Psyching the synapses

The sun is out, the garden is blooming with colour, the birds are tweeting and I’m in a restless funk. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do; looking after this place is a full-time job without adding the furniture restoration, my attempts at making jewellery without gluing my fingers together and planning a new book but I just can’t settle. I don’t mean the ‘relax and put your feet up’ kind, everyone knows that’s impossible for me, I’m talking about switching off the synapses. My brain is working like a chimp at a tea party at the moment, jumping from one thing to another non-stop. It doesn’t help that events yet to be are in the hands of others, I’ve been here before and it’s just as frustrating. To add to it all, yesterday marked 7 years since Tony died which seems unreal. I’d jump in the pool if the cover wasn’t still on and the thermometer on hypothermia readings.

All that being said, the past week was actually quite a blast. With the evenings being so much more temperate now we are in mid-May, I’ve had the chance to catch up with old friends and one who I’ve known for years but never met. Janeen and I meshed on Facebook not long after I arrived here, she lives down near Antibes but was passing through so stopped for the night. We chattered well into the wee hours over several tipples in the courtyard, a place made for alfresco suppers, so much so that I hosted a little do the following evening to belatedly celebrate Denis’ birthday. Being enclosed by walls, the area has a sort of microclimate of its own not least as its protected from the infernal wind which makes barbecuing so much more pleasant. I even let the woofers join us which kept the kids entertained and the floor under the grill clean. There was only that minor mishap when Saba tripped over a sprawled-out Arry and promptly sent her glass of the red stuff straight down the front of her mother-in-law.

You might have noted earlier that I’m doodling down ideas for a new opus. No, it isn’t going to be the third ‘bio’ and anyway I’ve yet to hear anything about the first two, this one is a novel. Based vaguely on true events mind you. I miss writing, daft I know considering how much I complained about lazy muses the last time I was tap tapping away but the process is weirdly therapeutic – the brain cells can actually congregate in one place for a start. Which is more than I can say when it comes to the art of joining bits of metal. I did finally end up with a necklace and a bracelet, frankly a miracle as the jewellery glue was useless so I ended up grabbing my furniture one, the spray of which is slightly less accurate so I spent as much time scrubbing the goo off the kitchen counter as I did sticking bits together. And my digits. Still, I am rather chuffed at my first efforts so shall continue forth with all things bling. Who knows, all this cranium concentrating might be the panacea to my pouting? And that character I was struggling with could be a designer or a famous writer or a psychotherapist? Or maybe just the first half of the latter…

“You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” (Jon Kabat-Zinn)

Sorcery and spiders

According to Denis, I had a narrow escape the other day. I’d left him up on the terrace re-potting my ancient Peace Lily and tidying up the outdoor space whilst I popped next door to strip out Slim’s (Alice’s other son) coat when, upon my return, he announced that I’d had some visitors. “I found two black widow spiders under those rocks over there” he delightedly informed me, “like the one that bit you”. Well, for one thing the savage beast that munched my hand was a recluse spider and two, I’m not convinced such deadly creatures are residing under Arry’s cailloux collection. False widows perhaps but not the real ones. But Denis was insistent so I let him be the hero for a few minutes. I almost called him this morning when I opened the downstairs door and found another arachnid wiggling its legs at me on the jamb but I let it be. It was brown. Yup, the clocks have gone forward and Spring is nigh.

Frankly, I’m surprised the spiders managed to stay in one place considering the atrocious weather the last week of March brought us – wet and windy. Very. Mind you, the sun has finally come out today even if it is still gusty and the météo is forecasting a brighter week ahead. Let’s hope so because Denis is picking up the pool liner tomorrow but the poseur can’t fit it until the thermometer hits 20 degrees. With all the rain of late, the bloody thing has started to refill itself with the wrong sort of water. Still, having had a decent soaking with the right sort, the garden is looking very Spring-like and the birds are tweeting away merrily from their various nesting points. Bert and Skirt, the resident magpies have once again built their abode in the huge cedar tree adjacent to the terrace which is a little worrying as the one they added up there last year got blown down and they lost their brood.

Speaking of building things, I’ve finally taken the leap and made Witch Wackle public. That is to say, my new ‘micro enterprise’ now has a name and a couple of social media accounts. It took me a while to think of a name; anything with Sophi had already been taken – obviously a popular name amongst furniture restorers, so I decided to use my childhood nickname as a tribute to Mumo. Callum approves. To be honest, I’m not well-versed in the art of content or video editing which I’m told should be uploaded daily – who has that kind of time to fiddle about? I spent half of this morning trying to ‘dress’ a rather gorgeous Victorian style plant stand I’d bought back to life; she looked great in the sunshine but the only flowers in pots I could find were orchids which didn’t really suit the frame. Still, the work itself is educational and addictive even if I no longer have fingernails or a pair of unstained jeans or the vaguest understanding of Facebook posting. Considering the number of careers I have had; restaurant manager, model, receptionist, fitness guru, dog trainer, groomer and behaviour consultant, for the first time in my life I’m enjoying the freedom of working alone and no longer having to look at the clock. Unless there’s a spider waving back…

““A mind that is stretched by new experiences can never go back to its old dimensions.” (Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr)

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)

Laundry lists

I was absent-mindedly folding Callum’s laundry this morning when a thought struck me as to how normal the action felt. Except that I’ve never folded his laundry, Tony always did it and let’s face it, my son has been looking after himself ever since his dad died. Yet, it was a nice feeling, being ‘mum’ again and taking care of our boy especially as our relationship is usually the other way around – he gives much better advice for a start. Thanks to him, I’ve been in a clearer state of mind over the past week and I no longer have a leaky roof. Mind you, the latter did give me a fright, seeing Callum wandering across the tiles like a beachcomber.

The recent weather could well have something to do with my mellow mood too. The start of February and it’s sunny. Not very warm but if you stand where the rays hit, it’s almost Spring-like. And with us being one month closer to a new season, everyone is busy doing something and I’m back in the garden again having sent off The First Book – the second would have gone with the first but I’ve managed to save several chapter drafts so I don’t know which ones are the right ones so that’ll be tonight’s headache. I’ve finished my kitchen chairs, which I’m ridiculously pleased about, less so regarding the dressing table I’m still working on but outside one must be whilst the sun shines. Of course, anything to do with the pool has had its hiccups, as soon as Denis got in to remove the old liner, we had back to back nights of pouring rain so the bloody thing kept filling up instead of draining out its last vestiges of algae-ridden water. Still, whilst he was deep in wellies trying to fish out toads, I sorted out plantings in the serre which smells lovely by the way – I’m assured that dried bay leaves and peppercorns keep the rodents away.

Speaking of rogue mammals, I took Arry to the clinic on Tuesday for his hydrotherapy session – his first with this particular practice and I have a feeling, his last. The unfortunate new-qualified vet was subjected to 10 minutes of non-stop ‘singing’ – I did warn her if you remember that ear defenders would be useful when she made the appointment, I should have added a raincoat as well seeing the amount of water he sprayed the room with. Life with my crazy german Shepherd is never dull, embarrassing yes but like my incredible son, he knows how to lift the clouds and add sunshine. And he generally doesn’t need me to do his laundry, just towels…

“While it is February one can taste the full joys of anticipation. Spring stands at the gate with her finger on the latch.” (Patience Strong)

Busy boots

Apparently, I caused quite a few heads to turn earlier in the week. The sight of a 50-something blonde wearing torn jeans and work boots, running through the arrivals area in Toulouse airport was, according to Callum, quite a sight but I wasn’t half glad to leap into his arms. Poor thing probably didn’t need to be squeezed so hard, 20 plus hours in an aeroplane suffering from altitude sickness (the meds didn’t work this time) and feeling totally exhausted – all he wanted was a shower and his bed. But my gorgeous boy is home and after a decent rest, back doing what he does best – giving Mum hugs and stripping paint off the main staircase. The latter however, has now put him back under the covers having, I think, inhaled too much dust even with that Darth Vader like mask on. Or perhaps climbing up Bugerach – not my idea of a relaxing day out if you remember that blog.

Cal wasn’t the only one to return to the nest last week, my little brother Moth flew in from Kenya on Thursday. Now, suddenly the homestead is full of activity, the sound of sanders and drills mixed with an eclectic choice of radio tunes makes everything feel almost normal again. Denis said watching the four of us (Louis is still here) reminded him of a beehive, always on the move for something that needs doing. Considering how emotionally and physically draining the last months have been, getting back into busy mode is perfect therapy. So much so, I’ve finally put down the proverbial pen, having finished the latest draft of The Second Book and re-written a large chunk of The First – both will be soon off to a good friend in the publishing business to be polished for presentation. After four years of tap tapping away, I’m glad to see the back of the opuses for a while although part of me still wants to fiddle with them some more. It’s an annoying habit of mine, I can’t seem to stop and just put my feet up. Denis even installed my old TV ( a bit on the small side he thinks) in my lounge so I could watch the French news channels (important for one who is applying for citizenship at the end of the year) but I the only time I stand still long enough to watch it is with my morning coffee. And I only have so much concentration which is required when attempting to understand politics in any language. Callum tells me such twitchiness is just one of my many ‘quirks’ but he loves me anyway. Over dinner with friends the other night, I was asked what I did to relax. I run I replied.

I box too although we’ve needed to move my heavy punching bag out of the room downstairs that Mumo is using as the nurses kept having to dodge around it. For now, it’s hanging in the alcove below me which is spacious enough, if not a little cold. At least it’s in a covered area and out of the wind that is currently pestering us but I’m not used to kicking and sparring with quite so many clothes on let alone trainers. I don’t know if the restlessness inside me will ever abate but as long as I’ve got something on my feet and they’re moving- I’m as close to relaxation as I can get. And a bloody beautiful boy to smother…

“A bee is never as busy as it seems; it’s just that it can’t buzz any slower.” ( Kin Hubbard)

Where there’s light

When I said I took down all the Christmas decorations in the apartment last week, I lied. Frankly, the sight of fairy lights twinkling away over the lounge doors does stem the blues a bit. I could blame the weather – I’m English after all but it’s Mumo. She isn’t feeling so hot right now and I’ve had to message Callum. He’s flying out week after next. A new year and so much to do yet sometimes I just think, what’s the point.

Mind you, on the plus side, my darling nephew Louis has decided to stay put for a little longer. Seeing pictures of England covered in snow might have something to do with his decision. Having Lou here is the best pick-me-up as, apart from his hilariously bad one-liners, he’s got on with finishing the staircase in the remis – the one we nicked from L’Horte a few years back. Naturally I can’t help but get my two centimes in so I’ve shifted my terrace furniture down there even if, according to my nephew, it’ll clutter the space up. Gotta sit somewhere young man. And speaking of places to park one’s derrière, having him and brother Simon here has given me the chance to potter around in my workshop and switch off from my troubles for a few hours. I’ve even thrown off the pessimistic pashmina and started redesigning the apartment living area although putting my new shelving unit together last night without the manual’s ‘two people’ instruction – Alice’s attempts to hide the nuts and bolts aside, was not exactly calming. And one of the shelves is missing holes for the screws, either that or I’ve stuck the wrong bits together. Experience tells me which.

Now, the weather report. Wacky. I was driving around town in sunglasses and 19 degrees on Friday then yesterday Simon was standing over a barbecue in the pouring rain and today I’m looking out at gorgeous sunshine in full winter clothing. Apparently we are heading for an icy snap in the coming days, I wouldn’t mind so much but all the rose bushes have started flowering and my sister arrives tomorrow – she’ll probably think it’s summer judging by New York temperatures right now. Still, as long as there’s sunshine, there’s always work to be done and that keeps this girl looking forwards. Oh, and we’ve got a man coming about the pool liner on Wednesday…

“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy” (Leo Buscaglia)

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)

Perspectives

If the recent article published in The Times last month was anything to go by, I am surrounded by gorgeousness. Apparently, according to research, physical attraction is so much more than skin deep – it’s kindness and humour that knocks the socks off. Like I said, I have stunning friends. Between hospital visits or trips to the vet, I haven’t had any time to say thank you to everyone but Mumo, my family and I really do appreciate you.

As I mentioned, Mumo is still in hospital, nicely tucked up in a private room now with a nicer view – this time a car park but at least she can see the hills beyond and it’s quiet. I can’t say much except that she is due a procedure on Tuesday and then has several weeks of treatment ahead of her, that we hope will be able to be done at home. Lucky for me (and her), little brother Moth is here and has taken charge of dealing with all things doctor and specialist. It’s easier just having one person asking the questions and relaying all back to his siblings and his French is so much better than mine. He’s pretty wonderful my brother. Mind you, I did sort out Mumo’s meals with the dietician. If they want her to fatten up, they need to give her food she’ll actually eat so lashings of custard and ice cream are now added to her repas. And now, between that and what Moth calls her ‘happy drugs’, she is a little more comfortable. I’ve promised her that I will bring over Denis’ sister Patricia to give her a hair and facial day – its funny how things like that can make such a difference to your mental well-being.

And of course, I have my darling Denis to lean on when my mood is less than appealing. And the woofers although a certain German Shepherd did leave me hiding my head in embarrassment earlier in the week after a visit to the vet for a limp. Considering the terrain he manages to cover on our runs, such injuries are common place but at 9 years old, bumps are better looked at. Well for me anyway, judging by the noise I could hear from the waiting room as he had an x-ray, the vet might have wished she had the day off plus the three nurses who had to hold him still. Arry does not like being away from me so howled his head off. Thankfully, apart from a slightly swollen elbow and a touch of arthritis in both shoulders, he’s fine and laser therapy is in the diary – I don’t know if that’s for him or the nurses.

What with the worry about Mumo and having to take little Yogi Bear to have a heart scan tomorrow (they better have a big machine ’cause he’s got the biggest heart), the early morning runs have never been more appreciated. With the vendange practically over, the hills and vines are silent once more save the thump thump of my trainers and the jingling of dog collar bells. And with Autumn almost upon us, Mother Nature has once more doused the landscape in reds and golds – put that with the sunrise and you’re a gonna. As I said to Mumo the other day, such times are just a temporary blip and soon forgotten but the beauty of the land around us and that which lies with the friends we have come to know in our lives will forever be set in our memories. Pretty sure the vet is still having nightmares though…

“To friendship every burden’s light.” ( Aesop)

Welling up in all the wrong places

As week’s go, the past one has been pants. Those of you who are familiar with my weekly musings will no that I never, okay very very rarely, cry but by yesterday morning I was reduced to a blubbering wreck drenching Denis’ shoulder. Mentally, physically and emotionally, I had reached my limit hence the meltdown. The Gods had been out in full force and I was the target.

It all started on Sunday night when I heard Sherman barking on the pool deck. Now the last time he did this was when the pool sprung its first leak so having spent Lord-knows how long fixing all the other flipping fuites, you can understand why I pelted down the balcony staircase in a panic. Only this time it wasn’t what was coming out, it was what had got in – one of the magpies was frantically trying to get itself up and away but was too soaked to do so. I grabbed the net pole and managed to whisk the poor bird out and onto the grass before running inside to grab a blanket to dry it off. I say it as I have no idea how to sex a bird but Bert or maybe Skirt was still too wet to spread their wings so I waited until it waddled off exhaustedly to recover under some bushes. My hopes were raised the following morning when I couldn’t see any sign of feathers or bird but dashed a few minutes later when I found it dead in the pool with a broken neck. Why it got back in there I will never know. The more worrying thing was that the magpie couple built a nest in one of my neighbour’s trees and I could hear the chicks. A couple of days later I saw its other half searching the garden before flying away in the opposite direction from the babies and I haven’t heard or seen the magpie since. I buried the partner by the wall under the tree. I shouldn’t get so emotional about a wild bird but I did – losing a loved one is something I know too well.

After that, well the ball carried on rolling downhill. Having decided to separate myself from the visiting family so that they could have Mumo to themselves, I ended up basically living in isolation upstairs. What I thought would be quite fun and a chance to finish upholstering a long overdue chair job and sketch the village map that I’d promised the Mayor I’d do but hadn’t got round to doing ended up being a thoroughly miserable experience not least because I missed Mumo dreadfully and she’s a little under the weather at the moment. Having told Denis not to worry about me eating alone as he had a house-sitting to take care of and a chance to catch up with some very old but not seen for ages friends, my appetite went out the balcony doors along with my stomach. To put it another way, me and my loo got very intimate. And to add to my self-pitying, all the family splashing around the pool led to one of the patches splitting so I was back scuba side sticking mountains of glue in the watery depths and trying to avoid turning my unnaturally blonde hair emerald green. There so much sticky stuff down there now, the corner looks like someone’s being trying to create an ice sculpture – less Rodin and more Rodney.

The last sentence wouldn’t have tipped me over the edge if it wasn’t for the non-arrival of the man what was supposed to drill the water pipe. Once again. At least this time he did have the decency to ring me albeit several hours after the confirmed 8 a.m rendezvous. One of his drill bits had broken the day before and he was very very sorry and promised that he would do what he need to do this coming week. ASAP. Luckily for him, I’d already put snot and sobs all over D’s T-shirt so he didn’t have to experience a woman wailing down the phone.

Thankfully, I woke up this morning in a more positive frame of mind having spent last night chilling out as usual down at Le Jardin with mes amies. The pipe will be done this week and better still, Phil is coming to stay. I haven’t seen him since I left the UK all those years ago so can’t wait for an old friend’s hugs. If you don’t know who Phil is, you haven’t read my book have you? I have warned him about the heat, we are moving towards a chaleur with August beckoning and to bring long trousers for the evenings unless you want to keep the mosquito population rising. I might suggest sturdy shoes as well as the ground is rock-hard with the lack of rain, the break your ankle kind but with any luck and positive vibes and two fingers up the the Gods, we will be able to keep the flora and fauna blooming once the water bubbles up from the depths of the front lawn. And I will actually be able to have an actual swim in the pool instead of plugging its bottom corners. Who knows, maybe one day soon I’ll write a blog that doesn’t have a single mention of the bloody thing? That’d be enough to wipe the tears and put a smile on any girl’s face…

“When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.” (Franklin D. Roosevelt)

Planting and planning

Frankly, I’ve felt better. I don’t know if it’s because last week was so busy or the fact that I have rather overdone the social swirling but I am bunged up. I’m hoping a decent night’s sleep will lay the lurgy to rest as I really don’t have time for snotty noses. The ‘to do’ list is getting longer by the day and I’ve yet to put one tick on it. And it’s already February.

Ah yes, February. The last month of winter. Except that we are bathing in warm sunshine still and the barbecues are out. The almond trees have started unveiling their pale pink blossom and the lawn is getting so thick, I can’t find the dog poo until I step on it. I’d cut it except that we haven’t had a proper frost yet or a decent downpour of late so the lush greenery underfoot needs to protect the terre. I went over to Le Jardin (Abraham’s place) mid-week to help him with the veggie planting. One seed at a time. Trays and trays of little cubes of soil into which I had to carefully put a single grain. Weirdly, I enjoyed prodding my finger along each row of squares so each aubergine-to-be could grow up big and strong although the job required total concentration – blink and you’ve forgotten where you popped the previous one. And I did it all almost single-handedly save the last line or so as Denis stopped by at the end of the day and offered to help so we could join the boss for a beer. Not much of a help really as he got a bit random with the numbers – Abraham did say one seed in each so I made Denis take out all his extra additions. I wasn’t going to have my contribution to bio-agriculture messed up.

Getting lost in legumes was a welcome break from whizzing around town so Mumo and I could get to our various appointments which for some reason all seemed to be in the same week. The one that had half of Carcassonne backed up because giant tractors were parked up all on one of the main roundabouts along with twice as many police cars. Luckily, I’d got the traffic update from our épicerie so I could plan accordingly and avoid getting stuck in the barricades. Mumo got to go and sit in a dentist’s chair and I in the hairdresser’s. You don’t need to switch on the news when you live in Rouffiac – the most up-to-date information can be found over a croissant counter.

Speaking of village press updates, our resident Scot is getting ready to leave our shores. You’d be right in thinking I’ve written this in a previous blog with his failed escape back in 2022 but sadly I think he’s going to make it out this time. But not without a few farewell parties, one of which Mumo and I attended yesterday lunchtime in nearby Cépie held by his local walking group. Other than family do’s, I don’t think I’ve sat down at a table without a French person at it let alone not know most of the guests. Thankfully, the wine flowed freely as did the conversation. It was nice to be introduced to a different crowd and hear their stories about life in France although I had somehow managed to get seated between Graham and my neighbour Terry both of whom I talk to virtually every day. Mumo and I will host a soirée on Friday for Graham along with the usual crowd, just in case he forgets us. And this little village…

“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant” (Robert Louis Stevenson)