festive lights over the roads as usual which should add a bit of ho-ho-ho even if we aren’t allowed to fry the electric grid ourselves this year. Instead, I have bought lots of battery-operated bulbs. Not enough to set the houses alight but enough to sparkle up the outside Christmas tree and Papa Noel who Denis is going to put on a sleigh over the newly restored corner wall. Better get started next week I think, December is coming – who knows, it might snow?

“In winter, I plot and plan. In Spring I move” (Henry Rollins)

Autumn has most definitely arrived, yet although the temperature has dropped by a fair few degrees, it is still mild considering we are heading towards the end of November. And the rain cometh, a lot. Mind you, the terre has a long way to go before it reaches soggy point – a plus for running through the vines. The bougainvilla is bursting with colour and roses popping up everywhere, a stark contrast to the bare trees and the Virginia Creeper has once more turned into its seasonal red – always a spectacle at this time of year. Luckily, with the temperature, we haven’t had to whack the heating up, my idea of putting the thermostat low in the main house last month has benefitted Mumo as the thick walls retain the heat. She feels the cold.

The week started with Denis and I popping over to L’Horte to grab a few more plants. His idea was to dig up the giant climbing rose that crawls up and over the terrace, easy he said, impossible I said. We borrowed Roy’s trailer as Denis’ is a little on the small side and loaded the camionette with digging tools before taking the short drive over. Nicolas and Severine were there when we arrived which was a nice surprise as I rarely get time to catch up with them. Nicolas and Severine are what I would call ‘the guardians of L’Horte’. They rent the land to grow their market garden, keep goats and generally look after our bit of the property. Having chatted for half an hour or so, mostly about what the commune are going to do with the houses – not a lot so far, I think the ivy will pull the big house down long before they decide to demolish them, Denis got to work on the massive climber. Of course, he couldn’t get it out, the thing has been rooted there for a quarter of a decade but boy did he try. Hellbent on finding something to fill up the trailer aside from a couple of plants we easily uprooted, Denis went in search of fulfilment and found a somewhat prickly bush which he preceded to wrap a rope around and attach it to his camionette. Apart from the fact that we are both widowed and have a love for the outdoors, one of the best things about being with Denis is his ability to make me laugh. Everything we do together turns out to be an adventure, and go wrong at some point. Suffice to say, I had a stomach ache from chortling so much and after discarding the now frayed rope, Nicolas came to the rescue with a chain. Said prickly thing is now happily ensconced in one of our flowerbeds, we had to put something in the trailer to make Denis happy.

There is as always, work to be done here and with Roy and Nick up on the top floor of the main house, creating a bathroom suite for Simon and his wife’s bedroom, poor Mumo has had to deal with all the dust. It was just as well that we both had an appointment with our family doctor, Mumo for a repeat prescription and me for one of those cancer-testing kits (something that the French medical care ask you to do every now and again) as it turned out she had a bacterial infection from inhaling it all. She is feeling much brighter in case you are wondering and Nick and I have made sure that we vacuum regularly to keep her that way. Nick’s wife, Denise, popped over at the end of the week to discuss plans for the space above the apartment. Denise is an interior designer and a flipping good one. We both have very similar tastes when it comes to colours and styles and recycling what we can. A girl after my own heart.

Friday night saw the P’tit Bistro’s annual general meeting. It was wonderful to catch up and kiss cheeks with those I’d spent the summer partying and although I couldn’t hear much of what the ‘council’ were saying because Denis and I were late so got stuck sitting at the back of the school hall (something familiar about back of rooms and school me thinks), I did manage to get myself signed up as a volunteer for next summer. I’ll probably be moving tables and chairs or clearing up at the end of the night but I’ll be doing my bit for our little community. Naturally the evening finished with a few glasses of wine there followed by a few bottles at mine. I think I made the right decision moving here…

“I hope I can be the autumn leaf, who looked at the sky and lived. And when it was time to leave, gracefully it knew life was a gift.” (Dodinsky)

Any trip to the vet fills me with dread. Every time I go in there, my debit card shudders as anything wanted usually has to be multiplied by 9. And then there’s all the special dietary purchases for Yogi, Aragorn and Coco Loco – naturally only available chez veto and naturally, expensive. On the plus side, I think living out in the countryside instead of the city keeps them healthy and for the most part, fit. It occurred to me the other night whilst I was writing The Book (now ready for the third edit), that all but three of the woofers are now over a decade old – time has suddenly crept up on them along with achy bones and arthritis. Mind you, with the exception of Gizmo who, at over 14 now rarely leaves his bed, they still run around the garden and chase each other through the hedges. Sherman’s youthful exuberance helps.

Speaking of old treasures, Denis and I went on a bit of a scouting trip earlier in the week to find some climbers for the planters at the bottom of the wall and a something in the furniture department to put in the remis. Off we went in Denis’ ancient camionette (a sort of cross between a small van and a car) bouncing across the back roads to the garden centre chatting away as usual, and got lost. As usual. Noticing a couple of elderly ladies passing by, my chauffeur stopped to ask directions and after a brief but animated conversation, we continued our little trek. As it turned out, we were on the right road (let’s face it, there was only one) and only a couple of minutes away from our destination;

“I could have told you that, I’ve got my phone map open” I pointed out to Denis as we ejected out of another pothole (I think the suspension went with the last century)

“Yes but we’ve given those ladies something exciting to talk about for the rest of the day” he smiled in reply.

I looked in the rear view mirror. There they were gesticulating and laughing as our little faded-yellow machine spluttered off into the distance. I think we made their day and after having bought a couple of deep red climbing roses and a couple of other florals to finish our project, we headed for home via Adolf’s place.

Adolf is a sort of cross between Arthur Daley and Indiana Jones – the latter only because his second-hand shop is an Aladdin’s cave of hidden wonders if you can get get through all the scrap first. You also need to have a Denis with you when searching through the dusty enclaves as prices tend to increase if you’re a) not local and b) not French. Luckily for me, Adolf seems to like me and I do have my right hand man and I did find a stunning sideboard – at a steal according to our patron (probably what it should have cost in the first place but he had to try). I’ll get Mumo to have a look at it next week and hope she isn’t swayed by Adolf’s latest hobby – painting Mickey Mouse or Frida Kahlo or both, on doors.

Aside from rummaging through cobwebs and roving around the idyllic Aude countryside, I haven’t really done much in the past week apart from finishing the last bits of The Book (again). We still haven’t had any decent rain so if I’m not up early to run, I’m up early to water the garden. Replenishing the bird feeders has become an almost daily task, with little vegetation around I doubt there are enough insects to go around judging by the frenzied fight for fat balls. According to the long-term weather forecast, things are set to change at the end of next week – we can but hope. At least we haven’t had to whack up the radiators which is just as well as we had a huge water bill land in our post box mid-week. I know we had a leak in the bloody pool but the amount they wanted would have filled it three times over. Mumo and I decided to test the meter overnight meaning I checked it last thing before bed and then re-checked first thing in the morning. We definitely have a non-pool fissure somewhere and judging by the looks of the early morning risers as they passed a pyjama-clad figure shining her mobile phone down a hole outside our front gate – there was plenty to talk about in Rouffiac for the rest of the day…

“A road need not be paved in gold to find treasures at its end” (Alan Brennert)

I should be more careful in what I wish for. Okay so it hasn’t snowed but the sweaters are most definitely out of the closet. Having basked in 25 degrees and blazing sunshine on my birthday at the beginning of last week, by Friday it had dropped 10+ degrees and with that came the wind and rain. A lot of it. I did get a bit worried that the huge oak tree might collapse onto the pool such was its dramatic swaying, instead the darn thing scattered even more acorns across the deck and beyond. Denis tells me pigs are very fond of these fruits so I shall have a word with Abraham who has a few on his allotment, should keep their tummies full for the next six months. At least we have been able to plant my presents as the soil no longer resembles concrete, the apricot tree now stands proudly in a corner of the back garden and a rather lovely bush that likes to dangle is angled over the ramparts of the front wall. A close friend of mine recently sent me a picture of her new puppy that she had been given for her birthday, I sent her back pictures of my tree.

It was just as well that the weather turned when it did as I had my second and last dental operation on Wednesday. I’m glad all is over and done with in that department now, save the 6 month wait for the actual teeth, as I had forgotten how painful the one before was. Darling Denis insisted on accompanying me to the clinic in Toulouse, I think I made his day in letting him drive my car home even if we missed the turning off the autoroute because we were talking too much. Thankfully, what with the howling gales and downpours, he has managed to avoid my sour post-op mood and hamster face. No hard foods, no exercise and no alcohol do not make for a cheerful Sophi. Sherman of course, has taken his caring duties very seriously to the point where I woke up this morning with his head against my sore cheek promptly whacking it in the process as I got up. I would just like to say a huge thank you to my wonderful mother-in-law, Jenny, for brightening up my gloom by sending me all three Richard Osman books. Brilliantly written and the best pick-me-up.

The timing of the above could have been better as I wasn’t able to spend as much of the week with my cousin Robert and his family as I would have liked. The last time I saw them, Yogi Bear was a mere cub and Edward and Alice, their children, were practically still in nappies. And now they are teenagers and very nice ones at that. Considering Neo can be dodgy at the best of times around strangers, he took to Alice immediately which helped as she was staying in my spare room along with most of my woofers. I have learnt to accept that there is no loyalty in any of my canines when it comes to guests’ beds.

So now as the clocks have gone back and Autumn moves forward, the bird feeders full and the trees nearly bare apart from my orange tree which is bending over with juicy delights, I’ve managed to get the woofers to pose for their annual Christmas photo. And all facing the right way around, almost. Our seasonal cards have been designed and ordered, the one thing I still have to get done in the UK as the French don’t really do over the top Noel stuff. I ought to start looking for battery-operated lights soon as we aren’t allow to blow the electric grid this year what with the energy crisis and all. Mind you, with all this weird weather – it’s blue skies and sun again today, I really should get Max the chauffagiste to get a move on and put in the solar panels he’s been promising – we could go fairy light mad on those…..

“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house” (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

Normally, at this time of year, I’d be cursing the soggy clay as we run through the vines instead of trying not to break an ankle on the rock hard ground. With still no rain in sight, the lack of red and gold autumnal colours decorating the landscape is worrying. I had to use a pick axe the other day to create a hole in the garden for a bush I was replanting – quite a sight for passers by. Denis reckons it’s going to be a mild winter which might sound appealing for us humans but not for my poor fruit trees. And my Mimosa has started to flower again so we have to cut off all the blossom sadly to save its energy.

There is one positive about having warm weather, we are racing through all the outside jobs. Oh and I’m still wearing flip flops. The corner wall is just about finished and Lionel is bringing lots of donkey poo tomorrow to fill the planters underneath it, the only problem is that we can’t get the bougainvilla I wanted for one of them – because of the unseasonable season. My huge glass window now has a beautiful wood surround and I’ve finished whizzing around all the exterior ironmongery with my paintbrush. We’ve also been rather sneaky and nicked a few more bits of shrubbery from L’Horte – mostly jasmine but Denis did bring back a cactus which promptly bit me. The cactus that is. And just to add to the pain, I cut the same finger trying to open a vitamin capsule. I kid you not. It’s been a busy week. Mumo and I have spent most evenings going through The Book chapter by chapter, I’m pretty sure I could recite the whole thing by memory now, and I’ve downloaded loads of photos into a file so they can gone through, chosen and added to my opus by someone else. Here’s hoping I can get everything off for the final edits before Christmas – I’ll be glad to see the back of it.

It’s my birthday tomorrow. Again. I say again because I had a party last night, everyone needs a day after to recover before the work week recommences. Plenty of food this time and of course, the best company. My good friend Roy set up his stereo and speakers under the remis and I cleared the courtyard so we could all have a bit of a boogie under the stars. The whole place was decorated with twinkly lights, candles and lots and lots of comfy chairs. And like all the best parties, everyone had a wild time – in the kitchen. Mind you, it is a fabulous kitchen. Ah well, I’ll be on the wrong side of 50 tomorrow and it’ll probably snow…

“The kitchen is the most important place in any house. Visit your family, that’s where you’ll end up. Go to a party, that’s where everyone congregates” (Michelle Dockery)