A Pause in Conversation

If I could sum up this past week in more than a few words, I’d say it was one in which I talked myself into exhaustion. In two languages. I know what you’re thinking; Sophi tired from too much gabbing impossible but such rarities can happen. It got to the point where the muscles in my jaw starting seizing up and my tongue felt like it had done five rounds with a sander. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a thoroughly enjoyable one but perhaps should have been paced a little better. Coffee toute seule on the terrace this morning was absolute bliss.

I suppose I should blame myself – I have a tendency to go hard or go home but the fault does lie partly with others; my mate Sara and Monsieur le Météo. After all, it was the former who said I needed to do something for myself and the latter wasn’t going to let us forget March winds until that month finally passed. And it has. The sun has got its Ray-Bans on and hip hip hooray – just in time for the long Easter weekend. Anyway, back to taking advice from my straight- talking friend ( I have many) and me time. First, a lesson from Jacqui who hosts the Friday ladies chat on how to get to grips with Mumo’s sewing machine. Who knew, I could do so many different stitch patterns in a straight line without breaking the thing? Puffed up ego sorted, I then took myself off to have my nails done and by that, I mean pamper and paint. It took a while, after all something I used to pop down to the local salon in Streatham for regularly before Covid and my big move across the water was well overdue and my cuticles, I was told, were in bad shape. And naturally, it goes without saying for anyone who has ever frequented such establishments, conversation flows non-stop – a free French facial workout added to my now very pretty nails which are now mostly hidden by Marigolds lest I put a run a drill across them. All those people with jewellery tutorials on YouTube never seem to have that problem but well, me and mechanical objects usually end up with less skin on fingers. Still, its nice to wiggle one’s digits and not grimace at the grime underneath them even if the woofers find it a little strange to be served dinner by their butler wearing bright orange gloves.

Taking a personal pause is an odd feeling. You don’t know how much you needed it until you actually do it. Driving home from the above-mentioned Friday afternoon ladies natter after spending a morning doing the same over coffee with our Welsh lass Lisa, I found myself looking out on a totally empty country road going straight ahead towards the horizon. I stopped Bluebottle (my faithful runaround) and just sat for a few minutes going nowhere; I can’t remember the last time I took my foot off the gas and just breathed. Between running Dog Hollow and all that has happened since T died, I’ve spent 30 something years on ‘lit’ mode but in that moment, I felt the switch turn off. Sounds a bit weird I know and I’m not going lulu I hope but maybe, just maybe, that engine has finally put itself in neutral (all puns towards The Book intentional) – a kind of peace if you like. Of course, the last bit of that sentence is unlikely to last long – I mean have you ever known me not to talk?…

“Sometimes you need to press pause to let everything sink in” (Sebastian Vettel)

New phones and new faces

I broke my mobile phone this week and had to buy a new one – a seemingly straight-forward task unless you’re me. I had hoped that the screen could be easily fixed but alas no but at least the cost of a new one could be covered thanks to the cigarette savings. I went for the same make as that would make the data transfer from one to the other a simple task but then again, not when you’re me. And you don’t have your text savvy son standing next to you. Suffice to say that I highly recommend the nice young man who runs the phone clinic in Carcassonne, not least because he has the patience of a saint when it comes to dealing with those who can’t remember their pin codes. The funny thing is that the only things I really cared about were the photos and my lifeline to Callum that is Whatsapp and that’s what caused my near meltdown. Well, that and the woofer hair that somehow managed to get under the screen protector as I was smearing it down whilst unsuccessfully trying to get the air bubbles out.

Oddly, this past week brought a few other unexpected events of the more enjoyable and far less stressful variety and it all started with a wedding. Not mine before you think I’ve gone off the deep end but that of dear friends Adolphe and Sara who after having tied the knot, invited a few of us over for a wee mid-afternoon celebration. Naturally, after all one needs to be polite, I did have a couple of glasses of fizz and a piece of cake and helped out playing wine waitress amongst the guests which helped the flow of conversation no doubt between the locals and those visiting from the UK on Sara’s side. It was during one such highly-animated discussion about something I don’t recall, that I noticed a very glamourous lady walk into the throng. Now, I would like to point out that our hosts had made this a very casual affair i.e. no hats and mostly jeans so the sight of a striking, suited and booted blonde did turn a few heads – definitely not Rouffiac style. The latest addition to move into our little bit of rural South-West France comes by the name of Lisa and she’s bloody great fun.

I had such a great time at the do, it wasn’t until I got home later that I realised how isolated I’ve been since Mumo passed away. It’s not that I haven’t been sociable but me being around others has been more of an evening thing – most of the day I seem to have confined my self within the walls of this here property between work and estate agents with just the woofers for companionship and D popping in and out. Now that I’ve given up the fags, the only time I’ve walked down to the épicerie is to renew my lottery ticket and let’s face it, all that miserable rain has kept everyone indoors so no chats over the garden gate so to speak. So deciding I needed to get out more and learn something new, I posted an enquiry on a local ladies group Facebook page which resulted in an invitation to join a sewing club. I was honest with them, I can’t sew very well but would love to learn – come over, we’ll teach you was the reply. So I did and nearly walked straight back out again. A table of cross-stitchers and crochet needle twiddlers was really not my thing but I’m very happy to say I stayed and thoroughly enjoyed myself. No, I haven’t picked up anything yet except make more new friends and book some private lessons in the sewing department. Apparently we are making pin cushions next week which should make for some amusement – perhaps I could design my code into mine?…

“A friend may be waiting behind a stranger’s face.” (Maya Angelou)

Bringing out the blossom

According to the online horoscopes that I said I wasn’t going to read anymore, the start of the Chinese New Year on Tuesday was all about shedding the old Snake’s skin and embracing the power of the Fire Horse. Well, I’m not sure about the descaling bit but my epidermis is currently exposed to a strange phenomenon as I currently tap tap away on this here blog whilst sitting out on my terrace under a hazy blue sky and a ball of sun rays. And if Monsieur Météo’s forecast is anything to go by, we are about to have a little more of a taste of Spring in the coming days; something we thoroughly deserve down here after all the storms and soaking of late. As I was filling up the bird feeders yesterday, the surprise noting of the plum tree’s blossom made me do a little happy dance – a careful one as the garden is rather over-grown and you’d best be careful what you might step on.

It’s hard not to feel optimistic when the sun rises a little earlier each morning and is actually visible out there. And whilst I’m still not at my best, nor any the wiser as to what my internals are playing at, the change in season goes a long way towards a healthier outlook on life. As does having a load of friends come out of hibernation for a Chinese feast served up by yours truly and a successful one at that which was quite amazing considering the main house kitchen only has a three hob top, two of the guests were vegetarian, one was very allergic to fish and I couldn’t find the wok. A much enjoyed and well lubricated evening was had by all if the following morning texts were anything to go by as well as pats on the back for this hostess on giving up the nicotine and ‘you’re looking a lot better’ comments – I’d take that as a compliment if it didn’t make me think how I must have looked before.

Mind you, such remarks about one’s well-being are a great boost for the brain cells as are cloudless skies. Having nearly fainted at the organ-doning cost of the architect’s building team, I went shopping for a new one and found a possible candidate who just happens to be a friend of the Lovely Lionel so totally trustworthy. I haven’t met Hakim yet but Denis has taken him up to the land and gone over the specs with him and he’s still interested so positive vibes abounding. I even went as far as digging out all the boxes of Lego that our family have passed down the generations and built a sort of slightly out scale model of my one day abode for reference. Denis told Hakim it was an ‘English’ thing to do, I said it was a sensible one which it is as I realised all the windows on the spec drawing were in the wrong place and D’s idea that I should have double doors going out from the bedroom would mean I’d be waking up to a lovely view of the neighbour’s fence. With any luck and crossed fingers, my new best guy will be able to start as soon as the lawyers have finished my end.

Speaking of anniversaries and looking good at a certain age; yesterday marked 10 years since I took in a young foster pup named Ace. A decade later and Aragorn, aka Arry is still under my feet. I must admit I forget sometimes that he is, being a German Shepherd, old but he wears it well and is still an idiotic juvenile at heart. As I’m sure I’ve scribed many times over many blogs, his presence has kept me going through hell and high water even if only because he’s done something stupid more often than not. He may not be able to run up those hills anymore but Arry’s zest for always looking forward to the next best morning is a mantra this girl is aiming for. That and flip flops…

“An optimist is the human personification of Spring” (Susan J. Bissonette)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

stay young at heart (and away from washing machines)

Funny feelings

I woke up this morning feeling oddly unsettled. Probably last week’s fault – it didn’t start well, got better in the middle and a bit flat at the end. It didn’t help that I asked Monsieur le Max chauffagiste extraodinaire to turn off the heating as the main house lay mostly void of human life and then the weather suddenly went arctic yesterday. And let’s not get into a conversation about the bloody pool; naturally it decided to spring a leak in one of the skimmer pipes. I had warned Denis that I thought there was a problem which he insisted there wasn’t so I made him crawl under the deck and yup, a massive crack in the tubing. He was lucky not to have felt the force of my ire although I stroppily refused to go to his annual Easter Monday family lunch.

Actually, opting out of Denis’ do wasn’t such a bad decision as nephew Louis returned to join his brother Maxime here for a few days so I got thoroughly spoilt by the two of them. Fabulous meals and much hilarity over the dining table. Both left mid-week to spend a bit of time with their mum in the Savoie taking Mumo’s dog Sappy along for the ride. She’s Louis’ canine companion now and I can’t say I’ll miss her especially as she left a number of smelly deposits on the piano carpet in her wake. I shall take her owner to task when he returns mid-May.

Aah, May. Just round the corner with, according to the météo man, sunshine. It may sound sexist to refer to such a person as male but he is almost always wrong – I state my case. Mind you, Mother Nature (definitely female as she can put her mind to anything) seems to be delighted with the wacky weather; things are flowering which never flowered before. Mumo’s courtyard is overflowing with colour and the irises she planted which never did much are now blooming yellow. As much as it’s beautiful to look at, you can’t helping feeling a little melancholy that she isn’t here to enjoy the view.

As I mentioned, the main house was left empty once the boys went, save this weekend when brother Simon and wife Alba popped over. On the plus side, the woofers and I had the entire property to ourselves although they aren’t allowed in the big bit as Sherman is likely to leave a few messages up the furniture but it did mean I could leave the inside gates open and the courtyard door. The latter was a necessity as I’d noticed rat droppings in the garage so I unleashed the hunter that is Alice to do her thing. Yet, apart from running up and down the stairs with the duster and lighting the fire as it warms the apartment upstairs, I barely set foot in the family home – it doesn’t feel much like a home when there’s nobody in it. Probably another reason for the oddly unsettled feeling. And for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be toute seule once more although hopefully in shorts and flip flops which will no doubt improve the mood. It does beg the question however as to what the future holds for this place. And the widow plus woofers…

“Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect” (Margaret Mitchell)