artist – Widow plus woofs

It goes without saying that, looking back on the nearly 7 years of writing this blog, there’ve been a fair few milestones inscribed on its stone. Admittedly, most etchings tend to be somewhat depressing so I am particularly proud to add a sparkly one today. Yup, it’s official, I am now a registered jewellery designer and licensed to bling. Actually, the exact name for my trade is ‘createur de bijoux fantasie’ which, by the way, does not mean I’m plying my wares in Ann Summers so keep your heads out of the gutter. According to the very nice man in the office, the fantasie bit separates me from those who work with real gemstones and precious metals as opposed to moi who twists copper wire and whittles wood. Anyway, suffice to say that I am absolutely delighted that the almost impossible to say in French, Witch Wackle, is now a legitimate microenterprise. Dead chuffed.

And Witch Wackle wasn’t the only start-up to open its doors this week, the pizza van fired up its ovens for the rumbly tums on Friday evening. It’s not the first time I’ve invested in a local business but I do love pizza and Christophe knows how to flip ’em. Charmingly gruff and built like a boxer (he was once Marie le Pen’s bodyguard), Christophe has become a good friend and is no stranger to running food trucks so I was happy to help and he did accompany me through all the government paperwork needed to get the bijoux signature. Between Le Jardin, Pizza King and now Witch Wackle, I feel like quite the business woman, which considering I failed maths, French, cookery and art at school, is an accomplishment in itself.

So here I am, proper suited and all, except in torn jeans and scuffed boots, making my own little marker here in this little village hidden amongst the vines in deepest South-West France – a place that brought everyone together on Tuesday to mark Remembrance Day outside the church. Although it wasn’t the sort of occasion where peeps dressed up to the nines, I did pin a poppy badge to my jumper which was joined soon after by a blue paper flower. These are the French symbols of commemoration so I felt very honoured to be given one and place the two side by side. The service was, as always, poignant and respectful, especially as most of the readings were down by local schoolchildren who also ended the morning with a rousing rendition of something unfamiliar but that might have been down to all the notes sung but not necessarily in the right order.

Speaking of all things creative and community, the coming week will see me wearing yet another hat – it’s time to start designing the corner wall’s display and panneau. My artistic ability is hardly Louvre quality but me painting the seasonal scene on the signboard down the road has become a tradition, much like how much Christmas kitsch we can cram into the bit of garden over-looking it. I have promised Denis a little more taste this year and less luminosity although he did raise an eyebrow when I mentioned leaping reindeer and why not dangle Santa from the almond tree so we’ll see. After all, one should always have a bit of fantasie…

“If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities” (Maya Angelou)

I spent most of yesterday evening, last night and early this morning doing a passable imitation of a cat on a hot tin roof. Forget trapped nerves, this one was doing a runner; one minute in my back and the next whizzing around my ankles. Louis thinks it’s because my body isn’t used to being in ‘Zen’ mode – my synapses have gotten bored with the lack of sparkiness or maybe the change from running to swimming has my muscles confused, who knows but it’s painful. Mind you, dancing on top of chairs on Friday night might have tweaked something; I avoided the table as that really wasn’t safe. Suffice to say, I have given in and taken a painkiller much as I hate downing pills but needs must if I’m to stay sane.

I blame the weather. With the thermometer hitting 40 degrees in the shade, it’s not surprising one wants to stay indoors. Even the poor birds are panting. I dug out a large plant pot reservoir and filled it up with eau so they can at least paddle a bit. The swallows have the advantage of speed when it comes to filling their tanks, swooping across the pool surface for milliseconds but not all are so lucky – I found a dead magpie in the skimmers the other day. Horrible. As for the woofers, they’ve dug holes in the flowerbeds to stay cool – either that or flopped on the tiled apartment floor. That is except for Arry who is spending as much time in the piscine as out of it. I won’t mention my battle with the hosepipe other than to say I get wetter than the flora.

Still, there is an upside to holing up chez moi; the jewellery side of Witch Wackle is keeping me plenty busy. Now that my bits and bobs are on display in the épicerie, I have to keep an eye on what gets sold whilst creating new collections. Now that summer has officially begun, it seems that all things beach-vibey are in – Denis’ gift of a load of little shells from his recent fishing expedition and me creating bracelets out of an old coral necklace going down very well. The only problem is that the cabinet I need to finish so that I can move my stuff off the kitchen island is languishing in the garage – sanding and sweat do not mix well. I did try using the heat gun to remove the layers of old paint but you can guess why that mission was aborted.

Speaking of perspiration, we had a right good knees up at Le P’tit Bistrot on Friday night even if my choice of clothing had rivulets running down my back. Jeans and jumping about on a sweltering summer night probably not the best choice of party wear, I could have nipped home and changed into shorts but the music was too good to miss out on. This weekend has been all about ‘La Fête de la Musique’ across our area of France; villages and towns hosting various events and Rouffiac was no different. That’s how I ended up wiggling precariously on a plastic garden chair to the sounds of an incredible drum band and a rather brilliant singer who played tunes on request – friend Sara and I helping him out with ‘pom pom pom’ chorus of Sweet Caroline. ah well, Mumo always did say my hedonistic lifestyle would catch up with me one day, I just wish it would stay away from my heinie…

““It’s a sure sign of summer if the chair gets up when you do” (Walter Winchell)