Sore necks and special girls

I have a pain in the neck. Mon cou to be exact and it’s flippin’ annoying. Not only does it support what little brain I have, I can’t move my head without wincing so I’m doing a favourable impression of a debutante in training at the moment. And I can’t even blame on a wild night out dancing, nope it’s down to cleaning cobwebs and dust off walls and swabbing the pool deck. Denis keeps insisting I enlist the help of anti-inflammatories but I hate taking pills of any kind – I might have a reaction and be left powerless. The witch in me one supposes. Still, better to be ailing over the weekend especially as the weather is still deciding whether or not to bring the hailstones that are apparently arriving from Spain – Denis watches too much TV.

It’s not that I mind housework, in fact I count myself as one of the weirdos that actually likes dusting but not several metre high walls. Up until recently, the main house had Natalie, our femme de ménage but with no-one in residence at present, she’s on hiatus. That being said, the family home still needs the occasional pass with the vacuum cleaner – a job that falls on me. Now, Natalie is of the diminutive size so I can’t really blame her for not looking up and noticing that the impressive stairway and its surroundings were covered in several centimetres of poussière which had been deposited by my son and nephews at least two months ago after a robust sanding of the railing base. I only noticed the oddly coloured paintwork during a spider web elimination task – I have one of those super long poles with a brush on the end for such, as I swished back and forth, fine brown powder descended. Everywhere. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to clean down the wood on the pool deck and then paint on two coats of sealant (has to be done every couple of years and somehow is always me what does). This I though would be best achieved on a fine but windy day; the product would dry quicker was my thought only the pesky gusts kept dropping leaves and bits of twig to my perfectly pristine planks so the whole job took twice as long as I’d planned. So that’s why I have a crooked cou.

As mentioned, I’m still here in this big ol’ place on my ownsome. Except for the woofers of course and one particular member of the Dog Hollow pack turned 8 the other day. Yes, our Alice had a birthday. Celebrations aside; I had a few friends over for dinner and she partook in the normally never allowed munching of crisp hand-downs, it was also a day tinged with a little mellow. Not only because she had been my 25th wedding anniversary gift to Tony, there is also the reminder that he passed away a year later. Then there’s Yogi Bear who should have also had a birthday but he’s sleeping peacefully by the potager. But we have our little lioness; one who never fails to make your heart thump and not always in the positive sense – let’s not forget that time she took on a 90 kilo mastiff when he attacked Arry. She’s a game girl is our Alice.

At least, I’ve got everything ship-shape as far as the family homestead is concerned as I have a guest coming next week and then a wee party for Denis, a bit delayed but then we haven’t exactly had outdoor barbecue weather of late. As I write, there is the grumbling sounds of thunder in the distance and I’ve had to shoot downstairs into the courtyard to grab the washing off line. But my man Monsieur le météo decrees that next week should be full of sunshine and no hailstones in the forecast. I really hope so as I can’t look up at the skies without wanting to release a few expletives and a little bit of balmy will do wonders for my bothered brainstem…

“Housework can’t kill you but why take a chance?” (Phyllis Diller)

Dog hair and treasure chairs

I shall begin today’s blog with a cautionary tale. Should you be of the sort (like me) who allows their woofers to loll about on sofas, there will come a day of regret for allowing such liberties. Like when you decide to sell your 3 comfy canapés and discover that nothing, including Scotch tape and a hired cleaning machine, works on dog hair except tweezers. I have spent what should have been a weekend lazing under the April sun, picking out that which embedded itself in the fabric. One by one. Not only that but the machine gave up this morning, hardly surprising given the colour of the water so I’ve had to wash the remaining cushions by hand. At least they can dry outside now that the météo has decided that it is Spring and not mid-winter.

Yup, we finally have some decent warmth and blue skies after a week of blustery gales and chilly downpours. Denis once again had the pump on full throttle ridding the bloody pool of the weather’s offerings and due to the Siberian temperature inside the workshop, I took what needed to be primed and polished upstairs to the apartment. There was however, one afternoon spent in the garage’s icy depths emptying boxes of nutrient-rich ‘drip bags’ that had been part of Mumo’s medical care. The company who shipped the stuff didn’t appear the slightest bit interested in recuperating such vital vitamins so I chucked the lot over the potagers – brother Simon suggested we might end up with triffids running riot in Rouffiac instead of robust raspberries. Whilst I realise that such supplements cannot be re-sold in case we’ve popped poison in them, it does seem an incredible waste of what could be life-saving supplements but my soil will likely thank me this summer.

Not that the man-child will be able to sample the spoils, he’s off back Down Under the week after next now his visa has come through. As much as I love and will definitely miss Callum, it’s time to let him go and carry on his life – having him around has been the best therapy a Mum could have but if he stays much longer I’m going to end up looking like a whale. He’s a damn good cook. At least the thigh-burning morning run keeps the bloat at bay and is an adequate substitute for calming the mind. That and going shopping and finding a set of gorgeous Gothic dining chairs in Parchemin, the local recycling emporium. I love that place, not just because of the ridiculously cheap bargains in the clothes aisles (you pay 4 euros a kilo) but there is always a chance of spying a treasure or four. However, it is worth bearing in mind the size of one’s car when you make such purchases. Still, they are rather beautiful and will take up less space than the sofas, leather is easier to clean and the woofers can’t sit on them…

“My fashion philosophy is, if you’re not covered in dog hair, your life is empty” (Elayne Booster)

Colour me happy

Oddly, considering they were my two worst subjects at school, I was back in my happy place last week painting and sewing. Actually, maths and chemistry would be further down the list but then Mrs Longman the latter’s teacher always terrified me. Anyway, as I said, I’m back in Soph serenity land swiping my brush across the canvas and making velvet chair cushions. Mind you, a staple gun is so much quicker than a needle and thread ahem. And, despite the neck-ache that comes with running a roller across its ceiling, my bathroom is now finished – Callum said the colour reminded him of a dental surgery but I think minty green gives the space a bit of Zen.

Speaking of palette choices, Denis and I went over to the piscine shop mid-week to pick out the right hue for the liner. Naturally, any decision over which would look best in the pool’s depths has to be made by all four of us siblings but Moth’s ‘what about the beige’ option had me putting my flipper down. The word itself sounds dull although my son did point out that the water would still appear blue – it’s a chemistry thing (yawn). We’ve ended up agreeing on a sort of turquoise colour which, apart from anything else, matches the stairs.

One certainly couldn’t say my life has been devoid of colour especially when you add Arry into the mix and Friday marked our 9 year anniversary together. Yup, that what was supposed to be a foster pup back in 2015 is still hogging the bed covers. A little grey round the edges these days but always a bumbling ball of sunshine. And with Spring around the corner, we have been blessed with the rays from above which, after a couple of drizzly downpours, has brought out the blooms. From daffodils, cherry blossom, magnolia and marguerites to little rose buds and yes, another cauliflower, the garden is getting ready for the best of seasons. And when it comes to lifting the soul, there’s nothing better than a swish from Mother Nature’s paintbrush. Hey, its March next week!…

“The best colour in the whole world is the one that looks good on you.” (Coco Chanel)

Furry moonbeams and ruffled feathers

“Can you see the moon?” my sister Bong asked me as we drove back from Toulouse airport on Monday evening. I did remind her that I was in control of a moving vehicle in rush hour so best keep my eyes straight ahead but I did take the occasional glance. I did get a much better view up on my terrace after dinner – the Wolf Moon in all its glorious orbness. And, being of the superstitious sort, I Googled. Apparently such lunes signify ‘renewal, emotional depth and balance inviting us to reconnect with our inner strength, reflect on our past and set intentions for the future’. Considering I spent the first half of the week doing a passable impression of an ostrich – head in the ground and kicking out at everyone and the second half, as Denis put it, resembling a hyperactive magpie (the comment directed more at my white shirt tails under a black jumper), I haven’t done very well in the spiritual growth department.

I suppose part of the reason for my waxing and wanings is having family here. Don’t get me wrong, I adore them but when you’re used to only seeing your sibs during occasional holiday visits and you’ve gotten used to it just being you and your mum, it’s difficult to well, share. Selfish I know so I’ve had to slap myself a few times. Suddenly there is someone else doing the grocery shop, something I’ve always done and the daily task of organising the washing is no longer mine. I am no longer in charge of the cooking however, a merciful blessing as is being able to get on with my list of things yet unfinished without having to worry about who’s looking in on our Mumo. Ergo, the change from big bird in a hole to a busy oiseau.

On the subject of avians, the cold snap we were promised was just that so their garden feeders have been well-stocked. Mind you, the icy temperatures have disappeared as quickly as they plunged and my towels are currently drying out in the abnormally warm winter sun. Naturally, being that it is still January, most of the garden is in shadow by mid-afternoon but that hasn’t stopped big brother Simon from trawling his bench across the acreage to catch whatever rays are still available.

And speaking of rays, Arry was back having laser treatment again at the vet on Tuesday. My idiot Shepherd reignited the injury in his front right leg, no doubt as a result of hurtling himself across the frozen ground chasing deer on our morning runs. The dog doc suggested we try hydrotherapy in his next session to which I informed her that I have had a lot of experience with Arry and aquatics so she might want to wear ear protection. He may be short in the brain cell department and missing any gear between Park and 5th but when you need a few moonbeams, he and the other woofers are right there. Usually hogging the bed but always there. And family. All the inner strength you need. Right here in Rouffiac…

“In time of test, family is best.” (Burmese Proverb)

And there you have it

And there you have it. With the bins over-flowing because I didn’t check the holiday schedule and the chaos of another Collins Christmas dinner their main contributor, the house is calm and clean once again. Well, not entirely. Big brother Simon is still in residence along with wife Alba and his three offspring bringing the patter of stomping feet and shoes abandoned in the hallway – an armoury no ankle can avoid. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not just because I love having my niece and nephews here what with all the constant chatter and endless plates of food that I haven’t had to cook but also because I’ve been able to let the reins go and recharge the batteries. I even managed to find whole afternoons to play in the workshop and sort out what to put in my new toolbox that Denis gave me – many a raised eyebrow in his direction over the piles of discarded wrapping paper but he always knows what makes his girl happy. Better yet, Callum called me on Christmas morning, the best present a Mum could receive although maybe not his thoughts on staying in Oz for the foreseeable future.

As for me, the only think I’m looking towards is dumping 2024 in what little space remains in the poubelles outside the gate – the non-recyclable ones. Mind you, with the gorgeous weather we are under at the moment, you’d be hard pressed not to feel those positive vibes stirring the soul. The sunrises that greet you on the early morning run are breath-taking but not half as magical as trekking up Pic de Bugerach yesterday. Located about 28 kilometres away from here, the mountain is the highest peak in the Massif des Corbières lying in foot of the Pyrenees and known for its apparent mystical powers. I can’t say anything odd flowed through me other than fear hiking up its rocky outer face what with the narrow paths lining cliff edges and my poor choice of bootwear. I would like to say it was another proud moment for me to get to the top but I didn’t quite make it – the last stage of the climb got me and I ended up hugging a large boulder trying not to look up, down or sideways. Eventually, thanks to a lot of gentle cajoling from nephew Louis and niece Kate, I slid inelegantly to safer ground below but still high enough to take in the horizon. I add in peace and quiet but I’d brought Arry, Alice and Sherman with us – Arry spent the entire day out on hyper-speed, nearly knocking most of the other walkers off piste so to speak. At least the journey home was blissfully silent unlike the car ride going there which had Arry and Alice shrieking at full volume and me nearly bursting a blood vessel and having wobbled their way up the staircase into the apartment, the three of them passed out not to be seen until this morning.

And there we have it. Just a few more days and we’ll be ringing in 2025. To all, have a great knees-up and I hope the New Year brings you sunshine and roses. For many of us, it will be a time to remember those we have lost over the past 12 months as well. I’d like to give a special mention to my friend Georgie whose husband Iain passed away suddenly just before Christmas. Iain was a good friend to both me and Tony, his unwavering kindness, sharp one-liners and tongue-in-cheek sarcasm never to be forgotten. So, let’s raise a glass or three to seeing the back end of 2024 and to blue skies ahead. And new pool liners…

“I don’t know where I’m going from here but I promise it won’t be boring” (David Bowie)

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)

That lived-in feeling

Well folks, it’s the first of December and after a week of weirdly warm weather, the trees are finally starting to shed their plumage – colder days are looming. The morning runs are darker for longer now and I’ve found both a left and a right hand glove to keep the freezies away from my fingertips. I have discovered alas that my well-worn trainers are no longer waterproof so the same doesn’t go for my tootsies so I’ll have splurge soon. But at least now that we have a decent stack of wood under the remis for the winter months, the fuel reservoir isn’t being drained at warp speed – keeps the wallet happy.

The balmy temperatures couldn’t have timed themselves better as I spent most of the past 7 days juggling two houses and an extra dog. As much as I love the grand old lady that is the family maison , she felt a little sad without any residents. I would have moved down there but my woofers aren’t allowed inside the hallowed walls lest they create chaos or in Sherman’s case, lift a leg. This meant having Mumo’s canine companion up at mine which wasn’t ideal – Sappy isn’t a fan of my rambunctious rovers, that is except for Sherman. Thankfully, dogs can’t tell what day it is or how long they have to put up with pests as Friday heralded the return of our Mum. Yup, she’s back with her feet up on the sofa and the blazing fireplace – happy house and happy Sappy once more. And Mumo has had her first ‘super power’ treatment which all in all seems to have gone better than expected, the only side effect is extreme tiredness but sleep is good and she can have as much as she wants.

Strictly speaking, my woofers aren’t permitted to pootle in the courtyard either but seeing as I had the whole property to myself and to look after, I decided to leave the connecting door between the back garden and the inner sanctum open. Naturally, it didn’t take long for my three youngest; Arry, Alice and Sherman to join me in my creative space that is the garage attached and for Alice to discover that log piles contain more than just logs. Whilst Arry and Sherman took delight in destroying whatever kid’s toy had been thoughtfully left par terre for their enjoyment, our girl took to extreme sports to sate her appetite for hunting vermin. I have to say she’s yet to catch anything but her persistence has been ok’d by the family as it will hopefully keep the rodent population at bay – mind you, she’s going to need me to fit a tracking device if she keeps disappearing into or under ancient crevices. Still, she’s a fascinating diversion from all the stress the past month has given us all but the matriarch is back where she belongs. Hooray.

And our Mum isn’t the only one, younger brother Moth has returned and sister Bong will be flying in tomorrow for a few days. It’s just as well as Denis and I need to start our Christmas display for the top corner of the acreage. We’re going simple and sustainable style this year – I get the sustainable bit but D’s ideas of minimal aren’t quite what I have in mind. One set of lights he said, hah. There’s enough solar-powered strings of festive foliage in those store room boxes to blind the average passer-by – I might need a little help from Alice first though, I dread to think what’s sleeping in all that sparkle…

“Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.” (Paul Theroux)

Pickled fruit and perfect distractions

Running across the frost-covered trails the other day, a random thought flickered through my barely-awake brain. Whilst such things are regular occurrences, half the point of dragging myself out of bed at the crack of dawn is to clear away the cobwebs from my cranium but food is not what one usually brings to mind. More specifically, Christmas cake. Or lack of. Under normal circumstances, this would have been made by Mumo sometime around the beginning of November and left to pickle in alcohol in some dark corner of a cupboard until the big day but she’s still incarcerated in the hospital so it’s up to me to try and make something vaguely similar. Well, the fruit is drowning in the remains of a Cognac bottle I found in the kitchen – hopefully I’ll remember to add the rest of the ingredients tomorrow.

I would have started the great cake bake earlier in the week but having my eldest nephew, Louis, here provided the best of distractions. Not only is he a wonderfully optimistic and enthusiastic soul but easy company too. When we weren’t off pootling around the old homestead that is L’Horte, we were dining with friends or laughing hysterically at bygone sitcoms over one of Louis’ bizarre supper creations. Tarte au citron brûlé being one of them – he put his lemon meringue pie under the grill. Alas, I deposited Louis at Toulouse airport yesterday complete with a hangover (both of us) gifted by a raucous night before chez mes amis. I miss him already as does probably the entire village but he’ll be back in a few weeks to no doubt sample my attempt at traditional Yuletide fare.

The other plus about having Simon’s first born around was being able to spend a few hours in the workshop whilst he visited Mumo. Oh and having an extra hand to help Denis and his brother finally get the railing that once resided in the smaller of the L’Horte houses up onto the remis’ upper floor. The old horse feeding station was hauled up onto what will eventually be a summer apero area by an ancient pulley and a lot of muscle. And since it wasn’t quite big enough to span the deck, my exceptionally talented pal Jonathon (he what made my lamps if you remember) knocked up an almost identical second section. Not only have the photos of the new addition made Mumo happy, the removal of the cumbersome piece means there’s one less artefact from the old life cluttering the garage. Mind you, I’m doing a great job of adding to it what with all my bits and bobs of half-finished furniture.

With the weather getting colder and the heating systems kicking in, it’s just as well that the gardens haven’t needed much of me or D. Apart from the occasional peek at my growing veggies and picking up the last of the almonds and walnuts – the latter, you may be surprised to learn, made the wood stain for the railing. One of Denis’ findings, you soak them in water and then add linseed oil after draining off the nuts which is not only free but good for the environment too. Anyway, I digress. There isn’t much else to do outside except watch the grass grow even longer under the chill of clear skies. As much as I’d love it cut, the vegetation is probably housing all sorts of little beings and I’m not one to disturb nature. Still, there is much to be done in the cosy confines of the big house – little brother Moth arrives mid-week and I have a date with a cake and I have to make my annual Christmas cards which means trying to get all the woofers to face the camera in the same direction and at the same time. I wish I hadn’t poured all that Cognac into the fruit…

“In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures” (Cynthia Rylant)

Finding the normal in the abnormal

As I drove back from the hospital earlier today, I caught a glimpse of my friends Giselle and Jamel closing up after another, no doubt successful, vide grenier. Whilst I never have time to stop and say hello, seeing the two of them managing the car boot sale every Sunday adds a sense of normality to one’s weekly to-ing and fro-ing. Like Autumn leaves now squishing underfoot as I try not to use my arse as a sled running up the slippery trails through the vines or worse, pick my way across the over-grown lawn vaguely searching for the woofers’ little brown gifts – daily life is, well almost, back in it’s old routine. I say almost because hospital visits shouldn’t be included but Mumo decided to add a pulmonary embolism to her problems so is back in her suite with airport views.

Despite not having much time to devote to my fledgling new business or The Second Book, I did manage to squeeze in a few hours in the workshop yesterday and play with all my presents. Actually, one is still in its kit bag as I’ve never used a soldering iron before and Denis says I have to read the whole manual back to front if I’m to keep the garage intact. Considering he gave me a blowtorch for my birthday, he’ll be lucky if he still has a beard by the end of this week. Still, sanding down a couple of chairs with Callum’s Spotify playlist on full blast was the perfect medicine for this girl’s body and mind. It’s become a running joke in the village as to where to find Sophi – just follow the noise. You’ll be pleased to know that the dentist had a free half hour to put my tooth implant back in so I haven’t read the manual yet.

And since I haven’t had the chance to catch up with friends since the Great British Break, a couple of evenings spent chatting over dinner tables and little blues jam session down at Abraham’s has continued the sense of life’s steady rhythm down here. That and starting my French lessons with my gal pal, Saba. You see, as soon as I got back from my old stomping ground that was London, my language skills went out the plane window. My français was more franglais and my tongue refused to even attempt a sentence. Thank the Gods for giving me a neighbour who just happens to be a brilliant teacher and before you could say grignoter, the words started to flow once more. And speaking of little nibbles, the bio pet-safe slug pellets have been nicely munched by said gastropods who are now putting holes in all my lettuce. The edible dormouse has also raided the line of leeks, oddly random in its choice but D says if it hasn’t gone into hibernation yet he’ll help it on its way.

So normalcy is back in Rouffiac. Sort of. We’re all hoping Mumo gets her release papers on Tuesday so us serfs can cater to her every demand whilst she wiggles her toes in front of the living room fire. I’ve whacked up the heating too – Mumo cannot thrive in any environment other than a sauna even when she’s not fighting the cancer bitch. I wish I could say it was as warm in the apartment but there’s an empty bed in the corner. The woofers aren’t keen on curling up in it either but I just can’t bring myself to move it. The Bear that once lay there is now down by the potager with the plaque that Denis made marking his place of rest. There’s a blog I wrote way back in May 2019 called “Steering in circles” in which I describe widowhood as like being in a boat, chained to a dock and not having the key. Recent events have brought back that feeling of helplessness and frustration but at least this time, I’m better armed. Now where’s that manual?…

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: It goes on.” (Robert Frost)