Despite the tongue in cheek rumours currently circuiting the village, the black eye I awoke with on Saturday morning was not the result of Welsh girl Lisa and my Rocky Horror dance routines the night before. Admittedly, maybe one too many home-made pina coladas might have been imbibed but it was an overly enthusiastic bedtime kiss that led to the facial disfigurement. Our eyes met, we lent towards each other and then Arry reared his head up and whacked his boney skull on my cheek. Now, for those that know my idiotic specimen of a German Shepherd, and many of you do, such acts of violence are not unusual but, judging by the jocular hypotheses in the épicerie the following day, there are still skeptics among us.

Mind you, when it comes to disbelieving what is perfectly plausible, you can’t beat the water company. The whole ridiculous debacle began when we (the family) received an extortionately high bill for our eau consumption. And I mean high. According to Suez, we’d used enough water in a 6 month period to fill our pool 7 times over which unnaturally led to the conclusion that we had a major leak somewhere on the property. I mean, I’m no expert but wouldn’t you think there would be signs of flooding? A beautiful green lawn perhaps and not the current Sahara resembling one? Or a river running down the main street causing havoc for passing pedestrians and their pooches? Or maybe, a very large house sailing south? Wouldn’t you have thought it wise to send an engineer to stop the torrential flow? Needless to say, it took Monsieur le Max chauffagiste extraordinaire less than a minute to find that the new computerised thingy that Suez had, unbeknown to us, decided to attach to the old counter was up the swanny or gone down the drain depending on which pun suits. The finally sent boffin didn’t need to do much than open the hatch to come to that conclusion. Relief all round, at least this end of the phone line, especially for me – the bloody pool and I have been on excellent terms throughout the summer, mainly due to my pernickety eye-balling of its vast interior. An interior that isn’t particularly welcoming at the moment due to the nights turning much cooler even if the daylight hours are still serving up summer degrees. As inviting as the crystal clear depths look, one dipped toe can lead to hypothermia let me tell you.

Alas indeed, the shadows are beginning to creep across the landscape that little bit earlier and the sun rises just that little bit later. That being said, the only other signs of what should be the start of Autumn are the re-appearances of the duvet and a sweater or two -the feet are still stuck to flip-flops and bikini top on show by midday. As I spy with my one not aching eye across the landscape beyond, there’s barely a glimpse of a change in season – other than the lack of tractors over the vines now that the vendange is over and the sight of hunters attempting to camouflage themselves (looking like you’ve just stepped off a Rambo set isn’t going to bring the wildlife out of hiding). I’m not complaining, it just makes me a little off-balance but that could me down to a lack of perception thanks to a misplaced mutt brain and the world always looks like summertime when you’re wearing sunglasses…

“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.” ( Henri Bergson)