A Pause in Conversation

If I could sum up this past week in more than a few words, I’d say it was one in which I talked myself into exhaustion. In two languages. I know what you’re thinking; Sophi tired from too much gabbing impossible but such rarities can happen. It got to the point where the muscles in my jaw starting seizing up and my tongue felt like it had done five rounds with a sander. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a thoroughly enjoyable one but perhaps should have been paced a little better. Coffee toute seule on the terrace this morning was absolute bliss.

I suppose I should blame myself – I have a tendency to go hard or go home but the fault does lie partly with others; my mate Sara and Monsieur le Météo. After all, it was the former who said I needed to do something for myself and the latter wasn’t going to let us forget March winds until that month finally passed. And it has. The sun has got its Ray-Bans on and hip hip hooray – just in time for the long Easter weekend. Anyway, back to taking advice from my straight- talking friend ( I have many) and me time. First, a lesson from Jacqui who hosts the Friday ladies chat on how to get to grips with Mumo’s sewing machine. Who knew, I could do so many different stitch patterns in a straight line without breaking the thing? Puffed up ego sorted, I then took myself off to have my nails done and by that, I mean pamper and paint. It took a while, after all something I used to pop down to the local salon in Streatham for regularly before Covid and my big move across the water was well overdue and my cuticles, I was told, were in bad shape. And naturally, it goes without saying for anyone who has ever frequented such establishments, conversation flows non-stop – a free French facial workout added to my now very pretty nails which are now mostly hidden by Marigolds lest I put a run a drill across them. All those people with jewellery tutorials on YouTube never seem to have that problem but well, me and mechanical objects usually end up with less skin on fingers. Still, its nice to wiggle one’s digits and not grimace at the grime underneath them even if the woofers find it a little strange to be served dinner by their butler wearing bright orange gloves.

Taking a personal pause is an odd feeling. You don’t know how much you needed it until you actually do it. Driving home from the above-mentioned Friday afternoon ladies natter after spending a morning doing the same over coffee with our Welsh lass Lisa, I found myself looking out on a totally empty country road going straight ahead towards the horizon. I stopped Bluebottle (my faithful runaround) and just sat for a few minutes going nowhere; I can’t remember the last time I took my foot off the gas and just breathed. Between running Dog Hollow and all that has happened since T died, I’ve spent 30 something years on ‘lit’ mode but in that moment, I felt the switch turn off. Sounds a bit weird I know and I’m not going lulu I hope but maybe, just maybe, that engine has finally put itself in neutral (all puns towards The Book intentional) – a kind of peace if you like. Of course, the last bit of that sentence is unlikely to last long – I mean have you ever known me not to talk?…

“Sometimes you need to press pause to let everything sink in” (Sebastian Vettel)

Atmospheric additions

It may amuse you to learn that yesterday, the day before daylight savings declared the end of winter, the heating finally came back on. Yup, Monsieur le Max chauffagiste extraordinaire has managed to get the bloody boiler de-clogged and boosted up once more just in time for us to turn it off again. But not just yet; it’s blowing a hooley out there at the moment and not a warm one so being able to tuck up indoors with a roasting radiator or three is bliss for the woofers and me.

Not that I would have had time to appreciate the defrosting of my digits had the heat come on any earlier in the week as its been one of those spent everywhere except indoors. A busy few days indeed including another house viewing which I think went fairly well, probably because the tramontane decided to take a break that afternoon – in other words the noise from the main road was less obvious. I must say that the gardens are beginning to look fabulous thanks to Denis’ expertise and Spring springing up everywhere. If only one could actually stand outside and enjoy it without having facial features remoulded by 45 kilometere gusts or incur tinnitus by wind chime. Apparently we should see the back of the arctic blast by next weekend which bodes well for D’s annual family get-together Easter Monday. I of course shall bring my non-alcoholic Merlot of which I’ve developed quite a taste for.

Like I said, a whizz around kind of week. Simi, bless the old lady, had a vet visit since her infernal scratching has been keeping everyone up at night which resulted in a course of antibiotics and eye-watering expensive shampoo. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I hadn’t decided to buy the woofers new tick collars at the same time what with warmer weather hopefully on its way but then again, remember cigarette savings – very handy. And speaking of furballs, I popped round to strip out Contessa Louise’s pup’s coat next door, aka Alice’s other son who goes by the inappropriate name Slim; too many biscuits in that Border terrier belly. It’d been a while for a catch-up on all the village gossip from my well-informed neighbour who had just returned from a trip to Miami and was about to hotfoot it over to Lyon – she’ll be 90 in a couple of weeks.

And Louise wasn’t the only lovely lady I got to gas with. The newest member of our little spot deep in rural South-West France, Lisa (the Welsh one) invited D and I over for an aperitif on Friday evening which ended up being held at her next-doors – a beautifully eclectic and very large house owned by her landlords who are also recent additions to the flock. The same house that our Mayor had suggested I might be able to rent if needed. Hmm, those polished oak floors, antique tables and cream sofas I don’t think so and there was the small matter of a very large hissing feline in situ. I’d had plenty of time to take in the less than woofer-worthy aesthetics as it was at least an hour before we were offered any form of sustenance, liquid or solid – something a little odd for the French but it turned out we had to wait for the butter to soften enough for man of the house to spread on his bread. I kid you not. At least last night’s dinner with pals Sara and Adolphe was a much heartier hot pot affair in their ‘still doing up’ little abode. I shall miss Sara as she is off back to Scotland until the Autumn as her meds don’t mix well with summer down here and well, it is nearly April. A month when, I hope, will finally send a gentle breeze in the right direction for yours truly…

“March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb” (Proverb)

Mellow fruitfulness

We had another viewing today. An English couple; I know that as they asked me what the large vine that trails over the big red door was just as Alice and I were about to leave them to peruse our beautiful house. It’s a Virginia Creeper I told them, absolutely amazing in early Autumn. I did add a few comments about how most of the houses on the street had the same and wait til you see the marronniers in full blossom and had they noticed all the irises but then cut short my lyrical waxing less eyes glazed over. That and my Border terrier’s insistence on dragging her owner off to take in the Daily Woof otherwise known as verge sniffing. I haven’t had any feedback from the estate agent yet but the prospective peeps were here for over an hour and did throw a cheery wave at me as they drove off afterwards. I don’t know if it was because the sun was out today or that the blasted wind has decided to take a momentary pause but I have a tingle of optimism about this one.

I have no doubt that, like most of us, a decent spell of balm in the weather department, has given rise to this upbeat mood of mine and passing a week gassing with gals and getting on with all sorts in the workbench department. That and an appointment with Dr Lefevre which should have sent a frisson of unease down to my nether regions but oddly didn’t. I’d gone in to ask for what I thought would be a straight forward yes we’ll do that request to remove my ovarian cyst – a cyst I have come to refer to as Olive for no reason whatsoever. Anyway, doc said no, as unless the little blighter was causing pain, I should just let it be for now. I did reiterate the point that 5 centimetres seemed a little big to fit down there in but apparently they can get to the size of oranges before surgery is on the cards. As I said, weirdly okay – a head state probably boosted by spending so much time with female friends who don’t fuss unlike Denis who is worse than me when it comes to reading too much.

I suppose I should thank the arrival of Spring in terms of its Equinox for lifting the spirit too and making one just want to get on with things. The afore-mentioned Alice got a good going over with the clippers and her son Sherman a couple of hours with yours truly stripping his winter coat out. He’s always gorgeous but more so now and not just because he no longer resembles a bog brush but also behaved impeccably when I took him over for a play date with my mate Jude’s little Cavalier puppy – he didn’t once cock his leg on her pristine cream sofa suite or dig a hole under fence. The woofers do like to surprise me. Oh, and I finally finished the snake pot. I have to be honest, I wasn’t overly thrilled with the result at first but as I have had a fair few wows and requests for more custom designed terrace terracotta, its grown on me, or coiled itself. Mind you, I’ve still got a load of ex-chandelier pieces to finish wrapping and a gratefully donated lilac branch to whittle into something whimsical so plenty to keep the mind mellow. Might also have some news next week too, fingers crossed…

“Spring is the time for plans and projects” (Leo Tolstoy)

New phones and new faces

I broke my mobile phone this week and had to buy a new one – a seemingly straight-forward task unless you’re me. I had hoped that the screen could be easily fixed but alas no but at least the cost of a new one could be covered thanks to the cigarette savings. I went for the same make as that would make the data transfer from one to the other a simple task but then again, not when you’re me. And you don’t have your text savvy son standing next to you. Suffice to say that I highly recommend the nice young man who runs the phone clinic in Carcassonne, not least because he has the patience of a saint when it comes to dealing with those who can’t remember their pin codes. The funny thing is that the only things I really cared about were the photos and my lifeline to Callum that is Whatsapp and that’s what caused my near meltdown. Well, that and the woofer hair that somehow managed to get under the screen protector as I was smearing it down whilst unsuccessfully trying to get the air bubbles out.

Oddly, this past week brought a few other unexpected events of the more enjoyable and far less stressful variety and it all started with a wedding. Not mine before you think I’ve gone off the deep end but that of dear friends Adolphe and Sara who after having tied the knot, invited a few of us over for a wee mid-afternoon celebration. Naturally, after all one needs to be polite, I did have a couple of glasses of fizz and a piece of cake and helped out playing wine waitress amongst the guests which helped the flow of conversation no doubt between the locals and those visiting from the UK on Sara’s side. It was during one such highly-animated discussion about something I don’t recall, that I noticed a very glamourous lady walk into the throng. Now, I would like to point out that our hosts had made this a very casual affair i.e. no hats and mostly jeans so the sight of a striking, suited and booted blonde did turn a few heads – definitely not Rouffiac style. The latest addition to move into our little bit of rural South-West France comes by the name of Lisa and she’s bloody great fun.

I had such a great time at the do, it wasn’t until I got home later that I realised how isolated I’ve been since Mumo passed away. It’s not that I haven’t been sociable but me being around others has been more of an evening thing – most of the day I seem to have confined my self within the walls of this here property between work and estate agents with just the woofers for companionship and D popping in and out. Now that I’ve given up the fags, the only time I’ve walked down to the épicerie is to renew my lottery ticket and let’s face it, all that miserable rain has kept everyone indoors so no chats over the garden gate so to speak. So deciding I needed to get out more and learn something new, I posted an enquiry on a local ladies group Facebook page which resulted in an invitation to join a sewing club. I was honest with them, I can’t sew very well but would love to learn – come over, we’ll teach you was the reply. So I did and nearly walked straight back out again. A table of cross-stitchers and crochet needle twiddlers was really not my thing but I’m very happy to say I stayed and thoroughly enjoyed myself. No, I haven’t picked up anything yet except make more new friends and book some private lessons in the sewing department. Apparently we are making pin cushions next week which should make for some amusement – perhaps I could design my code into mine?…

“A friend may be waiting behind a stranger’s face.” (Maya Angelou)

Bottoms up, get busy

I almost ended up on A&E on Tuesday morning due to an unfortunate incident that I am going to blame, in part, on the hospital appointment I was to attend a few hours later and the guidelines that had to be adhered to ahead of time. The notes sent by email with the confirmation of my radiology were strict; no eating, drinking or peeing 4 hours before your allotted slot – mine being 8.45 a.m. I’d booked it as I thought it would be easier on my bladder which of course, was a stupid idea as I am of a certain age where the mere thought that you might not be able to go makes you want to go. It was because of this worry that I ended up flat out on the kitchen floor having forgotten that a few seconds earlier I had mopped up a wee that one of my darling woofers had left for me. Luckily, the bottom hit first before the head so I landed up with nothing more than a large bruise on my derriere and nobody was rule checking that day. At least now I know what’s being going on inside the Soph. And I am sort of relieved no pun intended. Sort of as the very nice doctor said an ovarian cyst is nothing to worry about usually even if mine is a little on the large side and going under the knife isn’t on the agenda right now. It’s not as though I need the organ anymore as I told nephew Lou but I’m reliably told that such masses can disappear on their own which would be helpful.

Mind you, if one was to believe what is written in the stars, or planets in this case, the appearance of this week’s impressive Blood Moon was all about releasing the past and all that karmic cleansing stuff so who knows but now that I can put all that aside, I’m back on full creative mode even if Monsieur le météo has decided Spring should wait a little longer so the workshop is still my kitchen island. The once-spider haven bamboo is now halfway to being wind chimes and I’ve turned out some rather quirky pendants from various wind-blown branches in the garden. All very busy bee which is just as well as I’m all by my lonesome on this here property for the next few days which doesn’t really bother me as I’m quite enjoying my own company at the moment and Denis does pop in for an apero every evening. And, I have the woofers plus one at present as Louis needs me to look after Sappy until he comes back next weekend which, considering his dog and I don’t see eye to eye, makes me a very nice aunt.

Speaking of the house and its surroundings, we’ve had a couple of viewings this week. Unfortunately, both were rainy ones and the wind once again blowing the wrong way. In the 5 and a bit years I’ve lived here, I can honestly say I’ve never heard the noise from the main road but then again, I’ve not been listening for it but the potentials have and it appears to be the only problem with this place. Friday’s visitors were a husband and wife doctor team about to re-locate to the hospital I’d just been zapped in – I didn’t mention my association with the building as these two happened to be pulmonologists although I was proud of the absence of ashtrays. Shame as they seemed great fun and she wanted to put a yoga studio in the garage. They have a dog too. Still, we have a possible second look in the coming months from that friend of Moth’s which is positive and hopefully, with the trees back in leaf, any passing lorry will be merely a muffle and the display of colour around the garden a perfect distraction. In the meantime, there is always plenty to keep the mind positive about the road ahead and I hope, the posterior off the floor…

“Embrace the glorious mess that you are” (Elizabeth Gilbert)

Bringing out the blossom

According to the online horoscopes that I said I wasn’t going to read anymore, the start of the Chinese New Year on Tuesday was all about shedding the old Snake’s skin and embracing the power of the Fire Horse. Well, I’m not sure about the descaling bit but my epidermis is currently exposed to a strange phenomenon as I currently tap tap away on this here blog whilst sitting out on my terrace under a hazy blue sky and a ball of sun rays. And if Monsieur Météo’s forecast is anything to go by, we are about to have a little more of a taste of Spring in the coming days; something we thoroughly deserve down here after all the storms and soaking of late. As I was filling up the bird feeders yesterday, the surprise noting of the plum tree’s blossom made me do a little happy dance – a careful one as the garden is rather over-grown and you’d best be careful what you might step on.

It’s hard not to feel optimistic when the sun rises a little earlier each morning and is actually visible out there. And whilst I’m still not at my best, nor any the wiser as to what my internals are playing at, the change in season goes a long way towards a healthier outlook on life. As does having a load of friends come out of hibernation for a Chinese feast served up by yours truly and a successful one at that which was quite amazing considering the main house kitchen only has a three hob top, two of the guests were vegetarian, one was very allergic to fish and I couldn’t find the wok. A much enjoyed and well lubricated evening was had by all if the following morning texts were anything to go by as well as pats on the back for this hostess on giving up the nicotine and ‘you’re looking a lot better’ comments – I’d take that as a compliment if it didn’t make me think how I must have looked before.

Mind you, such remarks about one’s well-being are a great boost for the brain cells as are cloudless skies. Having nearly fainted at the organ-doning cost of the architect’s building team, I went shopping for a new one and found a possible candidate who just happens to be a friend of the Lovely Lionel so totally trustworthy. I haven’t met Hakim yet but Denis has taken him up to the land and gone over the specs with him and he’s still interested so positive vibes abounding. I even went as far as digging out all the boxes of Lego that our family have passed down the generations and built a sort of slightly out scale model of my one day abode for reference. Denis told Hakim it was an ‘English’ thing to do, I said it was a sensible one which it is as I realised all the windows on the spec drawing were in the wrong place and D’s idea that I should have double doors going out from the bedroom would mean I’d be waking up to a lovely view of the neighbour’s fence. With any luck and crossed fingers, my new best guy will be able to start as soon as the lawyers have finished my end.

Speaking of anniversaries and looking good at a certain age; yesterday marked 10 years since I took in a young foster pup named Ace. A decade later and Aragorn, aka Arry is still under my feet. I must admit I forget sometimes that he is, being a German Shepherd, old but he wears it well and is still an idiotic juvenile at heart. As I’m sure I’ve scribed many times over many blogs, his presence has kept me going through hell and high water even if only because he’s done something stupid more often than not. He may not be able to run up those hills anymore but Arry’s zest for always looking forward to the next best morning is a mantra this girl is aiming for. That and flip flops…

“An optimist is the human personification of Spring” (Susan J. Bissonette)

Dry under stormy skies

Tony used to say the best thing about giving up the booze was knowing no matter how great a party was, you weren’t going to wake up with a hangover. Okay, I haven’t gone totally teetotal but if last night’s soiree chez moi was anything to go by, me and my ‘faux’ wine top-ups were much appreciated this morning especially when listening to D moaning about his head’s state. I say ‘faux’ as I have discovered a rather nice non-alcoholic Merlot in our local supermarket although I am in the minority with that one – tastes like medicine according to my Frenchman. I will admit I still prefer a glass of the real stuff at apero time which I am told is allowed and anyway, one should be allowed a little bit of naughty especially when one has to stand up against tobacco temptation. So far so good in that department no doubt helped by the miserable downpour outside.

I certainly have more energy since giving up the wicked weed and going to bed earlier has resulted in waking up with the sunrise instead of mid-morning. This might sound beneficial but finding an outlet for my extra voom at the moment is a little frustrating when you haven’t been able to go anywhere without a lifejacket. If the steady thrum of rain over the last week wasn’t depressing enough, along came Storm Nils. A tempête so potentially dangerous that the powers that be sent us all a warning, a very loud high-pitched one, on our mobile phones – frankly that alone was a health hazard. Thankfully, Rouffiac got away lightly compared to other villages and towns; the nurse who came to suck out more of my blood the morning after was an hour late because of the carnage her way. Yes, I’ve had another load of my precious liquid removed to try and find out what’s going wrong with my internals. To be honest, I have felt a little better of late, I think helped by the re-awakened zip followed by bursts of creativity and keeping fingers away from the Google button. Attempting to follow what is supposed to be a simple pattern for making a pair of summer trousers has so far taken me a week and I’ve still only done the leg bits – I’ve become an expert at unpicking stitches though. I’ve even done a bit of painting and not the on the wall kind. I don’t think Monet would have anything to worry about but dabbing wild colours onto paper is a great distraction as is trying to get orange sunburst off a white jumper afterwards.

Speaking of keeping busy, we had another house visit this week – on Friday 13th in fact. Odd timing aside, the estate agent sent me a message asking if I knew the client in question. Last name Stewart and mentioned he knew Tony. Actually it turned out that he knew my brother Moth, or Tim to some, but trying to solve the mystery did give my brain cells a decent workout so the memory’s fine. The gentleman liked the house by the way and may be back for another view with his other half. By that time I might have figured out which part of the instruction manual tells you how to attach legs to a waistband and my artistic endeavours will start to look vaguely like they were painted that way on purpose and on the canvas. Until then, I shall focus on making spring rolls for next week’s dinner party – after all, it’s the start of Chinese New Year on Tuesday and fingers crossed, one that forecasts calmer weather. Alcohol-free fizz anyone?…

“One can have no smaller or greater mastery than mastery of oneself.” (Leonardo da Vinci)

Old habits, new views

A very good friend told me recently that one of my more admirable traits was the ability to do the opposite of what one would expect when faced with a problem; that and my bull-headedness to see my decisions through. Well, I’m not sure the first is an aspirational quality to have in life but the second has definitely been an asset this last week. I’ve given up smoking.

Dumping an old ‘friend and dependant’ after 40 odd years I have to be honest, was a bit of a spur of the moment thing but since I couldn’t get a follow-up appointment with Dr Lefevre until this coming Tuesday, I took it upon myself to get a head-start on a health kick. Despite Denis’ thoughts on just cutting down a bit, I know me and it’s all or nothing. Of course, I googled the possible effects of my rashness but apart from the hand trembles, the headaches, the dizziness, the need to have something between my fingers and not being able to concentrate for more than 30 seconds, I’ve hardly noticed the fact that every time I step outdoors I reach for an invisible pack in a pocket. Actually writing this blog today is an effort in itself as I would normally be mulling over thoughts whilst puffing on the terrace but instead I’m sucking a TicTac. But, and just in case having a stubborn streak isn’t enough, the headshot I took of myself the first morning after quitting was enough to scare Freddy Krueger so that’s motivation in itself. All that being said, I haven’t yet had the irritability everyone keeps warning me about; in fact I have felt oddly calmer and certainly less stressed. That may also have something to do with changing my eating habits too; sitting down and actually concentrating on a meal instead of doing 10 other things at the same time. And before I lose my trumpet, I’ve dropped the wine glass too. Or at least limited myself to one an evening as I was cautioned against too much cessation at once – the body can only take so many shocks at once apparently.

Luckily I have no shortage of distractions at present. After dropping into the notaire’s office last Thursday with big brother Simon so we could finally sign the last of Mumo’s stuff over to us four siblings, I got a chance for an update on my land purchase. The sale has been delayed due to the unfortunate demise of one of the three owners and the consequential hold-up with the succession. The ‘succession’ in case I haven’t mentioned before is how property is handed down in France to put it simply – generally speaking people don’t have wills so everything is just shared equally with the children and usually takes half the time than that of the contract kind. Anyway, I was reassured that the necessary sign-off for that is on the horizon which is a great mood boost and in my bid to keep the mind on the task ahead and not give in to the temptation twaddle, I’ve taken to popping over to my future little bit of Rouffiac daily. Not only does this give me a chance to breathe in the view, D’s daughter Marina’s new house is literally round the next bend so any excuse for a pop-in.

I suppose if I was going to choose a month to heal mind and body, February is perfect. For a start, most of the party crowd are still in hibernation so I’ve got a chance to build up my defences, then there are those hints to Spring popping up all over the garden. The almond trees are beginning their pinky-white bloom and my Mimosa is humming with the gentle sound of bees. There’s still not much to do in terms of actual work and the ground still resembles a river bed but at least its got a bit of colour now. Colour which is best seen from the inside of the apartment at present as the forecast is rain again, my boots have sprung a leak and we’ve still no heating. Positive vibes, positive vibes…

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” (Mahatma Gandhi)

It’s in the way you see it

There is a saying, at least in our family, that, if you want to Google possible maladies, its almost always better to look at a French website rather than a US one. The former will tell you to take a Dolypran (Paracetamol) whereas the latter will advise immediate surgery. Which is exactly why, after this week’s visit to the doctor, I’ve got myself all in a tizzy.

It all started with the afore-mentioned appointment. To be honest, I’m not a huge fan of GPs including our local one – I don’t think he treated Mumo very well and let’s not go into what happened with Tony and the one in Streatham but since I hadn’t had a health check in five years, I thought best to go and get one done. Doc seemed to think I looked okay for a gal of my age and my vitals were normal so he booked the nurse to come and take my blood. Here, the infirmiere not only comes to your house but at the crack of dawn before you’ve had a chance to boil the kettle – mind you being half-asleep whilst she stabs a needle in your vein is an advantage. I hate needles. Anyway, she took her pint and a half of my precious fluid and popped it into the lab who, I have to say were very speedy and sent me the results the same afternoon. All fine except the one typed in bold and let’s face it, less than one minuscule point outside the box. Naturally, I hit the Google button and not the French one. Well, apparently I should take more care of myself (duh), give up the sinful pleasures (no kidding) and avoid stress (hah). The first two are a no-brainer but the last, well that’s easier said than done although the recent re-appearance of the sun is helping as the belligerent boiler isn’t.

Surprisingly, my eyeballs are doing just fine. Doctor Lefevre’s office wasn’t my only tick off the list of must-do’s this week; I popped into the ophthalmologist’s too. That was a bit of a palaver in itself. For a start, I had to do several circuits of the hospital car park before a spot opened up, then I discovered that the clinic wasn’t in the main building but behind it, with several empty parking spaces right in front of it. Armed with my phone’s QR code message, I then attempted to negotiate my allotted time with the machine right inside the entrance which refused to acknowledge my wiggling screen in front of it so I had to put all the info in manually. The dalek then gave me a ticket to take the reception desk where I was asked exactly the same details that I’d just typed in. “Go to waiting room A” she said. I did. A few minutes later, I was ushered into a room where my eyeballs got a thorough look at before I was then told “go to waiting room B”. I did. Once again, name called and another room for another good peer at my peepers. Suffice to say that an hour later, I had made it through waiting room D and after a quick chat with a very nice optical expert, I exited with just a prescription for new glasses and the advice that I didn’t need to come back for a couple of years.

It’s not that I’ve become obsessed with my health all of a sudden; I eat well and work out regularly but watching a documentary about ways to make you live longer the other night made me realise I have to make some changes. Mind you, the idea that one should face one’s fears in order to boost your body’s defences isn’t exactly what I was thinking of. Since my biggest phobia is heights, Denis reckons I should hang my head out of the top floor window until the feeling of death disappears – not gonna happen. Nephew Maxime had a better idea, his opinion, saying he’d take me flying with him as long as I promised not to freak out and touch a button or three – whilst I trust him implicitly, I do not like aeroplanes either, particularly small ones. I prefer the other of the show’s suggestions – slow down a little and calm the mentals. After all, January’s but a memory and according to local lore, if the first month of the year is pants then the rest of the year is going to be hula skirts…

“Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.” (Mark Twain)

Hit the pause button

There are some weeks, like the one just gone, in which not a lot happens which, in a way, makes them rather pleasant. Okay, it wasn’t completely without the odd and very welcome surprise or two but, for once, having seven days that drift by slowly and mostly uneventful are much appreciated by yours truly. After all, when you get to certain age, time does seem to want to accelerate so those rare occasions when the clock hits pause, yes please.

Like I said, not totally a week with nothing out of the ordinary. With nephews Louis and Max returning last weekend, I got a phone call on Monday morning from Moth to expect him on Wednesday. Now, if you know my little brother, doing the unexpected is not out of the norm but considering I haven’t seen him since last summer – well, this was. Anyway, suffice to say it has been really really nice having him around and not just because he buys expensive wine, pays for pizza and fills up the fridge. Unfortunately for him, he chose the worst week for a visit – wet to put it mildly and the whole region has been on flood alert. And since getting out of the front gate without a rowboat has been pretty much impossible, you will be delighted to know that I finally got round to emptying that drawer of useless collectibles including a large number of expired store cards from countries I no longer reside in plus several dead pens, three balls of string and at least two dozen tea lights. I do feel my Doomsday list needs updating.

I’m not sure how much energy was cleared in the afore-mentioned chuck out but I did take advantage of one of the few dry days to remove the last of the Christmas displays – the one on the top of the corner wall. Frankly, I know Denis was all about keeping them up because twinkly lights in January brighten up the soul but I doubt anyone would bother to take a peek from under an umbrella and no sun means no solar. Mind you, as I was un-peeling the last of the strands off the street signboard below, a lady with three deliciously kissable pugs stopped to say how lovely the decorations had been and how sad to think I wouldn’t be there to do them again. Honestly, with the amount of time it took to cut off all the rope and tape D had used to secure everything and doing it all perched on top of a narrow pile of concrete bricks whilst ducking tree branches, I’m all to happy to hand over the task.

So, almost the end of the month and only one more until we are out of winter. The gardens are starting to stir which is a little worrying as I will have to move a lot of the plants soon if they are going to take to their new home. My Mimosa is looking particularly spectacular at present and wandering around the back plot this morning (a momentary stop in the deluge), I noticed buds on the Japanese bushes and the fruit trees. Such little surprises give hope to hopefully warmer weather and Spring. It’s not that I want to time to fly but it would be nice to have toasty tootsies again and who knows, we might have the heating back on by then…

“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” (Marthe Troly-Curtin)