Atmospheric additions

It may amuse you to learn that yesterday, the day before daylight savings declared the end of winter, the heating finally came back on. Yup, Monsieur le Max chauffagiste extraordinaire has managed to get the bloody boiler de-clogged and boosted up once more just in time for us to turn it off again. But not just yet; it’s blowing a hooley out there at the moment and not a warm one so being able to tuck up indoors with a roasting radiator or three is bliss for the woofers and me.

Not that I would have had time to appreciate the defrosting of my digits had the heat come on any earlier in the week as its been one of those spent everywhere except indoors. A busy few days indeed including another house viewing which I think went fairly well, probably because the tramontane decided to take a break that afternoon – in other words the noise from the main road was less obvious. I must say that the gardens are beginning to look fabulous thanks to Denis’ expertise and Spring springing up everywhere. If only one could actually stand outside and enjoy it without having facial features remoulded by 45 kilometere gusts or incur tinnitus by wind chime. Apparently we should see the back of the arctic blast by next weekend which bodes well for D’s annual family get-together Easter Monday. I of course shall bring my non-alcoholic Merlot of which I’ve developed quite a taste for.

Like I said, a whizz around kind of week. Simi, bless the old lady, had a vet visit since her infernal scratching has been keeping everyone up at night which resulted in a course of antibiotics and eye-watering expensive shampoo. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I hadn’t decided to buy the woofers new tick collars at the same time what with warmer weather hopefully on its way but then again, remember cigarette savings – very handy. And speaking of furballs, I popped round to strip out Contessa Louise’s pup’s coat next door, aka Alice’s other son who goes by the inappropriate name Slim; too many biscuits in that Border terrier belly. It’d been a while for a catch-up on all the village gossip from my well-informed neighbour who had just returned from a trip to Miami and was about to hotfoot it over to Lyon – she’ll be 90 in a couple of weeks.

And Louise wasn’t the only lovely lady I got to gas with. The newest member of our little spot deep in rural South-West France, Lisa (the Welsh one) invited D and I over for an aperitif on Friday evening which ended up being held at her next-doors – a beautifully eclectic and very large house owned by her landlords who are also recent additions to the flock. The same house that our Mayor had suggested I might be able to rent if needed. Hmm, those polished oak floors, antique tables and cream sofas I don’t think so and there was the small matter of a very large hissing feline in situ. I’d had plenty of time to take in the less than woofer-worthy aesthetics as it was at least an hour before we were offered any form of sustenance, liquid or solid – something a little odd for the French but it turned out we had to wait for the butter to soften enough for man of the house to spread on his bread. I kid you not. At least last night’s dinner with pals Sara and Adolphe was a much heartier hot pot affair in their ‘still doing up’ little abode. I shall miss Sara as she is off back to Scotland until the Autumn as her meds don’t mix well with summer down here and well, it is nearly April. A month when, I hope, will finally send a gentle breeze in the right direction for yours truly…

“March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb” (Proverb)

Mellow fruitfulness

We had another viewing today. An English couple; I know that as they asked me what the large vine that trails over the big red door was just as Alice and I were about to leave them to peruse our beautiful house. It’s a Virginia Creeper I told them, absolutely amazing in early Autumn. I did add a few comments about how most of the houses on the street had the same and wait til you see the marronniers in full blossom and had they noticed all the irises but then cut short my lyrical waxing less eyes glazed over. That and my Border terrier’s insistence on dragging her owner off to take in the Daily Woof otherwise known as verge sniffing. I haven’t had any feedback from the estate agent yet but the prospective peeps were here for over an hour and did throw a cheery wave at me as they drove off afterwards. I don’t know if it was because the sun was out today or that the blasted wind has decided to take a momentary pause but I have a tingle of optimism about this one.

I have no doubt that, like most of us, a decent spell of balm in the weather department, has given rise to this upbeat mood of mine and passing a week gassing with gals and getting on with all sorts in the workbench department. That and an appointment with Dr Lefevre which should have sent a frisson of unease down to my nether regions but oddly didn’t. I’d gone in to ask for what I thought would be a straight forward yes we’ll do that request to remove my ovarian cyst – a cyst I have come to refer to as Olive for no reason whatsoever. Anyway, doc said no, as unless the little blighter was causing pain, I should just let it be for now. I did reiterate the point that 5 centimetres seemed a little big to fit down there in but apparently they can get to the size of oranges before surgery is on the cards. As I said, weirdly okay – a head state probably boosted by spending so much time with female friends who don’t fuss unlike Denis who is worse than me when it comes to reading too much.

I suppose I should thank the arrival of Spring in terms of its Equinox for lifting the spirit too and making one just want to get on with things. The afore-mentioned Alice got a good going over with the clippers and her son Sherman a couple of hours with yours truly stripping his winter coat out. He’s always gorgeous but more so now and not just because he no longer resembles a bog brush but also behaved impeccably when I took him over for a play date with my mate Jude’s little Cavalier puppy – he didn’t once cock his leg on her pristine cream sofa suite or dig a hole under fence. The woofers do like to surprise me. Oh, and I finally finished the snake pot. I have to be honest, I wasn’t overly thrilled with the result at first but as I have had a fair few wows and requests for more custom designed terrace terracotta, its grown on me, or coiled itself. Mind you, I’ve still got a load of ex-chandelier pieces to finish wrapping and a gratefully donated lilac branch to whittle into something whimsical so plenty to keep the mind mellow. Might also have some news next week too, fingers crossed…

“Spring is the time for plans and projects” (Leo Tolstoy)

Bottoms up, get busy

I almost ended up on A&E on Tuesday morning due to an unfortunate incident that I am going to blame, in part, on the hospital appointment I was to attend a few hours later and the guidelines that had to be adhered to ahead of time. The notes sent by email with the confirmation of my radiology were strict; no eating, drinking or peeing 4 hours before your allotted slot – mine being 8.45 a.m. I’d booked it as I thought it would be easier on my bladder which of course, was a stupid idea as I am of a certain age where the mere thought that you might not be able to go makes you want to go. It was because of this worry that I ended up flat out on the kitchen floor having forgotten that a few seconds earlier I had mopped up a wee that one of my darling woofers had left for me. Luckily, the bottom hit first before the head so I landed up with nothing more than a large bruise on my derriere and nobody was rule checking that day. At least now I know what’s being going on inside the Soph. And I am sort of relieved no pun intended. Sort of as the very nice doctor said an ovarian cyst is nothing to worry about usually even if mine is a little on the large side and going under the knife isn’t on the agenda right now. It’s not as though I need the organ anymore as I told nephew Lou but I’m reliably told that such masses can disappear on their own which would be helpful.

Mind you, if one was to believe what is written in the stars, or planets in this case, the appearance of this week’s impressive Blood Moon was all about releasing the past and all that karmic cleansing stuff so who knows but now that I can put all that aside, I’m back on full creative mode even if Monsieur le météo has decided Spring should wait a little longer so the workshop is still my kitchen island. The once-spider haven bamboo is now halfway to being wind chimes and I’ve turned out some rather quirky pendants from various wind-blown branches in the garden. All very busy bee which is just as well as I’m all by my lonesome on this here property for the next few days which doesn’t really bother me as I’m quite enjoying my own company at the moment and Denis does pop in for an apero every evening. And, I have the woofers plus one at present as Louis needs me to look after Sappy until he comes back next weekend which, considering his dog and I don’t see eye to eye, makes me a very nice aunt.

Speaking of the house and its surroundings, we’ve had a couple of viewings this week. Unfortunately, both were rainy ones and the wind once again blowing the wrong way. In the 5 and a bit years I’ve lived here, I can honestly say I’ve never heard the noise from the main road but then again, I’ve not been listening for it but the potentials have and it appears to be the only problem with this place. Friday’s visitors were a husband and wife doctor team about to re-locate to the hospital I’d just been zapped in – I didn’t mention my association with the building as these two happened to be pulmonologists although I was proud of the absence of ashtrays. Shame as they seemed great fun and she wanted to put a yoga studio in the garage. They have a dog too. Still, we have a possible second look in the coming months from that friend of Moth’s which is positive and hopefully, with the trees back in leaf, any passing lorry will be merely a muffle and the display of colour around the garden a perfect distraction. In the meantime, there is always plenty to keep the mind positive about the road ahead and I hope, the posterior off the floor…

“Embrace the glorious mess that you are” (Elizabeth Gilbert)

Finding the inner unexpected

“How are you with spiders, Lou?”

“Fine, why?”

“Can you come and remove one from my terrace wall then?”

“Why do you want to move it?”

“Because she’s scaring the hell out of me and she’s pregnant”

2 minutes later.

“It’s not pregnant Sophi, it’s just fat”

“Well, heave the thing over the wall then”

Which my darling nephew less than delicately did, just before Alice’s jaws snapped around the bulbous arachnid. I may have a deep and reasonable fear of such creatures but I didn’t want a death on my conscience nor did I want her to meet up with the other one which had just disappeared under my water fountain.

It wasn’t until later that evening when the thought struck me that I’d literally harboured my phobia right next to my chest for a good few hours without a clue as to imminent danger before Lou’s rescue. And for that I blame Denis. After all, it was he who gave me the bamboo with the suggestion of making wind chimes or something out of the tubes – I’ve been diverting into other areas of creativeness of late so I took them down to the workshop to cut to size. I then carried the whole lot tucked into my chest back up to the sun-drenched terrace/ fabulous space to awaken my artistic aura. It wasn’t until I decided to then snap the tubes in half length-wise that I was greeted by the first uninvited guest – the one who as far as I know is still under the fountain before its chubby friend popped out. No, I didn’t take any photographs, finding my phone was not the first thing that sprang to mind but think eight legs, big tum and spotted. Oddly the whole experience didn’t freak me out like it normally would, in fact I would argue that my laid-back attitude was remarkably unlike me. Must be something to do with with the weather or perhaps at least, the hope that there is coming a higher chance of the thermometer going up rather than down.

I’m sure there are some out there who don’t care too much for the sun but for me, that great big orb is Nature’s battery charger. Let’s face it, we’ve had a unusually wet winter so being able to get out and about without having your eye poked out with an umbrella can’t help but be good for the soul. Sitting outside a cafe in the centre of Limoux on Friday morning, sipping coffee and people watching after a mooch around the weekly market stall offerings, it suddenly dawned on me just how long it’d been since I’d properly visited the town and how much I’ve missed the chit chat and busyness of a marché. Lou suggested I should set up a Witch Wackle slap bang in the middle of the action but to be honest, I don’t have that kind of confidence and early morning starts in Sophi’s world are in a different time zone. And it’s far more stress-free to peruse other people’s wares than to watch people peruse yours.

So there we go. February has disappeared behind the seasonal doors and with it, we hope, winter. Yet, as much as one was glad to say goodbye to last month, with it came a moment of poignancy as Friday also marked the first anniversary of Mumo’s passing. A whole year without her seems impossible to get your head around; there isn’t a day that goes passed when you aren’t reminded of something she would do or say which is why I know she would be happy that Lou and Denis finally got round to tidying up the plot at L’Horte. I’d like to think she’d also be pleased with me still fag-free and a lot more sober these days and weirdly, becoming a little calmer I’m told too. Even with an unaccounted for arachnid hopefully still under my water fountain…

“Spring is far more than just a changing of seasons; it’s a rebirth of the spirit.”(Toni Sorenson)

Dry under stormy skies

Tony used to say the best thing about giving up the booze was knowing no matter how great a party was, you weren’t going to wake up with a hangover. Okay, I haven’t gone totally teetotal but if last night’s soiree chez moi was anything to go by, me and my ‘faux’ wine top-ups were much appreciated this morning especially when listening to D moaning about his head’s state. I say ‘faux’ as I have discovered a rather nice non-alcoholic Merlot in our local supermarket although I am in the minority with that one – tastes like medicine according to my Frenchman. I will admit I still prefer a glass of the real stuff at apero time which I am told is allowed and anyway, one should be allowed a little bit of naughty especially when one has to stand up against tobacco temptation. So far so good in that department no doubt helped by the miserable downpour outside.

I certainly have more energy since giving up the wicked weed and going to bed earlier has resulted in waking up with the sunrise instead of mid-morning. This might sound beneficial but finding an outlet for my extra voom at the moment is a little frustrating when you haven’t been able to go anywhere without a lifejacket. If the steady thrum of rain over the last week wasn’t depressing enough, along came Storm Nils. A tempête so potentially dangerous that the powers that be sent us all a warning, a very loud high-pitched one, on our mobile phones – frankly that alone was a health hazard. Thankfully, Rouffiac got away lightly compared to other villages and towns; the nurse who came to suck out more of my blood the morning after was an hour late because of the carnage her way. Yes, I’ve had another load of my precious liquid removed to try and find out what’s going wrong with my internals. To be honest, I have felt a little better of late, I think helped by the re-awakened zip followed by bursts of creativity and keeping fingers away from the Google button. Attempting to follow what is supposed to be a simple pattern for making a pair of summer trousers has so far taken me a week and I’ve still only done the leg bits – I’ve become an expert at unpicking stitches though. I’ve even done a bit of painting and not the on the wall kind. I don’t think Monet would have anything to worry about but dabbing wild colours onto paper is a great distraction as is trying to get orange sunburst off a white jumper afterwards.

Speaking of keeping busy, we had another house visit this week – on Friday 13th in fact. Odd timing aside, the estate agent sent me a message asking if I knew the client in question. Last name Stewart and mentioned he knew Tony. Actually it turned out that he knew my brother Moth, or Tim to some, but trying to solve the mystery did give my brain cells a decent workout so the memory’s fine. The gentleman liked the house by the way and may be back for another view with his other half. By that time I might have figured out which part of the instruction manual tells you how to attach legs to a waistband and my artistic endeavours will start to look vaguely like they were painted that way on purpose and on the canvas. Until then, I shall focus on making spring rolls for next week’s dinner party – after all, it’s the start of Chinese New Year on Tuesday and fingers crossed, one that forecasts calmer weather. Alcohol-free fizz anyone?…

“One can have no smaller or greater mastery than mastery of oneself.” (Leonardo da Vinci)

Hit the pause button

There are some weeks, like the one just gone, in which not a lot happens which, in a way, makes them rather pleasant. Okay, it wasn’t completely without the odd and very welcome surprise or two but, for once, having seven days that drift by slowly and mostly uneventful are much appreciated by yours truly. After all, when you get to certain age, time does seem to want to accelerate so those rare occasions when the clock hits pause, yes please.

Like I said, not totally a week with nothing out of the ordinary. With nephews Louis and Max returning last weekend, I got a phone call on Monday morning from Moth to expect him on Wednesday. Now, if you know my little brother, doing the unexpected is not out of the norm but considering I haven’t seen him since last summer – well, this was. Anyway, suffice to say it has been really really nice having him around and not just because he buys expensive wine, pays for pizza and fills up the fridge. Unfortunately for him, he chose the worst week for a visit – wet to put it mildly and the whole region has been on flood alert. And since getting out of the front gate without a rowboat has been pretty much impossible, you will be delighted to know that I finally got round to emptying that drawer of useless collectibles including a large number of expired store cards from countries I no longer reside in plus several dead pens, three balls of string and at least two dozen tea lights. I do feel my Doomsday list needs updating.

I’m not sure how much energy was cleared in the afore-mentioned chuck out but I did take advantage of one of the few dry days to remove the last of the Christmas displays – the one on the top of the corner wall. Frankly, I know Denis was all about keeping them up because twinkly lights in January brighten up the soul but I doubt anyone would bother to take a peek from under an umbrella and no sun means no solar. Mind you, as I was un-peeling the last of the strands off the street signboard below, a lady with three deliciously kissable pugs stopped to say how lovely the decorations had been and how sad to think I wouldn’t be there to do them again. Honestly, with the amount of time it took to cut off all the rope and tape D had used to secure everything and doing it all perched on top of a narrow pile of concrete bricks whilst ducking tree branches, I’m all to happy to hand over the task.

So, almost the end of the month and only one more until we are out of winter. The gardens are starting to stir which is a little worrying as I will have to move a lot of the plants soon if they are going to take to their new home. My Mimosa is looking particularly spectacular at present and wandering around the back plot this morning (a momentary stop in the deluge), I noticed buds on the Japanese bushes and the fruit trees. Such little surprises give hope to hopefully warmer weather and Spring. It’s not that I want to time to fly but it would be nice to have toasty tootsies again and who knows, we might have the heating back on by then…

“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” (Marthe Troly-Curtin)

Practical procrastination

I popped over for coffee with a friend the other day. Sara is one of those people who, when you finally get round to saying goodbye several hours later, leaves you with a sense of positivity and go get ’em girl which, when you consider she’s living with the cancer bitch, makes her all the more special. Apart from a much-overdue catch-up over caffeine and biccies, I’d wanted her advice on selling some of Mumo’s jewellery or at least ask if her fiancée Adolphe knew anyone who would be interested. Adolphe, for those who haven’t kept up with the blog, is a wheeler-dealer of sorts, mostly furniture but has connections all over the place. It might sound a little cold, wanting to off-load such personal items but none of the family want them so the trinkets are just gathering dust in the back of my wardrobe. Now Sara is not only the sort you can chat with all day about everything and nothing, she’s also straight talking and practical which is why, when I got home, I decided it was time to start clearing more cupboard space. Blocks the energy I’m told. Except, I haven’t actually got round to actually doing, just thinking about doing.

I’d blame my procrastination on the weather but it’s actually been quite mild of late. Just as well as we still don’t have heating as Max chauffagiste is waiting for yet another part in the post. Judging by the recent appearance of daffodil buds, winter will probably be over by the time the wretched boiler’s fixed and my very large fuel cheque handout would have been for nothing. Still, at least I am now ‘on the system’ as far as being officially a micro entrepreneur, something that took a while since I had to do a whole lot of online form filling again – this time for the necessary revenue declarations, zero at present as I haven’t got round to setting up the Witch Wackle website. Amusingly, the reason for the process taking so long was because Mumo’s maiden name and married names were both Collins – obviously a bit too confusing for the person ticking boxes. I am vainly hoping that that’s the last of having to deal with documentation as I’m supposed to be getting rid of excess paperwork, not adding to the piles and I do so prefer to be whittling away with the wood it was born from.

As I mentioned earlier, the thermometer has kindly allowed my tootsies to thaw a tad. Unfortunately, for brother Simon and wife Alba having just got back from sunny Miami, the toe-numbing tundra has been replaced by rain this morning, the miserable drizzly kind. On our way over to dinner with neigbours Saba and Roy last night, Denis suggested I should grab an umbrella so I did, one of at least five sitting by my front door most of which I have no recollection of buying. I know what Sara would say, get rid of the rest which of course, I haven’t. Ah well, tomorrow is another day and I just haven’t got the energy…

“I never put off till tomorrow what I can do the day after” (Oscar Wilde)

Cold comforts and apple sauce

Without, I hope, sounding too bah humbag, that has to have been one of my most miserable Christmases and not because I didn’t have Mumo or the rest of the family here. That in itself would be bad enough but the boiler decided to break down so I’ve had no radiators radiating warmth for a week and it rained non-stop for 6 of those days. Oddly enough, the last time the heat packed up was back in 2020 – a time when none of us could share our dinner with loved ones and Mumo and I ended up sharing a duck breast over a tiny hall table being only the two of us. On the plus side, thanks to her, we now have a lovely fireplace down in living room downstairs so I can remain partially de-frosted until Max the chauffagiste can fix the wretched reservoir.

Okay, it hasn’t been all bad. Despite our number being somewhat diminished by the usual winter arrival of the flu bug, Denis and I did get to host a decent spread on Christmas Day in the big house thanks to that lovely fireplace. And as I was playing lady of the manor, I treated my French famille to something more traditional where I come from. I’m not entirely sure everyone liked the pudding but the brandy butter was washed down well and I had several requests for my apple sauce recipe – honestly I thought we stole the idea from them but I’ll take the compliments for us Brits. Present opening with the Collins’ is always after lunch which was a little stressful for D’s grand-daughter Maria – such excitements are usually on Christmas Eve for les enfants but she lasted well and with the help of some of the woofers who I sneaked in (big brother Simon will never know )and gifts under the tree, gave a more than passable impression of a shredder on max speed.

Spending the holiday season on my own for the first time is, well, a little strange. Okay, there are my beloved woofers who have to be dislodged from from various parts of my body every morning so I can be all-Cinders like and rush down the outside staircase to clean the fireplace before attempting to set light to it. You would imagine by this time, my furry bedspread would be leaping around their palatial land but no, they don’t like the frigid wet stuff anymore than me so stay snug under the duvet. Then of course, there is Denis who appears like a scruffy angel at regular intervals to revive my pathetic offerings to the heat Gods and those friends who rallied round with various plug-in radiators having heard of my plight. Yet, and even though the sun has finally decided to make a break for it and Monsieur le météo has kindly turned off the tap, I’m still feeling selfishly lonely at times. I blame the weather, I’m still English after all even if I haven’t spoken my mother tongue for what seems like eons and my jaw aches from all the vocal yoga but there’s a New Year just around the corner and with that, let’s hope, a little home on the top of a hill just up the road and to the right. Without a boiler but definitely, most definitely a fireplace…

See you all in 2026!

““There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.” (C.S. Lewis)

Christmas 2025

Well, here we are. The second to last blog of 2025 and on the winter solstice as well – I wonder what astrologists would say about that but then again, I’m trying to steer clear of that temptation. If I’m being honest, it still doesn’t feel much like Christmas without Mumo here or the Collins’ family crowding the kitchen and I’ll probably a total mess when Lou and Maxime the nephews leave for their Mum’s on Tuesday. For a start, I still haven’t succeeded in the roasting fireplace department – a job Denis is going to have to take on if I’m to have any decent heat in the apartment and having to look after that big old house all by myself feels slightly Dickensian for some reason. I did think about moving in there, briefly I might add; the thought of letting Sherman loose with all that furniture and his penchant for lifting a leg on new smells slammed the lid on that one. However, there is a plus side to all this aloneness – I can play Christmas music all day long without anyone complaining, not counting the woofers.

Actually, as weeks go and despite my grouchy approach to the season, the past one has been rather fun. Denis and I had the chance to pop back over to brother Simon’s and wife Alba’s place in Argeliers for a spot of lunch and to pick up the rest of what will eventually be my new kitchen. We nearly didn’t make it as, due to a French farmers strike blocking the main arterial routes, Denis decided to take the back roads – a lot of them. Through very tiny villages in our not so small camion. Thankfully, my man is a very good driver but unfortunately lacking much sense of direction so many of those villages were seen more than once until he eventually gave in to my request for good old Google. At least we managed to take the right turns on our return journey, an art in itself with so much cabinetry crammed in the van and the only thing stopping us from unloading the lot mid-way was a piece of rope holding the ‘couldn’t quite get them closed’ back doors in place. Mission completed, the garage is now bursting with cupboards and counter tops; all of which are desperate for renovation and a decent paint job but will have to wait until the weather gets a little warmer.

Mind you, we have been lucky in the temperature department and apart from one spectacular storm, all balmy and blue skies so much so that I got to see some impressive aerial manoeuvres over the gardens. Standing on a sun-drenched terrace one afternoon, I saw a falcon come in to land on one of the trees next to the pool deck. It’s not the first time this particular raptor has visited; the last time it nearly got chomped by Arry as it misjudged the weight of the dove between its talons and swooped a little too low but now was happily snoozing on a branch. It must have been sleeping as the falcon took no notice of Bert and Skirt’s (the resident magpies) dive-bombing – sensibly not too close. And if that wondrous sight wasn’t enough, Friday had me pointing my phone up to the heavens and Simon checking Flight Radar so we could catch a glimpse of a plane. No, I haven’t taken up a new hobby; this was a special bypass – Maxime flying solo across the horizon above. Okay, very far above but a proud moment nevertheless. And with Simon and Alba going off to Miami the next morning, we all sat down to a pre-Christmas celebratory feast that evening – pigeon casserole, I kid you not.

And with that, to all I wish you a wonderful Noël. May your stockings be full and glasses overflow. May your tables groan with the most delicious of delicacies and the sound of corks popping. Cheers everyone!

“Christmas is a baby shower that went totally overboard.” ( Andy Borowitz)

Snotty noses and soulful spirits

There are many things that I’m not very good at and dealing with a stinky cold is one of them. I don’t do illness well whether its being the nurse or worse, the patient. I spent most of last week under a black cloud of doom in full sneeze mode with only the occasional respite thanks to whoever invented Vicks. Feeling and looking like someone coming off a heroin bender was one thing but being understood in your non-native language, I discovered, was frustrating to say the least – try differentiating deux, dix or douze with a stuffed up nose. Still, as more than one in the village told me, it’s better to succumb now than in the summer or on Christmas Day and I am now, finally almost back to my normal festive self.

I say almost back because at this point in December, I should be busy wrapping presents and helping organise bedrooms for incoming family the week before the big day but not this year. There’ll be no-one here but me and the woofers over the holiday period so the spirit is a little off. In an attempt to bring out my inner Santa sense and since I am playing host for some of Denis’ family on Christmas Day, I dragged my man off to the local jardinarie to buy a big fat tree to liven up the main house. I have to admit that compared to my apartment which is twinkling merrily and despite the sapin for once being tastefully decorated with no tinsel in sight, the place still looks somewhat bereft without Mumo’s presence and that of my siblings. As my sister Bong put in her recent text, it’s a strange time this year.

Having said all that, the property wasn’t totally devoid of bodies this week – we had another viewing and this time by a young couple and their kids. Having off-loaded all but one of the woofers on Denis and the camion, I left the estate agent in charge and took myself and Alice up to what will be our new plot up the road and to the right. If you are wondering why Alice wasn’t with the others then you’ve never been in a car with her – she’s very loud, painfully so. As we took in the view of the Corbières and the ambient surroundings, okay she was paying more attention to the Goldie across the road, it dawned on me how quickly this last year has passed and how much has happened within those 12 months. Walking back a little time later down the lane to the back of my current home, I saw the two children playing on our front lawn. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just that Alice had seen a cat on our wall and was trying her best to get in a bit of extreme rock-climbing but it felt vaguely reassuring that hopefully, in the not too distant future, the place would have a family again.

And it’s not just the big house that feel a little off at the moment, the poor garden doesn’t know which season it’s supposed to be in. With the weather deciding that blue skies and high teen degrees is perfectly normal in wintertime, half the foliage is on the floor whilst the rest is in full bloom. On the positive side, this does help charge up the solar lights illuminating our reindeer display but I do worry about my plantings as I will have to move them in the next few months and they really should be asleep by now. Still, one can’t deny that a little bit of sunshine does the spirit and the snotty nose a world of good and with only so many shopping days left until Christmas, I am determined to bring a little bit of Sophi magic to the party. And now, with my new television courtesy of a priceless pal, it’s time to switch on the Disney classics, put on the dancing slippers and get out the wrapping paper don’t you think?…

“December, being the last month of the year, cannot help but make us think of what is to come.” (Fennel Hudson)