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)

She’s back, we’re off

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

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

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

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

Perspectives

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

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

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

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

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

Calm amongst the chaos

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

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

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

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

Ailments and artistry

Ah well, considering the odds even if we live in a tiny village deep in South West of France, one of us was going to get it. Yup, my tough ‘nothing can get me” outdoorsman has been got – Covid-style. I came downstairs with coffee as usual on Friday morning, expecting the normal kiss and “dort bien?” hello only to be greeted by a grey face with an outstretched arm stopping my approach. In the four years I’ve known Denis, the only time he’s not been full of bounce was when he had his hernia hiccup (actually three in all) so I suggested we both went over to the local pharmacie to get tested. Apart from the fact that we spend most of our days together, I also have a not so well Mumo at the moment so neither of us wanted to add to her woes. On the positive side, I tested negative but warned to keep my mother at a healthy distance for a few days just in case. And steer clear of D too which has meant a miserable weekend and a pity party with a bottle of wine and an ominous moon to keep me company.

And the week was going so well. Sort of. I mean there was that little incident on Tuesday morning but that wasn’t my fault. Kind of. You see, me and the younger woofers are back to rising with the dawn and running up hills again so I had bought a pocket-sized ‘deterrent’ spray not wanting a repetition of the last dog attack. All was peace and serenity, the giant mastiff I had been assured was safely tucked behind bars and there was nothing to disturb us other than the hum of tractors harvesting the vines. That was until we hit the main road a kilometre or so from home and got rear-ended by a loose Pyrenean Mountain Dog trailing its extendable lead behind as it launched its huge self at Arry. Alice of course went into full terrier mode, teeth chomping and chattering as Sherman sunk his into a furry hind leg whilst I tried to keep leads from tangling -I wasn’t about to let them loose on a busy thoroughfare. And that’s when I remembered the bombe and pointed it at the white beast. Honestly, I didn’t know the spray was red. The owner did eventually arrive and get her charge under control, dye not blood explanations from me. I saw the same dog a couple of days later, apparently the colour doesn’t wash out easily.

At least, the Covid decided to bring down my man after we’d made a decent dent in our ‘to-do’ list -Denis and I were noses to the grindstone ticking off items. The newly extended potager now has its Autumn plantings in, the walnut trees have been lopped, the other bat box fixed onto the remis wall and between us we sorted out the blockage in Mumo’s kitchen sink which turned out to be congealed fat (blame big brother for that). And since our camion needs a little TLC before it can pass its contrôle technique, D has plonked it over here as it’s easier to get to a power source. Yet unnamed and a bit banged up in parts, I am looking forward to getting behind the wheel of the big white van. I might need to add my newly acquired artistic touch first…

“ The colours live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas” (Edvard Munch)

Lists and little treasures

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

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

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

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

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

Bartering and blowouts

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

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

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

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

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

September supplements

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

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

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

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

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