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)

Old habits, new views

A very good friend told me recently that one of my more admirable traits was the ability to do the opposite of what one would expect when faced with a problem; that and my bull-headedness to see my decisions through. Well, I’m not sure the first is an aspirational quality to have in life but the second has definitely been an asset this last week. I’ve given up smoking.

Dumping an old ‘friend and dependant’ after 40 odd years I have to be honest, was a bit of a spur of the moment thing but since I couldn’t get a follow-up appointment with Dr Lefevre until this coming Tuesday, I took it upon myself to get a head-start on a health kick. Despite Denis’ thoughts on just cutting down a bit, I know me and it’s all or nothing. Of course, I googled the possible effects of my rashness but apart from the hand trembles, the headaches, the dizziness, the need to have something between my fingers and not being able to concentrate for more than 30 seconds, I’ve hardly noticed the fact that every time I step outdoors I reach for an invisible pack in a pocket. Actually writing this blog today is an effort in itself as I would normally be mulling over thoughts whilst puffing on the terrace but instead I’m sucking a TicTac. But, and just in case having a stubborn streak isn’t enough, the headshot I took of myself the first morning after quitting was enough to scare Freddy Krueger so that’s motivation in itself. All that being said, I haven’t yet had the irritability everyone keeps warning me about; in fact I have felt oddly calmer and certainly less stressed. That may also have something to do with changing my eating habits too; sitting down and actually concentrating on a meal instead of doing 10 other things at the same time. And before I lose my trumpet, I’ve dropped the wine glass too. Or at least limited myself to one an evening as I was cautioned against too much cessation at once – the body can only take so many shocks at once apparently.

Luckily I have no shortage of distractions at present. After dropping into the notaire’s office last Thursday with big brother Simon so we could finally sign the last of Mumo’s stuff over to us four siblings, I got a chance for an update on my land purchase. The sale has been delayed due to the unfortunate demise of one of the three owners and the consequential hold-up with the succession. The ‘succession’ in case I haven’t mentioned before is how property is handed down in France to put it simply – generally speaking people don’t have wills so everything is just shared equally with the children and usually takes half the time than that of the contract kind. Anyway, I was reassured that the necessary sign-off for that is on the horizon which is a great mood boost and in my bid to keep the mind on the task ahead and not give in to the temptation twaddle, I’ve taken to popping over to my future little bit of Rouffiac daily. Not only does this give me a chance to breathe in the view, D’s daughter Marina’s new house is literally round the next bend so any excuse for a pop-in.

I suppose if I was going to choose a month to heal mind and body, February is perfect. For a start, most of the party crowd are still in hibernation so I’ve got a chance to build up my defences, then there are those hints to Spring popping up all over the garden. The almond trees are beginning their pinky-white bloom and my Mimosa is humming with the gentle sound of bees. There’s still not much to do in terms of actual work and the ground still resembles a river bed but at least its got a bit of colour now. Colour which is best seen from the inside of the apartment at present as the forecast is rain again, my boots have sprung a leak and we’ve still no heating. Positive vibes, positive vibes…

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” (Mahatma Gandhi)

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)

Fingers off the panic button

Considering how glad I was to be back under sunny skies and woofer snogs after my somewhat traumatic exit from the Motherland, you’d think I’d be raring to get on with things but no. I don’t know whether it was that phone call from the notaire to set a date for the signing over of my bank account for a piece of land or the next ping from the architect for a ‘let’s build a bungalow’ meet up that sent my mood skyrocketing south but something did. I should have been elated with the news but instead all I could think about was money. Or lack of which is stupid as I have no idea how much a house will cost yet but the brain bugs weren’t having any of it. My decision to rid the mind of such useless prattle by cleaning all the apartment windows was not a wise one either, nothing broken except my temper – the streaks are still there. Thankfully, such moue moments can never last long; between Denis’ eternal optimism about winning the lotto and a bed full of canine cuddles, a girl can’t stay glum for long. That and the afore-mentioned sunshine – October and we are in 20 plus degrees of warm.

Perhaps the funk was down to a short spell of PTSD of the getting out of England kind – I don’t cope well out of the driver’s seat, makes me nauseous. I got stuck in the airport hotel lift for 10 minutes going up and down all floors except mine which sent me into a blind panic, who knew you were supposed to touch your key card on that black spot on the wall? Between that and not knowing how the hell to find a way out of London to catch the plane, the control freak in me had a melt-down. I would however like to thank the Gods for not unleashing my belongings throughout the turbulent trip, it was only when I got on the plane that I realised my over-stuffed little suitcase was only partially closed.

It’s taken quite a lot of self talking to and more than a few face slaps but I’m back to being a busy little bee. With the prospect of getting my licence in the next couple of weeks, the bijoux workshop has me buzzing with ideas – especially the wood kind. I can work with wood for hours on end, it’s as close to meditation I can get. And of course, there are all the other chores that come with living in such a palatial property (the estate agent calls it a luxury home which is a bit of a stretch but whatever gets it sold) – the gardens need weeding and the potager looks like the apocalypse popped by for a start. On the plus side, I can forget about the pool now it’s tucked away for the winter and despite the lack of rain, the whole place is blooming. It might be October but the flowers haven’t got that memo yet. And I for one am keeping my fingers crossed that next week will be coming up roses…

““You don’t always need a plan. Sometimes you just need to breathe, trust, let go, and see what happens.” (Mandy Hale)

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)