lifeisneverdull – Page 2 – Widow plus woofs

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)

Last week started with a storm, followed by glorious sunny weather and ended with a power cut. And for most of that time, I’ve been ankle deep in water in what should be an empty swimming pool. I can’t even blame the rain because we’ve barely had a drop, nope this is down to water being under the liner rather than on top of it. I shall explain. Having sorted the most likely source of the leak i.e. in the pool staircase thanks to the ever-reliable Roy’s expertise, I pumped out the remaining third of green, slimy liquid out into the garden and set about cleaning the liner so we could refill the bloody thing. It was at this point I felt the ground move under my feet so to speak or rather, wave underneath me. The mystery of where the leak had put the water was now clear, under the liner. So I’ve had to loosen the drain cover to make a gap for the stuff to come out of, wait for the small area to fill up and then go in with a bucket – and I’m still schlepping the thing two days later. I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have mountains of other work to do and that the weather has suddenly turned very cool and my toes are in permanent prune mode. I’m really really hoping I’ll finish this tedious travail by tomorrow so we can put the water back on the right side of the liner before putting the summer cover on and forgetting about the bloody thing until the end of next month.

Mind you, both Denis and I have had time between my buckets to cross a few more things off the diminishing ‘to-do’ list. He’s started on the pétanque ground – a sort of bowls game that’s very popular in these parts. And yes, D has made sure the sporting venue is placed well away from next-doors windows – he knows my technique well. It’s not an easy thing to create, the lack of decent rainfall has made the terrain rock-hard despite me emptying the algae-contents over Denis’ meticulously marked-out plot. As for me, I’m still finishing the tractor shed wall’s ‘art’ – you’ll see it when I’ve finished. Oh and I’ve completed Chapter Sixteen of the second opus which I’ll pop off to Sally editor tonight and then, if she doesn’t send everything back covered in red ink, I only have four more chapters to go. Well, for the first edit anyway.

As I mentioned at the beginning of today’s blog, we started and ended last week with what could have been party poopers. Easter Monday saw the annual Maybon (D’s family) gathering, the sun was out and the barbecue sizzled whilst the little ones played with snails on D’s front lawn. Poor molluscs couldn’t get away slow enough. That was until the skies above turned slate grey and the distant rumble of thunder brought everyone under cover. Thankfully, the impressive display of lightning and sheets of rain waited until the day was almost over – so French. One must get the meal over first. That being said, yesterday’s power cut almost put a stop to anyone having a bite to eat. I had just put the evening’s dinner in the oven, Saba and Roy were joining us and I had another little surprise for both them and Denis, when everything suddenly went pfft. That was at 2pm. Rouffiac didn’t see electricity again until 9 pm. But we are resourceful and were not about to let a tiny little thing like power stifle our soirée. Or my surprise from arriving. My wonderful friend Sophy (the one with a ‘y’ not an ‘i’) and her husband Sean joined us, having popped over to visit Carcassonne for a few days, bringing buckets of wine and cheese to fill the meagre table which wasn’t so meagre after the local pizza joint got its wattage working. The whole night spent in semi-darkness was such a riot that when the lights came back on, we turned them off. Life is never dull when you live in this little village tucked away somewhere in South-West France…

“Happiness is not the absence of problems, but the willingness to deal with them joyfully” (Jonathan Lockwood Huie)