Tag: september

Tired, wired but still inspired

Considering the events of the one before, this week has been quite the opposite. Seven days without any major dramas would have had any sane person putting their feet up and snoozing under a pool umbrella but naturally we are talking about me and probably the reason why I’m in therapy. The very idea of relaxing seems to skip my synapses even if the rest of this body just wants to sleep for a month – here I am bone-deep tired and my brain still wants to bounce around like a teenager on acid. Waking up to it being the start of September and therefore, the end of what the Northern Hemisphere would call summer doesn’t help either. Mind you, you wouldn’t know it when you put a pinkie toe out the door and it burns to a crisp before your very eyes such is the current weather situation.

I’m not going to complain; the very idea of donning any clothing that covers more than the essentials makes me come out in a cold sweat – I prefer the pool for cooling down thank you. Amusingly, I have finally finished my first ever attempt at making a summer vest (the irony) – only taken three sewing lessons to create such a simple item out of an old sheet but my teacher, Delphine, was bursting with pride. Thankfully, we have now moved onto making bags and they don’t require following a pattern so might get done before the Christmas market. Alas, they won’t see the inside of the shop in St Hilaire as without Severine and Nicola’s veggie stall in there, we can’t afford to pay the rent on my bijoux alone. Speaking of L’Horte’s guardians, I popped over mid-week to reserve several wood piles now that the remains of the tornado’d trees have been felled. There’s not much in the way of firewood but I’d like to use some of Pop’s plantings to decorate my new place.

And if there is one thing that helps calm the cranium, it’s thinking about that little project. In a week with not a lot going on, I’ve had a meeting with my bank manager (an extraordinarily nice young man which in my experience one does not associate with such institutions) to keep my funds safe and another with my equally affable architect (a genial older gentleman who speaks very slowly just in case I miss something – obviously knows how my brain works) so I could approve the building plans thus far. Mmhmm, a little twinge of excitement, I cannot deny. Admittedly, we still have to draw in minor additions like the roof before submitting the finished design to the permit peeps and wait for, shudder, autumn temperatures to dig the foundations but the prospect of building my own home is keeping me out of the sanatorium. The summer may be over but up the road and to the right, there’s a perfect view of the sunrise…

“The end-of-summer winds make people restless.” (Sebastian Faulks)

Hello September
sewing success (trust me looks better from the back)
something to smile about

Summer’s last stand

Marie-Claude, resident of Rouffiac, has Covid and at the time of writing this; the internet is down. Thankfully, we don’t need the internet to find out the former’s malady – that’s what the épicerie is for but according to Orange, there’s been a rupture in the line and we might have to wait until tomorrow for a connection with the outside world. A rupture does sound pretty dire. At least the news of poor Marie-Claude waited until after Friday as that would have been disastrous for Le P’tit Bristrot and its team with it being the final knees up of the season. Almost everyone in the village turned up complete with silly hats and wonky wigs (odd Rouffiac tradition) to share the evening with friends and boogie to an impressive set by Nothing Concrete. No, I haven’t heard of them either but according to my gal Suzy, they just got back from playing a gig in Devon so they had to be pretty good. Less could be said for the dining fare although Suzy’s husband Bruce became even more popular than usual having brought Tabasco to liven up his chilli – queues forming at our table for a drop or two and to munch down on the pizza I always make just in case. The same as Mumo always did.

Mercifully, I’ve had enough time to recover for this morning’s visit by the latest estate agent else my head would have been still buried under Sherman. Photos were the order of today which for me meant hurrying around to get the apartment looking less like a factory and the pool looking vaguely clean before corralling the woofers out of sight lest they moon to the camera. Brother Simon told me such brave feats are unnecessary these days what with AI and fancy apps but 7 furry beasts could be stretch for any computer boffin. I did leave my latest creations on display though including the freshly-pimped up flower pots I found in the old chicken shed. That and the artfully displayed bijoux in the room downstairs. Well, they are after all, an international agency so you never know.

The above mentioned pool is still open by the way. We had considered closing it after the pictures were papped but Monsieur le Météo has decided that we aren’t quite ready for Autumn just yet and is sending a little heat our way in the coming week. You could be forgiven for thinking it’s Spring in September looking out at the garden foliage. And my pasteque is growing bigger by the day. Denis says I should use it as a Halloween decoration instead of the traditional pumpkin but at this rate it might end up in a Christmas pudding. Still, I am not going to complain about the daily chores deck-side; sister-in-law Frannie and her hubby Steve are popping through on Thursday so the barbecue will be pulled out once more and not too long after that, I’m flying off to the Motherland for a few days. A catch-up with my mother-in-law Jenny is much needed and of course, the mandatory lunches and dinners with friends. It will be as always, a short trip as leaving Denis with the dogs and their dietary requirements is never a comfortable thought and there’s the little thing called a plot of land that would look much nicer with a house on it. And fancy plant pots…

“September days have the warmth of summer in their briefer hours, but in their lengthening evenings a prophetic breath of autumn.” (Rowland E. Robinson)

last nights
funky pots
September sun