And there you have it

And there you have it. With the bins over-flowing because I didn’t check the holiday schedule and the chaos of another Collins Christmas dinner their main contributor, the house is calm and clean once again. Well, not entirely. Big brother Simon is still in residence along with wife Alba and his three offspring bringing the patter of stomping feet and shoes abandoned in the hallway – an armoury no ankle can avoid. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not just because I love having my niece and nephews here what with all the constant chatter and endless plates of food that I haven’t had to cook but also because I’ve been able to let the reins go and recharge the batteries. I even managed to find whole afternoons to play in the workshop and sort out what to put in my new toolbox that Denis gave me – many a raised eyebrow in his direction over the piles of discarded wrapping paper but he always knows what makes his girl happy. Better yet, Callum called me on Christmas morning, the best present a Mum could receive although maybe not his thoughts on staying in Oz for the foreseeable future.

As for me, the only think I’m looking towards is dumping 2024 in what little space remains in the poubelles outside the gate – the non-recyclable ones. Mind you, with the gorgeous weather we are under at the moment, you’d be hard pressed not to feel those positive vibes stirring the soul. The sunrises that greet you on the early morning run are breath-taking but not half as magical as trekking up Pic de Bugerach yesterday. Located about 28 kilometres away from here, the mountain is the highest peak in the Massif des Corbières lying in foot of the Pyrenees and known for its apparent mystical powers. I can’t say anything odd flowed through me other than fear hiking up its rocky outer face what with the narrow paths lining cliff edges and my poor choice of bootwear. I would like to say it was another proud moment for me to get to the top but I didn’t quite make it – the last stage of the climb got me and I ended up hugging a large boulder trying not to look up, down or sideways. Eventually, thanks to a lot of gentle cajoling from nephew Louis and niece Kate, I slid inelegantly to safer ground below but still high enough to take in the horizon. I add in peace and quiet but I’d brought Arry, Alice and Sherman with us – Arry spent the entire day out on hyper-speed, nearly knocking most of the other walkers off piste so to speak. At least the journey home was blissfully silent unlike the car ride going there which had Arry and Alice shrieking at full volume and me nearly bursting a blood vessel and having wobbled their way up the staircase into the apartment, the three of them passed out not to be seen until this morning.

And there we have it. Just a few more days and we’ll be ringing in 2025. To all, have a great knees-up and I hope the New Year brings you sunshine and roses. For many of us, it will be a time to remember those we have lost over the past 12 months as well. I’d like to give a special mention to my friend Georgie whose husband Iain passed away suddenly just before Christmas. Iain was a good friend to both me and Tony, his unwavering kindness, sharp one-liners and tongue-in-cheek sarcasm never to be forgotten. So, let’s raise a glass or three to seeing the back end of 2024 and to blue skies ahead. And new pool liners…

“I don’t know where I’m going from here but I promise it won’t be boring” (David Bowie)

Stand upright and look forward

I did something this week which made me rather proud of myself. The last kilometre or so of our morning run means taking to the tarmac from Prexian to Rouffiac which rises above the fast D118 main road. For no reason whatsoever and even though there is a protective railing stopping anyone careering off onto the traffic below, there’s one tiny stretch which terrifies the hell out of me. To the point where I want to throw up so I have to close my eyes and drag my canine posse past it Usain Bolt speed but not on Thursday. I strolled past that tiny gap and gave it two fingers, ha! One small step and all that but I gave myself and the woofers a high five.

I know it sounds silly to take pride in overcoming such a little phobia but if this year has taught me anything, it has been to just looking ahead even when the proverbial hits the fan. What with the bloody pool, the promise of a drill pipe that never happened, Mumo’s diagnosis and the death of my beloved Yogi Bear, it would have been so easy to just stop the engine but I’ve kept that foot on the pedal. And now, with the family beginning to arrive for the festivities, I can relax a little bit – 3 days off in 2 months takes it toll. Naturally, the Gods aren’t letting me off that easily – that’d be a miracle. Having a couple of hours to go and do some shopping yesterday, I got in my car only to find the battery flat and big brother Simon had Mumo’s wheels. I’d have jumped into Denis’ camionette only her battery went out the night before and I couldn’t use the van as it isn’t legally fit for the road yet. I called Toyota only to be answered by French robot who didn’t understand my attempt at the local lingo, which would normally leave me shrieking down the phone but amazingly I stayed Zen and somehow managed to wangle her into providing a man with a tow truck to pop by. Luckily for me, he didn’t need it – just his cables. And an instruction to drive half an hour non-stop to juice up the battery, basically do like the locals then.

It hasn’t been all go go go though, I have found time to finish the picture for the signboard which Denis put in place and all the decorations are up. Well, sort of – the current windy wet weather is doing its best to knock down what I put up but I did get my way and extra fairy lights are now installed so you can actually see Papa Nöel and his reindeer. Over a meeting held in the main house dining room the other day (I couldn’t get out so work came to me), there was much guffawing about a certain reindeers tinselled scarf – I’m all about inclusivity I replied. And if there wasn’t yet another challenge to face in the year ahead, it is that of Le Jardin and a farewell, if just for a little while, to Abraham. Our host with the most is off to pastures new for a while. Le Jardin will be undergoing a few changes in the meantime and I’ve been left to hold the fort in my bestest buddy’s absence. Still, I’m never one who likes sitting still…

Merry Christmas everyone and I hope you all over-indulge!

“Still I rise.” (Maya Angelou)

Helping hands and patient paws

I know Sundays are for lie-ins but waking up this morning and finding out it was 10 am was quite a shock. I’d slept for 11 hours straight. After 5 days looking after Mumo toute seule ,big brother Simon dropped in yesterday to give me and Denis a chance to go out to dinner and a night off – something I didn’t think I needed so badly but obviously did. I’ve spent more snooze hours watching the night sky than seeing my pillow. I don’t know how full-time carers stay upright, it isn’t as though I’m completely on my own this time either, there’s a veritable army of nurses popping in and out all day thanks to the French Healthcare System. Unlike the appalling lack of care the NHS provided for Tony. And as was there for me when I needed them then, I have the support of friends – always on hand if I have a business meeting to go to or a supermarket run to whizz through.

Then there’s family too although between living in far off countries or in Simon’s case, a constant flurry of work commitments and aeroplane hops, means handing over the reins to me what lives here. But not for too much longer, Christmas is only 10 days away and there’s about to be an influx of Collins’ in the house. D and I have finally found time to get the top corner decked out, very minimalist in my opinion but D said I put too many lights up last year and it looked a bit crowded. I did give in on the fairy twinkles but got my way with the tinsel – the reindeer need sparkle. The apartment has been decked out too, very cosily I feel. I’d do the main house as well except, as you know, Mumo refuses to decorate until Christmas Eve which is a total waste of the festive season but she’s the boss. That reminds me, a trip to a tree emporium next week.

Thankfully most of the Christmas cards have been posted especially as I managed to order my annual editions in a somewhat ‘too large for the average postbox’ size. I blame the website, they said I could save money by going big except I haven’t as the stamps cost twice as much. The poor chap behind the post office counter had to weigh each one individually as well which took forever and messed up his lunch break no doubt. Still, at least the dogs’ photo on the front of the card has them facing the right way, my darling woofers deserve to be shown off – they have been my furry faithfuls throughout everything. Arry, Alice and co don’t even stir now when the alarm goes off every couple of hours each night so I can check on the patient and haven’t once complained about not being able to get out over the vines as often as we used to. I don’t half miss the early morning caper up the hills though, running up and down stairs between living spaces isn’t quite the same. Mind you, with the less than enjoyable weather of late, the indoor exercise isn’t likely to result in soggy trainers and frostbitten fingers. Just as well, the reindeer have their natty neckwear really…

“A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked.” (Bernard Meltzer)

Storms, sprouts and a little soirée

There’s not a lot in common between France and my former homeland that is the U.K, except the current weather situation. By now, I would have artfully (my words) decorated the front corner wall with lashings of Christmas paraphernalia but the incessant rain and woe some wind has stopped play. Driving back from the hospital yesterday (yes, Mumo’s managed to put herself back in there with an infection), I had to keep a firm grip on the steering wheel lest I got blown into the oncoming traffic and narrowly escaped a broken window as a branch decided to give way and hit the side of my car. Even the usual crack-pot antics of Arry and Sherman across the gardens has been curbed and both are snuggled up on the sofa.

Up until Friday, we had a fairly decent week – cold but gloriously sunny. My sister Bong, flew in for a few days to help look after our Mumo and with little brother Moth in situ as well, I managed to get quite a few chores ticked off the list. The second draft of the Second Book is ready to be sent off to Sally editor and I made a start on the traditional tableau for the village signboard. I also managed to make the Christmas pudding, wishes stirred in by siblings – these might be secret but I think I know what everyone hoped for. And it wasn’t just the inside jobs that kept me busy, Denis and I took an afternoon off to head over to Mirepoix to see a man about a drill-pipe. Actually the same man as we’ve been trying to get a date out of since May but as he doesn’t seem to realise he has a phone, we decided to save him the trouble of finding it and Moth said Mirepoix was a lovely place to visit anyway. Well, I’m sure it is but the only bits I saw were the one-way minute cul-de-sacs my GPS insisted I risked my car’s paintwork in. With my temper at full tantrum and expletives exploding, D made me pull into a supermarket car park so I could calm down whilst he asked for directions. A very nice man in a van then kindly told us to follow him as he showed us the way, ignoring the ‘no entry’ signs and near pings with other motorists which didn’t do any favours for my stress levels or Denis’ anxiety for my health. I did explain to him later that I’d spent 22 years in London traffic swearing like a trooper and Callum reckons his first word started with the ‘F’ thanks to the school run. Oh, and the bloke what bores holes wasn’t there but I left a polite note with his wife with my phone number and email should he prefer an alternative method of communication. Jury’s out on that one.

Still, it’s not as though we need water at the moment. Or a filled pool. And the wet stuff has been doing wonders for our potager – I have 2 Brussel Sprouts! Okay, not enough for a dinner party but where’s there’s two there will be more. And speaking of soirées , I finally got back to hosting one last night. With all the worry over Mumo, being with close friends and having a chance to let my hair down was just what I needed. Naturally, far too much of the grape was imbibed but the laughs and cat-scaring karaoke was worth the over-indulgence. Thankfully our guests live within a few minutes of chez nous so any weaving across the road is par for the course which is very well-lit due to the bright neon blue Joyeux Nöel panels now blinding the entire village. It needs more though, like a few reindeers, Santa Claus, elves, fake snow, fairy lights…

“Don’t knock the weather, nine-tenths of the people couldn’t start a conversation if it didn’t change once in a while” (Kin Hubbard)

That lived-in feeling

Well folks, it’s the first of December and after a week of weirdly warm weather, the trees are finally starting to shed their plumage – colder days are looming. The morning runs are darker for longer now and I’ve found both a left and a right hand glove to keep the freezies away from my fingertips. I have discovered alas that my well-worn trainers are no longer waterproof so the same doesn’t go for my tootsies so I’ll have splurge soon. But at least now that we have a decent stack of wood under the remis for the winter months, the fuel reservoir isn’t being drained at warp speed – keeps the wallet happy.

The balmy temperatures couldn’t have timed themselves better as I spent most of the past 7 days juggling two houses and an extra dog. As much as I love the grand old lady that is the family maison , she felt a little sad without any residents. I would have moved down there but my woofers aren’t allowed inside the hallowed walls lest they create chaos or in Sherman’s case, lift a leg. This meant having Mumo’s canine companion up at mine which wasn’t ideal – Sappy isn’t a fan of my rambunctious rovers, that is except for Sherman. Thankfully, dogs can’t tell what day it is or how long they have to put up with pests as Friday heralded the return of our Mum. Yup, she’s back with her feet up on the sofa and the blazing fireplace – happy house and happy Sappy once more. And Mumo has had her first ‘super power’ treatment which all in all seems to have gone better than expected, the only side effect is extreme tiredness but sleep is good and she can have as much as she wants.

Strictly speaking, my woofers aren’t permitted to pootle in the courtyard either but seeing as I had the whole property to myself and to look after, I decided to leave the connecting door between the back garden and the inner sanctum open. Naturally, it didn’t take long for my three youngest; Arry, Alice and Sherman to join me in my creative space that is the garage attached and for Alice to discover that log piles contain more than just logs. Whilst Arry and Sherman took delight in destroying whatever kid’s toy had been thoughtfully left par terre for their enjoyment, our girl took to extreme sports to sate her appetite for hunting vermin. I have to say she’s yet to catch anything but her persistence has been ok’d by the family as it will hopefully keep the rodent population at bay – mind you, she’s going to need me to fit a tracking device if she keeps disappearing into or under ancient crevices. Still, she’s a fascinating diversion from all the stress the past month has given us all but the matriarch is back where she belongs. Hooray.

And our Mum isn’t the only one, younger brother Moth has returned and sister Bong will be flying in tomorrow for a few days. It’s just as well as Denis and I need to start our Christmas display for the top corner of the acreage. We’re going simple and sustainable style this year – I get the sustainable bit but D’s ideas of minimal aren’t quite what I have in mind. One set of lights he said, hah. There’s enough solar-powered strings of festive foliage in those store room boxes to blind the average passer-by – I might need a little help from Alice first though, I dread to think what’s sleeping in all that sparkle…

“Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.” (Paul Theroux)

Sun, squeaks and a touch of sin

The road between Carcassonne and home is fairly busy and somewhat dull most of the working week as it snakes its way out of the populous and heads towards the calm of the countryside. But just before you hit Prexian (our neighbouring village), the snake-like single lane traffic gets a chance to hit the accelerator as the D118 opens up onto a short inclined dual carriageway. I love this bit of the tarmac, mainly for the view that greets you as you whizz upwards . And its best on a Sunday when you’re the only one looking at it. I never get tired of seeing the Pyrénées on the horizon, slightly dusted with snow now – a warning that winter is beckoning although the hills and woodland in their shadow are still lusciously green. Of course, it goes without saying that I’d rather not be driving back from the hospital still but at least today’s spectacular scenery was coated with sunshine and not half bad temperatures for almost the end of November.

Mind you, last week’s weather wasn’t exactly endorphin inspiring. When we weren’t under constant drizzle, I was digging through the back of cupboards trying to find the other glove – why do gloves always reappear with two right hands and never the left one? The finger-chilling conditions, however, did have their advantages. Me and The Second Book became friends again and I got to spend a fair number of hours getting re-acquainted my furniture in the workshop. It’s oddly refreshing to dive back into the opus after so many months away from my desk although I have come to realise how much of my story I omitted to add. Thankfully, Sally is a very patient editor and has just moved house so doesn’t mind having an empty mailbox at present.

I also managed to get the annual Christmas card photo done, the woofers all in one place ‘click’ shot. This was a miracle in itself as not only do most of them hide when a lens is facing them but the final frame also included Alice and Sherman. I say this because ever since the ‘mouse’ incident at beginning of the week, she and her son have turned into vermin vanquishers down in the tractor shed. It all started when I went to check on the serre seedlings only to come face to face with a hairy rodent. Denis said it was a Lerot but he didn’t see it and I can tell you that was no sweet looking dormouse. Anyway, I called Alice in but the thing disappeared before she could use her inner terrier but as I removed the box out of which it had made its escape, a second one made a bid for freedom squeaking right over Sherman’s head. Now, up until this point and unlike his mama, Sherman has never shown any interest in such pursuits except when it comes to hedgehogs and then he always comes off worse for it but something about a near-miss with a giant mouse has turned him rogue. They’ve yet to catch anything but days spent tail to nose twitching down the bottom of the garden keeps them happy and I hope, less likelihood of the strawberry-chomping so and so’s reappearing.

Speaking of reappearances, little brother Moth flew in from Kenya for 48 hours before taking off again to the same continent, different country. With the Collins’ family dotted about the globe, any chance of a quick visit to see Mumo is taken up, no matter how short the trip. And since I’m here alone most of the time, it’s a plus for me too. Moth naturally arrived laden with gifts for our matriarch as well as his sister. One might think books or chocolate but no, childhood memories in the shape of Kenyan bananas, paw paw (you probably call it papaya) and mangoes. Oh, and a dozen or so bags of macadamia nuts to fatten up the patient. D thought I was joking when I told him where the colourful collection came from, ” how did he get all this through the douane?” Knowing Moth like I do, he probably hid the illegal offerings in between whale-tagging equipment or up a camera lens in his usual array of over-weight luggage. But what with the sun shining as we drift towards winter, like those pilfering little pests, the fruitful feast will be long gone before the authorities can grab them…

“Time flies like an arrow – but fruit flies like a banana.” (Terry Wogan)

Pickled fruit and perfect distractions

Running across the frost-covered trails the other day, a random thought flickered through my barely-awake brain. Whilst such things are regular occurrences, half the point of dragging myself out of bed at the crack of dawn is to clear away the cobwebs from my cranium but food is not what one usually brings to mind. More specifically, Christmas cake. Or lack of. Under normal circumstances, this would have been made by Mumo sometime around the beginning of November and left to pickle in alcohol in some dark corner of a cupboard until the big day but she’s still incarcerated in the hospital so it’s up to me to try and make something vaguely similar. Well, the fruit is drowning in the remains of a Cognac bottle I found in the kitchen – hopefully I’ll remember to add the rest of the ingredients tomorrow.

I would have started the great cake bake earlier in the week but having my eldest nephew, Louis, here provided the best of distractions. Not only is he a wonderfully optimistic and enthusiastic soul but easy company too. When we weren’t off pootling around the old homestead that is L’Horte, we were dining with friends or laughing hysterically at bygone sitcoms over one of Louis’ bizarre supper creations. Tarte au citron brûlé being one of them – he put his lemon meringue pie under the grill. Alas, I deposited Louis at Toulouse airport yesterday complete with a hangover (both of us) gifted by a raucous night before chez mes amis. I miss him already as does probably the entire village but he’ll be back in a few weeks to no doubt sample my attempt at traditional Yuletide fare.

The other plus about having Simon’s first born around was being able to spend a few hours in the workshop whilst he visited Mumo. Oh and having an extra hand to help Denis and his brother finally get the railing that once resided in the smaller of the L’Horte houses up onto the remis’ upper floor. The old horse feeding station was hauled up onto what will eventually be a summer apero area by an ancient pulley and a lot of muscle. And since it wasn’t quite big enough to span the deck, my exceptionally talented pal Jonathon (he what made my lamps if you remember) knocked up an almost identical second section. Not only have the photos of the new addition made Mumo happy, the removal of the cumbersome piece means there’s one less artefact from the old life cluttering the garage. Mind you, I’m doing a great job of adding to it what with all my bits and bobs of half-finished furniture.

With the weather getting colder and the heating systems kicking in, it’s just as well that the gardens haven’t needed much of me or D. Apart from the occasional peek at my growing veggies and picking up the last of the almonds and walnuts – the latter, you may be surprised to learn, made the wood stain for the railing. One of Denis’ findings, you soak them in water and then add linseed oil after draining off the nuts which is not only free but good for the environment too. Anyway, I digress. There isn’t much else to do outside except watch the grass grow even longer under the chill of clear skies. As much as I’d love it cut, the vegetation is probably housing all sorts of little beings and I’m not one to disturb nature. Still, there is much to be done in the cosy confines of the big house – little brother Moth arrives mid-week and I have a date with a cake and I have to make my annual Christmas cards which means trying to get all the woofers to face the camera in the same direction and at the same time. I wish I hadn’t poured all that Cognac into the fruit…

“In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures” (Cynthia Rylant)

Finding the normal in the abnormal

As I drove back from the hospital earlier today, I caught a glimpse of my friends Giselle and Jamel closing up after another, no doubt successful, vide grenier. Whilst I never have time to stop and say hello, seeing the two of them managing the car boot sale every Sunday adds a sense of normality to one’s weekly to-ing and fro-ing. Like Autumn leaves now squishing underfoot as I try not to use my arse as a sled running up the slippery trails through the vines or worse, pick my way across the over-grown lawn vaguely searching for the woofers’ little brown gifts – daily life is, well almost, back in it’s old routine. I say almost because hospital visits shouldn’t be included but Mumo decided to add a pulmonary embolism to her problems so is back in her suite with airport views.

Despite not having much time to devote to my fledgling new business or The Second Book, I did manage to squeeze in a few hours in the workshop yesterday and play with all my presents. Actually, one is still in its kit bag as I’ve never used a soldering iron before and Denis says I have to read the whole manual back to front if I’m to keep the garage intact. Considering he gave me a blowtorch for my birthday, he’ll be lucky if he still has a beard by the end of this week. Still, sanding down a couple of chairs with Callum’s Spotify playlist on full blast was the perfect medicine for this girl’s body and mind. It’s become a running joke in the village as to where to find Sophi – just follow the noise. You’ll be pleased to know that the dentist had a free half hour to put my tooth implant back in so I haven’t read the manual yet.

And since I haven’t had the chance to catch up with friends since the Great British Break, a couple of evenings spent chatting over dinner tables and little blues jam session down at Abraham’s has continued the sense of life’s steady rhythm down here. That and starting my French lessons with my gal pal, Saba. You see, as soon as I got back from my old stomping ground that was London, my language skills went out the plane window. My français was more franglais and my tongue refused to even attempt a sentence. Thank the Gods for giving me a neighbour who just happens to be a brilliant teacher and before you could say grignoter, the words started to flow once more. And speaking of little nibbles, the bio pet-safe slug pellets have been nicely munched by said gastropods who are now putting holes in all my lettuce. The edible dormouse has also raided the line of leeks, oddly random in its choice but D says if it hasn’t gone into hibernation yet he’ll help it on its way.

So normalcy is back in Rouffiac. Sort of. We’re all hoping Mumo gets her release papers on Tuesday so us serfs can cater to her every demand whilst she wiggles her toes in front of the living room fire. I’ve whacked up the heating too – Mumo cannot thrive in any environment other than a sauna even when she’s not fighting the cancer bitch. I wish I could say it was as warm in the apartment but there’s an empty bed in the corner. The woofers aren’t keen on curling up in it either but I just can’t bring myself to move it. The Bear that once lay there is now down by the potager with the plaque that Denis made marking his place of rest. There’s a blog I wrote way back in May 2019 called “Steering in circles” in which I describe widowhood as like being in a boat, chained to a dock and not having the key. Recent events have brought back that feeling of helplessness and frustration but at least this time, I’m better armed. Now where’s that manual?…

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: It goes on.” (Robert Frost)

Past lives and unpleasantries

I can’t believe it’s been a whole week since Denis and I got back from London. Mind you, the amount of slings and arrows the Gods have chucked in this direction over the last seven days has made it one I’d rather pass on. I can only hope that they’ve exhausted their supplies up there and will give us a bit of peace down here. Between the death of my beloved Yogi Bear, Mumo in and out of hospital, me turning another year older and my very expensive dental implant falling out, I’ve had quite enough thank you.

But we did have a luverly time in fair London Town. Denis thoroughly enjoyed his first plane ride even with white-knuckled me sitting next to him – amusingly, considering he’d never been in an airport before, turned out he and the passport control officer knew each other. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I don’t think there’s anyone around here D hasn’t met. And my former home turf welcomed him with open arms too, with only one wet day – I think the English must have liked having a Frenchman come to visit bringing the sun with him. With the temperature so mild, we walked everywhere – doing all the touristy things like the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, the Houses of Parliament, Downing Street, Marble Arch, Kew Gardens, a few parks, Kensington, Notting Hill, Oxford Street, Regent Street, Carnaby Street, Brixton Market and my old house. The familiarity of dodging cars because you couldn’t wait for the pedestrian light and the escalator’s descent into the abyss of the Underground came back to me as we took in the sights – I don’t remember there being quite so many ‘Oodle’ dogs it has to be said. Yet although it was a nice change to actually have the time to take in so much of what London has to show off – most of my life there was stuck in a traffic jam, I felt oddly disconnected to the place. Whilst able to catch up with old friends and hug my awesome mother-in-law after more than four years was lump in the throat kind of stuff, the city held not even one iota of emotion. Even standing by the front gate of Knollys Road was like looking at someone else’s home – as Callum once said, its only bricks and mortar. I did have fun though, seeing Denis goggle-eyed at all the historical monuments and the price of a bottle of wine. The latter, I think, has left him somewhat scarred, that and the price of a chocolate in Harrods. I bought him a tin of Heinz Baked Beans as he’s developed a taste for English cooked breakfast instead.

So a week of pleasant memories to one best forgotten. Except for my Bear, he will always have a corner of my heart. He rests now at the bottom of the garden next to the potager because he loved gardening. D made the most touching little grave. And thank you all for the rush of love for Yogi and the happy birthdays for me. It wasn’t a day I was in the mood to celebrate especially with Mumo not being well but I did get some lovely pressies – tools for a girl who now knows how to use them. Let’s hope I get some time to relax in the week to come and play with my new soldering iron, I might find a way to put my tooth back in…

“A person who is tired of London is not necessarily tired of life; it might be that he just can’t find a parking place” (Paul Theroux)

Sweet Dreams my little Bear

I know I’m a little late in writing what was supposed to be written on Sunday but a little after midday yesterday, Yogi Bear slipped away peacefully in my arms. He waited until I came home from holiday to say his farewell. To say I’m heartbroken is too simple a phrase – I’m just numb.

He wasn’t just any dog. In fact, according to Yogi Bear, he wasn’t a dog at all – he was a Norfolk Bear. Yes, he might have looked like a terrier but only a petit ours could have the depth of thought and empathy (I once wrote that in his bio) that he had. His capacity to just love without expectation or reward was his gift – he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Actually he had very few teeth either and spent most of his last years with his tongue permanently hanging out of the left side of his mouth. If you saw him strutting around the garden from the back, you’d be forgiven for the assumption that a wild animal was passing through but when he turned around, that lop-sided grin would melt the iciest of souls.

From the day I went off to ‘look’ at a litter of Norfolk Terriers and consequently emptied my wallet, I was sunk. Tony too and Callum. I named him Yogi Bear on sight, he had a spectacularly rounded tum and inhaled treats like a Labrador who’d been on a diet. But it was ability to just love that captured our hearts – he wore his on his paw. In the last days of Tony’s illness, Yogi rarely left his Master’s bedside, choosing to lie on the floor at the end of the bed with a look that no Disney film could re-create. After Tony died in my arms, my initial reaction was to find my little Bear – he’d been placed in the other bedroom when the emergency crew arrived. I remember just hauling him into my arms when I found him, I needed him as much as he needed me. The experience gave Yogi a canine version of PTSD – he was terrified that another one of his humans would leave and when Callum left, he moped for days. Still managed to eat though – a Bear needs sustenance. He never cried or howled, just sat by the door with a woeful look on his face.

Yet, out of trauma and a move to a new country came a new love in Denis. You see, the Bear loved gardening or at least, watching his favourite people tending to plants so Denis became his new and bestest friend. He’d sit between D’s legs and silently manage the digging and pulling – a Bear would never criticise out loud. And despite his pot-bellied form, he was transformed in the water – swimming with the grace of an otter in the river at L’Horte, his tail thwacking back and forth like a rudder. Some of his best times were spent helping the kids grow up at L’Horte.

As for me, it is hard to explain just how much one little brown Bear meant. He was my cuddle bug wrapping himself around my chest like a teddy, he was my confidante listening to me rant on about all the unfairness whilst regarding me in a sagely fatherly sort of way. He taught me patience when he ambled up the stairs like a Sunday afternoon stroll when I was trying to make a deadline and no matter how hard your day was, a ‘woo woo’ greeting on opening the door left your troubles on the doormat. But above all, he taught me and all those who knew him, how to just love. No conditions attached…

Yogi Bear (Nordalset Gotta Be) May 5th 2010 – October 28th 2024. May you sleep once more at your Master’s feet. Je t’aimerais toujours.

I will leave you with a quote that says it all:

If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.” (Winnie the Pooh)

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