Pals in Provence

They say life is made for good friends and great adventures; especially one who knows when you need to take a break and gives you a kick up the wotsit to actually book a few days away. After having spent a couple of days lounging by the pool during the day and putting our worlds to right all night, bestie Rene and I hit the autoroute south-east – to Avignon we went. The woofers, by the way, were left in the charge of Denis so didn’t bat a paw as we left.

I’d chosen Avignon as it wasn’t too much of a drive away and I’d always wanted to see the Palais des Papes; gothic architecture being a passion of mine and Rene loves anything historical. Following her GPS (much safer on my nervous system), we got to our chambres d’hôtes in good time but having arrived a bit too early to unload, we parked up outside and took to the streets. And what beautiful streets they were too – statuesque buildings rising up to a blue sky whilst down below, outdoor cafes brimming with people sipping coffee and wine in the sunshine under giant parasols. Naturally we joined them, one should always try and fit in. And we needed time to get our bearings having bought a couple of days worth of ‘tourist passes’ so we wouldn’t have to pay at the doors so to speak. There’s a lot to see in Avignon. Schedule sort of sorted, we took a stroll up to the main attraction and boy, it didn’t disappoint. The Palais towers over a large square, its gargoyles peering down at the pedestrians from the building’s impressive exterior, metal studded turrets looking a bit like a dominatrix’ dream, the stone surrounds commanding the view. But that was the next day’s visit, so we popped back to unload and room sorted, popped back out to town for a very nice dinner and far too much wine. The early hour return amusingly noted by the couple sitting next to us at breakfast the following morning and with whom we chatted over coffee and home-made yummies as if old friends.

I really would recommend Avignon and its sights although, for me, the interior of the Palais des Papes was a little under-whelming compared to its facade. Much of it has been rebuilt and the tablets we were given to show us what it would have looked like kept switching off. The gardens attached to the place are stunning however, fragrant roses and herb plantings perfectly lined up so you could amble quietly through the greenery although our appreciation was dampened by a very loud German lady trying to get her tour group in one place. Rene and I did go to the famous Pont d’Avignon; well I say we but I only got as far as the beginning of the bridge before my vertigo took over. She took pictures for me. We took in the indoor food market and a couple of museums too and the touristy thing of souvenir shopping. The car still smells of lavender.

With the final evening spent dining decadently (and a little more measured with the wine) under the shadow of the Palais, we left the city to take a little detour to visit a little town with a well-known name – Chateauneuf-du-Pape and to buy a few bottles of the famed vin before heading further into the deep Provence countryside to pootle around L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. The latter was just stunning; built around the river of the same name, the clear and I mean crystal clear waters decorated with ancient waterwheels and tiny streets littered with antique shops. Sadly we couldn’t spend more than an hour there, the home journey beckoned but Rene had had the right idea – I relaxed. Well, almost. There was that little hitch with trying to find a petrol station (the autoroutes around Provence don’t seem to provide such emergency services) so we had to veer off into Nîmes during peak hour traffic – not recommended. The drivers are nuts and even the GPS had trouble finding directions to the nearest pump, my near temper meltdown only that because Rene told me to shut up. She knows me so well, she’s been there before if you remember our last adventure in the Mothership – at least this time I didn’t take any wheel arches off the car and toll gates have been left untainted.

Anyway, thanks to her, I had a wonderful break away from the norm and the woofers thoroughly enjoyed being pampered by Denis, even if he did mix up Mo and Coco’s nappies – girl nappies don’t fit boys if you get my drift. Poor chap, I didn’t find out until later that he was fighting a fever – he thinks he might have had a touch of the Covid after Morocco. Thankfully he is back to himself now and very happy to have his girl home.

So there you go, Sophi had a chance to chill out. Perfect timing. Things are changing here readers…https://www.bac-immobilier.com/vente/11-aude/766-preixan/entre-limoux-et-carcassonne/12559-maison-de-village. (You might even spot Simi)

“Sometimes all you need is a great friend and a tank of gas.” (Thelma & Louise)

Thermometer therapy

I’m not going to apologise for the lateness in writing this blog because, frankly, I’ve been busy doing sod all. I know what you’re thinking, impossible but I am on a course of relaxation and enjoying life thanks to the arrival of our Rene. And gorgeous weekend weather. Yup, skies are blue, temperatures are in the 30’s and the pool is full of water. The clear, algae kind. The only minor damper in the whole equation has been Denis’ absence – man is in Morocco having his own holiday.

Not that I don’t miss him, honestly being separated this long for the first time ever isn’t fun but them I’ve had our Sherman to cuddle up with. The boy turned 4 this week! Hard to believe Alice had the pups that long ago and of course, Sherbs the first of the lot, was born on the bed in the palm of my hand. And has never left. So happy birthday to all the chiots ; Sherman, Sabrina, Sansa, Sophia, Salome and Slim.

Like I might have mentioned, it’s fabulous down here in this little village in the South-West of France. Sun is ablazing and the cotton is high – actually the grass was cut by my bloke before he went across the Med, but you get the gist. It’s been a great weekend.

Mind you, the blissfulness of being able to actually swim in the bloody pool after 2 years of plumbing leaks hasn’t been painless – I did my back in after deftly performing what I considered a decent front crawl; body too used to running uphill not prone forward through water movement. Then there is always the danger of being sunk by the enthusiastic Arry who is naturally delighted at the prospect of being able to perform his interpretation of a feral shark; long overdue due to an accidental dive into an empty piscine last summer which gave him a bit of a wobbly for getting back in the water. A little coaxing from our Rene was the best therapy and he’s back to doin what annoys everyone the most.

Yes, our girl is back and for a whole week. My bestie and most perfect Sophi psychologist has unpacked her suitcase, and her swimsuit, to spend an entire 7 days with yours truly. And Alice as a bedmate. The weather couldn’t have timed itself better, the thermometer rising as her plane glided into Carcassonne and as we lay on the sun beds nattering about life and the challenges of widowhood, brother Simon popped in with Alba in tow to throw a little family barbecue and lunch deck-side. Timing is everything; as they left, the clouds rolled, the thunder roared and it’s now pissing down. Good job, Denis is back on home soil tomorrow – Rene and I are off on a little adventure on Tuesday, we’re going on holiday… Damn, storm..power cut, no we’re okay… nope. off again, nope back. You gotta love life down here in the sun…

“Summer is a promissory note signed in June” ( Hal Borland)

Finding creativity in chaos

It’s Mother’s Day here in France. It’s also St. Sophie’s Day. Okay, I know I’m a Sophia rather than one with an ‘e’ on the end but I that doesn’t stop me soaking up the Bonne Fêtes and kisses thrown my way. Since Callum’s back Down Under, I doubt they have the same date on the calendar so I wasn’t expecting a memed message and Saints Days are so very French. Celebrating Mums special jour is a must within Denis’ family, I’ve just returned from a delicious lunch over at Colette’s (his mum’s name which she doesn’t like but I think it’s lovely) with various kin plus their offsprings. We didn’t stay long, which I’m grateful for, as my man has to get his bags packed and I really wanted to turn my glad rags into shorts and get back to work. People, the sun is out and the thermometer is moving in the right direction.

It is said that a woman’s work is never done which, in my case, depends on what I consider the word to mean. Spending hours carrying a vacuum cleaner in one hand and a broom in the other cleaning all the rooms in the main house requires mental fortitude especially when you start removing cobwebs off the top bedroom ceiling and several centimetres of dust comes with them. Not fun. Neither is hoicking out the spider-covered sunbeds from the depths of the tractor shed, blasting the population with a hose with Arry going nuts at the sight of the water spray. That being said, it was an easier job than holding margelles in place whilst dangling over the side of a freezing cold pool so D could drill them back into place. But re-arranging furniture on the ground floor so Louis nephew and I could make space for the latest piano arrivals and making the suite below the apartment look habitable instead of resembling a warehouse is quite enjoyable. Of course, it always helps having Lou to supply the humour but the interior designer within me was quite chuffed with the results. And I sneakily put my latest craftwomanship on display so the odd guest passing through could sigh in wonder . That would be before they entered the lounge which currently holds four pianos including, yes it has arrived, The Stodart. To be honest, I know next to nothing about musical instruments but this one is stunning. The inlays alone take your breath away and that’s before you run your hands over the 18th century wood. I have been warned by my nephew to keep my polishing cloth away from his and my investment, Lou has particular products for such antiques.

Mind you, he’s not the only one with special tools. I’ve been putting my new purchases to work in the jewellery making department. Having finished all but a couple of renovations in the workshop, I’ve turned my attentions to the finer and frankly, fiddly art of re-creating bracelets and necklaces out of what, was once, someone else’s bling but no longer wanted. I’m going to try earrings next week, that is if I don’t have to visit the optician for stronger glasses. Plays havoc with the eyeballs. Amazingly, people like my designs although that hasn’t stopped D from suggesting ideas which are near impossible to achieve for an amateur like myself.

At least, he won’t be able to interfere in my attempts to bend wire into shapes suitable for prodding through ear lobes for the next week, he’s off to Morocco without me. No, we haven’t fallen out – he’s off with his daughter to visit his late wife’s family and I really didn’t think it was appropriate for me to join them and anyway, I’ve got enough to do chez moi. With summer on the horizon, the cover has to come off the pool so that I can change my running shoes for flippers. Tomorrow will likely be our last whizz up the hills for a few months; woofers and early morning warming don’t mix well. Oh, and bestie Rene is coming to stay for a whole week within which we shall go off together on a little adventure and leave D with the dogs on his return. I’d better hide my cache of bling lest he gets creative and starts painting pianos with gold leaf…

“Creativity is intelligence having fun.” (Albert Einstein)

Psyching the synapses

The sun is out, the garden is blooming with colour, the birds are tweeting and I’m in a restless funk. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do; looking after this place is a full-time job without adding the furniture restoration, my attempts at making jewellery without gluing my fingers together and planning a new book but I just can’t settle. I don’t mean the ‘relax and put your feet up’ kind, everyone knows that’s impossible for me, I’m talking about switching off the synapses. My brain is working like a chimp at a tea party at the moment, jumping from one thing to another non-stop. It doesn’t help that events yet to be are in the hands of others, I’ve been here before and it’s just as frustrating. To add to it all, yesterday marked 7 years since Tony died which seems unreal. I’d jump in the pool if the cover wasn’t still on and the thermometer on hypothermia readings.

All that being said, the past week was actually quite a blast. With the evenings being so much more temperate now we are in mid-May, I’ve had the chance to catch up with old friends and one who I’ve known for years but never met. Janeen and I meshed on Facebook not long after I arrived here, she lives down near Antibes but was passing through so stopped for the night. We chattered well into the wee hours over several tipples in the courtyard, a place made for alfresco suppers, so much so that I hosted a little do the following evening to belatedly celebrate Denis’ birthday. Being enclosed by walls, the area has a sort of microclimate of its own not least as its protected from the infernal wind which makes barbecuing so much more pleasant. I even let the woofers join us which kept the kids entertained and the floor under the grill clean. There was only that minor mishap when Saba tripped over a sprawled-out Arry and promptly sent her glass of the red stuff straight down the front of her mother-in-law.

You might have noted earlier that I’m doodling down ideas for a new opus. No, it isn’t going to be the third ‘bio’ and anyway I’ve yet to hear anything about the first two, this one is a novel. Based vaguely on true events mind you. I miss writing, daft I know considering how much I complained about lazy muses the last time I was tap tapping away but the process is weirdly therapeutic – the brain cells can actually congregate in one place for a start. Which is more than I can say when it comes to the art of joining bits of metal. I did finally end up with a necklace and a bracelet, frankly a miracle as the jewellery glue was useless so I ended up grabbing my furniture one, the spray of which is slightly less accurate so I spent as much time scrubbing the goo off the kitchen counter as I did sticking bits together. And my digits. Still, I am rather chuffed at my first efforts so shall continue forth with all things bling. Who knows, all this cranium concentrating might be the panacea to my pouting? And that character I was struggling with could be a designer or a famous writer or a psychotherapist? Or maybe just the first half of the latter…

“You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” (Jon Kabat-Zinn)

Sore necks and special girls

I have a pain in the neck. Mon cou to be exact and it’s flippin’ annoying. Not only does it support what little brain I have, I can’t move my head without wincing so I’m doing a favourable impression of a debutante in training at the moment. And I can’t even blame on a wild night out dancing, nope it’s down to cleaning cobwebs and dust off walls and swabbing the pool deck. Denis keeps insisting I enlist the help of anti-inflammatories but I hate taking pills of any kind – I might have a reaction and be left powerless. The witch in me one supposes. Still, better to be ailing over the weekend especially as the weather is still deciding whether or not to bring the hailstones that are apparently arriving from Spain – Denis watches too much TV.

It’s not that I mind housework, in fact I count myself as one of the weirdos that actually likes dusting but not several metre high walls. Up until recently, the main house had Natalie, our femme de ménage but with no-one in residence at present, she’s on hiatus. That being said, the family home still needs the occasional pass with the vacuum cleaner – a job that falls on me. Now, Natalie is of the diminutive size so I can’t really blame her for not looking up and noticing that the impressive stairway and its surroundings were covered in several centimetres of poussière which had been deposited by my son and nephews at least two months ago after a robust sanding of the railing base. I only noticed the oddly coloured paintwork during a spider web elimination task – I have one of those super long poles with a brush on the end for such, as I swished back and forth, fine brown powder descended. Everywhere. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to clean down the wood on the pool deck and then paint on two coats of sealant (has to be done every couple of years and somehow is always me what does). This I though would be best achieved on a fine but windy day; the product would dry quicker was my thought only the pesky gusts kept dropping leaves and bits of twig to my perfectly pristine planks so the whole job took twice as long as I’d planned. So that’s why I have a crooked cou.

As mentioned, I’m still here in this big ol’ place on my ownsome. Except for the woofers of course and one particular member of the Dog Hollow pack turned 8 the other day. Yes, our Alice had a birthday. Celebrations aside; I had a few friends over for dinner and she partook in the normally never allowed munching of crisp hand-downs, it was also a day tinged with a little mellow. Not only because she had been my 25th wedding anniversary gift to Tony, there is also the reminder that he passed away a year later. Then there’s Yogi Bear who should have also had a birthday but he’s sleeping peacefully by the potager. But we have our little lioness; one who never fails to make your heart thump and not always in the positive sense – let’s not forget that time she took on a 90 kilo mastiff when he attacked Arry. She’s a game girl is our Alice.

At least, I’ve got everything ship-shape as far as the family homestead is concerned as I have a guest coming next week and then a wee party for Denis, a bit delayed but then we haven’t exactly had outdoor barbecue weather of late. As I write, there is the grumbling sounds of thunder in the distance and I’ve had to shoot downstairs into the courtyard to grab the washing off line. But my man Monsieur le météo decrees that next week should be full of sunshine and no hailstones in the forecast. I really hope so as I can’t look up at the skies without wanting to release a few expletives and a little bit of balmy will do wonders for my bothered brainstem…

“Housework can’t kill you but why take a chance?” (Phyllis Diller)

Stay young, don’t Google

Over one of my fairly regular phone chats with bestie Rene, she asked me how I was getting on with living toute seule so to speak. Well, I’m sort of getting used to it was my answer although I did find myself Googling ADHD symptoms late one evening. I was a little alarmed at the number of boxes I could tick; constant worrying, inability to keep still, doing Lord knows how many things at the same time, always daydreaming, impulsive which gets me into trouble most of the time, yaddi yaddi. Naturally, knowing me as she does and being a girl with her head on straight, she assured me I was just fine – it’s a widow thing was her explanation, she has the same problems.

And I’m not really on my own, I’ve got 7 woofers for company and my man living a minute down the road in a village full of friends. Having the place to ourselves has its advantages however, Sherman spends almost the entire day behind the front gate waiting to ambush a pooch passing by and Alice has taken to sleeping in the garage lest a rogue rat decides to attempt a re-entry. I accidentally left the kitchen door open in the main house yesterday whilst I was preparing a dinner party, only to find the two of them had sneaked into the forbidden territory – I wouldn’t have minded except I had to check every floor after chucking them out, Sherman and his ‘social media posting’ would not go down well with the rest of the family. Still, the big ol’ house needs company to feel alive so the pitter patter of paws on tiles was welcomed as was the evening’s friends.

Mind you, not all of my canine compatriots have been able to enjoy such freedom – our Simi is currently resting on my bed after an unexpected but somewhat urgent operation. She’d been driving me crazy constantly scratching so I took her off to the vet. He couldn’t find the source of the itch but a routine examination ended up with an echograph and the discovery of a 7 centimetre tumour in her spleen. Now having had far too much experience with such and German Shepherds, I was more than a little worried especially at her age, 16, which according to the ‘age’ chart in the waiting room doesn’t exist in her size but the blood test results showed nothing had spread and doc said she was strong enough to go under the knife. She’s fine and back to doing what she always does, sleep. My nerves are still under review.

Speaking of doing well at a certain age, Denis is turning 66 on Wednesday. If anyone is proof over age being just a number, it’s my man. He’s still shooting up ladders cutting villagers vines and speeding the mower across our vast perlouse. He maintains that keeping busy and not worrying about tomorrow keeps him young and fit. He doesn’t have a computer either. I’d take a leaf out of his book except I’ve spent the morning mopping up the flood that the washing machine he ‘fixed’ last night and I impulsively decided to turn on, emptied over the laundry room. Ah well, no time to sit still and daydream – this widow’s got a hundred and one things to do…

“I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.” (Jennifer Yane)

stay young at heart (and away from washing machines)

Funny feelings

I woke up this morning feeling oddly unsettled. Probably last week’s fault – it didn’t start well, got better in the middle and a bit flat at the end. It didn’t help that I asked Monsieur le Max chauffagiste extraodinaire to turn off the heating as the main house lay mostly void of human life and then the weather suddenly went arctic yesterday. And let’s not get into a conversation about the bloody pool; naturally it decided to spring a leak in one of the skimmer pipes. I had warned Denis that I thought there was a problem which he insisted there wasn’t so I made him crawl under the deck and yup, a massive crack in the tubing. He was lucky not to have felt the force of my ire although I stroppily refused to go to his annual Easter Monday family lunch.

Actually, opting out of Denis’ do wasn’t such a bad decision as nephew Louis returned to join his brother Maxime here for a few days so I got thoroughly spoilt by the two of them. Fabulous meals and much hilarity over the dining table. Both left mid-week to spend a bit of time with their mum in the Savoie taking Mumo’s dog Sappy along for the ride. She’s Louis’ canine companion now and I can’t say I’ll miss her especially as she left a number of smelly deposits on the piano carpet in her wake. I shall take her owner to task when he returns mid-May.

Aah, May. Just round the corner with, according to the météo man, sunshine. It may sound sexist to refer to such a person as male but he is almost always wrong – I state my case. Mind you, Mother Nature (definitely female as she can put her mind to anything) seems to be delighted with the wacky weather; things are flowering which never flowered before. Mumo’s courtyard is overflowing with colour and the irises she planted which never did much are now blooming yellow. As much as it’s beautiful to look at, you can’t helping feeling a little melancholy that she isn’t here to enjoy the view.

As I mentioned, the main house was left empty once the boys went, save this weekend when brother Simon and wife Alba popped over. On the plus side, the woofers and I had the entire property to ourselves although they aren’t allowed in the big bit as Sherman is likely to leave a few messages up the furniture but it did mean I could leave the inside gates open and the courtyard door. The latter was a necessity as I’d noticed rat droppings in the garage so I unleashed the hunter that is Alice to do her thing. Yet, apart from running up and down the stairs with the duster and lighting the fire as it warms the apartment upstairs, I barely set foot in the family home – it doesn’t feel much like a home when there’s nobody in it. Probably another reason for the oddly unsettled feeling. And for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be toute seule once more although hopefully in shorts and flip flops which will no doubt improve the mood. It does beg the question however as to what the future holds for this place. And the widow plus woofers…

“Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect” (Margaret Mitchell)

Birds, blossoms and bye byes

I know one should be used to the oddities that come with living in a little village nestled amongst the hills and vines of South-West France but seeing a couple of peacocks on top of the remis yesterday morning was a bit of a surprise even by Rouffiac standards. Thankfully they didn’t stay long; apart from not wanting my woofers to get a mouthful of brightly coloured feathers, we have quite enough avians increasing their population on the property . Actually these two lovebirds are well known round here as they have been residing in various local back gardens over the last couple of years, including Denis’ although no-one knows where they came from. I don’t know how they got onto that roof either, I’ve never thought of them as aerobatic and judging by the ‘wife’s’ hesitation in runway procedures, I don’t think she knew any more than me. Ah well, it makes a change from the traditional Easter Bunny and I haven’t seen any eggs rolling off the tiles.

Considering it’s the holiday weekend, we are blessed today with another break from the norm – the sun is out. I say this because most of last week had us dressed in sou’westers what between the wet stuff and the wind. At least Callum made it out safely and is now back on Aussie soil recovering from less than ideal 18 hour flight nausea; not as bad as usual however he tells me. As partings go, it wasn’t too emotional on my part or his as we both realised it was time and I did get him to pose for the obligatory photo for his mother’s collection – something he dreads every time but I can’t help having such a gorgeous son.

Apart from the departure Down Under date, I’ve spent most of the last 7 days in the workshop due to the unseasonable season. Denis and I did manage to get out from under the umbrellas one afternoon and nip off to nearby Couffoulens so I could indulge in a bit of therapy – the plant kind. The potager has been looking woefully empty of late and if there is one place which knows when to put your summer salad items in, it’s the giant garden shop at the above. Unfortunately, due to the ghastly gusts, we can’t put tomatoes in yet but we did come away with two dozen lettuces and a rose. I really don’t need another rose but this one was so beautiful and anyway, D bought it for me and it fits in perfectly. And if the other fruits and florals budding across our terre right now are anything to go by, summer’s prospects are looking good. Even the bloody pool is behaving, albeit that minor glitch with the pump motor seizing up on account of a very stinky filter.

Speaking of blessed blossoms, the main house has its own at the moment with brother Simon and Alba in situ and my nephew Max – all soon to be joined by other nephew Louis tomorrow. He tells me he’s bring The Piano with him; the one I invested in and the one that will join the other three pianos currently taking up space in the living and dining rooms. The sofa suite will end up in the remis at this rate giving the peacocks the perfect place to poop and pop a few eggs. Happy Easter everyone!

““A peacock has too little in its head, too much in its tail.” (Swedish proverb)

Familiar faces, fiddly bits and fresh pools

Considering I spend most weeks covered in dust and remnants of varnish, the events of the past 7 days were a refreshing change – and in clean jeans too. I’ve been quite the girl around town; tea with the ladies on Tuesday, a lesson in jewellery making on Wednesday, lunch out with Saba on Thursday, picked up my bestie Rene from the airport on Friday and then put together a little soirée with friends last night before taking said bestie back to the airport an hour ago. Oh, then there was that extra little something that finally took shape – the bloody pool now has a nice brightly coloured liner.

Okay, so the sight of me holding a teapot instead of a wine bottle might appear a little odd but Mumo and her friends used to have a weekly get-together over fine china and nibbly biscuits so I’m taking her place. I have to admit the accompanying cookie collection was a little thin as Callum had got to the packets before me but it was a very nice afternoon nevertheless spent catching up on the ‘who’s doing what’ news. Very grown-up. And as they always say, you’re never too old to learn something so I took up the offer for a tutorial in the finer art of twisting metal and bead-threading with another one of Mumo’s gal pals. I would like to point out that such a craft is much more difficult than it looks even with your specs on. Still, Jan gave me a few tools and bits and pieces to practise on and I’ve dug out my magnifying glass. Over lunch with Saba the following day, I mentioned that further lessons would include soldering which would be great as I have yet to use mine – she suggested a health and safety course first.

Luckily, for me, and her, popping over the Channel for a weekend is relatively cheap this time of year so I had our Rene for a wonderful 48 hours. Knowing me as well as she does and because she couldn’t come to Mumo’s funeral, she had booked herself a little ‘Sophi’ time as soon as she could. I just wish the weather hadn’t decided to change its sunny mind at the end of the week but at least the rain stayed away until this morning. Good job really as I’d carefully planned the party out in the courtyard and no-one likes a soggy seat. It goes without saying that the night was thoroughly enjoyable – platters of lemon chicken (Mumo’s recipe), D’s barbecued sausages and my speciality that is a French Tomato tart getting the thumbs up as I rushed around with the more familiar accessory – wine bottles. No doubt, I shall host another when Rene comes back in June but in a different location, like by the pool. The one that is currently filling up with water and keeping its precious liquid within for once in its life. Roll on summer and friends and fiddly tea cups…

“A good friend is a connection to life — a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.” ( Lois Wyse)

Dog hair and treasure chairs

I shall begin today’s blog with a cautionary tale. Should you be of the sort (like me) who allows their woofers to loll about on sofas, there will come a day of regret for allowing such liberties. Like when you decide to sell your 3 comfy canapés and discover that nothing, including Scotch tape and a hired cleaning machine, works on dog hair except tweezers. I have spent what should have been a weekend lazing under the April sun, picking out that which embedded itself in the fabric. One by one. Not only that but the machine gave up this morning, hardly surprising given the colour of the water so I’ve had to wash the remaining cushions by hand. At least they can dry outside now that the météo has decided that it is Spring and not mid-winter.

Yup, we finally have some decent warmth and blue skies after a week of blustery gales and chilly downpours. Denis once again had the pump on full throttle ridding the bloody pool of the weather’s offerings and due to the Siberian temperature inside the workshop, I took what needed to be primed and polished upstairs to the apartment. There was however, one afternoon spent in the garage’s icy depths emptying boxes of nutrient-rich ‘drip bags’ that had been part of Mumo’s medical care. The company who shipped the stuff didn’t appear the slightest bit interested in recuperating such vital vitamins so I chucked the lot over the potagers – brother Simon suggested we might end up with triffids running riot in Rouffiac instead of robust raspberries. Whilst I realise that such supplements cannot be re-sold in case we’ve popped poison in them, it does seem an incredible waste of what could be life-saving supplements but my soil will likely thank me this summer.

Not that the man-child will be able to sample the spoils, he’s off back Down Under the week after next now his visa has come through. As much as I love and will definitely miss Callum, it’s time to let him go and carry on his life – having him around has been the best therapy a Mum could have but if he stays much longer I’m going to end up looking like a whale. He’s a damn good cook. At least the thigh-burning morning run keeps the bloat at bay and is an adequate substitute for calming the mind. That and going shopping and finding a set of gorgeous Gothic dining chairs in Parchemin, the local recycling emporium. I love that place, not just because of the ridiculously cheap bargains in the clothes aisles (you pay 4 euros a kilo) but there is always a chance of spying a treasure or four. However, it is worth bearing in mind the size of one’s car when you make such purchases. Still, they are rather beautiful and will take up less space than the sofas, leather is easier to clean and the woofers can’t sit on them…

“My fashion philosophy is, if you’re not covered in dog hair, your life is empty” (Elayne Booster)