Summer bugs and idle dogs

A storm is on the horizon. Well, according to the radar anyway; then again that’s not exactly trustworthy as such promises tend to avoid us but boy, do we need one even if it’s only enough to drench leaves. Life is wilting here – as I pointed out to a friend in the old motherland who was complaining about the canicule over there, we still have 3 months to get through. Their summer will probably be done and dusted next week. It’s gotten so bad that the large fig tree next to the pool now has the persona of Queen Victoria collapsing into her crinoline under the weight of its odorous offerings which aren’t normally ripe until mid-July. Denis had to cut off the top branches just so the poor lady could get some respite. Fig confiture is very popular in these parts he tells me; he can do what he likes with them, I can’t stand the things.

All that being said and let’s not mention the battle of the hose, being stuck mostly indoors this past week has been rather pleasant. Okay, there was that flood in the house’s main bathroom, thankfully curtailed by the entire contents of the towel shelves but not before it came through the kitchen ceiling. Luckily no damage done and a strong worded Whatsapp to the family with my thoughts on having to remove other people’s hair from shower drains sent. Then there was the kamikaze flies to deal with – the floor around the downstairs glass doors of my atelier covered with them. Bizarre but apparently I’m not the only one with mouche madness. But other than dealing with unwelcome house crimes and a need to have a meeting with Abraham about my little investment we know as Le Jardin, having a practically empty diary has had its advantages. I’ve made a start on the Witch Wackle website, a very slow one but as much as I am not a fan, AI can be helpful for technophobes like me. I’m not entirely comfortable conversing with cyber bots who chat to you like you’re best buddies (creepy) but at least I’m getting somewhere. I would be getting a lot further except photographing each individual piece is really boring and ‘creating content’ is a language I’ve yet to master. Thankfully our Welsh Lisa is a pro at marketing and wants something to do whilst her busted up foot heals. In the meantime, I’m still at one with the paintbrush finishing off the last of the current pot pile so that D can pop them over to St-Hilaire ready for what we hope will be a decent influx of tourists now that the holidays are upon us. They should have been in situ already if it wasn’t for my inability to draw a frog. I should have considered a grasshopper instead; the one I rescued from under the cabinet yesterday would have been a perfect model. At least I think it was a grasshopper; poor thing looked like a dinosaur who’d just about survived extinction. I left it on the broom in a shady area of the garden near the wildlife rehydration trays which was probably not the best idea now that I come to think about it.

I’m not the only one who wouldn’t mind a downpour later – the woofers have barely moved. Apart from their expressive dawn chorus at the front gate as the neighbourhood drag their reluctant pooches round the block, there is barely a flicker of movement between them. Sherbs is still plopped in his now sizeable hole in the flower bed and Alice has snuck into the big house to cool off on the stone tiles. The rest lie outstretched under fans save for Arry who, being an idiot, prefers baking on the terrace sofas. Mind you, such laziness is occasionally interrupted by an upheaval of his aging bones for a quick dip in the pristine pool (note still no swearing on that subject). Not exactly refreshing considering the ‘set on soup’ temperature of the water, currently 30 degrees but let’s not grumble and get in before the heavens may open and drop a ton of bugs into the depths below. Can dinosaurs swim?…

“Do what we can, summer will have its flies.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Blissful bathing in barbecues

According to Monsieur le Météo, the insufferable scorch we are currently experiencing is nothing compared to what’s in store next week. Great. It’s not enough that I have to drag the infernal “I’ll kink when I want’ hosepipe across the barren landscape at dawn or that all my terrace flora shrivelled into nothingness despite the parasol shade overhead, you feel the need to crank up the celsius to cremate? Put it this way, I’ve replaced the balcony’s burnt offerings with cacti and put away any thoughts of sleeping past sunrise.

Thank the Gods for the pool (note that I have removed the normal curse that precedes her title). In fact, anyone’s pool. The usual and not to be sniffed at invitations to pop over for a drink or lunch now have the addition of ‘and bring a cozzie’; Jude and I spent passed yesterday afternoon mostly submerged in her liquid luxury save the hand holding the bottle. Non-alcoholic I promise. As for our over-sized body of sheer bliss, it’s being well-used by yours truly and Arry of course since me and the woofers are the only ones in residence at the moment which has its advantages in that the big house is easier to take care of and I’ve gotten used to taking care of the outside toute seule over the years. I did have the company of brother Simon and wife Alba on Monday so she and I got to share a dip and a chat in the depths. They pootled off the following morning in car full of food stuffs as I rarely use the big fridge and I didn’t want to throw away its contents unnecessarily. I did suggest adding the larder contents to their load too although I was a little surprised that the upstairs loo rolls were nowhere to be seen. I am not aware such items have a sell by date. We did have a second visit by a French family that same afternoon which looked promising but alas, the mahoosive mansion turned out to be just that – too mahoosive. Don’t I know it. Mind you, there might be better luck in the months ahead as we’ve decided to drop the price a little; having a 4 instead of a 5 in front may just sway the prospective punters.

At least the evenings are still relatively bearable so one can don the glad rags (as little as you can get away with and still be decent) and do the social circuit. Mostly chez moi although Friday night down at Le Petit Bistrot was banging as the young folks would say. Festival de la Musique is an annual summer thing round these parts with villages and towns hosting local combos of varying styles. Rouffiac’s started out with a sort of pub rock group who got everyone on the dance floor shaking their parts to well-known grooves before we were treated to a traditional folk fest which in turn had the older generation singing along in fine tune. Kinda. And since spending one soirée partying with one’s people wasn’t enough, Denis and I threw together a barbecue yesterday for our usual crew. Thankfully, a sit down affair in the coolness of the courtyard – my body can only boogie so much, a fact it often reminds me about so a good old-fashioned gas over a table heaving with deliciousness and wine and if necessary, bathroom toiletries refreshed made for a comfortable chillout amongst friends. Speaking of cooking and all things fire weather, that pristinely perfect pool has my name on it…

““If summer had one defining scent, it’d definitely be the smell of barbecue.” (Katie Lee)

Hot metal and hairy hounds

You know that annoying feeling when you put off a thing that needs doing until it’s too late to do it? Like deciding to leave the repainting of the metal staircase leading down from the terrace for a prospective new owner and now you can’t walk on it without searing your tootsies. Not that you’d want to step outside mind you, what with the thermometer set to boil mode as soon as the sun rises. Watering what is still just about surviving in the garden has to wait until dusk to allow some chance of liquid actually going into the soil and not disappearing as soon as you point the hose at it. Denis has taken responsibility for the potager plantings, apparently I don’t drench them like he does. I’m more than happy to let him, the very idea of having to make my way to the bottom of the terrain to do so is a health hazard.

At least the pool hasn’t evaporated, amazingly with it having no shade whatsoever and Arry’s need to throw himself in every 5 minutes. At least for him, he can cool down, the other woofers aren’t keen on swimming although Alice and Sherman have been subjected to a quick dip by yours truly. I had to give the latter and his brother next door a thorough hand-stripping earlier in the week – their extra coat coming off in record seconds and on to me. Sweat and dog hair do not mix well especially when you add fans on full blast, my necessary after shower meant declogging the drain. I’d have jumped in said pool except removing German Shepherd fur from the skimmers is bad enough, let’s not add to that.

It might be hotter than hell out there but it’s good for the bijoux business. With the vacation season just about to kick off, I decided to change the shop display to something more appropriate for the summer spenders. Having found an old ladder in the workshop, I roped Louis into creating a stand for my wares which I have to say looks rather wow even if my ‘background paintings’ are reminiscent of a toddler’s first art class. Still, my new presentation appears to be a success especially the copper collection – D’s idea initially although once I got the hang of all that wire twisting, both of us have become somewhat addicted to the process. At the rate we’re going, the local Brico shops are going to run out of cable but the medical service will be grateful for the reduction in numbers of arthritic patients. Maybe that’s the reason why I don’t have aching ankles any more, endless hours spent weaving and bashing the metal the panacea to my painful posterior. Mind you, with no rain forecasted for the foreseeable future, I’m not sure cures for creaky joints are going to continue to fly off the shelves. Perhaps a new career in fire-proof footwear?…

“What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps one in a continual state of inelegance.” (Jane Austen)

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: