Dog Days of Summer

The potager was looking very dry and wilted when we got back last week but it has recovered well.  This morning I picked a whole basket of goodies.  Even the raspberry canes have finally started producing.

Earlier this morning I took Rick for a walk through the chestnut woods.  I tried to hurry him through the hamlet but, as is his habit, he squatted and did his poo right outside the neatly manicured grass of the teacher’s house.  I bagged it but as there are no bins out in the countryside I was forced to carry it for the duration of the walk.

I tried tying the bag to Rick’s leash but it swished and swayed so much it was in danger of being dispersed everywhere.  So I tied it around my wrist where it hung like a neat little handbag. As we entered the woods the flies gathered around mine and Rick’s heads.  Nasty little creatures trying to get in your mouth, nostrils and eyes.  I couldn’t adopt my usual trick of swishing them with a fern because I had a bag of poo around my wrist so I put my sunglasses on to keep them away from my eyes.  This presented its own problem because the woods are dark and shady and I couldn’t see where the heck I was going.  Such fun!

When we got home Paul was working in the potager.  “Did you know you’ve got a cloud of flies around your head?”

Bath Time

Rick's spa bath (no filters required)

This morning we had clear blue skies and sunshine; we took Rick out early for a long walk while the day was still fresh and cool.  The scenery through the chestnut and pine forest was spectacular but the flies were a bit annoying. 

Back home, after coffee, we decided it was bath time for Rick.  We tried to entice him into his brand new paddling pool but he was having none of that nonsense.  Give him a muddy pond or a river and he would jump straight in.  Paul carried Rick across and placed him in the pool and he stood there bravely while we shampooed him and rinsed him off.  Afterwards he jumped out, shook himself off and went to dry himself off in the sun.  He seemed pretty relaxed by it all.

wet dog

He is now clean and fluffy and smells absolutely delicious.

sunning himself

Moon Gazing

“I’ve found the moon!” Paul came puffing up the stairs to tell me late last night.  We had been eagerly waiting all evening for the moon to rise so that we could go and be dazzled by this special eclipse and amazing blood red moon. I followed him outside into the courtyard.

“Where is it then?” I said, peering into the darkness as Rick charged about barking at the bats.
“Between the trees.”
“What, that pale pink pimple?”
“Yup.”

We were totally underwhelmed.  It was a very small, distant moon and the faint cloud cover dimmed any redness into pale pink. At least the barn owls put on a display for us, swooping out of the pigeonnier and wondering what all the fuss was about.

Back to the Good Life

creeping wisteria and flowering mint

We left our Paris hotel just after 6.00 a.m. on Wednesday and we were back home by midday.  We have only been away for four weeks but the garden has gone a bit mad; the wisteria is attempting to creep up the steps to the house.  The courgette plants look a bit scorched and we have lost one cucumber plant but overall things don’t look too bad.  One of our peach trees is laden with ripe fruit and I have picked a whole bowl of blueberries.  The ferns and hydrangea bushes look a bit unwell but they may revive.  The weeds have thrived of course.

pesky weeds

The temperature is up to 33 degrees today, I put a load of washing outside this morning and it was dry within the hour.  All the shutters are closed and we have taken refuge inside the house to watch the Tour de France this afternoon.  Rick is stretched out on the terracotta tiles. It’s good to be back.

Rick's favourite spot at the top of the steps

Yesterday

It was a strange day yesterday.  The removal men (more like skinny boys) took all day to load our furniture onto their vans and take it off to storage so I actually felt relieved when it was all finished and we finally shut the door to our coach house.  Wiltshire has been my home since 1980 so it feels quite strange to think we have now departed from that part of the UK. 

We had decided to stay the night with my Dad in Sussex en route to Folkestone and the Eurotunnel. He has lived in Broadbridge Heath all his life and I was born in a small cottage in the village and spent my childhood here.  Paul and I (and Rick) were tired when we arrived but Dad had prepared a ham salad for us and proudly presented a Black Forest gateau for dessert.  Rita, his partner, was out playing bingo.
“I don’t know why she goes,” said Dad, “she never wins anything.”

I hadn’t stayed in my old bedroom since my mother and I left the house when I was twelve years old.  “It’s your same bed,” said Dad.  Paul looked a bit aghast.  The pink, rose sprigged wallpaper had long gone but a large picture of John Wayne watched over us all night (my Dad became a cowboy in the 1980s).  It was all a bit surreal.

We woke early and took Rick for a walk around the village, visiting a few of my old haunts.
Rita made us some sandwiches for the journey and then we said our farewells and set off for Folkestone mid morning.

showing Rick my old primary school

the cottage where I was born (I hate the replacement windows)

the common

Rita won £90 at bingo.  Dad is 88 years old.

On The Move

The ‘phone call from our solicitor came as we were driving home after visiting friends – “you’ve exchanged!”  We gave a little yelp of excitement but the feeling was more of relief than celebration.  We contacted the removals company without delay but Derek gave a big sigh and said “we’re fully booked all next week, it’s a busy time of year”.  Eventually he relented and they are sending a smaller van to do two trips first thing Monday morning to put our furniture into storage.

I shall feel sad saying goodbye to this flat.  It’s been a good place to us over the ten years since we bought it.  We have good neighbours and it’s a pleasant area to live in but toy town feels very noisy and crowded in summer and I’m craving for more space and quiet.  We shall head back to France on Tuesday and enjoy the remainder of the summer out there.  If all goes to plan we will be heading towards a new life in Lincolnshire in the autumn.

Here we go again!