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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)