Storm in a dog bowl

Just in case we’d forgotten what month we were in, what with all the autumnal sunshine of late, November reminded us this week. Three days of non-stop rain and bullet-grey skies. The old kayak we had at L’Horte would have come in useful as getting across the driveway or out of the front gate became less about jumping puddles and more about navigating the rapids. That being said, the tempest has run its course and we are back under blue skies once more which perhaps could be a metaphor for my over-worrying self this past week.

At least the deluge waited until after Thursday’s pootle; running up those trails is not exactly fun when your trainers are squelching and, as I’ve mused many times before, sunrise over the vines is a spectacular sight but not when you’re to busy trying to remove chunks of clay from your soles. We almost made it home and dry and would have if it wasn’t for Arry’s very rare change in pace – he just couldn’t keep up. Hence the worry.

I shall explain. A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from the vet clinic to make a few appointments for my ‘senior’ dogs – Arry included. I ruled out Simi, Neo, Coco and Mo – Simi has only recently been checked over and there’s no way a vet could examine Neo or Mo without full body armour. Arry on the other hand is a German Shepherd, as most of you will know, one with only two gears – full steam ahead or fast asleep, the latter only taken when the lights go out. But he is 10 years old and after a minor trip one morning, he seemed a little unsteady. Naturally, being me and having far too much experience with the breed, I whizzed my gorgeous idiot off to be scanned from head to tail. Note, what I just mentioned – two speeds which meant any chance of lying still for one second was out of the question so he needed sedating. Now, Arry and I have been through a lot over our years together and he’s had more lives than a cat but seeing him just flop into a comatose state was terrifying as was waiting for him to come out the other side. As he snoozed peacefully on the floor post-echograph, bloods and X rays, he suddenly looked old – when did this happen? Thankfully, all is okay, sort of. Arthritis in his lower back which means lots of physio but no sign of any of the other evils that tend to be associated with Shepherds. And he can still run the trails, exercise is good for him although a few less kilometres I think.

At least now with that storm in a dog bowl over and the forecast better, I can get back to work with Arry and his cohorts underfoot. I have my next appointment with the license department tomorrow morning at the slightly more reasonable hour of 9 a.m. which if the Gods are playing nice will mean I can make the Christmas markets. Let’s keep our fingers crossed for clear skies ahead, kayaks make me seasick…

““The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.” (Eeyore)

Stay young, don’t Google

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

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

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

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

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

stay young at heart (and away from washing machines)

Dog hair and treasure chairs

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

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

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

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

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

Black cats and bad mojo

Over dinner last night with brother Simon and my sis-in law, Alba, the subject of superstition came up. Being one who would blame her choice of belly button rings on a bad day, it was interesting to find out that many beliefs are the same in France. Saluting or saying good morning to magpies for example and hoping you see a pair, frantically searching for a piece of wood to touch when you say something you hope will come true, Friday the 13th doom and walking under ladders. It has to be said, my list of taboos made for much raising of eyebrows and guffawing – I find nothing odd in holding your collar when I see an ambulance and not letting go until a white car appears, at least I don’t blame the sight of a black cat on my car breaking down like Denis. Mind you, perhaps I should pay a bit more attention to that chat noir who lives a few doors down if last week was anything to go by.

For a start, the planned pipeline didn’t happen because the bloke didn’t show up so yet again, D and I wasted a whole day waiting for him. To be honest, I’ve got to the point where I’m just going to fill the bloody pool anyway and hope the man what drills holes in the ground appears sometime in the near future. In brief, we have a water seam several metres below the front garden and permission from the Mayor to put in a well and use the free stuff for everything outside but not for drinking. Considering how much water we need for the foliage and to top up the piscine, it’s going to be money well spent. If he ever turns up. Even though, we have had a couple of decent downpours in the last few days, the hot weather and equally dry wind have soaked up most of what came down. Still, after another little temper tantrum, I changed my belly ring again and left no wood untouched so I’m sure all will be tickety boo very soon.

It probably doesn’t help that the woofers have decided that when the sun rises so must I. Yogi is always the first, the gentle pitter patter of bear paws waking me somewhere around 6 a.m so I can let him and the others downstairs to do what needs to be done and have a good shout at the neighbourhood dogs who have also dragged their owners out of bed for a little walkies. Luckily my lot have enough land to exercise even if the front gate is the best place to let off steam. If being stirred from my slumber isn’t bad enough, Mo Cridhe is suffering with very loose bowels at the moment which, if anyone has ever had a disabled dog would know, is not a pleasant experience first thing in the morning.

It hasn’t all been stress and strife though. Denis and I were invited to our friends Pacs on Friday evening, what we call in English a civil partnership. The setting was stunning, a wedding venue place about 10 minutes or so away although my GPS decided to take the scenic route so added an extra 15 on. Since I was driving, I stayed teetotal which was just as well as the drinks weren’t served until about an hour after everyone’s arrival and we left before the meal as it was getting close to 10 p.m. I’m not sure what caused the delay in service but I’ve got my money on the tent’s fairy lights – they weren’t set out on straight lines you see. Taboo.

At least we now have the petanque area to distract ourselves from the bad mojo sneaking around. Denis gave me my first lesson the other day which went pretty well. Of course I lost but at least this time, the ball stayed in the ring so to speak and Denis came out unscathed. And surprisingly so did Alice and Sherman who did their best to disrupt play, namely lying down in the middle of the ground or staring vacantly into space as close as possible to the cochon (the small ball that you’re trying to get your metal sphere next to. Not that we minded. After all, my two lively Border terriers are very good at keeping black cats well away and have no idea what the date is today or any other day…

“A black cat passing by the crossroad can stop hundreds of people, what a red light on traffic signal has failed to do for a long time.” (Nitya Prakash)