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

“Pretty much the same here, Mum”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chaleur has broken. Rather dramatically. If Thursday evening’s soiree over at Saba and Roy’s meant wearing the floatiest dress I could find that could make the heat bearable and Friday’s barbecue next door had the bug zapper under the table noisily disposing of mosquitos, then partying over at chez Abraham’s last night was all about jumpers -the temperature dropping by 20 degrees in a matter of 24 hours. And whilst we are all grateful for the rain, it’s come a little too late to save most of the potager – we lost all the haricot beans and two of the tomato plants. Still, it must be welcome relief for all those involved in the vendange or grape harvest – working along those vines in 40 plus degree temperatures can’t have been much fun. Perhaps they can now get up a couple of hours later to rev up their tractors and not have the need to wake me up at 3 a.m.

Aside from the usual fêtes with friends, the past week has been a quiet one, mainly because stepping outside was akin to putting your tootsies on burning coals. Poor Denis had to get up at the crack of dawn every morning to water down everyone’s gardens and then go back out again at sunset to do those what he hadn’t had time to do earlier. He’s still recovering from the ordeal. I wasn’t much happier either as the apartment’s thermostat proudly displayed the internal temperature as hotter than the external one and to cap it all, one of my two electric shutters on the patio doors has decided to get stuck in the down position. A bit like looking at the bottom of a roasting tray although thankfully someone has now turned the oven off. Little brother Moth is coming over later this afternoon so that’ll keep him busy.

Speaking of friends, I took mes filles, Saba and Stephanie, over to the Cave in St-Hilaire on Friday morning. Caves or wine shops are commonplace in these parts but the one located a kilometre or so down the road from L’Horte is the one I like best, they’ve known my family since the shop started and naturally always stock the best stuff. Since it was the first visit for both of them, I elected to drive and therefore forgo any tasting of the grape. Now I have to be honest, my fluency in the native tongue is always better after my two coffee morning ritual and even more so when I’ve had a couple of glasses of rouge so having had neither, trying to follow any part of the conversation between Saba and Stephanie post-Sherbet inhaling was near impossible. I would suggest that Duolingo might want to include machine-gun French in their course and advise a good dose of caffeine beforehand. A stop at the afore-mentioned L’Horte helped clear the cobwebs for all afterwards and for Saba, it was a chance to see and understand why the river is so special – she’s reading The Book.

According to the somewhat unreliable météo , we will be back to normal end of summer temperatures in the next few days with added downpours. I hope so as I’ve been able to dodge a bullet this weekend but I still have a target on my derrière. Somehow Denis has persuaded me that going sea fishing on a boat is a fabulous idea and there’s no chance of me getting sea-sick on the Med in summer. Incidentally, sea-sickness in French is mal de mer which when said, sounds like rolling waves – not helpful. Alas, we cannot go out in a little pea-green boat when it’s windy and raining so such enjoyment has been put on hold. Quel dommage. Mind you, I would like sun next weekend as we are having a party to mark 3 years since we arrived in Rouffiac. And what better way to celebrate than to be with all those who have made me feel a part of this kooky village than by the thing I am most proud of creating – the bloody pool…

“Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people” (William Shakespeare)

I’m sure you will be relieved to read that I made it to the UK and back with only a couple of minor glitches last week. Despite my fear of flying, I made it over the Channel unscathed, The Book in hand for a little free advertising, although arriving on a cold, wet Monday afternoon in flip flops was not my idea of a welcome back present. Mercifully, the weather was gorgeous for the rest of my stay – the Gods deciding to wait until I got back to France to drum up a thunderstorm over my head. To add to their messing, the return flight was delayed at Gatwick due to potholes needing filling on the runway so not only did I have to endure an extra hour with agitated toddlers in the seats adjacent to me, I also had to find my car which I had stuck in one of the long stay car parks in the middle of a very soggy night. Thinking I was clever, I’d taken a photo of Giselle (my car in case you had forgotten her name) in her spot with the bay number clearly displayed – only I didn’t look to see which multi-storey automobile lot I had put her in. With one of 3 to choose from, I spent at least half an hour dragging myself and my luggage up and down staircases, temper at tantrum level until I finally found her. I would like to point out for those who may wish to park in one of Toulouse Airport’s concrete monstrosities, the ‘I’ section only exists in car lot number 2, that is to say the others have every letter of the alphabet except ‘I’. I have done extensive research.

It is a fact of life I suppose but funerals and reunions go together. Having caught up with Rene’s sons and Lareine’s family the night before, I was fully prepared for the onslaught of hugs and ‘oh my God it’s you’ on arriving at the crematorium the following day – after all, I hadn’t seen any of my old circle of chums in 3 years although I did feel a bit like the prodigal child returneth. My bestie Rene did herself proud with a beautiful and touching funeral service, even if I did have to reach for the tissue in Lareine’s outstretched hand when Rene’s sons gave their speeches. I raised a silent mental toast to my T too. Both he and Gary (Rene’s husband) would have had a bit of a giggle if they had noticed what I saw whilst standing outside afterwards waiting to go to the wake – a small metal sign attached to one of the pillars facing the crematorium doors saying ‘Smoking Zone’.

As much as it was lovely to catch up with friends, I am glad to be back home again. The much-discussed Denis was waiting at the door when I got back from my epic car park adventure and the woofers were delighted to see Mum again. Sort of. For about 10 minutes – apparently life with Denis is so much more exciting judging by the huffs I got after he left me crashed out on the bed. Thankfully I am forgiven and said bed is once more covered with panting pooches hogging any available fan – it’s flippin’ hot out there and if you think cooling off in the pool sounds like the perfect solution, the water temperature is 30 degrees. Once more into the soup and all that.

If my brief visit to my former turf taught me anything, it’s that I don’t miss the place one bit. I am sure I will pop over there again, certainly next Autumn as I will be attending Rene’s oldest son’s wedding but my heart lies in this little corner of France now. After all, Rene and Lareine, we drive on the right side of the road here…

“I’ve had a splendid time and I feel that it marks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home”. (L. M. Montgomery)

Three years ago today, I safely landed the Mothership and her cargo at L’Horte – the cargo being myself, my best friend Rene, 9 woofers and a 4 ft high Peace Lily. In my blog from that Sunday I wrote, ” I’ve made it. I’ve finally come home and so the next chapter of my life starts. A new beginning and hopefully many many more blogs and a book to begin. As they say in France; Bienvenue dans ma vie”. It’s hard to take in sometimes, I’ve crammed so much into the new chapter since then. Whilst two of the original woofers, Evee and Gizmo, are no longer with me, I have managed to bring up a litter of Border terrier puppies and keep the one that is my precious Sherman. I wrote that book and am now plodding away on the sequel and I still write the blog every Sunday. I helped build a pool and learnt how to mend liner holes underwater. I renovated a neglected garden, added a potager and blinged up our corner wall. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I fell in love with a wonderful man – my Denis and a little village called Rouffiac d’Aude. And although she is somewhat frail these days, being around 28 years old, the Peace Lily is still with me. And, in case you haven’t had enough ‘and’s’, tomorrow I will be flying back to the UK for the first time since I left. It’s a funny old world.

Speaking of our wonderful world, I got a chance to see the incredible meteor shower last night with friends at Abraham’s place. Under a cloudless sky surrounded by nothing but fields and the hills beyond, we watched the night’s canvas unfold. Billions and billions of stars flashed and twinkled above us, I’m pretty sure everyone has a sore neck this morning from all that oohing and craning. The only minor disappointment was that I only saw one shooting star – I did make a wish though and naturally, I won’t tell you. I might get a second glimpse tonight unless the possible thunderstorms roll in but I really do need to get to bed early – far too many evening soirees over the past week.

The heat hasn’t helped with my sleep routine either – I’ve got fans on full blast with panting woofers strewn below them. Arry is spending more time in the pool than out of it, the others preferring the afore-mentioned or the cool earth under the pool deck. Mind you, as much as I love cooling off in such heavenly waters myself, as soon as you are out and dressed for the evening ahead, you’re sweating again. If you think that perhaps wearing shorts and T-shirt is appropriate attire for aperos, absolutely not unless you want to be eaten alive by the midges. I am not complaining however, with it being a good 10 degrees warmer here than the former land that is the UK I am going to have to pack a couple of sweaters – my body has become accustomed to 30 plus Augusts.

Ah August…the month when bees buzz lazily through the oleanders, cicadas make music after dusk and Arry turns 8 years old. Physically that is, mentally he’s stuck at 8 months. Sadly I will miss most of his big day as I won’t get back home until late but I’m sure Denis will keep him amused and out of the oleander beds. So to my darling doofus, I hope you have the most marvellously idiotic day as every day is to you and thank you for reminding me that stress levels can still rise to epic levels – I do love you my crazy, cailloux-obsessed canine…

“Life is a book and there are a thousand pages I have not yet read.” (Cassandra Clare)

One could be forgiven for thinking its late September instead of early August judging by the weather over the past week. Grey skies, below average degrees and quite a bit of rain doth not make for a balmy summer. The water temperature in the pool is warmer than the outside one, just as well as I had to re-glue the protective liner patches that brother Simon put on the week before – I did tell him it wasn’t an easy job but hey. Still, at least the howling Cers wind that is currently causing strife has stopped any algae from wanting to bed down. We are unreliably told by the Météo that this weather system is just a blip on the radar and the coming weeks will be all sunshine and smiles.

Seeing as how there hasn’t been much to do now that the pool is sorted and the potager is full of ready pickings, Denis decided we needed to get out of town so to speak. Despite having lived in Rouffiac d’Aude for almost 3 years, I’ve rarely had the chance to see what else lies beyond the county limits other than a few city excursions. As I mentioned in the previous week’s blog, France pretty much has everything you could want as a holiday destination and our little bit of the South-West is a bit of a gem in that department. A couple of hours drive or so will take you West up into the Pyreenes Mountain range and a similar pootle East will have you basking on the Mediterranean beaches. So we did both. Along with D’s niece Stephanie and her other half, Rashid, we took a day out by the sea on Thursday accompanied by Yogi Bear as he hates being left these days (my younger brother Moth kindly offered to look after the remaining woofers) and we felt he would be good company for Stephanie and Rashid’s somewhat overweight Chihuahua, Xena. After a light picnic lunch ( I say this facestiously as there is no such thing as a light meal in D’s family) in Gruissan, a hop from the city of Narbonne we made our way down to an almost deserted beach a few minutes away. I can’t say we had perfect weather conditions for lazing on the sand – the wind played havoc with our towels for a start and any deep intake of breath at the beauty of your surroundings meant inhaling large quantities of sand but we couldn’t have had a more relaxing time. Whilst Rashid went snorkelling for couteaux or razor clams, D and Yogi ambled along the shore and dipped their toes into the Med. It was a little Bear’s heaven being at one with the outdoors and his most favourite outdoors man although Xena wasn’t overly thrilled to have his wagging tail in her face. We finished the great afternoon out at a nearby seafood restaurant eating raw cockles, mussels and oysters – okay I’ve yet to be convinced on the latter but the rest was delicious especially when washed downed with a chilled bottle of white wine. Beach destination, Check.

Lazing by the sea done, the four of us decided to head West a couple of days later – to Andorra. Andorra is a principality bordered by France and Spain on the Eastern side of the Pyreenes. It’s a tiny country, about 460 square kilometres, and best known for the fact that since it isn’t part of the EU, it’s duty-free. As soon as you make your way through the border control, you are greeted by a sort of gargantuan monolith of hypermarkets, restaurants and price popping billboards – if it’s tax-free, we have it kind of thing. I have to admit that whilst it was great fun looking at all the bargains you could buy that you didn’t need even if I wasn’t quite dressed for alpine temperatures – my fingers were so cold I couldn’t have got my debit card out of my wallet if I wanted to, the best part of the whole trip was the scenery beyond. Instead of taking the autoroute, Rashid took the high roads. Literally. Weaving up into the vast mountain range, the landscape is covered in forest and the occasional ski lift. The views are breath-taking although I could put that down to my fear of heights too – there was a reason why I didn’t look down and it wasn’t just because of the huge eagles gliding across the blue sky above us. Mountains. Check.

As usual, we finished the week chez Abraham last night with lashings of good food, gorgeous wine and great friends. Some of us were rather woozy already after all that altitude but still found the energy for a bit of a boogie. I blame Stephanie for that as she insisted we stop at some thermal baths on the way back down the mountains so that I could experience the pleasure of hot spring water on my tootsies – definitely put the dance into my digits. I couldn’t resist another purchase either as Abraham had, as has become a feature of his Saturday night soirees, an artisan of a magician with metal – old gas canisters to be precise. Martin makes masterpiece lamps and lighting out of them and yes they were pretty pricey but the workmanship was so beautiful I bought one of the smaller ones. Back home. Check…

“Life is made for good friends and great adventures” (Unknown)

Denis and I popped over to his sister, Natalie’s, house last night for a barbecue. I was a little concerned as the météo had predicted heavy rain but the deluge never happened. At least not for us. 14 kilometres away in Carcassonne however, Yoan (Denis’ son) was sending us videos of what looked like a mini tornado charging across the city – such is the weird weather of late. I would like to reassure you all that, despite what the television tells you, we are not in a heatwave down here – not yet anyway. The temperature is nowhere near the scorching levels of last year and we have had a lot more rain. Good for the garden and the potager if not for the huge influx of English tourists of late in the nearby towns. And ducks too. In our pool. I have no idea why our aquatic avians have decided to wiggle their waders in our body of water but the woofers don’t seem to mind and as long as they don’t poop in it, neither do I.

Speaking of the bloody pool, we may have found the source of the leak. I called Roy, our master of all things piscine-related as an exhaustive search of the depths by myself, Katie my niece and brother Simon had come up with zilch. I even went under the back of the deck to see if any of the pipework was wet, a dangerous task as you really don’t want to know what devilish insects live in those dark reaches but no, all was dry. In order to eliminate each possible theory, Roy closed the drain and so far, so good. Well, sort of. That bit of equipment is buried below the pool so at some point, someone (guess who) is going to have to dig a flipping great hole to see whats what. We will have to leave it until the Autumn though as the ground is rock hard so for the moment, out of sight out of mind. At least I wish the last few words were true, the first thing I do every morning after I let the woofers out is to cross my fingers and cast an eye over the bloody thing.

Aside from a quick trip to the dentist to have one of my new teeth put in – feels very strange having had a gap in the back of my mouth most of my adult life, I haven’t done much over the past week. As I mentioned we have had my niece, Katie, here which has been lovely for Mumo and for Arry too. Katie, like her aunt, loves to run so my daft German Shepherd has had a couple of early morning exertions up and down the hills. Such pursuits are not for me in the summer, this aged body needs to recuperate between seasons and I prefer to swim. Preferably without ducks. I also introduced my niece to the local nightlife in the form of a Spanish evening at the Petit Bistrot and a chance to meet our large group of amis. In fact, most of the village turned up, probably because the word had got around that Denis was cooking. Good company, great music, cold beer and succulent sausages made for a grand night out. She’ll miss all this when she goes back to London tomorrow.

And I too will be returning to former shores next month – almost exactly 3 years to the day I left. It will be a flying visit though and not one I had planned. Many of you who have read The Book and/or have followed my blog over the past 4 and a bit years will be familiar with my bestie Irene or Rene as I have always called her. Rene held me up when my world fell apart and now I need to be there for her as she says goodbye to her husband who died suddenly a few weeks ago. I’m leaving Denis with the woofers, someone has to keep them company and anyway, he doesn’t have a passport. I asked him why once, his reply was that France had everything you would want in holiday destinations – sun, ski, surf and cities. He’s right of course but it doesn’t have my Rene and it’s my turn to hold her up especially when she can’t reach the pedals…

For you, my darling Rene:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together…there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think but the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.” ( Winnie the Pooh)