It’s been a slap on the sunscreen and put the parasols up kind of week. In my youth, I would have pulled the nearest sun lounger into the light and suffered the sweat for a decent tan but as one gets older (and a little wiser), the cool ombre is far more inviting. The pool of course has been a godsend although I have had to teach Arry not to join me as any attempt by me to do backstroke brings out the lifeguard in him. I didn’t think my swimming style was that bad. There is also the ongoing issue with his ears, apart from sticking up like radars, they have a habit of getting infections so filling them up with water doesn’t help. Mercifully, only Arry and Yogi like a doggy paddle and the latter’s legs are too short to reach the first step.

With the 4th anniversary of Tony’s death on Tuesday, I was beyond excited when Fran and Steve (Tony’s sister and her other half) arrived for a quick overnight visit on Friday. We haven’t seen each other for over 2 years so emotional hugs all round. After a grand tour of the property and a much-needed dip in said pool, we chatted long into the night over Mumo’s scrumptious coq au vin and several bottles of the red stuff. With their whistle stop tour of Southern Europe ongoing, the catch-up was all too short but our guests left with the promise they’d stay longer next trip.

Yesterday, and despite the heat, the lovely Lionel and darling Denis got the fencing up. The gates still have to be made so we have had to make temporary ones but for the most part, the garden is just about ready for the next load of summer visitors. The woofers are somewhat bemused about the sudden loss of gate-barking opportunities (although Sherman didn’t take long to find a gap to squeeze through) but I’m sure our neighbours will appreciate it. Mind you, they aren’t whizzing around as much as stretched out under various trees or in Alice’s case, under a poolside umbrella. I had a minor panic the other day when I found Gizmo lying flat out on my floor tiles with his legs stretched out in every direction, I thought he’d fallen off the sofa and couldn’t move. Poor little old man wasn’t happy when I started checking for injuries when all he wanted to do was keep cool. We are due for some rain and lower temperatures next week which should please both woofers and garden, I shall relish not having to drag the hose out every evening to dose the young trees and bushes. The reel and I have an ongoing battle, I drag its 50 metre length out, water everything and then spend several minutes swearing at the damn thing trying to wind it back in without half the hose coming off the reel. That and having to try and restrain Arry and Sherman from ‘eating’ the spray. Still, roll on summer and let the good times begin…Arry style….

“If you’re not barefoot, then you’re overdressed.” (unknown)

With the temperature sitting happily in the upper 20’s and the promise of blue skies for at least the next few weeks, the winter wardrobe has been put away to make space for all things summer. With this in mind and Pip kindly lending me her mannequin, I’ve spent the last few days uploading pictures of various garments and shoes onto the Vinted app in the hope I might make a Euro or two out of my dusted off old bits and pieces. How I ever manage to dance, let alone walk in 5 inch heels is beyond me, I can’t even get most of them on without contorting my toes in pain these days. There are a couple of pairs, still boxed and in pristine condition, which I don’t ever remember wearing but judging by the scuffed soles of the others, quite a few had many memorable nights out. But with Pip’s help, I have been merciless in my closet clearing, getting rid of a past life to make more room in my world for something else. Plants probably as I have quite enough woofers lazing around the property in the heat of the midday sun.

Now that the bloody pool is warming up nicely, although still too cold to swim in, I’ve been busy drilling screws into walls. Having decided to tidy up the poolhouse, I set about attaching hooks for the nets and shelf brackets to the concrete walls. I did ask Callum for advice first, mainly how to get the rechargeable batteries off the drills first before I hot-footed it down the garden laden with screws, hammers and things called wall plugs. It wasn’t until after I attached the shelf brackets to the walls that I discovered I’d put them in the wrong way around and so had to unscrew both and start again. My enthusiasm for such DIY projects has waned somewhat but at least the little building looks organised now and I’ve added some solar lights around the deck to give it a bit of a wow.

Next week, Fran (my sister-in-law but mostly just the sister bit) and her other half Steve are dropping in for the night on their way to Portugal. Since we haven’t seen each other since the pandemic started and Tuesday marking 4 years since Tony died, it’s going to be quite a reunion. Hopefully I can get Callum on the phone before they have to leave too. I had hoped that the fencing would be finished and the building clutter removed from the garden but the lovely Lionel can’t get here until Saturday so Fran will probably wake up to the sound of hammers and Denis’ excitable early morning chatter. I am assured by both men that fixing the rails onto the posts can be done very quickly with some sort of electrical nail-banger, at least there’s no chance those can be put in the wrong way around…is there?

” High heels are pleasure with pain. If you can’t walk in them, don’t wear them.” (Christian Louboutin)

So, after 14 months of frustrations, delays and cock-ups, the bloody pool is finally finished. That is apart from a little bit of gravel smoothing and putting the pilfered L’Horte railing on the back of the steps but let’s face it, those are just decorative. I have to admit I’m a bit blown away by what we have achieved, the whole structure looks like it belongs in a holiday brochure instead of our rear jardin. Of course, the final reveal didn’t come without a few hiccups – Roy and I discovered that the winter cover had been put on the wrong way around so it ended up at the other end of the pool (we’ve left it for Lionel and Denis to move into its storage area) and then, having unrolled the summer cover and laid it on the water, we discovered that we too had put it on back to front so to speak. At least this bâche was lighter so it didn’t take any effort to turn it the right way and roll it onto the winder thingy which, we noted, was too big and missing some essential screws. Still, thanks to Roy’s ingenuity, the pool is now open – far too cold to swim in but looking fabulous.

Naturally there is still work to be done, the lovely Lionel has to fix the wooden rails to their posts and put the gates in and I have to lay the paving slabs for the apartment garden’s pathways but I’m more optimistic now that the end is in sight. Mind you, the outside space might be just about ready but the main house has a way to go. Having made a decision to get the roof checked out before we started any work on the top floors of both the house and the apartment, I had a couple of meetings with roof experts. The news from all parties wasn’t unexpected although a little worse (and expensive) than we thought – the beams and roof structure are over-populated with Capricorns and I don’t mean those people born under the sign of a goat. These Capricorns are pesky wood-boring beetles (Hylotrups bajulus to be given their correct name) that munch their way through your beautiful wood and can only be eradicated with an injection of something or other into the beam itself. Great.

With the prospect of sunny days and warming pools ahead, I took a bit of time out to do some wardrobe clearing out. My ami, Pip, reckons I can sell my high heels and somewhat dated dresses online so she’ll be around next week to photograph the growing pile of historical artefacts so I can post them up on Vinted (yes I have vintage clothing apparently). No doubt I shall shed a tear or two when my beloved 5 inch stiletto boots go but those days of being able to walk in them are long gone. I found my ‘going away’ outfit from our wedding stuffed in the back of one closet, only so much sentiment can be applied to shoulder pads so that’s in the pile too. I’ve kept back a few ‘you never know’ dresses but life as a country gal doesn’t really require sequins and sparkles, just several pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts that Sherman hasn’t eaten a hole in. Or maybe there’s a Capricorn tunnelling around…..

“The best things in life aren’t things” (Art Buchwald)

Typical isn’t it? The sun finally comes out and the thermometer rises and I have to spend most of the week driving or hanging about in car parks waiting for Mumo. Still, I’m the last one to complain about the heat – Tony always said he thought I was part lizard. The gardens are starting to bloom and with any luck, we will be taking the winter cover off the pool next week as it will take a while before one can swim without getting hypothermia. The woofers however, aren’t quite as delighted about weather but at least the walnut trees provide plenty of shade during the day and the lighter evenings mean they can stay outside for that much longer. With most of the garden planted in now except the main poolside one and the fence posts in (not the rails, that would be too much to hope for), I’m starting to relax a bit. There’s always bits and pieces to be done like re-painting my bathroom and getting the spare room ready for the summer guests but at least the bloody pool is more or less finished.

After a meeting with a new editor yesterday in nearby Trebes, I have a renewed sense of optimism and faith in myself to write The Book. I have come to realise that writing a memoir is so much more than just starting at the beginning and hoping you can think of an ending. It is a craft and like any craft, you have to be taught how to do it. The blog has given me a huge amount of material but I have to find a pattern before I can begin to sew it all together. As someone who has always been a ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ kind of girl, actually planning something is a novel idea but I’m enjoying this new thought process. I still can’t write without moving so the standing desk is proving to be an excellent purchase.

With summer just around the corner (fingers crossed) and endless sunshine (we hope), it’s almost time for our twice weekly jaunt over hills and vines to take a hiatus. There is a point when it becomes unsafe for the Arry, Alice and Sherman to run i.e. when the temperature doesn’t fall below 23 degrees. And my body needs a rest too. I’m not sure running with both back and knee support is quite what healthy exercise is all about and we have spent a whole year digging a huge hole in the ground and filling it up with water…..

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.” (John Lubbock”

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you just can’t seem to find the motivation to do anything even though you have a pile of proverbial laundry sitting in front of you? It’s not as though I haven’t been busy, I just haven’t felt that feeling of satisfaction about completing my to-do list that I would normally get or maybe it’s because said list never seems to diminish. I blame the weather, there are some things about being an Englishwoman that never change. If one more person says “well, we need the rain”, I’m going to move to the Sahara. Knowing my luck, there’d be a freak weather system following me.

As I mentioned, I have managed to keep my eyeballs away from endless episodes of Masterchef and the addictiveness of TikTok, the latter being a new and dangerous discovery that requires extreme levels of self-discipline. I went over to L’Horte and finally managed to saw off a piece of the balcony railings to use as a guard for the pool stairs and I finished planting the other beds in the courtyard. Denis and I bought and put in 30 bushes to create a natural division between the pool and the garden and we finally finished my waterfall fountain. The lovely Lionel arrived yesterday with the final ‘ta da!’, the wooden steps leading up to the deck. Finally the bloody thing is complete except for the gravel and last bits of landscaping. Now all we need is the sun. Please.

I think part of my frustration with my lack of ‘oomph’ is The Book. Having decided where the literary chaos should start, my next task for the possible editor is to write the chapter breakdowns – something I have no idea how to do so therefore, got the hump with myself. Thank God for the ability to vent one’s frustrations out on her best friend (thanks Irene) who cleared away my cobwebs and gave me a good kick up the backside. I’m back in the driving seat and tap tapping away once again. I always love our weekly chats especially as I am beginning to worry that I’m turning into Dr Doolittle what with all the non-human conversations of late. Mrs Prat Pigeon has decided to nest above my outside bar area in probably the worst-designed residence imaginable, Mr Prat buying on the cheap no doubt (pun intended) unlike poor Bert the Magpie who spends his days trying to find whatever it is that Skirt is craving. Their abode by the way is a penthouse suite, nestled carefully between the branches of the huge fir tree. I can’t help thinking Mrs Prat must be a little envious. Then there’s GusGus and friend who have taken up extreme sports, mainly ‘let’s see if we can get down the stairs without being noticed by a woofer’. In fact, they have grown so confident, they don’t even blink when I knock and open the cupboard door (I know but knocking before you enter is polite). Oddly, the woofers especially the terriers, don’t seem to care too much about little mice preferring to stalk the rats in the woodpile. Luckily for me, the logs are at the far side of the garden so I am not expecting any new additions to my wildlife park. A widow with 9 dogs, one Peace Lily, two mice, a pair of pigeons and a couple of devoted magpies doesn’t quite have the same ring to it…….

‘In all things of nature there is something of the marvellous.” (Aristotle)

Finally the sun came out and the temperature rose this week, just in time for a glorious Easter weekend. I know it’s only April but we all needed a bit of respite from all the wind and rain especially as Mumo celebrated her birthday on Friday and I threw a surprise soiree for her. I think the last time she had so many friends around her was before Pop died which was before everyone was put on Covid restrictions. Denis and I cleared up the courtyard and repaired the rattan furniture – even if no-one sat on any of it in the end. Too busy chatting by the bar table and oohing over Mumo’s new herb garden. Still, all the tidying and banging in of nails has given the once-neglected part of the house a new lease of life for the summer season ahead. And even though Lionel wasn’t able to come last week, I took it upon myself to carry on regardless with the bloody pool whose deck is now adorned with comfy seating and umbrellas.

With all the courtyard cleansing and getting as much done outside with the wonderful weather on my side, I haven’t done much writing of The Book. Actually, the blue skies haven’t been the only reason. After much discussion, Carmen (the most amazing friend and literary expert) and I agreed that I should find an editor closer to home and one that didn’t know me as well as she does. As much as I love her ‘red pen’ edits, Carmen is busy on her own projects and I need someone full-time if I’m ever going to get past Chapter Three. I have found a few potential victims so watch this space.

Temperature in the mid-twenties and woofers don’t mix well. Being a nice Mum, I have dutifully unpacked Arry’s swimming pool and filled it up. Arry of course, is the only dog who actually uses it to cool off in – the others see it as a giant water bowl but he isn’t alone in his passion. The other day, I noticed several little birds trying to dip in and out of the pool without great success as the water level doesn’t reach the rim. I feel another project coming on, a bird bath. After all, I am currently accommodating 9 woofers, a mouse under my sink and two annoying pigeons in my overhang so why not add to the wildlife here? Let’s hope Arry doesn’t do a repeat of last year and bring a hedgehog home for a sleepover….

“Spring is nature’s way of saying, ‘Let’s party!” (Robin Williams)

My temper got the better of me this week. Having bought two sun beds on Ebay that I thought would look perfect on the pool deck which of course arrived deconstructed, I pulled a muscle in my back putting them together. It’s not that they were heavy, they just had three million screws, an Allan key and parts that only an octopus could manoeuvre into place – hence the injury. Naturally, I ignored the sudden twinge and went running the following morning only to find that 5 kms up into the hills I could barely breathe let alone put one foot in front of the other. To make matters worse, what goes up must slide down the same precarious rock-strewn gullies to get home again. Note to self, they are much easier to ascend than descend. By the time I returned chez moi, my back had seized up completely and bending over was near impossible. The woofers were much bemused about being fed breakfast by their mum on all-fours.

It’s taken a couple of days and a lot of agonising stretching (I did occasionally listen to Tony’s advice on such matters) but I’m feeling almost normal again. Thankfully the sun has decided to come out, albeit with the same annoyingly cold wind, which makes everyone feel a little happier. The bloody pool is nearing completion, only the landscaping and steps to the deck to finish and I’m crossing my fingers for the fences to be erected next week. Frankly, I’m getting a little frustrated with all this waiting especially as I want to get all the new plants in before they die in their storage pots. Denis and I have just about finished Mumo’s little courtyard garden, now full of herbs and colourful foliage bought on our trip to a nearby plant nursery but my own little Zen garden is sadly lacking in everything except knee high grass and a half-built waterfall fountain. I can’t do much to speed up the work schedule as we are still waiting for the gravel delivery and all the pots are too heavy for me to lift without putting my back out again. I did manage to drag all the old garden furniture out of the garage, surprisingly most of it is still useable with a little repairing here and there. At least no Allan keys are needed this time, just a bit of rattan weaving which I’m hoping is a little easier than my last attempt at furniture DIY.

Despite the ever-present wind, the trees are starting to bring out their summer selves and the garden is beginning to get some colour. GusGus is still happily residing in the cupboard under the sink and Prat the pigeon’s female companion has not only decided to join him on the balcony but teach him to coo as well – noisily. I have a horrible feeling they have built a nest above the porch overhang which does not bode well for a peaceful morning coffee, let’s just hope GusGus is a male mouse……

“To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” ( Audrey Hepburn)

Well, the weather wasn’t quite the snowfall that was expected but we had a few flurries and a freezing wind to top the week off. I’m reliably informed by the locals that yesterday’s cold snap is the last one and Spring will now show its true colours. Despite Denis’ “don’t worry, be happy” attitude towards all that needs to be finished both pool and garden-side, I can’t help getting a bit antsy about having so much to do. And frankly, I’m bored. I can’t plant or plan until the fences are in and the gravel laid around the pool terrace so I’m twiddling my fingers impatiently.

Now that the ‘chasse‘ or main hunting season has ended, my three running pawmates and I have changed our twice-weekly route from the vineyards to the forest. It’s a slightly shorter route but steeper as you climb up into the hills and dense woodland above and then wind down the lanes into neighbouring Prexian. I think my legs are grateful not having to negotiate all that clay and I think the woofers enjoy the change of scenery – more wildlife up there for Arry to chase. Considering Rouffiac is only 5km or so down below, most of the area is incredibly remote save a few old hunting shacks down private roads and hidden behind trees. On one occasion we ran down a dead-end lane filled with rusted remnants of trucks, so I turned us around only to see a black Labrador sitting in our path. Thinking that Arry had finally come to his senses and given up charging at such dogs after his previous experience with those on the vines, I watched as the young dog darted under a gate – Arry still close to my side. It wasn’t until we passed the gate I realised why he hadn’t pounced – the Labrador had been joined by a huge Mastiff thankfully chained up and we made a good sprint back to the forest road. Occasionally my idiot dog has a brain.

You will all be pleased to know that GusGus has stopped eating my bin bags and is now munching away on a decent diet of proper mouse food which I bought at the local pet shop. I know it was a little extravagant but I do like having whole bin liners. Mumo did raise the question as to why I thought my little friend was a male and what if he was a she and going to have babies? It’s not something I’d like to contemplate, I’ve raised a litter of puppies but teeny meeces – no thank you. We must be a very popular refuge for feral creatures though as more recently we have been joined by Prat the pigeon. Prat, so named as any bird with any intelligence would know that Arry is partial to playing catch the pigeon, seems to have taken up residence on my balcony. Prat is totally unfazed by my presence or the woofers’, just sits there with a vacant expression until something in that pea-brain tells it to go and do some flying. And no, I’m not buying pigeon food although I won’t be surprised to find nothing but feathers soon – stupid bird.

Speaking of Mumo, I picked her up from a very cold and windy Toulouse airport yesterday. Poor thing had left one freezing country only to land in another. It was the first time she had been back to the UK for three years but as much as she loved visiting her friends, she’s glad to be back home. Denis and I had hoped to have completed her little courtyard ‘updo’, my birthday gift to her but like everything else, weather stopped us. On the plus side and with the promise of sunny days ahead, Mumo and I have a great excuse to go plant shopping for her soon-to-finished herb garden. And perhaps, oh please perhaps, the Gods will be kind enough to allow me to stop saying ‘that bloody pool’……

“I speak a little pigeon French. Just enough to get by with the little French pigeons” (Bob Hope)

Apparently, we live in the windiest region of France and if I needed proof of such a fact, the past week has done just that. Under normal circumstances, one would get hit by either the Tramontane from the Alps, the Marin from the Med or the Autan which also from the same sea but we got the last two at once. Cyrelle, the owner of our local epicerie, told me that the Autan is also known as the Vent des Fous meaning the wind of the mad as it can send people loopy for days. Well, I might have felt like I was losing the plot but actually I spent 48 hours trying not to lose my breakfast – stomach pains, headache and serious muscle fatigue. I could have put it down to something else (I did do a Covid test just in case) but as soon as the winds dropped, so did my maladie. It gave a new meaning to the phrase “being under the weather”. I thank the Gods that the sun has now finally made a decent show of itself with just a mild breeze to make the woofers happy.

I had my last French lesson this week. I could have continued onto the next course but I think it’s time I found something with a bit more of a social vibe. Now that we are, let’s hope, out of the worst pandemic-wise, it would be fun to meet new friends and get a bit more confidence in being able to chat in groups. The Rouffiac workforce are endlessly patient in helping me form comprehendible sentences but most of our conversations evolve around pool stuff or building tools – not the sort of thing one generally chats about over a glass of wine at the nearest bar. Lionel is also trying to learn English so if I want to know what something is in French, he wants to know the opposite. This can get confusing since not everything is directly translatable in either direction and some words just change because you put an accent on them. Then there are some words which, when the French say them, sound just the same but mean something entirely different if you aren’t listening carefully. Last Christmas I was chatting in the epicerie to a friend and Cyrelle asked me if I wanted the seasonal special order for the usual Friday pick-up – I thought she said “truite” (trout) which sounded perfect but what I actually got was “huîtres” . I hate oysters and I had somehow managed to order two kilos of them. Denis got an early Christmas present much to the disappointment of the rest of the family but there was no way they were going to be on our table. Mind you, my culinary confusion wasn’t nearly as bad as Lionel’s recent question:

” How do you say Bonjour in English, Sophi?”

“Hello”

” Well, what does Happy Birthday mean then?”

“Joyeaux anniversaire“

Lionel had been greeting another English client with “Happy Birthday” every morning.

Speaking of Lionel and Denis, we would have finished the bloody pool this week but we are short of a few planks (stupidity aside) so I have to go and pay for another delivery tomorrow. Lionel assures me this is the last hurdle and he can pick them up himself, I’m not even going to think about how long all this has taken or hope that it will be finished next week. I’m just going to let them get on with it and concentrate on getting my Spring plantings in. And now that the hunting season is ending; Arry, Alice, Sherman and I can start exploring other routes on our morning runs as my poor legs are starting to suffer the consequences of all things vine and clay. One can always hope that in a few months a dive in the pool after a gruelling 10k won’t just be a dream for either myself or Arry…….

“There are three grades of translation evils: 1. errors; 2. slips; 3. wilful reshaping” (Vladimir Nabokov}

I think I might need to change the title of this blog to ‘thewidowpluswoofersandafatmouse’. Having finally come face to face with GusGus sitting happily in my recycling bin, I was a little shocked at the size of his girth (no I cannot sex mice but I feel he is a he) – how on earth he can squeeze through the hole in the back of the cupboard is beyond me. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t moved out, slim going in, too fat to go back. With this in mind and his penchant for chewing holes in the bin bags, I decided GusGus needed a health kick. Having put a piece of apple and a few croquettes (dry dog food) on the inside shelf overnight, I pulled the drawer open the next day only to find the uneaten fruit minus the biscuits and most of the bin bag. Oh well, as long as he’s happy filling his belly with plastic I suppose GusGus is here to stay. You’d think having four terriers in the house would be helpful but they don’t seem to notice him which is surprising considering how much time Alice spends hunting the same creatures outside.

Considering the weather, GusGus probably thinks staying in the cupboard is the best option anyway. I’m sure I have had what is known as Seasonal Affected Moodiness all week, that is except yesterday when the rain actually stopped. For one day. Bless Lionel and Denis, they turned up at dawn to carry on constructing the pool terrace managing to finish all but the main deck. Chatting over beers at the end of the day made me think how much I enjoyed having the two of them around with their constant banter and easy-going natures. Both are also incredibly patient French teachers, fine-tuning my accent and trying not to break into hysterics when I mis-pronounce my r’s. Denis has assured me that the sun will make an appearance next week and all things piscine will be finished. I’ve heard that before. They have to stick around for a while anyway as there is still much to be done before the summer hits and let’s face it, the woofers especially Arry, think the whole purpose of men working is to amuse them.

I went to have a couple of biopsies on my lump mid-week at the radiology clinic in Carcassonne. I had thought they were going to cut my ganglion out but the radiologist said it was a bit too close to my boob (since I don’t have much in that department, a wise decision) but she took what she needed and I’ll get the results from Dr Lefevre in due course. As I left, the receptionist gave me a folder with some fetching pictures of my armpit to add to my growing collection of radiographs pertaining to ganglions – what does one do with them all? Perhaps I’ll frame them and hang them in the loo to confuse guests.

I haven’t written much of The Book this week mainly because my older brother is here and because I’m still improving the chapter that Carmen sent back. Annoyingly, my brain’s preference for writing in the middle of the night hasn’t dissipated so I’m suffering from lack of sleep hours. And since I tend to put ‘pen to paper’ best when I’m moving, I’m getting as much exercise pacing up and down the balcony as I do running up the hills – neither of which makes you want to doze off. At least GusGus isn’t too bothered about my nocturnal activities, he’s too busy crocheting bin bags…..

“Tonight I’m going to lay right here and look up. I like it.” (Of Mice and Men. John Steinbeck)