She’s back, we’re off

The matriarch has been released and safely deposited chez nous. And she’s been lounging about and giving orders ever since. I jest of course, she’s not supposed to do anything but put her feet up and consume as many calories as her slight stature can take in – not easy when you were a war child she tells me. Mind you, no-one can ever turn down Denis’ cooking. Not only is he a former chef, he’s a man who loves Moroccan and Catalan cuisine so everything he makes is packed with flavour and Mumo is feasting restaurant style whilst I tend to the wood burner, fetch her slippers, let her dog out – all that sort of thing. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Mum’s home and that’s just fine. To put a cherry on the top of her rest and recuperation, D’s sister Patricia came over and did Mumo’s hair which upped the spirits no end. Having an ex-coiffeuse and a chef in the family does come in very handy.

And speaking of family, my sister Bong (her name is actually Kendra but we’ve always called her by her nickname) is flying in tomorrow to look after our mother whilst Denis and I take a plane across the English Channel to visit the old homeland. I have looked at the weather forecast and surprisingly it looks rather fine, cold but not wet. There’s nothing worse than seeing the London sights in perpetual October drizzle. Mind you, this past week has been a soggy one down here. The Météo warned us of a major storm and subsequent flooding descending on us on Thursday which, judging by the ominous sky the night before, was going to be a doozy. Unlike many other areas down in SW France however, we got away lightly or so we thought – 24 hours later, the thunder rolled in and the heavens opened. So much so that the bloody pool that we’ve just emptied has half a metre of water sitting in its depths . Great for my Brussel Sprout crops but not for trying to get out of the front gate without a canoe. Unfortunately for me and D, we spent most of the day watching the deluge from inside the vet’s office. Yogi Bear was back in after having a bit of a fainting spell which made him all wobbly. The diagnosis isn’t great as the mass has moved and now sporadically puts pressure on his heart and his kidneys are under a bit of strain too. At his age, operating wouldn’t be advisable but on the plus side, his new meds seem to have perked him up no end. On the minus side, I am glued to the mop – his pill-popping makes him pee. A lot.

As I mentioned, me and my French bloke are jet-setting off to the country of my birth and the city that had me spending more time in traffic than working. But in the coming days, I’ll get a chance to see a different side of London with Denis and catch up with old friends and family. As we partied last night away with Abraham and the usual crew down at Le Jardin, there was much hilarity about how D was going to cope with the language barrier let alone his first trip on an aeroplane. I don’t know why anyone should be worried about him, it’s been more than 4 years since I stepped a foot on London’s cobbles and I’m terrified of flying. The only thing that’s worrying Denis is trying to find a new pair of trousers and whether or not he’ll get deported for lighting up a cigarette. It’s going to be an interesting week…

The sun doesn’t live in England; it comes here on holiday when we’re all at work” – (Benny Bellamacina)

A belly full

Having taken him up to the hospital to say his ‘ta ta for now’ to Mumo, I drove little brother Moth to Toulouse on Friday evening. Since his flight back to Kenya via Paris was at the crack of dawn, he had a room booked at a hotel close to the airport courtesy of big brother Simon. Goodbyes and hugs done, Denis and I made our way back to what I thought was the road heading towards home. Only it wasn’t – we were heading in the opposite direction with no sign of a roundabout and in whizzing traffic. With my GPS getting totally confused and me hitting the stress barrier, we weaved across lanes and dodged hooting cars until, thanks to Denis, we found the right road out and I hit the accelerator. It was only having finally got back chez nous via a dive of a pizza parlour for take-out that Denis told me it was the first time he’d seen me so rattled. Considering I spent 20 plus years in much the same mood working in London, it took me a few minutes and a glass of much-needed red wine to realise how much the last few months have put a dent in the tranquility of my life here.

The change in my normally fairly cheerful demeanour hasn’t gone unnoticed by the woofers either, their usual shrieking at the any dog that passes within an inch of the fence line muted – instead choosing to lie underfoot or at least within petting distance. The only exception being Mo who has discovered, as I have, that my serre has been raided by ‘les loirs gris‘ otherwise known as European edible dormice. As cute as they are, they’ve munched their way through my parsnip seedlings and helped themselves to all the strawberries. Denis tells me they are fattening up for hibernation which, having spied one or two, has been successful. At least someone has an appetite. With mine all but disappearing over the last week, Denis decided a night out at our local diner was in store – apart from their indulgent portion sizes, Diner 118 is a great place to catch up with friends and soak up the easy-going ambience. The perfect pick-me-up.

Speaking of putting on the pounds, Mumo is now on an all you can eat dietary schedule which is all well and good except the hospital menu isn’t exactly drool-worthy so Simon and I have started sneaking in home-cooked goodies to help with her waistline. I know that once she’s home (hopefully in the next day or so) she’ll be much happier curled up on the sofa with biscuits and ice-cream at hand. With this in mind, Denis and I have been busy doing all the little jobs that have been forgotten about whilst the more important ones have taken priority. One in particular was putting her Tiffany glass up in the selected alcove in the living room. A very delicate under-taking but the sweaty palms were worth the final result.

And as results go, you will be relieved to know that Yogi’s recent vet visit concluded that his heart and other vital organs are A-okay. There is a mass close to his coeur that will need draining to help him snooze better but other than that, the Bear is doing well for his age. And judging by the scales, he too can afford to put a little something extra in his belly – thankfully he prefers protein to parsnips…

“The belly rules the mind.” (Spanish Proverb)

Perspectives

If the recent article published in The Times last month was anything to go by, I am surrounded by gorgeousness. Apparently, according to research, physical attraction is so much more than skin deep – it’s kindness and humour that knocks the socks off. Like I said, I have stunning friends. Between hospital visits or trips to the vet, I haven’t had any time to say thank you to everyone but Mumo, my family and I really do appreciate you.

As I mentioned, Mumo is still in hospital, nicely tucked up in a private room now with a nicer view – this time a car park but at least she can see the hills beyond and it’s quiet. I can’t say much except that she is due a procedure on Tuesday and then has several weeks of treatment ahead of her, that we hope will be able to be done at home. Lucky for me (and her), little brother Moth is here and has taken charge of dealing with all things doctor and specialist. It’s easier just having one person asking the questions and relaying all back to his siblings and his French is so much better than mine. He’s pretty wonderful my brother. Mind you, I did sort out Mumo’s meals with the dietician. If they want her to fatten up, they need to give her food she’ll actually eat so lashings of custard and ice cream are now added to her repas. And now, between that and what Moth calls her ‘happy drugs’, she is a little more comfortable. I’ve promised her that I will bring over Denis’ sister Patricia to give her a hair and facial day – its funny how things like that can make such a difference to your mental well-being.

And of course, I have my darling Denis to lean on when my mood is less than appealing. And the woofers although a certain German Shepherd did leave me hiding my head in embarrassment earlier in the week after a visit to the vet for a limp. Considering the terrain he manages to cover on our runs, such injuries are common place but at 9 years old, bumps are better looked at. Well for me anyway, judging by the noise I could hear from the waiting room as he had an x-ray, the vet might have wished she had the day off plus the three nurses who had to hold him still. Arry does not like being away from me so howled his head off. Thankfully, apart from a slightly swollen elbow and a touch of arthritis in both shoulders, he’s fine and laser therapy is in the diary – I don’t know if that’s for him or the nurses.

What with the worry about Mumo and having to take little Yogi Bear to have a heart scan tomorrow (they better have a big machine ’cause he’s got the biggest heart), the early morning runs have never been more appreciated. With the vendange practically over, the hills and vines are silent once more save the thump thump of my trainers and the jingling of dog collar bells. And with Autumn almost upon us, Mother Nature has once more doused the landscape in reds and golds – put that with the sunrise and you’re a gonna. As I said to Mumo the other day, such times are just a temporary blip and soon forgotten but the beauty of the land around us and that which lies with the friends we have come to know in our lives will forever be set in our memories. Pretty sure the vet is still having nightmares though…

“To friendship every burden’s light.” ( Aesop)

Calm amongst the chaos

As I drove back from the hospital this morning (I shall explain in due course), I was greeted with the familiar sight of the Pyrénées rising above the sun-kissed vines that spread across this area of France. Denis thinks it’s all a bit samey and rather boring to look at every day but I could never tire of it. There is something so peaceful, grounding perhaps, about being surrounded by such luscious greenery especially on the morning run as the sun rises. And if the past week was anything to go by, I’ve needed a bit of nature’s nurturing.

With Denis in quarantine over at his house, me and the workshop became one. Frankly, Callum would probably faint if he saw the chaos in his once meticulously arranged space but having most of my projects in one place means I can potter from one to the other happily whilst blaring out a few decent grooves. The only downside to being at one with wood is that the building is on the opposite side of the property from the garden so I spent half the hours rushing across the courtyard to tell the woofers to quieten down. Yup, that neighbour’s not happy again and gave me a right rollicking the other day when me and the now-Covid free Denis came back from a fungi-less mushroom hunt to find I’d accidentally left the loudest member of the pack out back. I would like to say I’m happy that they have all been very polite since, including the mouthy Mo but that might have more to do with my emotional state than a lesson in obedience. As much as it isn’t always a calm existence living with 8 canine misfits, when you need a cuddle they are right there hogging the bed with you.

So back to the start of this here blog, hospitals. Mumo is in one. Denis and I had taken her down for a pre-ordered scan on Friday so that someone might have a better idea of what’s going on with her insides when, after the short procedure, we were ushered in to a side office and told that she had to be admitted – en urgence. So we ended up back in the emergency section once again. After a couple of hours of rehydration liquid being dripped into her arm (I call it gin), a doctor arrived to say there was no room at the inn that night but she would have one the following day. So that’s where she is and that’s why I was at the hospital this morning. She has a load of investigative stuff coming up tomorrow so best not to speculate too much at this stage but hopefully, she’ll be released mid-week. I know such buildings are vital but I do hate those corridors. Too many less than ideal memories associated with them. But our Mum’s a tough cookie and she’s much better off in there than here and has plenty of visitors to exhaust her. And she has a room with a view. Of the hospital roof…

“There is no Wi-Fi in the forest, but I promise you will find a better connection.” (Ralph Smart)

Lists and little treasures

If I’ve learnt anything from the past week its not to do all your to-do list at the same time because if you do, you’ll reach a point where you don’t have anything to do. What is even more frustrating than boredom is the fact that most of the projects aren’t actually finished as I am either waiting for a piece of something or other or somebody else to add whatever. And to top off the mind-numbing state, the wind is back – the one that gives you a headache and turns your brain to mush.

Well, at least that’s over – last week I mean. The grey clouds and frankly, November like temperatures of the past few days, have given way to blue skies and sunshine once more and the forecast is looking upbeat. Now that the kids have gone back to school and the vendange or grape harvest is just about over, there is a sense of peacefulness within our little village nestled down here in the French countryside. Alas for the poor residents, it’s not going to last very long as me and the younger woofers are about to take to the hills again – my running shoes are ready even if my body probably isn’t. Still, I can’t think of a better way of getting rid of all my excess energy (and Arry’s) and for clearing away the cobwebs from my cranium. Okay, there’s the new plantings to go into the newly-extended potager too but Denis does all the dirty work, I just tell him where to stick the seedlings we purchased during a recent spree at our favourite gardening emporium.

Considering once upon a time there was a city girl who swooned at the sight of a pair of sky-high heels in a swanky shop window, it’s hard to believe that that same dame would now be doing the same ogling over a line of Brussel Sprout plants or whilst sifting through rails of clothing in a second-hand store. Knowing that I was going a little loopy indoors, Denis decided we should take a drive to nearby Alet-les-Bains (famous for their supposedly cure-all waters) to visit a brocante recommended by a friend. Disappointingly, we were in and out of those doors in minutes – the place was over-priced and far too neat, I prefer those that have bits and bobs strewn everywhere which was where we ended up. A piled to the brim chaos of a veritable treasure chest flea market. The additions to my wardrobe came to a total of 6 Euros.

I might have said in the beginning that I was a bit lost for things to do but next week’s list should keep me buzzing around quite nicely. Apart from the veggie plot, the old liner needs to be taken out of the bloody pool so that the concrete bottom can be re-screed before a new one is fitted. I’ve got a number of dining chairs in the attic to ‘chic up’ but they’ll have to stay up there for the moment as I don’t have any room what with all the almost-finished stuff and then there’s the small matter of the hole in the stairway wall – a result of my attempt at drilling through concrete only to find that I couldn’t go more than 2 centimetres, wrong drill I’m told. Then there’s the Second Book needing my attention, Sherman to hand strip as he looks more like a Yeti than a Border Terrier right now, the village map is without the business additions and the walnut trees have to cut back before the solar panels end up in darkness. And all shall be done one at a time and in well-worn discount denim…

““A bee is never as busy as it seems; it’s just that it can’t buzz any slower.” (Kin Hubbard)

Bartering and blowouts

Excuse me for the delay with this week’s blog but I’ve been out peddling my wares on main street all day. Yup today was Rouffiac d’Aude’s annual vide grenier which translates as emptying the attic or in another way, a car boot sale. Okay, so we didn’t rake in the dough but Denis made a decent dent in his tool collection including two pool pumps (he doesn’t have a pool) and I sold one of three microwaves, a few trinkets, a very nice child’s cot, a couple of bits of clothing and a hamster cage. For some reason the promenading ladies weren’t sold on my 4plus inch high shoe collection (they are English shoes hence the Imperial measurement) but frankly, I couldn’t blame them. Trying to walk down the local rues without breaking an ankle is hard enough in flats before you’ve had a drink – cobbles and all. Still, it was a thoroughly enjoyable day spent chatting with the other stall holders, most of which Denis and I know well even if they were clearly better experts at pulling in the punters. There was a brief scare when a group of kids thought a house was being broken into so the manly men, including D, shot off round the corner only to find the proprietor stuck in his window – he’d lost his keys and was a little larger than said aperture.

Considering the weather over the past week, it has actually been a pretty decent weekend which was just as well as Denis and I have spent most of it wining and dining with friends. Put it this way, I haven’t needed to drag the hose out once and what remains of water in the pool is now a nice shade of army green. And we’ve managed to finish the potager extension thanks to the heavens above – digging out three gazillion rocks is much easier when the temperature sits well below 30 and the soil doesn’t resemble concrete. But it is weird. Normally we’d still be sweltering for at least another month but right now I’m delving through my sock drawer, pulling out woolies and porting a parapluie. However, according to the daily gossip down at the epicerie, there’s another blast of heat coming our way before Autumn sets in and local folks are rarely wrong. Mind you, such a brief taste of next season might be good for my other half as I’ve just booked our plane tickets – we’re off to the UK at the end of October and it’s his first visit. Actually, it’s his first visit anywhere on a plane holding his first ever passport.

Speaking of flying visits, I got to introduce D to a couple of friends of mine earlier in the week as we joined them for dinner at a pizzeria in St-Hilaire. Only it hadn’t got any pizza so we had duck instead. Some of you may remember the wedding I set up for Joshua and Jacey from Colorado in the vineyard up the road last year. They have a house yet to be lived in permanently a few minutes from Rouffiac so were shooting through to do a few repairs before whizzing off again. An all too brief reunion but they’ll be back in a few months and we’ve promised to take them out on town Rouffiac style. Which is exactly what Denis and I have been up to the past few days.

Friday started with a traditional Paella lunch over at amis Adolphe and Sarah’s home and wow, what a feast. The dish was huge, spilling over with aromatic rice, fresh seafood and chunks of pork – as the Catalans do I was emphatically informed. All groaningly gorgeous. Thankfully, considering the size of my belly after that, the evening was all about the last night of Le Bistrot which also marked the end of summer as the kids have all gone back at school. I bopped and bounced along to the sounds of an Indie/punk band – flippin’ brilliant although I think the music may not have been to everyone’s taste. Hah, I rocked the clubs back in the early 90’s and Callum keeps me up to date with all the latest tunes so I am somewhat an aficionado of the genre groove . And I got rid of enough calories to inhale down the most delicious, beautifully designed canapés made by our pal Michel for his wife’s birthday do the next day, served on Michel’s hand-made platters before D and I finished our Saturday groaning over brother Simon’s barbecued lamb. As much as I miss the warmth of September sunshine, my body is telling me otherwise – now might be a good time to get back up those hills and run before I end up buying back the wardrobe I sold because it was too big for me…

“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.” (Orson Welles)

September supplements

There’s nothing quite like a decent drenching to welcome in a new month so hello September. Okay, I know it’s not technically the end of summer and experience has taught me that we are more than likely to have another heatwave or two before the winter but I am looking forward to seeing the back of this season gone. A statement I shall no doubt regret when the woolies get dragged out from under my bed and muddy paw prints embed themselves over the tiled floors once more. As I write this, Denis is stuck between here and the South Coast having spent the weekend celebrating his great-niece’s baptism, he’s somewhere in the lanes of traffic trying to get home after the long school holiday – I was invited to the celebration but with no-one to mind the dogs or D’s animals, I got out of it. Mercifully judging by the pictures of stagnant autoroutes.

Speaking of D’s brood, there’s been an addition to his non-human family. Gaya the dog, Dolly the cat, Caesar the canary and Gypsy the semi-feral hedgehog have been joined by a tortoise. Denis found him wandering around the front garden and with no-one posting reward posters for the safe return of their roaming reptile, decided to adopt the little creature. The male tortue is as yet still without a name although I have suggested Captain Hilts due to the number of escape attempts. Who knew an animal fabled for its slowness could scale his fenced enclosure so fast? I have to admit I have grown rather fond of Denis’ new companion although having one of my own is out of the question – Arry’s obsession with rocks for starters and Sherman’s penchant for getting into mischief when it comes to anything not canine related for seconds. I accidentally stood on the remains of a hedgehog skin the other day and boy, do those prickles hurt. However it must be said that this one was not a victim of my youngest woofer, these adorable looking spiny mammals regularly murder each other I’m reliably informed.

It’s not that Sherman is a natural born killer, unlike his mum who can rid several hectares of rats in seconds but he is a big lad. A recent trip to the vets with both for their annual jabs had him tipping the scales at a whopping 12 kilos, 4 kilos heavier than Mama Alice. Mind you, as the vet pointed out, my gorgeous lump of a Border terrier is pure muscle – hardly surprising considering he’s best mates with my idiotic German Shepherd.

With Denis being away, I’ve had to do a bit of bicep-flexing myself to hoist the re-conditioned petanque bench into its new home court side. The once tired looking wooden seat is now stripped and varnished and the iron work painted green, typical for the style. It’s a shame all the family have left now that the holidays are over so there’s no-one to enjoy its luxury but I’m sure we’ll have a few more fêtes with friends before the winter comes. And now that almost all the summer jobs have been completed, I can look forward to a new list of ‘to-dos’ – there’s the new extended potager to plant out, the saga of my life needs a second drafting, the outside staircase needs re-painting, the walnuts and almond trees to be harvested, the village map to finish mapping and the old pool liner to replace. Summer’s over kids…

“The end-of-summer winds make people restless.” (Sebastian Faulks)

Night skies and naughty nephews

As we head into the last whiffs of August, an odd sense of calm has descended over here chez nous. Even the woofers have retreated under trees or curled themselves up in freshly-dug flowerbed holes, rising only to scream up and down the front fence line at a passing village hound. With the last couple of months being filled with visitations from family and friends, the absence of bodies around the place is taking a little time to get used to especially now that my two eldest nephews have left – I’d gotten used to waking up to the sound of Louis tinkling on the piano downstairs and being serenaded by Maxime’s guitar at the end of the day. And I will forgive them for my near-fainting experience when I looked out of my bedroom window one morning and saw a hand poking out of one of the ginormous pine’s branches. For a second, I thought a body might have fallen out of a passing plane, I know but I used to read an awful lot of Reader’s Digest as a child, only to find on closer inspection that they’d thrown a stuffed gorilla up there. I did remove the potential hazard to any passing motorists but not before the boys had relocated it and hung it off the front door lantern giving half the local residents whiplash no doubt.

With the pool’s water level now reduced to tadpole swimming depth, at least we have the petanque area to enjoy especially when Denis adds in his barbecue brilliance. Before Maxime and Louis departed, we did just that and dined by the light of the impressive Blue Moon that was red seen from down here on account of the wildfire smoke drifting over from the U.S. Even after almost 4 years of living here in Rouffiac, being able to look up at the night sky without any light pollution save our ‘landing strip’ around the pool still takes my breath away. I’d turn them off except we need their luminosity to avoid breaking a toe over Denis’ miniature golf course – Arry and Sherman have chewed up the flagpoles.

It won’t be long before the nights draw in either, I mean it’ll be September this time next week. This year seems to have jumped every other month including August. Oh, it’s still hot most days but not the ‘I can’t take it anymore’ heat that we have become used to and there is a definite Autumnal feel in the early morning breeze. And we’ve even had a few decent down-pourings over the summer although yesterday evening’s predicted thunderstorm ended up being more of a polite pluie but the good kind – steady soaks into the soil rather than leave lakes to be burned up by the sun. As is the norm, Denis and I had pootled over to Le Jardin for another of Abraham’s excellent soirees and a chance to catch up with all the friends we’d seen the night before at Le Bistrot. As we drank far too much wine and laughed ourselves into a near-coma (the overindulgence of food may have helped us get to that state), the constant pitter-patter of rain drops made music over the roof above us as it gently drenched the surrounding vegetable gardens. It’s been a funny old summer…

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” (Sylvia Plath)

Heat and healing

It’s hot out there folks. The woofers have retreated under cover or in Mo’s case, under the pool deck and I’m spending far too much time rescuing bees from the water above – Titanic style. Poor things are desperate to have a drink but I do wish they would use the bowls available in the garden and not try and kill themselves with chlorine. Mind you, with the outside temperatures nearing 40 degrees, any idea of cooling off with a nice swim can be forgotten, it’s like warm soup in there. And even if you did want to lounge under the parasols on the deck, you’d have to take breathing apparatus with you – the blisteringly dry air burns down your throat. Denis and I are desperately trying to keep the young plantings hydrated which would be so much easier if the man with the drill pipe had been and gone, unfortunately he’s broken his compressor bit so we have to wait until it’s fixed. To make matters worse, my hopeful harvest of the grapevine has been dashed as all the grapes have reduced to black bullets. According to a local vigneron pal, I’m not the only one suffering the loss – there’s a new fungus about that loves destroying the white variety which could be devastating for next year’s wine.

Tending to nature has been the least of my stress over the last week, my sanity only saved by having the most accommodating guests in Phil and Rosie. Sadly they left on Wednesday but not before having the chance to dine out under the stars chez Abraham and join in on a bongo drum session the night before they departed. As much as I wanted the two of them to experience a little bit of what I’ve come to love down here, chilling out with a few of my close amis, after the day I’d had the evening couldn’t have been better prescribed. Mumo really wasn’t well so thanks to our next-door neighbour, Louise aka La Contessa, we got an ‘in’ with the gastroenterology department at Clinique Montréal in Carcassonne which resulted in an 8 hour stay in the hospital’s emergency. There’s not a whole lot to do whilst plugged into a drip in a room bereft of interest but I did my best to keep her amused. To respect Mumo’s privacy, I’ll not say what the problem was but I will say she is feeling much better especially since the diagnosis turned out not to be serious and she was released the same day.

Laughter may be said to be the best medicine but for Mumo (and myself), the arrival of her eldest grandson and his new girlfriend probably tops that. Louis and Lenaya (spelling of which I do not yet know) have been brilliant company for her and the fact that his cherie is as as passionate about the environment as I am and can talk as long as I can is the best anti-stress tonic. And she understands the need to use the basins in the sink rather than letting the water run straight down the plughole unlike most of my family so the remains of the washing up can soak a bit of flora and fauna. And Lenaya is the only new face to my family either. Yesterday I finally got to meet and hold Denis’ latest grand-daughter Ana who really is quite a star, never crying once as she was handed around like pass the parcel. For all the ups and downs and aggravation this summer has so far thrown at me, there’s nothing like meeting the future to bring a breath of fresh air into your life…

“We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young.” (Letty Cottin Pogrebin)

New life, old friends

If there was ever a week needed to lift the mood, it’s been the past one. There’s nothing better than being amongst friends to clear the blues and lift the soul. Any traces of self-pity were washed away with the arrival of my old friend Phil and his gal pal Rosie who’ve popped over from the U.K to spend a week sight-seeing and Sophi-seeing. I admit the late nights and buckets of wine did catch up with me last night but all the hugging and catching up was worth the bleary eyes.

And it’s not just me who is profiting from the company – Mumo who is still recovering from a bout of something unknown, has brightened up considerably having these two around and Alice Border Terrier has turned into Rosie’s stalker. Whilst this was the first time of meeting Rosie, Phil has been part of my life for 30 years or even though I haven’t seen him in almost 4 of them. I wasn’t sure if the woofers remembered him but Arry certainly did, screeching at top volume and delightedly placing his favourite rocks at his old buddy’s feet. Actually that’s normal behaviour for my over-sized delinquent of a German Shepherd but the reunion was quite tear-jerking. And since their arrival, the two have been out exploring the wonders of our little part of France under the glorious August sunshine before relaxing over a bottle or two with myself, Denis and Mumo in the evening. And I even threw in a little tour of my own, taking Rosie and Phil up to our local vineyard for a tasting and a guide around the workings of Laetitia’s small but exclusive enterprise. I got Phil a bit tiddly too.

I say glorious August sunshine because unlike the usual last month of the summer, the temperature has stayed mostly in the lower thirties making getting out and about a pleasure rather than the normal 40 degrees burn the back of your throat that we have come to expect. The pool, although having the need to be topped up every once in a while, is perfectly swimmable – it would be nicer if the man with the drill pipe would turn up so we could refill for free but as I’m enjoying this feeling of serenity, I’ll leave that problem until my guests have departed. If there was anything that could put the icing on the cake so to speak, it would be a nice rainstorm to soak the poor garden – we almost got one on the one night I didn’t want one but thankfully it passed through.

For that Denis and I were very grateful as Friday night was all about barbecues and petanque and a chance for me to introduce Phil and Rosie to mes amis, those who have become an integral part of my new life here in Rouffiac. And if you’re wondering, Phil highly approves of Denis. And Denis likes him too. Special coming from Tony’s best friend and one of the very few of my T’s inner circle that has stayed in touch. Anyway, back to the petanque party. Well, everyone had a blast with the locals teaching the newbies how to play their favourite game before the night drew in and energies turned to a right good boogie into the wee hours. Phil told me the other morning how relaxed I was, no longer the stressed out city girl that once was. No wonder, being around friends both old and new – there’s nothing more soothing for the soul. Even if, apparently and according to my dear friend, I still can’t stop talking. Or moving…

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