I woke up this morning feeling a little worse for wear. I could blame my queasiness on whatever is in the stuff I’m using to clean the rust off the old farm machinery that we’d piled up under a tree in the garden but the consumption of wine minus food at last night’s little soiree is the more likely culprit. I really should have learnt by now that having friends over for an aperitif or three means pulling an all-nighter. Next time I’m ordering pizzas.

Having been banned from anything ‘The Book’ for a couple of weeks or at least until the edits are done, I started a jigsaw puzzle to keep my fingers occupied in the evenings. They itch for the keyboard, I miss writing. But hot off the proverbial press, Sally sent the first draft back last night with words of praise and ‘could be even better with more work’. Actually it needs more words too as I’ve only written 33,000 so far and I need to go over the 50,000 mark. But whilst the opus has been in the safe hands of my editor, I have scribbled notes in my little black book as soon as they come into my head. Still hasn’t got a title though.

I’m back out in the garden. Well, less to do with the actual greenery at the moment and more to do with cleaning, painting and rebuilding. As I mentioned, I’ve collected up all the ancient, rusted (and very rustic) bits of metal that were once used for ploughing and that sort of stuff. My idea is that once they all look sparkly again, Denis and I can artfully place them above our renovated ‘corner’ plot. Yup, we have another teeny bit of private property that I have yet to show you. Our little piece of this village is between two roads so at the point where both meet is a wall and it belongs to us. And a little piece of the concrete below it. Suffice to say, it’s been a bit neglected as it’s on the wrong side of the fence so to speak but not anymore. What once looked like a rather ugly stone wall with breeze-blocks pretending to be flowerpots on the top, now looks like a mini fortress or will once we have repainted and replanted. Everyone seems thrilled that we’ve finally done something to the space as it is one of the first things you notice when you come into Rouffiac from the North end, even the ex-Mayor stopped by to ooh at it. I think I might stick Santa up there for Christmas.

The weather continues to be weird, the rose bushes are full of colour again and its October. At this rate I might have to unpack my summer suitcase. And whilst we are basking in 20plus degree Autumn here, Callum tells me that Sydney is cold and wet heading into Summer down there. He’s heading off himself next week, down to South Australia for his next adventure and hopefully job. In my usual ‘I worry’ Mum way, I asked him if his campervan had a first aid kit. Sort of was the answer but no, he didn’t have any anti-snake venom potions or crocodile repellent. Apparently such things aren’t stocked in the city as there aren’t any man-eating reptiles but there are a lot of deadly spiders. Now he tells me.

“Don’t knock the weather. If it didn’t change once in a while, nine out of ten people couldn’t start a conversation.” (Kim Hubbard)

It’s October and 25 degrees on the thermometer. Weird weather indeed. Just last week we were back in jumpers and jeans and now we are digging the T-shirts out again. Such a shame we covered the pool up really. Still, with the promise of blue skies and sunshine for most of next week, Denis and I will be able to paint the vast deck with extortionately expensive protective resin before the frost kicks in. And now that Lionel has a list too (I gave Denis his last week), hopefully between us three, we can get cracking on all the external bits and pieces without breaking an ankle in the recent walnut deluge.

Too many late nights and far too much wine but I have finally finished it. The first draft that is, I am under no illusion that The Book will need many changes before it’s anywhere near a publisher’s desk. Next step, back off to Sally for editing and I need to start sorting out which photos should be incorporated and more importantly, a title. Yup, my opus is title less so if anyone has an idea? I don’t want to call it after the blog as the word ‘widow’ could be off-putting and it isn’t a story about dogs so no ‘woofers’. Thoughts on a postcard, please. Frankly, I’m looking forward to a few weeks without my computer and getting back into all things garden and seeing friends again. I have been a bit of a hermit of late.

I managed to squeeze in a hair colour appointment last week, my chlorine – yellow tint wasn’t really doing it for me. There is nothing quite like a pamper and highlights to lift the spirits. Considering I’m about to go the wrong side of 50 at the end of this month, I need all the boosting I can get. My body might be half-decent shape thanks to running and all things outdoors and having no boobs to ‘droop’ can be an advantage but there’s no escaping the changing contours of one’s visage. Since there is no way on Earth I would voluntarily have needles stuck in my face, I’m going to have to be a little more regular in my trips to the coiffure instead.

I can’t believe I’m even saying it out loud but I have to start thinking about our annual Christmas card. Which in turn means pulling my newly coloured hair out trying to get the woofers to pose for a photo whilst sitting together, facing forwards and preferably not licking their private parts. My younger brother, Moth, sent me a newspaper article the other day – a study about how dogs’ could detect stress levels in humans. They obviously haven’t done enough research. Or ever tried to get 9 woofers to sit still long enough for you to press the button three hundred times in the vain hope that you’ll capture the joy and bliss of living with a bunch of semi-trained canine compatriots. Actually my hibiscus is looking rather nice at the moment…….

With the change of season comes a change in our exercise routine. My band is on the run again. As much as I hate dragging myself out of bed at the crack of dawn, the tranquility and beauty of the hills, save the sound of the chasse bells jingling on the dogs’ collars, is worth the rude awakening. I was surprised that I had stayed as fit as was pre-summer but I have the pool to thank for that – Alice, on the other hand, lasted about 5 kms before she laid down and refused to move. Fat lump that she is. Mind you, she’s a game girl and after she got her breath back, plowed on with Arry and Sherman. Arry, of course, loved being out and about once again, tearing through the undergrowth and chasing a neighbour’s cat through several gardens until I managed to grab him. I don’t know why I thought that him turning another year older in the summer would teach him any obedience when it comes to felines.

Whilst the day temperatures are still in the mid-20’s, there comes a point when you know you aren’t going to get in the pool again this year so we’ve put the winter bâche on. Frankly, whilst the water may have looked appealing, the thermometer reading wasn’t. Having had five months of wonderful poolness, it’s odd to see the thing all tucked up until next Spring. Still, the rains have started so it won’t be long before Denis and I can start planting our next project – the potager or vegetable garden. Darling Denis made short work of clearing the area I had chosen, apparently we are going to have a Moroccan inspired plot – Denis’ words, not mine. With so much work to do both on the house and the terrain, I’ve made lists for everyone. I like lists, thankfully so does Denis.

I dug out the ‘winter wardrobe’ this week. As has become my custom, anything I haven’t worn over the summer gets either thrown in the recycle bin or sold. The same goes for my cold weather clothing, I definitely need to go shopping as the number of jumpers I had packed away wouldn’t fill a drawer. Shorts and any surviving bikinis have taken their place in the suitcase although I’m still wearing my flip flops – some things you just don’t want to give up just yet.

My Callum turned 24 on Wednesday. I can’t help thinking how grown up he looks in the photos he sends me or the sound of his voice on the phone. He’s still loving Australia and working all hours of the day but has bought a campervan so he can travel South next month. It’s funny to think that he is heading into summer down there just as I am thinking about asking Max the chauffagiste to get the houses ready for winter up here. Autumn is my favourite season though, as the vines start to change colour and the early morning chill makes the air seem fresher somehow. I probably won’t be saying the same thing when I’m welly deep in mud and the house stinks of soggy dog but I’m looking forward to planting the potager. And whilst Denis is thinking tomatoes and melons, I’ll be thinking apples and pumpkins…….

“If a year was tucked inside of a clock, then autumn would be the magic hour.” (Victoria Erickson)

Bombing back down the autoroute to chez moi after dropping my ‘baby’ brother, Moth, off at the airport hotel last night, a brief sense of poignancy passed through my thoughts. Summer is well and truly over. The last of my siblings is on his way back to his own nest and the dinner table again set for two. I say brief because although the last few months have been filled with sunshine (and drought), friends and family, I am looking forward to the Autumn and being able to get back to all things garden. The pool is still open although at 22 degrees, less appealing unless your name is Arry. I might have to don my wetsuit if I feel the need to take a plunge. The early mornings are cool enough now for me to get the running gear out of hibernation, we need to as Alice was told by the vet that she needs to eat more greens and get some exercise – lose the belly in other words.

Village life is also beginning to curl up its feet after the headiness of Summer nights. The last Bistrot get-together will be celebrated next Friday and with the vendange (the wine harvest) completed, another final hurrah on Saturday evening with the ‘Le Chant de la Grenouille‘ festival, a traditional knees-up to mark the end of the season. Singing frogs and all that.

With Moth burning the candles at both ends to finish the lighting and cupboards in Mumo’s kitchen and the downstairs bathroom and loo all done (thanks to the ‘boys’ Nick and Roy), we can now move onto other projects that have been on hold whilst the sun shone. The to-do list is out. The top floor of the main house is next in line for a make-over and hopefully above the apartment too. Then there’s the tractor house to construct, the dog shower room, the new veggie patch, the back of the pool deck, the right hand side of the back garden and do something with the top corner of the front one. Plenty to keep us busy. I’ve almost finished the first draft of The Book so once that goes off to my editor, Sally, I shall put down the computer lid and focus on all things maison.

I could have finished the draft last week except for two things; one was a visit to the dental specialist in Toulouse and the other was due to the first, no alcohol. I can understand why so many of the great writers were semi blotto when they penned their great masterpieces, a glass or two of red does awaken the mind and the muse. The pain of having a piece of fake bone fitted in the back of one’s mouth (I don’t have anything to attach teeth to back there) didn’t help either and I looked like someone who’s botox got botched. Mercifully, the swelling and aching is going down now thanks to a multitude of pills and ice packs. Who knows, I might just have a nice set of pearly whites in by Christmas and the local wine co-operative has a sale next week.

Life here in Rouffiac is not completely devoid of visitors however. We have a very fluffy four-pawed pup staying at the moment whilst her owners are spending a week in Blighty. It’s been over a decade since we have had a ball of German Shepherd in our lives, the last one was Gunner bless him. Before you lot get any ideas, no I am not going to rush out and get another woofer, the majority of mine are in their second decade and I have no intention of replacing them. Luna is a wonderful, albeit temporary, addition especially for Sherman and Arry who love tumbling around with anything that excuses their digging and general bad behaviour. I can see Mumo’s brain ticking though, perhaps in the future they may be a patter of fluffy paws in the main house?……

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

It feels somewhat surreal to be affected by the death of someone you never knew but had there your entire life, somewhere in the background. I might have chosen to live across the water but English blood still runs through my veins. As I arrived at the Bistrot on Friday night, people were quick to give condolences and raise their glasses to the Queen, although there was a little joke from the locals on their preference for raising a guillotine where royalty was concerned.

It might be the beginning of a new reign over there in the Motherland but there’s no sign of any new rain here (quite poetic I think). The early mornings and late nights are much cooler, even jumper wearing occasionally, but the days are still blue skies and temperatures in the high 20s. We have, however, high winds with the Marin coming in from the coast and the Tramontane from the North-West so we can’t put the sun umbrellas up and the pool is constantly having to be cleared of leaves. I had hoped to start running again but Arry hurt his leg during the week so knocked that on the head. It’ll be a couple of weeks now before we can try again as I have a little dental operation coming up on Wednesday which means I’ll be drugged up on painkillers and antibiotics afterwards. Mind you, a week or so without alcohol will do me good even if I can’t do much else.

I have lists of jobs that need doing but are unfortunately delayed because a) the ground is too hard to do anything garden-wise and b) I can’t find any enthusiasm for the indoor chores in this heat. Even writing The Book has been a bit of a challenge, I don’t know whether it’s because I only have a couple more chapters before the first draft is finished or it’s just a basic lack of oomph in me. I am under no illusions that there will be several drafts before both Sally and I think it’s ready for the next step but I’d like to get this one done before the end of the year. The weather doesn’t help one’s brain cells kick into gear either, I seem to be permanently half-asleep at the moment.

Yogi Bear has had a couple more vet visits this week as they are still trying to figure out what, if anything, is wrong with him. He is definitely back to his Bear-self and although his liver readings are better, they are still a concern. I am hoping that a change in diet (extensively researched and home-made by me) will keep up the improvement. I’ve put Alice on the same regime too mainly because she is getting chubby without the twice-weekly runs. All the woofers could do with less lazing about and more zooming around, the exceptions being Sherman and Arry who spend most of their time pouncing on each other or, in the latter’s case, throwing themselves into the pool. Maybe I should get Alice some armbands……..

“We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer’s wreckage. We will welcome summer’s ghost.” (Henry Rollins)

Three months of entertaining friends and family then before you know it, it’s September. Normally, I’d be back running up the hills with Arry, Alice and Sherman but the weather has yet to realise we are slipping into Autumn. On the one hand, I am grateful not to have had to pull out anything but bikinis and shorts from my wardrobe but on the the other, the garden is struggling to survive with only the occasional downpour.

Louis, my nephew is still here as is my younger brother Moth. Both have been hard at work finishing bits and pieces in the main house so the air has been filled with the constant sounds of saws and sanders. After taking apart the somewhat dangerous staircase that led up to the second floor of our outside lounge area, Louis corralled me into retrieving the wooden one from the smaller of the two houses at L’Horte. Both houses are now boarded up at our former residence but this didn’t seem to phase my darling nephew at all so we packed up my car with various tools with which one could break into a building with and drove over. On arrival, the doors proved a no go as the powers that be had installed new locks but on closer inspection I noticed that one of the upstairs windows was missing its middle – the glass that is and the shutters were only partially closed. Before I knew it, Louis was scaling the wall like Spiderman and with a little help from his aunt’s shoulder, slipped through the open portal and opened the side door from the inside. An hour later and my car packed with bits of staircase, the largest piece of which was tied to the roof with the old washing line, we made our way back to Rouffiac giggling nervously at the prospect of being stopped by the police and having to explain our acquisition.

Whilst that trip to the old homestead was all about sneaking around, a previous one earlier in the week was all about laying Gunner to rest next to Pop and the other two Shepherds; Chrissie and Macgyver. His ashes are now surrounding his master marked with a headstone (okay, I carved his name into a paving slab). I have to say that the above remains of such a special dog had been in a rather swish container complete with paw prints etched on the top. I thought it’d make a nice biscuit tin but Mumo says that’s a bit off-colour.

Since the météo declared storms on Friday, the Bistrot night was cancelled. Sort of. In one of my more brilliant mindsets, I called Denis and before you could say fête, my terrace was over-flowing with fresh oysters, pizza, bottles of wine and friends. I might have been the hostess that night but really Rouffiac was. I wish I had remembered to toast everyone that night as it marked two years since we moved into here. Then, I knew no-one and spoke very little French but was welcomed nonetheless and now, surrounded by friends both native and not, I’m chatting away in two languages. In 24 months, I have helped build a 12 metre swimming pool, re-designed the acres of garden, shifted rocks and endless tonnes of gravel, painted walls, pulled down walls, sanded beams, become at one with a chainsaw and even changed a toilet seat but most of all, I have found a place I can call home. Bienvenue chez moi……….

“No matter how hard the past is, you can always begin again” (Buddha)

The météo’s radar is useless, I have discovered. As Denis and I chatted over our morning cup of coffee , I pointed out that according to the weather boffins we should have been taking shelter in the storm instead of sweltering under blue skies. Despite our early morning watering regime, saving the young fruit trees is going to take a miracle and the more established walnuts and almond ones are drooping under the relentless heat. We really need to find an alternative water source if droughts are going to become the summer norm so we are going to drill down through the parched earth and put a well in. Denis tells me that there is a water divining chap in the village who has an almost perfect success rate in finding such nectar and since the whole area was once covered in vines, there must be a source somewhere down there.

With most of the family having left by yesterday morning, except for my eldest nephew Louis, life in chez Rouffiac is beginning to return to a quieter rhythm. As much as I love my siblings (my sister and I having hugged out whatever the invisible issue was), I wonder whether the ties that bind are somewhat looser now that L’Horte and Pop are no longer with us, just the memories. New lives are being made, especially for the four eldest grandchildren who grew up at L’Horte and Simon, Bong and Moth (my siblings) have their own paths to travel. For Mumo and I, our home is here in this happy little village amongst friends. And woofers.

I love having Louis around. Not only because of his contagious dry wit but he loves to get involved in whatever needs doing here as well. Our attempt at glueing a 5 metre piece of liner to the seam half way down the back end of the pool ended up a complete failure as said glue dried too quickly but instead of ending up frustrated and hot-headed as I usually do, the whole scenario left us both in fits of giggles. I have also needed to get back into The Book after a three week absence from a decent tap tapping so Louis is keeping Mumo amused with various outings to museums and such-like. It is a lesson learnt, staying away from my computer for so long, it took me two days before I wrote something halfway comprehensible.

Finally, news on Yogi Bear. Thank you everyone for all your well wishes, especially Linda (his breeder) and Anne (another Bear aficionado) for all the support and advice. Well, I went back to the vet earlier in the week so we could discuss the biopsy results which, to be honest, were bit confusing even in translation. The data shows a definite problem with his liver, possibly hepatic toxicity or caused by stress or he could be anorexic. The last one I feel we can rule out. I’m relieved to say however that the Bear is definitely feeling much more himself and a second echograph done during our visit showed a marked improvement in his liver. In the meantime, I have been doing a lot of research on a more suitable diet – apparently venison and white fish are particularly beneficial which of course, is perfect for Bears……

“It’s nice having a Bear around the house” (Michael Bond)

It’s been a mixed week. On the plus side, Yogi Bear seems much brighter in himself – I’m not sure whether it’s the steroids or not since I still haven’t got the biopsy results back but I’m keeping everything crossed. On the minus side, having looked forward to spending time with her, I’ve somehow managed to upset my sister who is now not talking to me. Family can be very confusing along with Bear prognosis’. To add to it all, I haven’t had time to do anything book-wise which has left me with itchy fingers.

Frustrations aside, the past seven days have for the most been pluses and for me, an afternoon out with darling Denis. With Monday being a holiday here, I took him up to my younger brother Moth’s place up in the forest of Cenne-Monestiés, a forty minute drive from us. Denis had been wanting to visit the property for ages especially as it is, apparently, a prime mushroom picking area. It was also a chance for him to have a day off enjoying the stunning views and chatting all things building-wise with Moth. The commune is stunning with views across the mountainous landscape, waterfalls running into a clear river below and neighbours tucked away in hidden corners. I naturally, wore completely inadequate footwear for walking trails and jumping across riverbanks – flip flops aren’t exactly made for such activities. Still, Denis and I had a fabulous day out and left with the promise that Denis could go fungi-hunting any time he wanted. Without me I think.

After months of barely any rain, we had a decent downpour mid-week. Not exactly the storm that was promised but the garden was happy with almost an entire night of gentle pluie. Alas too late for the poor vineyards who have had to start their harvest early to save what produce they can but it was enough that I didn’t have to drag the hose out for a few days – a blessing in itself. The mornings are noticeably cooler now and that makes the woofers happy although it does mean that the pool temperature has dropped a few degrees. Not quite teeth-chattering but one gets used to the soupy bliss of 30+ to swim in.

There was cause for a celebration yesterday too as Katie, my niece, finally finished her own tap tapping for her Phd thesis on the subject of ‘RNA Nanotechnology’. No, I don’t understand it either but I do know it involves fiddling around with DNA, computer software and a few hazardous chemicals dotted around her lab. To say our Kate is a genius is an understatement, I’m just hoping her Nobel Peace Prize doesn’t clash with me publishing The Book – mind you neither of us like the limelight so will both probably seek refuge in Rouffiac. The woofers and I will miss her dreadfully as she heads off today, Yogi in particular. I’m sure she’ll miss sleeping in a bed with a Bear and several other hairy beasts, at least I’ve been able to sleep soundly without the snuffles and snores of my less than loyal flatmates.

With the last week of August approaching and family going back to their respective homes across the seas, our busy summer is slowly coming to an end. As much as I look forward to having my siblings and their tribes descend on us, I do tend to be forgotten about when it comes to get-togethers. Perhaps my new found life in this quiet little village isn’t exactly riveting conversation, just a widow and her woofers with a mild obsession for pools and plantings. I may live a simpler life but here, it’s one amongst friends and my Mum’s just next door……

“the monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind” (Albert Einstein)

What should have been a week of laughter and late night chatter with the family didn’t start well. Gunner, the last of the ‘L’Horte Shepherds’, hadn’t been well over the weekend so I called the vet on Monday morning. It was his 11th birthday. Later that day the vet called to say Gunner had a tumour on his spleen and they were going to have to remove it. Tuesday afternoon and I knew what they were going to tell us – I’d been through it before, the cancer had spread everywhere. Mumo and I made the heart-breaking decision to let him go whilst he was still under the anaesthetic, I took Mumo over to the clinic so she could say her goodbye and I stayed with him until the end. Gunner was Pop’s dog, I’d given him as a present after my father had a serious accident. He came from the same breeder (and mother) as Macgyver and Chrissie, three of the best as we always said. Gunner lived to protect, he felt it was his job to look after every member of the family and their friends – he could be quite intimidating to look at if you didn’t know that he was a total softie inside. Now our darling boy will take his place along with Mac and Chrissie next to Pop at L’Horte, forever by his side. Look after him, Gunner.

My sister, Bong (it’s her nickname) and her family arrived on Wednesday, sadly for them they arrived the day after Gunner passed away. Having all of them here has been the perfect pick-me-up especially as the pool is finally making its money’s worth. All the water activity has been particularly delightful for Arry who adores my nieces Elise and Jojo, they provide so much more entertainment than me apparently. I don’t think there is better remedy for grief than children’s laughter and Arry’s happy shrieking.

Naturally I had to introduce Bong and co to the delights of Le Bistro nights with the normal Friday soiree changed to last night as it was the only night the band could do. Unfortunately they didn’t stay long enough to dance along to the sound of an authentic Romany Gypsy ensemble of musicians and singers, I think the language barrier particularly for my young nieces was a bit too much to bear and they needed a decent meal after all that splashing around with my crazy dog. I however joined the rest of Rouffiac, twirling and clapping along until midnight – I needed the release.

My little Bear isn’t well. After noticing his lack of energy and not wanting to eat his breakfast, I took Yogi into the vet on Thursday. His blood results showed elevated liver whatevers, I can’t tell you what because Arry ate the piece of paper with the results on. Then they did an echograph and showed me what looked like a mass in his stomach but couldn’t conclude anything. He has had a biopsy so we await the results next week but in the meantime he is on cortico-steroids which have picked him up a bit. Denis and I collected him from the clinic the following day and of course he totally ignored me, curling up in Denis’ arms instead. I am keeping positive, the vets say it could just be an infection so I’m sticking with that and the presence of Elise and Jojo has brightened him up no end. I haven’t told the little Bear that his favourite person in the whole world, my eldest niece Katie is arriving this afternoon. Nieces are the best medicine for not so well Bears…..

“There is no faith which has never yet been broken, except that of a truly faithful dog.” (Konrad Lorenz)