Luckily I have diaries

 I have been adding one photograph per day to Facebook, utilising the old paper pics I have in my collection.  Most are fine though all I've done is take a photo in good light of the old pic with my mobile phone, then uploaded it to my pc.

It is surprising how hard it is to remember where the places are.

Some have a scrawled name - Domme - but many are blank.

Luckily I have diaries (week to view) going back to 2002 and they tell me we took the ferry on 29th July and stayed in the Abbaye Royale de Fontevraud, from where we visited Chinon and Azay-le-Rideau, then Angers, Saumer and then on to Tulle,  Figeac amd Maurs where we stayed at La Chatelleraie before we drove on to Cahors. Back to Perigeaux, west to Saintes, then north to Nantes across the pont de Chevire and to Saint Malo and Portsmouth. 

Quite a journey to try and fit all those photographs into! But at least it is a guide. And the memories are so good.

It was an expensive struggle

 For the sum of £225 we are now proud owners of an Animal Health Certificate.

All ten pages of it, every page with multiple red stamps and signatures.

There are strict time limits. We are now on a timetable to get Perla into France before said document  becomes invalid. A similar time limit operates when we want to come home, too. A bit like Cinderella, really.

If we decided we wanted to come back home for a week and then return to France, we will have to ask our vet to complete another form and pay another £225. I thought  the AHC would be valid for at least a year, but no; one trip only, then we start all over again. 

If everything that leaves this country has to undergo similar formalities, then it is understandable why the roads around Folkstone are clogged with vehicles. and why people are so incensed about queues and waiting times Pre Brexit, it was all so simple, easy and and hassle-free. 

It is a staggering thought that it has actually cost more to get Perla to France than to get me, dh and the car to France. 

The big decision

We've finally made a decision.

all summer we've been thinking we might get to France this year if we just waited a little while until things had cleared.

We kept moving the shuttle booking further into the year, but we've decided we will lose the booking fee and resign ourselves to not attempting to go this year. The hotel bookings we cancelled with no charge. So we've lost £160; it's a pity they will not let us take it over from one year to another but that's the way it goes. So, its roll on 2021.

We worried that our dog, who had an emergency vet appointment twice in June because of an inability to pee due to bladder stones, might suffer a similar emergency in France. We know the vet, and have no doubt of his abilities, but out of surgery hours we have no idea where to contact him and of course there is the language difficulty, especially on the telephone. We are hoping the Allpurinol is busily dissolving the stones in his bladder, but if they are not gone at the next scan, then surgery is the next step. And that will be  around the end of this month.

We have a holiday booked (way back in January) in Scotland on 6th October, so we might just make that week at Ardverekie. Let's hope so.

As for things clearing Covid-wise, I'm thinking we will have to learn to live with it, as we once did with measles, diphtheria* and whooping cough. As a friend said ,"Its out to kill us, you know."

*Yes, that's how Blogger spells the word. Rather too many aithches in my view.

France 2019

June 15^th, 2019

Travelled down to Folkstone on Tuesday 11^th through terrible rainstorms between Northallerton and Cambridge. South of Cambridge, all was fine, so we had our usual walk in Hatfield Forest before heading for the tunnel, where there was some delay. Our 3.50 crossing was cancelled, reason unknown, and the 4.20 was half an hour late – again, no explanation given. This meant we were later to Abbeville than we expected, so we simply had dinner in the restaurant and then went to bed.

I slept well, but Bill says he did not. We didn’t wake up as early as usual, so it was 8 before we went to the park of the two lakes in Abbeville and walked Tim, and almost nine before we set off south. We had intermittent rain all the way down. However, we made it to the mill somewhere between 5 and 6pm. The weather was not very good and the house cold, so we lit the big woodburner and were soon toasty warm.

Thursday. We had sunshine until about twelve, when Tom came to check over the pool and “hand over” to Bill. From then on it was clouds and rain, so we lit the fire again. Temperature inside was 17 degrees. The phone kept ringing, but when we answered we got only crackles on the line so eventually, on Tom’s advice, we disconnected it.

Friday. Tim began his antibiotics today. The weather was fine, and our first task was to remove fallen tree that was partially blocking the track. Out came the tractor and we attached a tow rope and pulled the stump out and dragged it as close to the dump as we could get it. Two ladies were picking asparagus ten yards away as we did all this, but we exchanged no more than “Bonjour,” and some banter when Tim bounced across to see them. Later Farmer Eric appeared to ask if there was “a problem,” but language proved a barrier. Still, any problems we must contact him at L’Hermitage.

Since the tractor was out, Bill cut the grass, and then it rained again. Fire lit again!

Saturday. Temperature now 19 degrees inside and rain and grey clouds outside. Bill is painting, I have written a chapter of Viking Wedding.

Sunday. Now we’re talking. Cloudless blue sky and beautiful sunshine. Sat in the sun and came in at eleven as said sun getting too hot for exposure of white English skin.

Monday. The ladies from the farm were here picking asparagus before 8.30 in the morning and they were still here at 11.30. Backbreaking work, legs splayed, bending from the hip to cut the asparagus below the soil level. Very hot, approaching 33 degrees. Had my first swim in the pool, but water very cold still. Didn’t stay in long, then dried off in the sun. Bill drove to Vergt and stocked up on groceries.

France and Brexit

My blog has recorded holidays in France over the last few years and judging by the visitor numbers to the site, many of you like reading about them. But now we are in a quandary, because if Brexit goes through, how will the travel rules change?

If we have to pay more to get there, I'm not  worried much; I'll save a bit harder before hand. But what if all the nice rules about taking your dog on holiday (or your cat, mouse, hedgehog, whatever) suddenly stop and go into reverse?

So far there is no information about this.
There's no way any pet lover would put their pet through weeks of quarantine just for a few weeks holiday. Certainly I would not. So if the worst comes to the worst scenario, we won't be going to France again. Tim doesn't know there is any problem, but he loves the open spaces there, jumping in and out of the stream, hurtling through the woods.

What will I miss? The absolute freedom to do as we wish. The sunshine, the wonderful walks, the sightings of deer, foxes, ducks, fish and the occasional farm dog. Oh, and those big, big cattle in the next field, with their delightful calves. The kites that fly over the valley, the mice that escape the farmer's hay cutting, the lizards that run up and down the walls and even the occasional snake.

Come to think of it we've seen several snakes over the years: a small black one dropped out of the bolly roof and vanished down the nearby drain; we found a similar one in the balcony room and watched it wiggle its way out onto the balcony proper and then vanish. A small adder  near the stream, wiggling through tree roots, another on the wall where the old pound wall used to be and one year a much bigger snake we never identified, but about four feet long; it came to rest  at the top of the bolly steps at the side of the house, and I took a picture of it over the bolly rail before it slid off across to where the walnut tree hung over the grassy bank.  Then there was the time Tim jumped on a snake in the ditch beside the road; the snake retaliated and bit Bill in the calf before scuttlinng away back into  the ditch. Bill, I am happy to say, suffered no ill effects and we assumed it was a grass snake. Then there was the time we found two of those very large, muscular cattle in the field with us, ambling up to the house...but that is a story for another day!

Hot weather and editing

We drove out to a country park on the Derwent Reservoir the other day to give ourselves and Tim a change of land and smellscape, and will go back again. It's not too far, but gives the feeling of being out in the country - which it is! Pine trees and heather are so different to the green fields and deciduous trees where we are. I  noticed the low  water level in the reservoir  - and it is so early in the year. Come July there will be water shortages if this weather continues.

In a way I hope it does go on being warm, for it is so nice to be out and not blown away or come home soaked and freezing. (Actually, dog walkers will know that we come home warm and toasty whatever the weather - it is only the first few minutes that are pretty dire. After that, the exercise warms the muscles and its fun to be out.) The other thing I'm thinking is that France will be even warmer by the time we get there. We've experienced occasional weeks there when it is too hot to contemplate moving about too much, and there may be more of them in the future.

As for editing, I'm whipping out words out of Banners at a tremendous rate. The word count now stands at 118,158 which is a vast difference. I hunted out early critiques and reviews and gleaned the following tips:

• dialogue is repetitious
• needs paring down
• used passed instead of past

I had noticed how wordy I was as I was going through! Still, fifteen years ago books tended to be wordier. I'm contemplating a different title and a new cover, but have not settled on anything yet.  

Promised to be a fine day today, so we’ve been in the garden pulling up weeds which grow with terrific energy here. By half eleven all the black clouds we saw yesterday, which disappeared mid-afternoon to give a brilliant sunny evening, have reappeared and at midday the rain began in earnest. It was soon all over and I didn’t bother to get the newly washed clothes off the line. I’ll count it as an extra rinse!

Rush hour in Rouen

In a way it is refreshing to have these cooler interludes. Too much high heat all day long is so tiring I don’t know how people endure it all the time. You may ask why I'm washing clothes on day 2 of our holiday – but we’ve travelled light this year with one week’s supply of underwear and we’re already more than halfway through our supply! (Left home on Monday, remember.) Given the weather there is a distinct possibility it might take several days to get anything dry, which could leave us going commando.

I’ve started on my new story. This one has a title first – The Matfen Affair, and it will, if I follow my plan, involve an old house, a wedding and a ghost. Probably what comes of reading five Barbara Erskine novels one after another.  I was disappointed with the ending of the last one – Whispers in the Sand – because there was no conclusion. It was made plain that the mystery was going to continue down through the generations and personally I did not find that satisfactory. I wanted an ending!

Death in the house

No need to get alarmed. The death I refer to was a mouse, caught in a mousetrap last night. DH set out the trap, not me. I'm far too squeamish to do that. I may not be happy about them running about indoors, and I know they're a health risk, but that's me. Squeamish.

We've had two splendid days with clear blue skies and full strength sunshine, and today there is a fine cloud layer and hazy sunshine. They've begun to cut the hay around us, and for me they can't do it soon enough. Once it's baled I might be able to walk out whenever I please without sneezing and wanting to scratch my eyes.

We've discovered a new way of exercising Tim. We ride the little bike up and down the drive with him running beside it. He barked at it the first couple of times but he's stopped that now. It's an easy walk around the property now all the grass has had a second cut - almost like lawns! I can walk around in my slippers after the dew has gone. The cows stare at us across the fence, and Tim barks at them. I'm trying to stop him, because they're awfully big beasts and they have calves to defend. No way do I want one of them chasing us across the field.

PS Remember if you click on the pics, you get a larger version!

Houses and homes

There are some very attractive houses in this region. Some of them make me briefly envious, Some just make me smile. We have a whole range around us, from the chateaux with the guardian dogs, live, who race along the fence barking until you are safely out of their sight, right down through the small farmhouse to the caravan in the field, and even better, the caravan on stilts.
If you build in the local style, and some do, then a square tower rising out of the body of the building is a must, and the 4-sided triangle roof can be seen peeking out of the forests for miles around. (I'm sure there's a name for a 4-sided triangle, which obviously isn't a triangle, but I don't know what it is.) I'll add a few pics of examples over the next few days.

Some look very old, and it is easy to imagine they've been here from medieval days. I have no doubt they have mice too, because they're built of rough stone which makes it easy for those little feet to climb and get in through the roof. I know snakes live in lofts - we hear horror stories from our rellies in Australia where people are very wary of entering loft spaces because they never know what they will encounter. Last night when I was drifting off to sleep I imagined a war one in the loft above me - mice versus snakes and lizards, and it made me feel sorry for the mice.

 I encountered one in the laundry room yesterday. It shot across the floor and out where the water pipe comes in through the wall. DH has caught one on his wildlife camera while it was running across the living room floor during the night. Odd that Tim doesn't seem to have noticed them yet.

Hay Fever

A brilliant sunny day yesterday, so not much work was done, but I did get a wash load dried, ironed and put away. There's not much work involved in putting  a washing machine on, and apart from that, we downed tools and soaked up the sunshine.
 Today it is me who has the odd problem - one of my eyes has swelled. Not the eye but the socket and lid. It's either a reaction to pollen, of which there is a lot drifting about on the wind, or some tiny insect has bitten me.

I shall be relieved when the farmer has cut all his hay because only then will my nose stop prickling and filling up. In England I don't suffer from hay fever, but here, I do. The cutting is partially done. I watched the farmer cart away about a dozen plastic wrapped bales this morning while I gave Tim his early morning walk around nine o'clock. That was quite late for Tim, but then I'd been out earlier, too, for he woke me just as it was getting light with a plea to go outside. Every bird in the locality was singing in the greyness and I was glad Tim is mostly white, for he showed up in the gloom no matter how far he wandered!

The final edit of The Craigsmuir Affair is ongoing. I have cut chunks of "local character" which gets in the way of the story. I don't suppose anyone would be interested in it but me.There are no signs of it being available as pre-order yet on Amazon. There must be more I have to do before that happens.
The irises are blooming everywhere around the lake and nearby damp fields. They look beautiful.

Third Day

Tim has survived his cut foot and had the time of his life today when two  farm dogs? - local dogs? turned up and played with him and in the river at the bottom of the garden. They stayed all afternoon and tonight he's flat out asleep.
It's good for him to socialise and it was interesting to watch him go from aggressive Get-off-my-patch to hesitant-can-we-play to full on play. We cut some more grass  and pulled up a few weeds from the patio while all this doggy fun went on.
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Yesterday was dh's birthday and I promised him I'd cook. I did, but it was a disaster.  Isn't that typical? I think of all the meals I cook that are perfectly fine and then, when I want to please someone, everything goes wrong. Hangs head in shame. DH did the shopping and came back with a strange cut of beef. It may be a fine cut of beef, but it is not one I have seen back home. Still, it was listed as Beef steak. Perhaps the noisette oil I used was a mistake. Or the couscous I thought was an original idea is just not meant to go with salad and steak. The  wine was white and sparkly but sweeter than we expected. One lives and learns, and the moral of the story is take a French-English dictionary to the supermarche, and don't try odd combination for a special meal.

The weather is not very nice - damp, grey and threatening rain most of the time, but we're hoping for a better day tomorrow. We're inside tonight with the doors and windows closed, but of course we are here mid-May rather than mid-July. The good weather will come, I know it. Farmers have cut the first hay already but the meadows before they do so are a joy to see, so full of wild flowers. I remember fields like this during my childhood, but we rarely see them today in England..

PS Our meal tonight, cooked by DH, was fine. I may just let the maestro take over the kitchen. I'm not proud.

Hatfield Forest

A brief entry to say we have reached our destination - I am now en France and endeavouring to think in another language. We enjoyed a halt at  Hatfied Forest on the way down. So close to Stansted on the M11 yet it is a world away from the busy 21st century. We spent three quarters of an hour there with Tim off the lead and racing through the buttercups. We're lucky that though he loves to run, he never runs far from me and his recall is good. We'll certainly stop there on the way back from France. It's a medieval hunting forest now looked after by the National Trust.

We have the chairs our on the bolly, the first of the grass has been cut and lunchtime approaches. Our first lunch in France!

Snakes and tralvelling

Our first full day in France and dh got bitten by a snake. Since he's still with me, and feeling no effects whatsoever, we can only assume it was a harmless variety. Tim pounced on a patch of grass by the roadside and next thing we knew, there's a snake on the tarmac among us. Tim was pulling to get at it, I was hauling him off and Bill got bitten above his wellies, which admittedly were only calf length rather than knee length. Two little puncture wounds as proof he wasn't mistaken. The snake vanished before I could get a good impression of it - except that it was fast, an olive green colour and seemed to have vertical stripes running along the length of its body.


Apart from that incident, we've had a splendid day with sunshine from early morning till a few minutes ago. Tim has worn himself out running from one to the other of us and generally keeping track.


Our journey was beset with hazards. The Channel tunnel was blocked by a stationary train, so we had three hours to hang around before we finally got going. (Never found out why there was a train stuck in the tunnel....) The weather was poor on the journey through France, and we miscalculated and hit Rouen at 8am  - rush hour. Big mistake. We had forgotten to turn on the sat nav, and hit the wrong road. Someone advanced beyond his zone at traffic lights and when they changed, we could not move because of him. Car horns blared all around. Huge frustration and when we did find a road out of Rouen, it was not in the best direction for a speedy journey. Tim was fed up and howled and yodelled and whined for a good two hours...We finally arrived about 4.30. We opened the door, out he bounded and loved it! He's notstopped running about since!

The Devil Rides Out

Back ache blues disappearing at last. The only trouble is Tim got hold of the sheet detailing the movements required to keep joints supple. He ate half of it and shredded the rest. He's much better than a shredder, I can tell you, and no running costs to speak of.

Further to the cheering up we have booked a two night stay at Crinan Hotel in April, so we have that to look forward to. We know we're going to France in early summer, and we've promised ourselves more quickie breaks. It means I'm going to need to be very disciplined with my writing if I want to continue. A few days ago I seriously contemplated abandoning it as I got little pleasure from it, but yesterday and today I've written chapter 20 of Blood Feud, and feel back on the ball again. Health is everything, isn't it? I can't write when I'm not feeling fit.

I've just finished reading Dennis Wheatley's The Devil Rides Out, probably first published in the 1930s. His books were very popular until the 1990s and then he seemed to fade from view. I discovered his stuff on Amazon Kindle, and was tempted to read one and see if I enjoyed it as much as I did all those years ago. I'd forgotten how rich all his characters were. Le duc, Rex, Richard - all millionaires. The action and plot read just as well now as back then, but there were one or two spots in the second half of the book where description got the better of him.

Car trips were described in detail, and Richard's private four-seater turned out to be a plane rather than a car. He took off from home, talked of Croydon airport, and whizzed through customs in France with a loaded revolver in his hip pocket. Laughable, given today's security strictures. Then the flight to Greece was described at length - too great a length to my mind. I suppose in all fairness that not many families owned a car in the 1930s and forties, even the fifties. Plane flights were a luxury and foreign places largely unknown, so the readership back then probably lapped it up. We're all too well travelled and blase now. But on the whole, the story passed the test!

I thought I'd loaded Part 1 of Chapter 5 of Capture a Queen to Wattpad on Monday, and only today discovered that it was still in draft form. I remedied that, and if anyone is reading - apologies - and the link is:

http://www.wattpad.com/37913888-capture-a-queen?d=ud

Cold days

I seem to be a little out of synch with my posts. I don't usually bother at the weekend, as everyone is busy with family and home, but today - why not? Yesterday was cold, and last night even colder. Today the frost is gripping hard and shows no signs of letting up. The first supply of peanuts and sultanas are out ont he bird table and the blackbirds are mobbing it. I'll save my brisk walk until around midday, when it might be a tad warmer.
Still, it's good weather for getting work done. DH is excavating floorboards in order to insert lights in the ceiling of the floor below, and in between the horrendous whine and howl of the drill-thing he's using, I can get on with my own stuff. Wrote 1200 good words yesterday that didn't need much polishing up, and will aim for the same today.


frozen sundial

The tricky thing is getting my character from point A - point B in France, and trying to describe sixteenth century French countryside. My French is limited, which makes research something of a guessing game. But I'll use what I know of the country today and historical facts I'm sure of, and see what I end up with. Maybe taking Matho to France wasn't such a good idea after all!

Shadows in the night



west wing of Prudhoe Castle

"Melissa looked at her watch. It was well past midnight. The sofa was comfortable, but the unaccustomed heat kept her awake. Spending summer in a romantic old water mill in the Dordogne did have disadvantages. When she ran tentative fingers over her flanks, her skin was slick with moisture. The warm breeze from the open window moved through the room, but brought little relief. Crickets chirped so vigorously they might have been sitting on the hearthstone five feet away.
A cold drink would be good.
She scrambled off the sofa and tiptoed across the floorboards, hoping she wouldn’t step on any insect life. With her hands under the kitchen tap, she welcomed the gush of cold water, gulped some from her cupped palm and ran her damp hands over her face.

Fumbling her way through the shadows to the door, she released the latch and stepped outside. That was better. Cool air breathed across her skin. Ignoring the quick rustle of lizards scurrying toward crevices in the old walls, she strolled to the chairs, pale and cold in the moonlight. She sank into one of them, and flinched at the coldness of the plastic against her skin. Stars blinked above the massed ranks of dark trees. A breeze that never reached the valley floor swept across the topmost leaves of the tall trees in the meadow and produced the soft susurration in the air that was already familiar to her.
Rory slept in the big bed on the other side of the wall. He did not like their current sleeping arrangements. The tightening of his mouth, the flexing of his jaw muscles had shown that, and said very clearly that he’d let her have her way but he was not the kind of man who gave up easily. Had his pride suffered when she refused to share his bed? He had certainly been surprised. Would he try and persuade her, or sulk until she gave in? It had been a good decision not to let Rory sleep on the sofa for then she would have felt beholden to him. Much better that she owed him neither gratitude nor thanks at this point.
She stroked her thighs. Already the slickness dried from her skin. A wisp of long grass whisked along the flagstones, breathed across her foot and vanished. Rory had shown her a shed snakeskin as a warning not to be frightened if she saw the owner one day. The fragile, almost translucent skin had been trapped between the stones of the bolly and the old drain not four feet from where she sat. A cold breeze wandered by. Melissa hugged herself against the sudden chill. Perhaps this was a crazy idea after all. Flickers of movement caught her eye.
For no reason, her heart thudded in her chest. With her teeth pressing on her lower lip, she stared at the western end of the bolly where one of the four oak pillars supporting the tiled roof stood out sharp and clear in the moon's glow. Beyond them, the shrubs and rose bushes were gray against the dusty, moonlit ribbon of the drive. Nothing moved. She heard nothing but the soft sound of the breeze, yet her heart bounced faster, as if she were in danger.
 Muscles tense, she sat poised, ready to run.
The shadows made it difficult to see anything. The blackness moved and twitched close in against the house wall, less than ten feet away. A pale shifting blur morphed into hands and a face. Melissa’s fingers clung to the chair arms while she strained to see through the darkness. Hair lifted on the back of her neck and goose bumps sprang on her arms. She stared at two pale blurs, one above the other, moving very close together. Sure it must be some young couple seeking privacy, she opened her mouth to call out. But some instinct held her rigid and silent. What if they weren't real? Her heart beat so loudly that whoever lurked by the wall must surely hear it. She forced herself to inhale slowly and quietly.
Her heartbeat slowed a little.
The air around her was cold.
It’s always cold when—she slammed down on the thought about ghosts before it formed in her mind. She looked at the space between herself and the door, and the door and the dark, shifting shape. She could reach the door. She had to. The chair scraped across the flagstones and drowned the slap of her bare feet as she hurtled into the mill, slammed the door and rattled the bolt home.
Flexed from the hips, palms braced against the half glass door, she waited, mouth open, panting. Through the mottled glass and the wrought iron Perigourdine goose that guarded it, moonlight lit the grass beyond the bolly. Nothing moved. Her breathing slowed.
She remembered she’d seen a baseball bat by the door and groped for it without taking her gaze from the door. The smooth wooden shaft came comfortingly to her hand. Something creaked behind her. Melissa whirled on a sharp indrawn breath. The bat cocked and ready, she watched the door to the hall open."

A chilling tale, written with humour and drenched in the sights and perfumes of the rural Dordogne, a must-read for those who like a romance with a ghostly twist.

an excerpt from my book SHADOWS, available now on Kindle.

Beware Mondays

Mondays are peculiar days in France. We went to Perigueux on a Monday and found everything closed. Thinking to enjoy a birthday celebration meal before we packed up and drove home, we drove to St Foy le Grande on La Dordogne and found the chosen restaurant closed. Of course! It was Monday. Hasty scratching of heads. Where to eat, if it was Monday?

St Foy offered nothing and the countryside south of the river, around Ligueux, Saussignac and Monestier, though beautiful, offered only closed auberges and restaurants. We drove into a golf resort hotel, which was open - but would not accept us because we were not resident. So, about six restaurants later, we arrived back in Bergerac, where we'd started, heading for the tourist area of the old town. Surely that would be open?

It was, and we had a very nice meal in a restaurant opposite the poissonnerie. I chose lotte saison and hoped it was fish. Whatever it was, it looked delicious, tasted wonderful and when I checked in the dictionary next day, discovered it had been monkfish of the low season. I'd been lucky with my starter, too, in ordering a tartine de legumes. It arrived as an artistically built mound of fresh vegetables: a baby carrot, a slice of red pepper, and paper thin slices of something yellow that may have been fennel, but might not. Something equally thin, almost transparent with faint pink stripes on white, a baby tomato cut precisely so that the inner structure formed the shape of a tiny tree. Delicious!
But the moral of the tale is this - in the Bergerac area of France (I cannot speak for other areas) the food is good, but almost impossible to get on a Monday night!

I thought you might enjoy a pic of me in my tree-felling gear!

Holidays - the aftermath

All holidays come to an end, and I am now back in damp, rainy, grey England. Once we fought our way through the mass of post behind the front door, exclaimed over the height of the lawns and that we'd missed the blooming of the buddleia and the Shasta daises, I rushed upstairs and grabbed a warm sweater. Even when it rained in France, and it did, for nearly three solid weeks, it was never really cold.

We're still in the middle of the de-heaval (it seems wrong to call it an upheaval when the holiday is over!) - masses of clothes waiting to be washed, empty cupboards and shelves to restock so we can eat every day, and getting rid of the ants that have decided to invade one corner of our utility room while we've been away. I even had to catch and gently put out of the window a small spider who had taken up residence in our bed. Obviously a spider with delusions of grandeur.

And then there's catching up with the e-stuff; 1,752 e-mails in my in-box even though I'd gone no mail on all but my crit groups. One group alone had 860 posts. Although I've not done much work while I've beeen away, I have done some, and stored it all on a usb. Now comes the dicey moment of transferring that stuff back to my main computer. In the past I've been known to keep the old stuff and delete the new, but hopefully I've gained more IT awareness since then!

Prior to the thunderstorm a day or two ago, we spotted this visitor - or it may be a local resident. How are we to know? (After all, we are the guests here.) Almost three feet long, it froze when it saw us, hung around long enough for me to take pictures, and then shot off through the long grass and into an old, overgrown wall beneath the trees.

The same afternoon, we saw a much smaller black snake wriggling across the upstairs balcony. We got there in time to persuade it outside was much preferable to the interior of the house, and it obligingly wriggled off. We thought that one came down from the roof tiles to seek safer quarters in a thunderstorm. I suppose they hunt the small lizards that live in the walls and the roof.

Once the new arrivals had rested up after their journey from England, we started the real business. Felling and hauling out old, dead trees. Trickier than it looks, even with the help of this lovely little piece of equipment. After several hours work we had two large specimens hauled out onto the field where they can be safely cut up to make winter fuel.

We were muddy - because the trees had fallen across the bank of the stream - and sweaty, and once work was declared over for the day, there was a rush to have a shower and find clean clothes. But what a satisfying day! And we certainly enjoyed supper and a glass or two of wine.

A lot of bull!

We've been walking almost every day we've been here, but now the days have turned sunny and hot, we've been doing it early in the morning, before the heat begins to bite. Yesterday we passed the Chateau Maurice at the end of a long walk over towards the holiday village of Constant, and today we went in the opposite direction and found ourselves deep in the woods.
Not a problem, even though imagination suggested that if I were walking on the north American continent, I wouldn't have been so happy, knowing that a bear might appear around the next corner, or a cougar be lying in wait along some branch. But I prefer my forest trails with vistas, and this one was simply flat walking along a muddy trail with scrub and trees either side. Nothing to look at until eventually we struck out into rolling hills and fields again.

Admiring a vast field of grass sprinkled with blue flowers, I got down on my knees to take a photograph and heard dh shushing me and pointing to something in the bushes behind him. Not five feet away lay a huge white bull, no doubt rudely awoken from his night's rest (by us). His back end, facing us, looked as big as a house and since I have little faith at the best of times that the single strand electric fences the French use would keep an animal of his size away from us if he chose to disregard it, we hurriedly tiptoed away down the track.
The blackberries are out here, and are ripening fast. We've collected a few and plan to make a blackberry crumble, maybe with some of the plums growing in the field mixed in. Right now as I sit by the open window with the sun pouring in, I hear the rustle among the hazel trees and catch a glimpse of a red squirrel scampering through the branches.