Chews and Hues

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, anyone who thinks sharing your life with 8 dogs is a blissful existence doesn’t know my woofers. One of them has munched through my phone charger cable. I can rule out Simi, she only gets out of bed for food and since Yogi Bear only has three teeth, I doubt he’s capable of chewing through anything. Coco Loco wouldn’t either, far too dangerous for his sensitive soul and as for Arry, he’d have eaten the whole thing including the plug it was attached to. That leaves four although Mo rarely goes into my bedroom and Neo prefers human legs to electrical outlets so the most likely culprit is either Alice or Sherman. But since I don’t have a handy DNA kit lying about, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to buy another charger – Denis did his best to find one I could borrow to no avail, gone are the days when one cable fitted all, modern times hmm. Naturally, the only person I know with the same make and model of my phone is Callum and of course, I can’t call him obviously and even if someone could, he’s off line working on a farm somewhere in South Australia.

At least whoever did the crime waited until the best of the weekend was over, it’s been quite a social whirl over the last few days. Friday marked the start of Le Petit Bistrot season, Rouffiac’s weekly village get-together. And since it was the first night so to speak, there was a whole lot of cheek-kissing and “ça va” ‘s as friends re-acquainted themselves after their winter hibernation before sitting down to catch up over a few glasses and partake in a less than light repas of sausage stew. Good for lining the stomach I suppose. The evening would have been almost perfect if it wasn’t for any attempt at conversation being drowned out by an over-excitable and very loud big band musical performance and the absence of our Graham who could probably hear the trumpet player in Scotland. You are missed darling.

With the start of summer just around the corner and the weather finally starting to remember as such, it’s time to hang up the running shoes until the Autumn. As much as I love wheezing up the hills surrounding us, the mornings are now too hot for Alice, Arry and Sherman and my body needs its annual repose but it would be nice if I could use the pool. The less said about that bloody chamber the better although with any luck, it will be fit for purpose in a couple of weeks. I shall keep schtum about that until it happens. Needless to say however, I’m not one for idle pursuits, most of last week has been spent finishing off the top room in the big house – carrying pots of paint and ladders up and down that staircase should be an Olympic activity. The once dingy pink wallpapered bedroom is now a calm, cream brush and roller job – several different shades as I wanted to use up all the nearly-empty tins left in the garage but no-one seems to have notice the subtle changes in hues.

And it’s not just the room at the top looking bright and cheerful, the gardens are looking pretty spectacular at the moment – we can thank miserable wet May for that. Denis and I have also given my terrace a bit of a make-over including repotting my citrus trees and a spot of geranium buying. Mind you, I should have taken more care over my colour choices as the pink that was once up there is now everywhere down here. At least the potager is gorgeously green and full of summer salad additions. It’s just as well I don’t like beetroot. And now that the trees are all in full leaf, the woofers can lounge about in shady nooks to recharge their batteries – a couple are looking a little too lively this morning however…

“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. Unless they eat your shoes, then your life is a little less whole.” (Unknown)

Fruitful labour

With the start of June and temperatures rocketing into the 30s, last week was all about getting out and about. The soiree season has begun. Denis and I had back to back invites which of course we weren’t going to turn down, he fared better than me – by the third night in a row the thought of taking one sip of wine was enough to make my stomach roll and I was exhausted. Partly, I feel down to all those late nights getting the first draft of the Second Book finished but also having to deal with the bloody pool and the top bedroom’s wallpaper. The latter is just about cleared so I can start painting. Still, I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with those friends who have come out of hibernation for the summer and I can never turn down a Saturday night down at Le Jardin.

Speaking of gardens, ours is looking very fruitful. All that rain we had over the last couple of months has done it the world of good. The plum trees are sagging under the weight of yumminess and the ‘grenade‘ (pomegranates) is covered in bloom – a good omen. Then there’s the apricots, apples and figs, I have no idea what to do with all of it since its mostly just Mumo and I here, I’d set up a stall outside the front gate except the woofers’ over-excitement at the prospect of visitors would keep sales at bay. The potager is packed with veggies and salad and my carrots are ready for digging up. I am ridiculously proud of my carrots, it’s the first time I’ve grown them and they actually look like what they are supposed to look like. And as for “Domaine Stewart”, otherwise known as my grapevine, that’s groaning with tiny grapes. Apparently I need about 800 or so to make a bottle of wine – I haven’t counted mine but I doubt there’s enough to fill one of those mini bottles in a hotel fridge.

The week ahead is set to be a few degrees cooler, its currently raining which is no bad thing, so I can get on with all the other projects I’ve ignored so I could write the last paragraphs. For a former London lass who organised her life down to the finest detail, I seem to have an awful lot of jobs half-done lying around the various workspaces. I think the ‘à demain‘ attitude to life down here is finally starting to get under my skin although that isn’t to say I don’t still lose my rag when people don’t show up or ring back when they’re supposed to. Or when my mobile phone decides to turn its screen black for no reason whatsoever – thank Gods for twenty-somethings at soirees to which technology is easier than ABC’s. And boyfriends who hate seeing their other halves in a strop and know whose strings to pull to get things done so I can happily potter around our vast plot of abundance without losing mine. I shall refrain from singing “Summertime” as my voice tends to set the woofers off, they don’t like cats…

“Gardeners, I think, dream bigger dreams than emperors.” (Mary Cantwell)

Close the book and step outside

We had a little celebration at Le Jardin last night – I finally finished the first draft of the Second Book! Obviously there’s a lot of tweaking to do before it is fit to be sent off to the possible publishers but I sent the last four chapters off to Sally editor last night with a note saying ‘take your time, I need a break’ only to write back this morning and ask her not to touch the last one as I decided to change the final paragraph. I was still scrawling ideas after midnight but I think I’ve got it so to speak. And then I can read a book, someone else’s – I can’t when I’m writing, it messes with my head.

It’s been that sort of week, virtually every day having a little ‘hip hip hooray’ . The pool appears to have stopped leaking although with the strong wind of late and occasional blasts of sunshine, there’s always going to be evaporation. I’m not filling it back up yet as no-one gets in until mid-June and it gives the remaining half of its contents a chance to warm up. Then, there’s our bumper crop of spinach in the potager – deliciously crisp greens and in a few days time, carrots. We won’t talk about my tomatoes versus Denis’, they are too pathetic to mention. Speaking of mellow fruitfulness and I don’t mean the burgeoning apricot, apple and plum trees, Sherman the Tank turned 3 years old on Thursday. The not so tiny bundle of puppy fur that Alice delivered in the palm of my hand has grown up into a gorgeously handsome, lovable and bloody big Border Terrier. He’s easily double the size of his mum although that’s never stopped her from giving him a good talking too when he and Arry get too rambunctious. The latter was back at the vets yesterday, the summer scratching has started but this visit came up with a possible cause for his itchies. It’s not enough to be allergic to over 450 different flora, fauna and foods; apparently he can add fungi as well. So we are starting a new treatment which apart from anything else, is much cheaper than the Cytopoint which doesn’t work. Saving a few pennies is enough to say ‘cheers’ to.

I don’t know where May went but hello summer and, if the météo is to be believed, the heat is returning. About flippin’ time. The winter wardrobe has been packed up and shoved under my bed and D and I have been slaving over the garden and courtyard for all to enjoy. We still have the petanque area to complete – up til now it has been too windy to get Graham’s donated marquee up and put gravel underneath it. But the courtyard is all neat and tidy, ready for those apéro evenings to come. TI’ve started undercoating the top bedroom walls in the main house, it’s taken me two weeks to get the several layers of wallpaper off them – whoever invented it was a sadist. I’ll be glad to finish the room, not just because of the endless up and down the hundred and one steps staircase – it’s horribly stuffy in there too. Still, if the fine weather promised is to come, I’d better get on with it – lazy days in the garden beckon.

So roll on summer and a chance to sit back with a book that isn’t mine and not a laptop in sight. Well, I’m sure it will get pulled out of its chamber – there’s always forgotten incidences suddenly scribbled on bits of paper in the middle of the night but with Le Bistrot about to open its doors for the season in a couple of weeks and the usual Saturday chill-out sessions with friends at Le Jardin (the bongo drum set last night had everyone swinging their toes and drumming tables), I’m ready to put the opus to bed for a while and slap on the sunscreen. Hello June…

“In early June the world of leaf and blade and flowers explodes, and every sunset is different.” (John Steinbeck)

Gypsy for the day

Seeing as how I can’t really remember what happened at the start of last week, I shall devote today’s blog to the latter part of it. Working title: Sophi goes to the beach. Yup, for the first time since I landed in this part of France, I got to spend a couple of days away from it. I can’t thank my wonderful friend, Giselle, enough for looking after the woofers for me – all of whom apparently behaved impeccably. A rarity for which I shall thank them too.

Having packed up my car, Denis and I headed South-East on a sunny Thursday afternoon – destination, D’s niece’s house deep in the Camargue some 3 hours or so away. I still can’t get my head around how big France is although the hitch-hikers at the petrol station en route who were trying to get a ride to Berlin must have been even less familiar with the country. A compass might be handy I feel. Mind you, even with my GPS, we took a number of wrong turns although vaguely in the right direction before we got to the little town of Istres. As scenery goes, the Camargue is incredibly flat, filled with rice paddies and marshlands and on the horizon, the oddly-pink coloured beaches lining the Mediterranean Sea.

Anyway, have spent a lively, if not extremely alcoholic, evening with D’s relatives, we headed off to what we’d come to see. Le Pèlerinage aux Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer or the annual get together of Gitans from all over the world to celebrate their patron saint – Sainte Marie de la Mer. The Gitan people descend from travellers or Romany gypsies so unsurprisingly the town of St. Marie de la Mer was heaving with camping cars and caravans and traditional ‘Vardos’ – vibrantly painted, horse-drawn wooden wagons. The streets were packed to the hilt with people dressed up to the nines and guitars strumming on corners and in the middle of the town, a huge market. I have to admit, I wasn’t feeling all that well, probably down to the night before’s wine consumption but the crowds didn’t help either. My brain seemed to have forgotten all those years spent in London as I found it difficult to breathe.

That being said, The main event was quite a spectacle. As the impressive cathedral’s bells rang out, a procession of beautiful, white Camargue horses came down the main street, their riders easily manoeuvring their charges through the throngs gathering to see their patron saint. After the first team of equine gentleness moved past, along came the lady herself, covered in what looked like silks and carried on a litter, six men holding the poles on either side as they were inundated with hands reaching up to touch their cargo. Denis told me that this was to make wishes for loved ones, I’m not of the religious persuasion but I did mentally throw a few her way – one might have been about the bloody pool which is by no means a loved one which is probably why it didn’t work. Followed by her congregation, Sainte Marie was then led down to the sea, the horses going in with her to make a circle as she is dipped into the waters (from whence she came I was told) before being transported back to the safe confines of the cathedral. The whole ceremony took about two hours, thankfully under a clear blue sky so it was just as well that D’s niece had booked a restaurant in the town square. And there, with the accompaniment of a Spanish guitar- playing quartet, the festival goers sang and danced the night away. All very rowdy and loud but not once was there any trouble despite an undeserved reputation placed on Gitans. I might not be one who wants a life on the road but being amongst those effervescent and happy souls did make me think we should all be a little bit more gypsy

After all the hustle and bustle of the day before, it felt good to come home to the quietness of Rouffiac. Naturally the woofers were thrilled to see me, hah! when I returned chez moi. Obviously Giselle must have treated them like Gods considering the lukewarm greetings I received. That is apart from Yogi Bear who snuggled into my arms. I should worry about leaving them less often. And I won’t be, leaving them that is, for a while now – June is just around the corner and there is much to do before the summer guests arrive. Like trying to find out how to keep water in the bloody pool…

“Walk like a Queen, Love like a Hippie, Speak like a Sailor, Travel like a Gypsy, Garden like a Witch and Work like a Warrior” (Unknown)

Soap and sentiments

I can’t say I make it a habit of eating macarons in the shower but in my defence, I had originally thought that the tasty morsel was a fancy soap. My girl, Giselle, having just returned from Paris, had bought me a little gift box of what I assumed were edible concoctions until Denis mentioned something about soap. Considering we were hosting a dinner party at the time, I only had one ear to the conversation between him and Giselle;

“It’s a present for you, not Denis” Giselle said kissing me as usual on both cheeks,

“It must be soap then” Denis pouted

So I took the classy cadeau into the bathroom and left it on the vanity – it did smell deliciously perfumed.

It was only when I went to shower the following morning and thought it odd that the ‘soap’ didn’t have much froth and the scrubby underside was crumbling, that it dawned on me. I’d almost cleansed myself with a French cookie.

I blame my boob on lack of sleep. Between the bloody pool (let’s not go any further) and late nights tap tapping away at the final chapters for The Second Book, my usual eight hours slumber has been more like six. I don’t do well on six. I don’t do well either when the weather can’t make up its mind and the thermometer is like watching a carnival ride – up in the 20’s one minute and down in the teens the next. Then add spectacular storms from dusk til dawn. On the plus side, my veggie patch is bursting with carrots, onions, spinach and beans – even my tomato plants have started to show signs of actually growing (Denis are doing far better but July is still far away mister). On the downside, the pelouse now resembles a jungle but with the amount of rain we’ve had, it’s too wet to cut. So it was back to work indoors, namely pulling several layers of wallpaper off the walls of the only bedroom yet to be renovated. I’m sure it’s good for one’s thigh muscles hoofing up and down all those flights of stairs but I doubt all the dust my efforts are uncovering is. I need a holiday.

And next weekend, I hope to do be doing just that. Having a little break with Denis, thanks to Giselle who for some reason, likes the woofers and so offered to stay with them so D and I can have a getaway. Aside from my yearly visits to L’Horte, which was a home from home really, I haven’t had a vacation for almost ten years. 8 woofers tends to be a hindrance to such idealism.

Hence the dinner party on Friday evening. I wanted Giselle to meet Mumo so that there wouldn’t be a stranger living next door so to speak and invited a few others too – Giselle’s husband Jamel, her son Hugo and his girlfriend Marina, who happens to be Denis’ daughter. Having D’s family around as well as my mum wasn’t just about introductions and woofer cuddles, there are certain times of year that are easier to bear when you have friends and family with you. And whilst I have been incredibly lucky to have found a ‘second life’ and a ‘second love of my life’ here, there isn’t a day that goes past when I don’t still talk to Tony. 6 years seems like a long time but then again, not at all. As we raised a toast to my beautiful T, Denis whispered to me how proud he thought T would be of me. I think he would be but I bet he is still laughing in the aisles over my mushy macaron mistake…

“What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul “(Yiddish Proverb)

Indoor days and birthdays

So far, May has been a complete washout. I know I bang on about how much we need the stuff but a whole week of non-stop pluie? The driveway resembled a lake and my shower drain backed up because the excess had nowhere to go. Even the woofers retreated indoors, their pleading eyes asking me to turn the tap off up there and Sherman was not his usual happy self sloshing through muddy puddles on our morning run. Still, at least we’ve had a sunny, dry weekend as the forecast for next week isn’t encouraging unless you’re a plant.

On the plus side, Denis and I have spent most of our time fiddling about in the garage with the ancient motobécane that brother Simon had found in a dump a decade ago. The L’Horte Four (our kids) had had great fun bouncing over the old homestead’s terrain on her back but after becoming another victim of the 2018 flood, she was put to one side to be fixed but soon forgotten. That was until we decided that the old lady should be bought back to life again. So far, it’s been mostly about de-clogging 6 years of debris in her motor parts, a piston needs replacing and the paintwork needs, well, work but I’m having fun learning about motor machines. Abraham told me that there used to be a ‘moto’ club in Rouffiac years ago and we should start it up again. I don’t have a parka but Tony’s Barbour will do and I have a hankering for one of those old-fashioned helmets – you know the ones that look like you’ve stuck a mixing bowl on your head.

I wish I could say that being forced to stay indoors unless you have a penchant for scuba diving would have resulted in a finished Second Book but no. I’ve only got three chapters to go and I can’t seem to find the motivation to pen them. It’s not as though I don’t want to put the opus to bed, 3 plus years of tap tapping away on the two tales of life after Tony is quite enough but with the end in sight, my muse has gone into hibernation. But with my self-imposed, get it done before the summer, deadline, me and my laptop will be as one. I mean, its not like the sun is going to make a re-appearance anytime soon and the bloody pool is tucked up under the covers for the next month or so. We aren’t as yet, back on talking terms.

But though the weather is a bit doom and gloom, there are little moments to be celebrated. Like Bear birthdays. My slightly-tubbier round the middle, mostly deaf unless you open a biscuit tin, constant cuddle companion, Yogi Bear is 14 years old today. Like most of the pack and their occasionally obeyed mistress, he’s been through a lot over the last almost 6 years. Having lain faithfully by His Master’s bed in those last days, Yogi grieved over Tony’s death until we moved here to Rouffiac and the Bear found a new best buddy in Denis. Now in his senior years, Yogi likes nothing more than to be either snoozing the day away on his favourite cushion or lying under Denis’ feet whilst his beloved human tries to do some gardening. Unless there’s food. Food is always the best thing in life. So Happy Birthday to Yogi Bear, Norfolk Terrier Extraordinaire. May your life always be filled with cuddles and picnics…

“Life’s too short to skip a picnic” (Yogi Bear)

Where the wind doth blow

For those who might be thinking life down here is all sunshine and roses, there is one weather phenomenon that an immobilier’s blurb would leave out. Aude is one of the, if not the most, windy departments in France. And when it doth blow, it bloweth hard and makes everyone feel miserable – the sound of its haunting wail as it rages across the land is known to affect one’s sanity. At this time of year, the Tramontane that pushes its way through the gap between the Pyrénées and the Massif Central at speed of around 60 kms and hour and we got the full force of it last week. Luckily, none of the trees fell down although I have had to spend most of this morning clearing the aftermath of flora and fauna from the pool. I shall not mention the bloody pool again, we are not on friendly terms.

Since working outside was inadvisable unless you wanted a natural face-lift, the week was spent finishing off all the renovation bits and bobs I’ve scattered between the two houses and the garage. Of course, this hasn’t stopped me from adding more to the pile – Denis and I went off for a little forage down by the river to find any remnants left over from a large palm tree clearing operation. Bits of tree trunks are now about to enter a new life as corner tables in what will be a tented seating area next to the new petanque ground. Mercifully, we haven’t put the marque up yet as it would probably be in Spain by now. Working with wood always lifts the happy hormones even when you’re stupid enough to use the sander when there’s a helluva hooley swirling around.

Braving the elements over the past few days hasn’t been the only test of courage – Arry, Alice, Sherman and I faced our demon together on our regular Tuesday running route. There he was, the great big fluffball behind the fence once more allowing us safe passage although Arry couldn’t resist a couple of face-to face barks across the divide. As much as I knew the owner had taken care of the hole in the enclosure, it was still a ‘shall I shan’t I’ decision to run that way again. I really should try and be more like my half-brained German Shepherd, his mind empties two seconds after an event. That being said, the view from the top of our run makes any fleeting thoughts of staying under the bed covers worth the brief lip-biting hesitations.

With any luck, the end of April will take the blustery thermals with it and May will bring sunshine and occasional showers. Yes, rain. Not that I like getting soaked but the garden does and with the cost of refilling the pool uppermost in one’s mind, a bit of free water wouldn’t go amiss. My veggie patch is suffering and I hate dragging the hose around especially as Arry views any spray of water as an amusement park offering and one of us ends up wetter than the other. At least if the Gods are feeling benevolent, they’ll add a bit of summer warmth to the mix – such activity can be tolerated in shorts and a bikini. And they can take their tramontane and blow it somewhere else, we like being a happy little village down here…

“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.” (William Arthur Ward)

Witchy work

I feel I should title this blog “40 days and 40 nights” judging by the amount of rain we had for the first 4 days and 4 nights last week. And just as I was getting on top of all the water under the pool liner. Still, I would like to thank Sophy and Sean for their lovely gift on leaving our little part of France on Wednesday – blue skies and 30 degrees ensued. I’m back in my bikini once more and the woofers flopped out on the cool apartment tiles. The bloody pool is almost empty so with any luck and a few more days without pluie, Denis and I can finish the last bit of reparation around it’s drain and start refilling the vast abyss.

Having one hole to empty of water is one thing, finding a possible two or three in the front garden that may well hold the precious liquid is another altogether. We had a visit from the long-awaited water diviner this morning. Since finding out that quite a few of the neighbouring houses have ‘natural’ wells, I was pretty sure we must too since the underground source comes directly from the River Aude at the bottom of the village. Rashid (him who is partnered with D’s niece Stephanie) knew an old man in Preixan who is just that – a water diviner or sourcier. Along with his son, the Monsieur found not one but 5 locations in the garden, all pretty much where I thought they’d be. It’s fascinating to watch as the rods move about and then cross over each other when water is below and before you think it’s all hooplah, I had a go and got the same result. It is a really weird feeling when you get close to the ‘x’, a sort of mild buzz goes through your hands up up your arms. Well, for me anyway, Mumo didn’t feel a thing when she tried – must be the witch in me. Now all we have to do is get clearance from the Mayor and then a massive drill will make a great big hole 15 metres down. I’m leaving the buttering up to Denis, he and the afore-mentioned are great friends. Always helps.

What with all the spinach and carrots I’ve just planted out in the potager, I’m going to need a ‘free’ flow of eau. Yesterday evening I put all my little shoots in to their new home, not quite in a straight line as I had been instructed to do by you know who but I don’t suppose the veggies mind. In fact, the weird weather of late might give them a boost as it has for all the fruit trees – plums, apricots, the dreaded figs of course and grapes. Yes, for the first time since I put it in the ground three years ago, my grapevine is bursting with little bundles. Hardly enough to make a bottle of wine but hey, who knows? Domain Stewart may be the next chapter in my new life. Or maybe I’ll be the next great graffiti artist – I finally finished the tractor shed wall and hung up my beautiful wrought iron frames over my brush work. I was rather pleased with my efforts until Stephanie remarked that the paintings looked better with the frames than without.

Speaking of chapters, Sally editor has sent back the last lot and a note to say how good they were – high praise indeed as she usually covers most of my writings in red ink. A pat on the back is enough to drive me forward and finish the last four before the summer. Then, as opuses (or is opii?) go – I’ll leave both books to the hands of the experts and keep my fingers crossed. By that time, we might just have a well for me to make a wish…

“In time and with water everything changes.” ( Leonardo da Vinci)

Buckets and blow-outs

Last week started with a storm, followed by glorious sunny weather and ended with a power cut. And for most of that time, I’ve been ankle deep in water in what should be an empty swimming pool. I can’t even blame the rain because we’ve barely had a drop, nope this is down to water being under the liner rather than on top of it. I shall explain. Having sorted the most likely source of the leak i.e. in the pool staircase thanks to the ever-reliable Roy’s expertise, I pumped out the remaining third of green, slimy liquid out into the garden and set about cleaning the liner so we could refill the bloody thing. It was at this point I felt the ground move under my feet so to speak or rather, wave underneath me. The mystery of where the leak had put the water was now clear, under the liner. So I’ve had to loosen the drain cover to make a gap for the stuff to come out of, wait for the small area to fill up and then go in with a bucket – and I’m still schlepping the thing two days later. I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have mountains of other work to do and that the weather has suddenly turned very cool and my toes are in permanent prune mode. I’m really really hoping I’ll finish this tedious travail by tomorrow so we can put the water back on the right side of the liner before putting the summer cover on and forgetting about the bloody thing until the end of next month.

Mind you, both Denis and I have had time between my buckets to cross a few more things off the diminishing ‘to-do’ list. He’s started on the pétanque ground – a sort of bowls game that’s very popular in these parts. And yes, D has made sure the sporting venue is placed well away from next-doors windows – he knows my technique well. It’s not an easy thing to create, the lack of decent rainfall has made the terrain rock-hard despite me emptying the algae-contents over Denis’ meticulously marked-out plot. As for me, I’m still finishing the tractor shed wall’s ‘art’ – you’ll see it when I’ve finished. Oh and I’ve completed Chapter Sixteen of the second opus which I’ll pop off to Sally editor tonight and then, if she doesn’t send everything back covered in red ink, I only have four more chapters to go. Well, for the first edit anyway.

As I mentioned at the beginning of today’s blog, we started and ended last week with what could have been party poopers. Easter Monday saw the annual Maybon (D’s family) gathering, the sun was out and the barbecue sizzled whilst the little ones played with snails on D’s front lawn. Poor molluscs couldn’t get away slow enough. That was until the skies above turned slate grey and the distant rumble of thunder brought everyone under cover. Thankfully, the impressive display of lightning and sheets of rain waited until the day was almost over – so French. One must get the meal over first. That being said, yesterday’s power cut almost put a stop to anyone having a bite to eat. I had just put the evening’s dinner in the oven, Saba and Roy were joining us and I had another little surprise for both them and Denis, when everything suddenly went pfft. That was at 2pm. Rouffiac didn’t see electricity again until 9 pm. But we are resourceful and were not about to let a tiny little thing like power stifle our soirée. Or my surprise from arriving. My wonderful friend Sophy (the one with a ‘y’ not an ‘i’) and her husband Sean joined us, having popped over to visit Carcassonne for a few days, bringing buckets of wine and cheese to fill the meagre table which wasn’t so meagre after the local pizza joint got its wattage working. The whole night spent in semi-darkness was such a riot that when the lights came back on, we turned them off. Life is never dull when you live in this little village tucked away somewhere in South-West France…

“Happiness is not the absence of problems, but the willingness to deal with them joyfully” (Jonathan Lockwood Huie)

The wheel of life

It’s been a week of catching up with old friends and sadly, the loss of a little one too. Willy, my tiny Roborovski hamster passed away quietly on Wednesday night. I can’t say we had a very tactile relationship in the almost 3 years we spent together but he knew my voice and I had gotten used to the monotonous sound of his exercise wheel squeaking throughout the sleepy hours. Denis and I buried him in the new flowerbed under the apartment frontage – his little house marking his grave. I didn’t add the wheel, his spirit might wake the neighbours.

Speaking of neighbours or should I say, the neighbourhood, everyone’s been out in their gardens over the past few days to soak up the glorious early Spring warmth. Mowers humming and beer caps popping as shorts were pulled out of drawer depths – they’ll be returned to their winter lodgings tomorrow however as we are set for a wet and windy week ahead. Just in time for the Easter Weekend. I have to keep reminding myself that March winds and April showers are to be expected and we still really need the rain but I do prefer flip flops to work boots. The short burst of sunshine however has given my tomatoes a boost – they may be tortoises but slow and steady they rise. And I managed to make a start on painting the tractor house wall, luckily I’m taller than D so he’s only got the top of the wall to do – unless I sneak out the ladder whilst he’s not looking. We’ve shot through our to-do list mind you, ambient temperatures and blue sky abundance tend to get the work done – I just wish I’d decided to the pool leak last Thursday instead of the one coming. Ah well, wetsuit it is.

And with the nights more on the cool than chilly side, I hosted a dinner party out on the terrace on Friday evening. Denis cooked a traditional chicken and olive stew and I provided the vegetarian tatin de tomates. Sixteen were very well-fed and equally, well drunk and all had a thoroughly good evening. I only wish that I could have had everyone over last night instead as my good friend and once grooming mentor arrived yesterday for a stopover on her way to her holiday home near Málaga in Spain. It’s been wonderful to see Heidi again after almost 9 years and to meet her stunning Standard Poodle Tiffany and travel gal pal Lindy. Naturally they’ve had a guided tour of Rouffiac d’Aude, which takes all of 15 minutes and a drive around Carcassonne to see La Cité and St-Hilaire to see the Abbaye de St-Hilaire. We didn’t do any actually walking around as Tiffany is a little on the shy side but the views seem to impress her human counterparts. I do love having visitors and being able to show off this little corner of France (subtle hint to all those who keep promising to pop in, ahem).

As mentioned, Easter is almost upon us and then it’ll be April and hopefully, Spring. This year seems to be whizzing by or perhaps I’m just getting old. I still have another 5 chapters to finish which I’d like to get done before the summer so I can put the wretched thing in the hands of the experts to refine so to speak. It’s not that I don’t like writing it, it’s just that I have itchy feet and want to get on with other projects – ones that don’t require so many brain cells. On the subject of itchy feet, Callum’s is much better he tells me so he’s off being touristy for a couple of weeks around Taz before getting back into the work mode. Life’s all about getting the right balance and getting off the hamster wheel…

““Friendship’s the wine of life.” ( Edward Young)