Ailments and artistry

Ah well, considering the odds even if we live in a tiny village deep in South West of France, one of us was going to get it. Yup, my tough ‘nothing can get me” outdoorsman has been got – Covid-style. I came downstairs with coffee as usual on Friday morning, expecting the normal kiss and “dort bien?” hello only to be greeted by a grey face with an outstretched arm stopping my approach. In the four years I’ve known Denis, the only time he’s not been full of bounce was when he had his hernia hiccup (actually three in all) so I suggested we both went over to the local pharmacie to get tested. Apart from the fact that we spend most of our days together, I also have a not so well Mumo at the moment so neither of us wanted to add to her woes. On the positive side, I tested negative but warned to keep my mother at a healthy distance for a few days just in case. And steer clear of D too which has meant a miserable weekend and a pity party with a bottle of wine and an ominous moon to keep me company.

And the week was going so well. Sort of. I mean there was that little incident on Tuesday morning but that wasn’t my fault. Kind of. You see, me and the younger woofers are back to rising with the dawn and running up hills again so I had bought a pocket-sized ‘deterrent’ spray not wanting a repetition of the last dog attack. All was peace and serenity, the giant mastiff I had been assured was safely tucked behind bars and there was nothing to disturb us other than the hum of tractors harvesting the vines. That was until we hit the main road a kilometre or so from home and got rear-ended by a loose Pyrenean Mountain Dog trailing its extendable lead behind as it launched its huge self at Arry. Alice of course went into full terrier mode, teeth chomping and chattering as Sherman sunk his into a furry hind leg whilst I tried to keep leads from tangling -I wasn’t about to let them loose on a busy thoroughfare. And that’s when I remembered the bombe and pointed it at the white beast. Honestly, I didn’t know the spray was red. The owner did eventually arrive and get her charge under control, dye not blood explanations from me. I saw the same dog a couple of days later, apparently the colour doesn’t wash out easily.

At least, the Covid decided to bring down my man after we’d made a decent dent in our ‘to-do’ list -Denis and I were noses to the grindstone ticking off items. The newly extended potager now has its Autumn plantings in, the walnut trees have been lopped, the other bat box fixed onto the remis wall and between us we sorted out the blockage in Mumo’s kitchen sink which turned out to be congealed fat (blame big brother for that). And since our camion needs a little TLC before it can pass its contrôle technique, D has plonked it over here as it’s easier to get to a power source. Yet unnamed and a bit banged up in parts, I am looking forward to getting behind the wheel of the big white van. I might need to add my newly acquired artistic touch first…

“ The colours live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas” (Edvard Munch)

Lists and little treasures

If I’ve learnt anything from the past week its not to do all your to-do list at the same time because if you do, you’ll reach a point where you don’t have anything to do. What is even more frustrating than boredom is the fact that most of the projects aren’t actually finished as I am either waiting for a piece of something or other or somebody else to add whatever. And to top off the mind-numbing state, the wind is back – the one that gives you a headache and turns your brain to mush.

Well, at least that’s over – last week I mean. The grey clouds and frankly, November like temperatures of the past few days, have given way to blue skies and sunshine once more and the forecast is looking upbeat. Now that the kids have gone back to school and the vendange or grape harvest is just about over, there is a sense of peacefulness within our little village nestled down here in the French countryside. Alas for the poor residents, it’s not going to last very long as me and the younger woofers are about to take to the hills again – my running shoes are ready even if my body probably isn’t. Still, I can’t think of a better way of getting rid of all my excess energy (and Arry’s) and for clearing away the cobwebs from my cranium. Okay, there’s the new plantings to go into the newly-extended potager too but Denis does all the dirty work, I just tell him where to stick the seedlings we purchased during a recent spree at our favourite gardening emporium.

Considering once upon a time there was a city girl who swooned at the sight of a pair of sky-high heels in a swanky shop window, it’s hard to believe that that same dame would now be doing the same ogling over a line of Brussel Sprout plants or whilst sifting through rails of clothing in a second-hand store. Knowing that I was going a little loopy indoors, Denis decided we should take a drive to nearby Alet-les-Bains (famous for their supposedly cure-all waters) to visit a brocante recommended by a friend. Disappointingly, we were in and out of those doors in minutes – the place was over-priced and far too neat, I prefer those that have bits and bobs strewn everywhere which was where we ended up. A piled to the brim chaos of a veritable treasure chest flea market. The additions to my wardrobe came to a total of 6 Euros.

I might have said in the beginning that I was a bit lost for things to do but next week’s list should keep me buzzing around quite nicely. Apart from the veggie plot, the old liner needs to be taken out of the bloody pool so that the concrete bottom can be re-screed before a new one is fitted. I’ve got a number of dining chairs in the attic to ‘chic up’ but they’ll have to stay up there for the moment as I don’t have any room what with all the almost-finished stuff and then there’s the small matter of the hole in the stairway wall – a result of my attempt at drilling through concrete only to find that I couldn’t go more than 2 centimetres, wrong drill I’m told. Then there’s the Second Book needing my attention, Sherman to hand strip as he looks more like a Yeti than a Border Terrier right now, the village map is without the business additions and the walnut trees have to cut back before the solar panels end up in darkness. And all shall be done one at a time and in well-worn discount denim…

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

Bartering and blowouts

Excuse me for the delay with this week’s blog but I’ve been out peddling my wares on main street all day. Yup today was Rouffiac d’Aude’s annual vide grenier which translates as emptying the attic or in another way, a car boot sale. Okay, so we didn’t rake in the dough but Denis made a decent dent in his tool collection including two pool pumps (he doesn’t have a pool) and I sold one of three microwaves, a few trinkets, a very nice child’s cot, a couple of bits of clothing and a hamster cage. For some reason the promenading ladies weren’t sold on my 4plus inch high shoe collection (they are English shoes hence the Imperial measurement) but frankly, I couldn’t blame them. Trying to walk down the local rues without breaking an ankle is hard enough in flats before you’ve had a drink – cobbles and all. Still, it was a thoroughly enjoyable day spent chatting with the other stall holders, most of which Denis and I know well even if they were clearly better experts at pulling in the punters. There was a brief scare when a group of kids thought a house was being broken into so the manly men, including D, shot off round the corner only to find the proprietor stuck in his window – he’d lost his keys and was a little larger than said aperture.

Considering the weather over the past week, it has actually been a pretty decent weekend which was just as well as Denis and I have spent most of it wining and dining with friends. Put it this way, I haven’t needed to drag the hose out once and what remains of water in the pool is now a nice shade of army green. And we’ve managed to finish the potager extension thanks to the heavens above – digging out three gazillion rocks is much easier when the temperature sits well below 30 and the soil doesn’t resemble concrete. But it is weird. Normally we’d still be sweltering for at least another month but right now I’m delving through my sock drawer, pulling out woolies and porting a parapluie. However, according to the daily gossip down at the epicerie, there’s another blast of heat coming our way before Autumn sets in and local folks are rarely wrong. Mind you, such a brief taste of next season might be good for my other half as I’ve just booked our plane tickets – we’re off to the UK at the end of October and it’s his first visit. Actually, it’s his first visit anywhere on a plane holding his first ever passport.

Speaking of flying visits, I got to introduce D to a couple of friends of mine earlier in the week as we joined them for dinner at a pizzeria in St-Hilaire. Only it hadn’t got any pizza so we had duck instead. Some of you may remember the wedding I set up for Joshua and Jacey from Colorado in the vineyard up the road last year. They have a house yet to be lived in permanently a few minutes from Rouffiac so were shooting through to do a few repairs before whizzing off again. An all too brief reunion but they’ll be back in a few months and we’ve promised to take them out on town Rouffiac style. Which is exactly what Denis and I have been up to the past few days.

Friday started with a traditional Paella lunch over at amis Adolphe and Sarah’s home and wow, what a feast. The dish was huge, spilling over with aromatic rice, fresh seafood and chunks of pork – as the Catalans do I was emphatically informed. All groaningly gorgeous. Thankfully, considering the size of my belly after that, the evening was all about the last night of Le Bistrot which also marked the end of summer as the kids have all gone back at school. I bopped and bounced along to the sounds of an Indie/punk band – flippin’ brilliant although I think the music may not have been to everyone’s taste. Hah, I rocked the clubs back in the early 90’s and Callum keeps me up to date with all the latest tunes so I am somewhat an aficionado of the genre groove . And I got rid of enough calories to inhale down the most delicious, beautifully designed canapés made by our pal Michel for his wife’s birthday do the next day, served on Michel’s hand-made platters before D and I finished our Saturday groaning over brother Simon’s barbecued lamb. As much as I miss the warmth of September sunshine, my body is telling me otherwise – now might be a good time to get back up those hills and run before I end up buying back the wardrobe I sold because it was too big for me…

“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.” (Orson Welles)

September supplements

There’s nothing quite like a decent drenching to welcome in a new month so hello September. Okay, I know it’s not technically the end of summer and experience has taught me that we are more than likely to have another heatwave or two before the winter but I am looking forward to seeing the back of this season gone. A statement I shall no doubt regret when the woolies get dragged out from under my bed and muddy paw prints embed themselves over the tiled floors once more. As I write this, Denis is stuck between here and the South Coast having spent the weekend celebrating his great-niece’s baptism, he’s somewhere in the lanes of traffic trying to get home after the long school holiday – I was invited to the celebration but with no-one to mind the dogs or D’s animals, I got out of it. Mercifully judging by the pictures of stagnant autoroutes.

Speaking of D’s brood, there’s been an addition to his non-human family. Gaya the dog, Dolly the cat, Caesar the canary and Gypsy the semi-feral hedgehog have been joined by a tortoise. Denis found him wandering around the front garden and with no-one posting reward posters for the safe return of their roaming reptile, decided to adopt the little creature. The male tortue is as yet still without a name although I have suggested Captain Hilts due to the number of escape attempts. Who knew an animal fabled for its slowness could scale his fenced enclosure so fast? I have to admit I have grown rather fond of Denis’ new companion although having one of my own is out of the question – Arry’s obsession with rocks for starters and Sherman’s penchant for getting into mischief when it comes to anything not canine related for seconds. I accidentally stood on the remains of a hedgehog skin the other day and boy, do those prickles hurt. However it must be said that this one was not a victim of my youngest woofer, these adorable looking spiny mammals regularly murder each other I’m reliably informed.

It’s not that Sherman is a natural born killer, unlike his mum who can rid several hectares of rats in seconds but he is a big lad. A recent trip to the vets with both for their annual jabs had him tipping the scales at a whopping 12 kilos, 4 kilos heavier than Mama Alice. Mind you, as the vet pointed out, my gorgeous lump of a Border terrier is pure muscle – hardly surprising considering he’s best mates with my idiotic German Shepherd.

With Denis being away, I’ve had to do a bit of bicep-flexing myself to hoist the re-conditioned petanque bench into its new home court side. The once tired looking wooden seat is now stripped and varnished and the iron work painted green, typical for the style. It’s a shame all the family have left now that the holidays are over so there’s no-one to enjoy its luxury but I’m sure we’ll have a few more fêtes with friends before the winter comes. And now that almost all the summer jobs have been completed, I can look forward to a new list of ‘to-dos’ – there’s the new extended potager to plant out, the saga of my life needs a second drafting, the outside staircase needs re-painting, the walnuts and almond trees to be harvested, the village map to finish mapping and the old pool liner to replace. Summer’s over kids…

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

Night skies and naughty nephews

As we head into the last whiffs of August, an odd sense of calm has descended over here chez nous. Even the woofers have retreated under trees or curled themselves up in freshly-dug flowerbed holes, rising only to scream up and down the front fence line at a passing village hound. With the last couple of months being filled with visitations from family and friends, the absence of bodies around the place is taking a little time to get used to especially now that my two eldest nephews have left – I’d gotten used to waking up to the sound of Louis tinkling on the piano downstairs and being serenaded by Maxime’s guitar at the end of the day. And I will forgive them for my near-fainting experience when I looked out of my bedroom window one morning and saw a hand poking out of one of the ginormous pine’s branches. For a second, I thought a body might have fallen out of a passing plane, I know but I used to read an awful lot of Reader’s Digest as a child, only to find on closer inspection that they’d thrown a stuffed gorilla up there. I did remove the potential hazard to any passing motorists but not before the boys had relocated it and hung it off the front door lantern giving half the local residents whiplash no doubt.

With the pool’s water level now reduced to tadpole swimming depth, at least we have the petanque area to enjoy especially when Denis adds in his barbecue brilliance. Before Maxime and Louis departed, we did just that and dined by the light of the impressive Blue Moon that was red seen from down here on account of the wildfire smoke drifting over from the U.S. Even after almost 4 years of living here in Rouffiac, being able to look up at the night sky without any light pollution save our ‘landing strip’ around the pool still takes my breath away. I’d turn them off except we need their luminosity to avoid breaking a toe over Denis’ miniature golf course – Arry and Sherman have chewed up the flagpoles.

It won’t be long before the nights draw in either, I mean it’ll be September this time next week. This year seems to have jumped every other month including August. Oh, it’s still hot most days but not the ‘I can’t take it anymore’ heat that we have become used to and there is a definite Autumnal feel in the early morning breeze. And we’ve even had a few decent down-pourings over the summer although yesterday evening’s predicted thunderstorm ended up being more of a polite pluie but the good kind – steady soaks into the soil rather than leave lakes to be burned up by the sun. As is the norm, Denis and I had pootled over to Le Jardin for another of Abraham’s excellent soirees and a chance to catch up with all the friends we’d seen the night before at Le Bistrot. As we drank far too much wine and laughed ourselves into a near-coma (the overindulgence of food may have helped us get to that state), the constant pitter-patter of rain drops made music over the roof above us as it gently drenched the surrounding vegetable gardens. It’s been a funny old summer…

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” (Sylvia Plath)

Zero moods to hero dudes

It pains me to say it but, unless the Gods have a radical change of heart, I shall be glad to see the back of this summer. Not only have I had to admit defeat (a rarity for me) in regards to finding the minuscule hole in the pool’s liner and let the blood thing slowly drain itself into the road, I’ve had the worry of Mumo’s weird internal goings-on (she is getting better slowly we all hope), both of which have left me with a zero va va voom to do anything constructive. And I hate the feeling. On top of it all, the barometer has been go up and down like a Yo-Yo on acid – the beginning of the week sitting in the high 30’s before sinking down to barely 20 degrees by Wednesday. I had to drag out a jumper from the winter stash under my bed and put shoes on, the latter was an odd experience and it took me a while to remember how to walk in something other than flip-flops. At least we’ve had a few decent drizzles to replenish the thirsty ground, something virtually non-existent down here in August in normal years.

Okay, it’s not been a complete blah of a week. My second eldest nephew, Maxime, touched down chez nous on Tuesday and between him and his brother Louis, they’ve really helped lift the general mood around this place and boosted Mumo’s spirits too. Sadly, Louis’ gal Linnea (I now know how to spell it) had to fly off back to Norway and work but not before I got a chance to go into Carcassonne with her and enjoy a bit of retail therapy – the vintage clothing kind. Since I’m quite a tightwad when it comes to buying new threads, most of my time is spent in patched up jeans or shorts stained with Godknowswhat fell on them, I had a ball going through the racks of retro bits and pieces with someone who likes to forage in these kinds of shops as much as me. Poor Louis was dragged along his insistent amour somewhat unwillingly, he has much to learn when it comes to the art of pleasing your other half. I left mine putting up the lights in the outdoor kitchen such is my knowledge of what floats Denis’ boat even if he did almost electrify himself a couple of times and almost blackout the entire village. Amusingly, when I first met D, I asked a friend if he would recommend my new handy man. “Definitely” replied Graham, “anything except electrics, that would be a disaster.”. Thankfully we now have light down in the lower kitchen with only a few scald marks on the floor and D is extremely proud of himself.

Speaking of near blowouts, it was a good job I’ve lost so much weight over the last couple of months as Denis and I went over to my dear friend Giselle’s place for her son’s birthday celebration. Paella style. I have to admit that the last and only time I ate such a dish was in a London restaurant and frankly, it was horrible. Obviously, I needed to try the local recipe – here it’s all about fresh fruits de la mer and not large lumps of over-cooked chicken and stodgy rice and boy, is Giselle’s good. I must have chowed down enough calories to keep me bouncing for a year it was that delicious and if I add on Louis’ incredible culinary masterpieces, always seasoned with raucous family laughter around the table, I’m going to need to get back running up those hills soon otherwise I’ll never get to wear those new purchases.

And Hugo’s (Giselle’s son and Denis’ daughter’s boyfriend) birthday wasn’t the only one to be celebrated this week. Our Arry aka Aragorn turned 9 on Thursday. How my crazy nutcase of a German Shepherd has managed to reach an age and now sport a few grey whiskers is totally beyond me but it is without a doubt a miracle (remember the ball-choking incident, the collar incident, the heatstroke incident, I could go on) but I’m thankful to have him spread out under my feet every day. For all myself and the other woofers have been through over the last eight and a half years that he has been with us, Arry’s zest for life and refusal to be anything but young at heart can’t help but chase the dark clouds away and bring on a smile. And swearing. Lots of swearing. Gotta love that dog…

“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if only someone remembers to turn on the light.” (J.K. Rowling)

Heat and healing

It’s hot out there folks. The woofers have retreated under cover or in Mo’s case, under the pool deck and I’m spending far too much time rescuing bees from the water above – Titanic style. Poor things are desperate to have a drink but I do wish they would use the bowls available in the garden and not try and kill themselves with chlorine. Mind you, with the outside temperatures nearing 40 degrees, any idea of cooling off with a nice swim can be forgotten, it’s like warm soup in there. And even if you did want to lounge under the parasols on the deck, you’d have to take breathing apparatus with you – the blisteringly dry air burns down your throat. Denis and I are desperately trying to keep the young plantings hydrated which would be so much easier if the man with the drill pipe had been and gone, unfortunately he’s broken his compressor bit so we have to wait until it’s fixed. To make matters worse, my hopeful harvest of the grapevine has been dashed as all the grapes have reduced to black bullets. According to a local vigneron pal, I’m not the only one suffering the loss – there’s a new fungus about that loves destroying the white variety which could be devastating for next year’s wine.

Tending to nature has been the least of my stress over the last week, my sanity only saved by having the most accommodating guests in Phil and Rosie. Sadly they left on Wednesday but not before having the chance to dine out under the stars chez Abraham and join in on a bongo drum session the night before they departed. As much as I wanted the two of them to experience a little bit of what I’ve come to love down here, chilling out with a few of my close amis, after the day I’d had the evening couldn’t have been better prescribed. Mumo really wasn’t well so thanks to our next-door neighbour, Louise aka La Contessa, we got an ‘in’ with the gastroenterology department at Clinique Montréal in Carcassonne which resulted in an 8 hour stay in the hospital’s emergency. There’s not a whole lot to do whilst plugged into a drip in a room bereft of interest but I did my best to keep her amused. To respect Mumo’s privacy, I’ll not say what the problem was but I will say she is feeling much better especially since the diagnosis turned out not to be serious and she was released the same day.

Laughter may be said to be the best medicine but for Mumo (and myself), the arrival of her eldest grandson and his new girlfriend probably tops that. Louis and Lenaya (spelling of which I do not yet know) have been brilliant company for her and the fact that his cherie is as as passionate about the environment as I am and can talk as long as I can is the best anti-stress tonic. And she understands the need to use the basins in the sink rather than letting the water run straight down the plughole unlike most of my family so the remains of the washing up can soak a bit of flora and fauna. And Lenaya is the only new face to my family either. Yesterday I finally got to meet and hold Denis’ latest grand-daughter Ana who really is quite a star, never crying once as she was handed around like pass the parcel. For all the ups and downs and aggravation this summer has so far thrown at me, there’s nothing like meeting the future to bring a breath of fresh air into your life…

“We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young.” (Letty Cottin Pogrebin)

New life, old friends

If there was ever a week needed to lift the mood, it’s been the past one. There’s nothing better than being amongst friends to clear the blues and lift the soul. Any traces of self-pity were washed away with the arrival of my old friend Phil and his gal pal Rosie who’ve popped over from the U.K to spend a week sight-seeing and Sophi-seeing. I admit the late nights and buckets of wine did catch up with me last night but all the hugging and catching up was worth the bleary eyes.

And it’s not just me who is profiting from the company – Mumo who is still recovering from a bout of something unknown, has brightened up considerably having these two around and Alice Border Terrier has turned into Rosie’s stalker. Whilst this was the first time of meeting Rosie, Phil has been part of my life for 30 years or even though I haven’t seen him in almost 4 of them. I wasn’t sure if the woofers remembered him but Arry certainly did, screeching at top volume and delightedly placing his favourite rocks at his old buddy’s feet. Actually that’s normal behaviour for my over-sized delinquent of a German Shepherd but the reunion was quite tear-jerking. And since their arrival, the two have been out exploring the wonders of our little part of France under the glorious August sunshine before relaxing over a bottle or two with myself, Denis and Mumo in the evening. And I even threw in a little tour of my own, taking Rosie and Phil up to our local vineyard for a tasting and a guide around the workings of Laetitia’s small but exclusive enterprise. I got Phil a bit tiddly too.

I say glorious August sunshine because unlike the usual last month of the summer, the temperature has stayed mostly in the lower thirties making getting out and about a pleasure rather than the normal 40 degrees burn the back of your throat that we have come to expect. The pool, although having the need to be topped up every once in a while, is perfectly swimmable – it would be nicer if the man with the drill pipe would turn up so we could refill for free but as I’m enjoying this feeling of serenity, I’ll leave that problem until my guests have departed. If there was anything that could put the icing on the cake so to speak, it would be a nice rainstorm to soak the poor garden – we almost got one on the one night I didn’t want one but thankfully it passed through.

For that Denis and I were very grateful as Friday night was all about barbecues and petanque and a chance for me to introduce Phil and Rosie to mes amis, those who have become an integral part of my new life here in Rouffiac. And if you’re wondering, Phil highly approves of Denis. And Denis likes him too. Special coming from Tony’s best friend and one of the very few of my T’s inner circle that has stayed in touch. Anyway, back to the petanque party. Well, everyone had a blast with the locals teaching the newbies how to play their favourite game before the night drew in and energies turned to a right good boogie into the wee hours. Phil told me the other morning how relaxed I was, no longer the stressed out city girl that once was. No wonder, being around friends both old and new – there’s nothing more soothing for the soul. Even if, apparently and according to my dear friend, I still can’t stop talking. Or moving…

“There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” ( Unknown)

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)

It’s the little things in life

You could be forgiven for thinking that spending every afternoon for the past week in the bloody pool whilst the sun turned your back into mahogany brown was peachy perfect – it wasn’t. But fingers crossed, I think I have finally found and plugged the teeny weeny hole in the liner. At the bottom of the pool. After God-knows how many tubes of glue bought and smeared around every seam along the walls and floor, the flippin’ fissure ended up being in one of the corners. Trust me, there is nothing fun about shoving mountains of goo underwater and for some reason unknown to man or woman, standing still in water whilst holding down a patch makes you need the loo every five minutes.

As mentioned above, the sun has come out for mid-July in full force with the thermometer barely dropping below 30 even at night. With the poor woofers flopped out in any available shade, I’ve taken to leaving the balcony doors open after sundown so they can sleep out on the terrace which of course they don’t do and instead choose to pant incessantly in the heat of my bedroom. And before anyone gets any funny ideas about a woman sleeping alone with her terrace vitres wide open, Neo may be getting older but he still has his full set of well-used teeth and Arry likes to spread himself out over the right hand side of my sheets.

At least now I can actually get on with finishing all the other half-done projects. Denis and I have begun putting the fixtures and fittings into the outdoor kitchen below my balcony although we still need to buy a fridge. We did try to find a second-hand one but a) they were all too big and b) all extremely expensive. Might as well buy a new one at that price and a guarantee to go with it. I did however purchase the perfect top for the piece of palm we found down by the river, a bargain at 15 euros. All that’s need is more gluing and it’ll be ready for morning coffee. Or relaxing by with a nice ice-cold beer at the end of a sweaty day.

Speaking of chilling out with a glass on a warm summer evening, the last couple of nights have been spent raising them in a toast to Denis who became a grandfather for the second time. Baby Ana was born in the wee hours of Thursday morning, healthily weighing in at 3.3 kilos. I haven’t had a chance to go and see her yet but parents Yoan and Inaya have been sending daily photos of their second daughter who I’m told looks much like her mother but Denis says looks like a newborn at the moment. I’m sure she’s absolutely gorgeous and will stay that way if I avoid holding her – babies tend to start screaming as soon as I pick them up. Must be the witch in me.

With all the pool plugging and baby gushing, I’m hoping next week will be a quiet one although with my sister and her girls arriving on Tuesday, I expect not. Mind you, I adore my nieces and so do the woofers so a little disturbance of my Zen would not be unwelcome. After the last couple of months of swearing and sighing over all things water-related, the sound of swimming and splashing around will be just what the doctor ordered and speaking of orders, the man with the drill pipe is coming on Saturday. I mean he did say he was coming at the beginning of the month which was two weeks ago but better late than never. Now, with luck and fingers permanently crossed, summer can finally begin…

“Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.” (Sam Keen)