The road between Carcassonne and home is fairly busy and somewhat dull most of the working week as it snakes its way out of the populous and heads towards the calm of the countryside. But just before you hit Prexian (our neighbouring village), the snake-like single lane traffic gets a chance to hit the accelerator as the D118 opens up onto a short inclined dual carriageway. I love this bit of the tarmac, mainly for the view that greets you as you whizz upwards . And its best on a Sunday when you’re the only one looking at it. I never get tired of seeing the Pyrénées on the horizon, slightly dusted with snow now – a warning that winter is beckoning although the hills and woodland in their shadow are still lusciously green. Of course, it goes without saying that I’d rather not be driving back from the hospital still but at least today’s spectacular scenery was coated with sunshine and not half bad temperatures for almost the end of November.

Mind you, last week’s weather wasn’t exactly endorphin inspiring. When we weren’t under constant drizzle, I was digging through the back of cupboards trying to find the other glove – why do gloves always reappear with two right hands and never the left one? The finger-chilling conditions, however, did have their advantages. Me and The Second Book became friends again and I got to spend a fair number of hours getting re-acquainted my furniture in the workshop. It’s oddly refreshing to dive back into the opus after so many months away from my desk although I have come to realise how much of my story I omitted to add. Thankfully, Sally is a very patient editor and has just moved house so doesn’t mind having an empty mailbox at present.

I also managed to get the annual Christmas card photo done, the woofers all in one place ‘click’ shot. This was a miracle in itself as not only do most of them hide when a lens is facing them but the final frame also included Alice and Sherman. I say this because ever since the ‘mouse’ incident at beginning of the week, she and her son have turned into vermin vanquishers down in the tractor shed. It all started when I went to check on the serre seedlings only to come face to face with a hairy rodent. Denis said it was a Lerot but he didn’t see it and I can tell you that was no sweet looking dormouse. Anyway, I called Alice in but the thing disappeared before she could use her inner terrier but as I removed the box out of which it had made its escape, a second one made a bid for freedom squeaking right over Sherman’s head. Now, up until this point and unlike his mama, Sherman has never shown any interest in such pursuits except when it comes to hedgehogs and then he always comes off worse for it but something about a near-miss with a giant mouse has turned him rogue. They’ve yet to catch anything but days spent tail to nose twitching down the bottom of the garden keeps them happy and I hope, less likelihood of the strawberry-chomping so and so’s reappearing.

Speaking of reappearances, little brother Moth flew in from Kenya for 48 hours before taking off again to the same continent, different country. With the Collins’ family dotted about the globe, any chance of a quick visit to see Mumo is taken up, no matter how short the trip. And since I’m here alone most of the time, it’s a plus for me too. Moth naturally arrived laden with gifts for our matriarch as well as his sister. One might think books or chocolate but no, childhood memories in the shape of Kenyan bananas, paw paw (you probably call it papaya) and mangoes. Oh, and a dozen or so bags of macadamia nuts to fatten up the patient. D thought I was joking when I told him where the colourful collection came from, ” how did he get all this through the douane?” Knowing Moth like I do, he probably hid the illegal offerings in between whale-tagging equipment or up a camera lens in his usual array of over-weight luggage. But what with the sun shining as we drift towards winter, like those pilfering little pests, the fruitful feast will be long gone before the authorities can grab them…

“Time flies like an arrow – but fruit flies like a banana.” (Terry Wogan)