Summer’s swan song

I held a dinner party last night. Not unusual I know but there is one that only happens once a year – the annual ‘Sophi arrived in Rouffiac’ knees up. Actually, I didn’t start hosting the do until 3 years ago which co-incidentally was when Denis and I fessed up to our feelings so why not combine two anniversaries over barbecues and booze with best friends. With the long table (borrowed from the mairie) over-flowing with food and multiple conversations in two languages bouncing across bottles, the evening went fabulously even if I almost knocked myself out tripping over a Sherman-sized hole in the garden resulting in a nicely swollen big toe this morning. Mind you, I could blame that on my rather effervescent dance moves or on the wind. The weather stayed warm but blowy, so much so that paper plates had to remain loaded lest they ended up on next doors pool.

I suppose one could say the evening’s entertainment also marked the end of summer. That and the distant sound of gunfire. Yes, the chasse is back. And a reminder that it won’t be long before it is time to dig out the trainers once more and take to the hills. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the pre-dawn alarm; I’ve got a bit lazy when it comes to getting out of bed but the canine crew and I need the exertion now that our pool is a little too cool. I did go swimming yesterday but I have a feeling that may well be the last time I get the goggles out. Unless I find the wetsuit. It’s funny to think that might well have been the final frolic with this place for sale, I won’t miss the constant cleaning though or the ‘what’s wrong with you know’ stress. Walking around the vast wooden deck with my mate Christophe last night, he asked if I was going to build another one in the new place. Yes but smaller, I replied, much smaller just like my yet to be house.

Ahh, the dream home. I’m still waiting for the notaire to finish the paperwork on that subject so I can finally fork out the euros and bring in the diggers. A little frustrating but that’s legals for you. On the plus side, the longer the wait the better it is for all the plantings I’m planning to repatriate. Most have to be in dormant mode to be shifted a couple of minutes up the road and I need to plan a bit of landscaping on the plots before that happens. Creating this garden took 5 years so I’d like to be ahead of the game for my next adventure. I’m not taking the potager however, I haven’t been very successful in that horticultural department not counting the slew of spring onions last year. I might just throw a few seeds around and let Nature take its course. Which I did with the seeds Abraham gave me much to D’s horror and now I have a tiny pastèque growing its little heart out. Naturally, I had to show the prized fruit to my guests last night which needless to say led to much amusement on their parts. Yes, it is a tad late in the season for such delicious delights so it’s probably not going to get any bigger but I’m still dreadfully proud of myself. Who knows, maybe next year we’ll be having watermelon for dessert in a different setting surrounded by friends and familiar flora…

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

Making the most of the views

Is it me or did July just disappear? Mind you, it’s taken the less than desirable weather and my gloomy mood with it so I’m not the only one who’s pleased to see the back of last month. The sun is back for a start and the main house has bodies in it once again – nephews Louis and Maxime are back. Not only does this mean I don’t have to scare myself silly locking the place up every night what with all the eerie creaks and groans about but with any luck the mice who’ve been leaving their deposits in the kitchen cupboards will move out. Sappy’s back too. I can’t say ours was a joyful reunion, Mumo’s former pooch and I have what some may call, a cool relationship, but her presence should be enough to send the critters curb-side.

To be honest, meeses don’t bother me but now that we have changed estate agents (I didn’t like the last one and he did f-all), the place had to be photographed again and no-one wants to hear little pitapats let alone their scant disregard for health and hygiene. I’m still not convinced we will get any potential buyers before the end of the summer but at least with the boys here and their dad, brother Simon, popping in most weekends, we can make the most out of this place especially the pool. As much as I love being able to plunge into its cool depths every afternoon, it doesn’t half get boring when you’re doing it alone – not counting Arry’s shark impressions.

Actually, I haven’t really had that much lone time over the past week. There was a visit from Denis’ eldest daughter Deborah who’d popped down from Paris which of course led to a thoroughly enjoyable barbecue one evening and then another spent with our bosom buddies over at Bruce and Suzy’s a couple of doors away. Anyone who knows the couple will tell you that such get-togethers tend to involve more than a few bottles of wine and I ended up almost knocked out on the cobblestones after an overly-enthusiastic hug from Suz. Alas the week that was had Abraham saying goodbye as he drove back up to the big smoke but he’s promised me he will return next year and we will think about re-opening Le Jardin when he does.

Mind you, I might have a slightly longer walk to get there in the not too distant future. Having thrown a strop over the elevated price of the property, it was pointed out to me that this was because the land has a little more acreage than what was initially on the plan. So I’ve decided to make the leap. Actually it’s more of a climb as most of it is on a hill but the view is everything this girl could ask for. There’s more than enough terrain for the woofers even if, as yet, there isn’t much else. Like a house for example and maybe a pool? Well, I’ve built a pool before…

““You can have more than one home. You can carry your roots with you, and decide where they grow.” (Henning Mankell)

Hairy situations

I got a message from Callum the other day. He wanted to know if I had any photos of Tony back when he had a lot of hair; our son was in his words, ‘rediscovering his curls and wanted to replicate his dad’s’. Since I really couldn’t be bothered to trawl through the mountains of albums up in the loft space, I dug out what I had to hand and sent them off. It wasn’t until Callum commented on the fact that Tony’s hairline was already receding by the time I met him that I took a closer look and saw the man-child’s reflection smiling back at me. Even though most of those pictures were taken 30 plus years ago, his lad is now a similar age to when they were done and the resemblance between the two is uncanny. Mind you, Callum wasn’t too happy about his barnet going backwards so young despite me saying he shares my genes too and I’ve got plenty up top.

And I’m not the only one. Having had my brothers and sister back home the week before, this one saw the return of our favourite Rasta – Abraham’s back even if it’s just for the holidays. Naturally, as soon as our dread-locked darling arrived, a little get-together was in store so Denis and I took up the invitation to dine at Joel’s place deep in the woods above Rouffiac. Joel, fondly known as Tonton to Abs because he’s always been there for him, lives, well let’s just say, a little more than off the grid. It was the first time I’d seen his home and I did fall more than a little in love. Over good wine and a fabulous barbecue, I mused to myself as to whether this lifestyle might be right up my tree what with the open plan living area he had created to take in the best view of the surrounding landscape and all the recycled and refreshed furnishings but the dream wilted fast. Put it this way, I kept my bladder in check when I noted where the toilet was and it wasn’t inside.

Catching up with old friends is one thing but an unwelcome visitor was almost nabbed by the woofers on Friday. As is the norm, when I’m the only one in residence, the woofers get free rein over the grounds. I say this because brother Simon can’t stand their noisy banter with the village pooches passing in front of the gate. Anyway, I was busy picking up after my not so adorable pets when I noticed a large tabby cat sunning itself in the top corner. Knowing what my lot are capable of when it comes to felling felines, I tried to shoo the bloody thing over the nearby wall but it took off in the other direction and straight into the firing line. Arry may not be as agile as he used to be but the terriers move like bullets. How it got over the fence with Alice and Sherman literally on its tail, who knows but it’s most certainly one life down. The two spent the rest of the morning hiding in the shadows ready to ambush the intruder should it return. I only hope the cat’s carer didn’t noticed the bald patches…

“A hair in the head is worth two in the brush” (William Hazlitt)

Pals in Provence

They say life is made for good friends and great adventures; especially one who knows when you need to take a break and gives you a kick up the wotsit to actually book a few days away. After having spent a couple of days lounging by the pool during the day and putting our worlds to right all night, bestie Rene and I hit the autoroute south-east – to Avignon we went. The woofers, by the way, were left in the charge of Denis so didn’t bat a paw as we left.

I’d chosen Avignon as it wasn’t too much of a drive away and I’d always wanted to see the Palais des Papes; gothic architecture being a passion of mine and Rene loves anything historical. Following her GPS (much safer on my nervous system), we got to our chambres d’hôtes in good time but having arrived a bit too early to unload, we parked up outside and took to the streets. And what beautiful streets they were too – statuesque buildings rising up to a blue sky whilst down below, outdoor cafes brimming with people sipping coffee and wine in the sunshine under giant parasols. Naturally we joined them, one should always try and fit in. And we needed time to get our bearings having bought a couple of days worth of ‘tourist passes’ so we wouldn’t have to pay at the doors so to speak. There’s a lot to see in Avignon. Schedule sort of sorted, we took a stroll up to the main attraction and boy, it didn’t disappoint. The Palais towers over a large square, its gargoyles peering down at the pedestrians from the building’s impressive exterior, metal studded turrets looking a bit like a dominatrix’ dream, the stone surrounds commanding the view. But that was the next day’s visit, so we popped back to unload and room sorted, popped back out to town for a very nice dinner and far too much wine. The early hour return amusingly noted by the couple sitting next to us at breakfast the following morning and with whom we chatted over coffee and home-made yummies as if old friends.

I really would recommend Avignon and its sights although, for me, the interior of the Palais des Papes was a little under-whelming compared to its facade. Much of it has been rebuilt and the tablets we were given to show us what it would have looked like kept switching off. The gardens attached to the place are stunning however, fragrant roses and herb plantings perfectly lined up so you could amble quietly through the greenery although our appreciation was dampened by a very loud German lady trying to get her tour group in one place. Rene and I did go to the famous Pont d’Avignon; well I say we but I only got as far as the beginning of the bridge before my vertigo took over. She took pictures for me. We took in the indoor food market and a couple of museums too and the touristy thing of souvenir shopping. The car still smells of lavender.

With the final evening spent dining decadently (and a little more measured with the wine) under the shadow of the Palais, we left the city to take a little detour to visit a little town with a well-known name – Chateauneuf-du-Pape and to buy a few bottles of the famed vin before heading further into the deep Provence countryside to pootle around L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. The latter was just stunning; built around the river of the same name, the clear and I mean crystal clear waters decorated with ancient waterwheels and tiny streets littered with antique shops. Sadly we couldn’t spend more than an hour there, the home journey beckoned but Rene had had the right idea – I relaxed. Well, almost. There was that little hitch with trying to find a petrol station (the autoroutes around Provence don’t seem to provide such emergency services) so we had to veer off into Nîmes during peak hour traffic – not recommended. The drivers are nuts and even the GPS had trouble finding directions to the nearest pump, my near temper meltdown only that because Rene told me to shut up. She knows me so well, she’s been there before if you remember our last adventure in the Mothership – at least this time I didn’t take any wheel arches off the car and toll gates have been left untainted.

Anyway, thanks to her, I had a wonderful break away from the norm and the woofers thoroughly enjoyed being pampered by Denis, even if he did mix up Mo and Coco’s nappies – girl nappies don’t fit boys if you get my drift. Poor chap, I didn’t find out until later that he was fighting a fever – he thinks he might have had a touch of the Covid after Morocco. Thankfully he is back to himself now and very happy to have his girl home.

So there you go, Sophi had a chance to chill out. Perfect timing. Things are changing here readers…https://www.bac-immobilier.com/vente/11-aude/766-preixan/entre-limoux-et-carcassonne/12559-maison-de-village. (You might even spot Simi)

“Sometimes all you need is a great friend and a tank of gas.” (Thelma & Louise)

Thermometer therapy

I’m not going to apologise for the lateness in writing this blog because, frankly, I’ve been busy doing sod all. I know what you’re thinking, impossible but I am on a course of relaxation and enjoying life thanks to the arrival of our Rene. And gorgeous weekend weather. Yup, skies are blue, temperatures are in the 30’s and the pool is full of water. The clear, algae kind. The only minor damper in the whole equation has been Denis’ absence – man is in Morocco having his own holiday.

Not that I don’t miss him, honestly being separated this long for the first time ever isn’t fun but them I’ve had our Sherman to cuddle up with. The boy turned 4 this week! Hard to believe Alice had the pups that long ago and of course, Sherbs the first of the lot, was born on the bed in the palm of my hand. And has never left. So happy birthday to all the chiots ; Sherman, Sabrina, Sansa, Sophia, Salome and Slim.

Like I might have mentioned, it’s fabulous down here in this little village in the South-West of France. Sun is ablazing and the cotton is high – actually the grass was cut by my bloke before he went across the Med, but you get the gist. It’s been a great weekend.

Mind you, the blissfulness of being able to actually swim in the bloody pool after 2 years of plumbing leaks hasn’t been painless – I did my back in after deftly performing what I considered a decent front crawl; body too used to running uphill not prone forward through water movement. Then there is always the danger of being sunk by the enthusiastic Arry who is naturally delighted at the prospect of being able to perform his interpretation of a feral shark; long overdue due to an accidental dive into an empty piscine last summer which gave him a bit of a wobbly for getting back in the water. A little coaxing from our Rene was the best therapy and he’s back to doin what annoys everyone the most.

Yes, our girl is back and for a whole week. My bestie and most perfect Sophi psychologist has unpacked her suitcase, and her swimsuit, to spend an entire 7 days with yours truly. And Alice as a bedmate. The weather couldn’t have timed itself better, the thermometer rising as her plane glided into Carcassonne and as we lay on the sun beds nattering about life and the challenges of widowhood, brother Simon popped in with Alba in tow to throw a little family barbecue and lunch deck-side. Timing is everything; as they left, the clouds rolled, the thunder roared and it’s now pissing down. Good job, Denis is back on home soil tomorrow – Rene and I are off on a little adventure on Tuesday, we’re going on holiday… Damn, storm..power cut, no we’re okay… nope. off again, nope back. You gotta love life down here in the sun…

“Summer is a promissory note signed in June” ( Hal Borland)

Familiar faces, fiddly bits and fresh pools

Considering I spend most weeks covered in dust and remnants of varnish, the events of the past 7 days were a refreshing change – and in clean jeans too. I’ve been quite the girl around town; tea with the ladies on Tuesday, a lesson in jewellery making on Wednesday, lunch out with Saba on Thursday, picked up my bestie Rene from the airport on Friday and then put together a little soirée with friends last night before taking said bestie back to the airport an hour ago. Oh, then there was that extra little something that finally took shape – the bloody pool now has a nice brightly coloured liner.

Okay, so the sight of me holding a teapot instead of a wine bottle might appear a little odd but Mumo and her friends used to have a weekly get-together over fine china and nibbly biscuits so I’m taking her place. I have to admit the accompanying cookie collection was a little thin as Callum had got to the packets before me but it was a very nice afternoon nevertheless spent catching up on the ‘who’s doing what’ news. Very grown-up. And as they always say, you’re never too old to learn something so I took up the offer for a tutorial in the finer art of twisting metal and bead-threading with another one of Mumo’s gal pals. I would like to point out that such a craft is much more difficult than it looks even with your specs on. Still, Jan gave me a few tools and bits and pieces to practise on and I’ve dug out my magnifying glass. Over lunch with Saba the following day, I mentioned that further lessons would include soldering which would be great as I have yet to use mine – she suggested a health and safety course first.

Luckily, for me, and her, popping over the Channel for a weekend is relatively cheap this time of year so I had our Rene for a wonderful 48 hours. Knowing me as well as she does and because she couldn’t come to Mumo’s funeral, she had booked herself a little ‘Sophi’ time as soon as she could. I just wish the weather hadn’t decided to change its sunny mind at the end of the week but at least the rain stayed away until this morning. Good job really as I’d carefully planned the party out in the courtyard and no-one likes a soggy seat. It goes without saying that the night was thoroughly enjoyable – platters of lemon chicken (Mumo’s recipe), D’s barbecued sausages and my speciality that is a French Tomato tart getting the thumbs up as I rushed around with the more familiar accessory – wine bottles. No doubt, I shall host another when Rene comes back in June but in a different location, like by the pool. The one that is currently filling up with water and keeping its precious liquid within for once in its life. Roll on summer and friends and fiddly tea cups…

“A good friend is a connection to life — a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.” ( Lois Wyse)

The girl can’t help it

Yup, it’s still February but there is nothing like flowers, friends and fair skies to put a spring in one’s step. And I’ve been blessed with all three this past few days. Admittedly, the beginning of last week had me to doing a passable impression of a moody teenager – one too many comments about yours truly’s character but all was thrown off as soon as the sun came out. That and Denis’ perfectly timed trip to the garden centre after I dropped my Giselle off at the Toyota emporium for the last time. I was a little sad to say goodbye to my speedy set of wheels, Mumo’s Renault hasn’t got the same vroom and is much lower to the ground which means any bump in the road slams your butt.

My Rav 4 hasn’t been the only one leaving the nest, brother Moth and nephew Louis have gone back to their respective dwellings although Louis will be back in a week or so – kid needed to catch up on his actual job, that being fixing pianos and church organs, instead of building staircases and sanding down floorboards. Callum thankfully is still in residence, putting in electrics and a vent in my bathroom. I’ve been busy painting the latter although my expertise in ceiling decor has resulted in a splatter effect on the tiles – I did cover everything but the blasted paint is very sneaky. I’d much rather be planting roses and finishing off the new flower ‘beds’ D and I created thanks to Abraham’s gift of a few bits of dried tree trunks from Le Jardin. Speaking of makeovers, we finally got a visit from the pool poseur so the bloody thing could be measured up for a new liner hopefully next month. He tells me it can only be installed if the weather gauge gets to 20 degrees which judging by the forecast isn’t going to be a problem.

At least the woofers don’t mind my apparently irksome inability to keep still for five seconds and I think, quite like my ‘over enthusiastic’ optimism as do most closest to me, including friends. So, I had a few over last night to dine Greek style. Even Mumo sampled a little of my cuisine – brave lady. We might have eaten too much, drunk our way through several vineyards and murdered a few Demis Roussos tunes but in the best company. Flowers, friends and fair skies – maybe February’s not that bad at all…

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” (Marcel Proust)

Stand upright and look forward

I did something this week which made me rather proud of myself. The last kilometre or so of our morning run means taking to the tarmac from Prexian to Rouffiac which rises above the fast D118 main road. For no reason whatsoever and even though there is a protective railing stopping anyone careering off onto the traffic below, there’s one tiny stretch which terrifies the hell out of me. To the point where I want to throw up so I have to close my eyes and drag my canine posse past it Usain Bolt speed but not on Thursday. I strolled past that tiny gap and gave it two fingers, ha! One small step and all that but I gave myself and the woofers a high five.

I know it sounds silly to take pride in overcoming such a little phobia but if this year has taught me anything, it has been to just looking ahead even when the proverbial hits the fan. What with the bloody pool, the promise of a drill pipe that never happened, Mumo’s diagnosis and the death of my beloved Yogi Bear, it would have been so easy to just stop the engine but I’ve kept that foot on the pedal. And now, with the family beginning to arrive for the festivities, I can relax a little bit – 3 days off in 2 months takes it toll. Naturally, the Gods aren’t letting me off that easily – that’d be a miracle. Having a couple of hours to go and do some shopping yesterday, I got in my car only to find the battery flat and big brother Simon had Mumo’s wheels. I’d have jumped into Denis’ camionette only her battery went out the night before and I couldn’t use the van as it isn’t legally fit for the road yet. I called Toyota only to be answered by French robot who didn’t understand my attempt at the local lingo, which would normally leave me shrieking down the phone but amazingly I stayed Zen and somehow managed to wangle her into providing a man with a tow truck to pop by. Luckily for me, he didn’t need it – just his cables. And an instruction to drive half an hour non-stop to juice up the battery, basically do like the locals then.

It hasn’t been all go go go though, I have found time to finish the picture for the signboard which Denis put in place and all the decorations are up. Well, sort of – the current windy wet weather is doing its best to knock down what I put up but I did get my way and extra fairy lights are now installed so you can actually see Papa Nöel and his reindeer. Over a meeting held in the main house dining room the other day (I couldn’t get out so work came to me), there was much guffawing about a certain reindeers tinselled scarf – I’m all about inclusivity I replied. And if there wasn’t yet another challenge to face in the year ahead, it is that of Le Jardin and a farewell, if just for a little while, to Abraham. Our host with the most is off to pastures new for a while. Le Jardin will be undergoing a few changes in the meantime and I’ve been left to hold the fort in my bestest buddy’s absence. Still, I’m never one who likes sitting still…

Merry Christmas everyone and I hope you all over-indulge!

“Still I rise.” (Maya Angelou)

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)

Storms, sprouts and a little soirée

There’s not a lot in common between France and my former homeland that is the U.K, except the current weather situation. By now, I would have artfully (my words) decorated the front corner wall with lashings of Christmas paraphernalia but the incessant rain and woe some wind has stopped play. Driving back from the hospital yesterday (yes, Mumo’s managed to put herself back in there with an infection), I had to keep a firm grip on the steering wheel lest I got blown into the oncoming traffic and narrowly escaped a broken window as a branch decided to give way and hit the side of my car. Even the usual crack-pot antics of Arry and Sherman across the gardens has been curbed and both are snuggled up on the sofa.

Up until Friday, we had a fairly decent week – cold but gloriously sunny. My sister Bong, flew in for a few days to help look after our Mumo and with little brother Moth in situ as well, I managed to get quite a few chores ticked off the list. The second draft of the Second Book is ready to be sent off to Sally editor and I made a start on the traditional tableau for the village signboard. I also managed to make the Christmas pudding, wishes stirred in by siblings – these might be secret but I think I know what everyone hoped for. And it wasn’t just the inside jobs that kept me busy, Denis and I took an afternoon off to head over to Mirepoix to see a man about a drill-pipe. Actually the same man as we’ve been trying to get a date out of since May but as he doesn’t seem to realise he has a phone, we decided to save him the trouble of finding it and Moth said Mirepoix was a lovely place to visit anyway. Well, I’m sure it is but the only bits I saw were the one-way minute cul-de-sacs my GPS insisted I risked my car’s paintwork in. With my temper at full tantrum and expletives exploding, D made me pull into a supermarket car park so I could calm down whilst he asked for directions. A very nice man in a van then kindly told us to follow him as he showed us the way, ignoring the ‘no entry’ signs and near pings with other motorists which didn’t do any favours for my stress levels or Denis’ anxiety for my health. I did explain to him later that I’d spent 22 years in London traffic swearing like a trooper and Callum reckons his first word started with the ‘F’ thanks to the school run. Oh, and the bloke what bores holes wasn’t there but I left a polite note with his wife with my phone number and email should he prefer an alternative method of communication. Jury’s out on that one.

Still, it’s not as though we need water at the moment. Or a filled pool. And the wet stuff has been doing wonders for our potager – I have 2 Brussel Sprouts! Okay, not enough for a dinner party but where’s there’s two there will be more. And speaking of soirées , I finally got back to hosting one last night. With all the worry over Mumo, being with close friends and having a chance to let my hair down was just what I needed. Naturally, far too much of the grape was imbibed but the laughs and cat-scaring karaoke was worth the over-indulgence. Thankfully our guests live within a few minutes of chez nous so any weaving across the road is par for the course which is very well-lit due to the bright neon blue Joyeux Nöel panels now blinding the entire village. It needs more though, like a few reindeers, Santa Claus, elves, fake snow, fairy lights…

“Don’t knock the weather, nine-tenths of the people couldn’t start a conversation if it didn’t change once in a while” (Kin Hubbard)