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

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

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

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

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