Rain...

Two hours gardening in brilliant sunshine this morning between 9 and 11 o’ clock. We’ve cleared the lower patio, which was slowly disappearing under the plants there and now our only problem is what to do with the cuttings and weeds produced. (I’ll add pictures tomorrow.) Then the rain came down, so we withdrew into the shady interior of the mill and settled down with a cup of tea while we watched the space craft land somewhere in Russia. A blackbird with a beak full of worms is sheltering under a leafy branch and I don’t blame him, because when the rain comes down it comes with some force. Rain is forecast for most of the afternoon, but promises improvement over the next few days. I’ll get on with writing during these dull spots.

I checked my blog for last year and found that the farmers had cut the hay by 5^th June, so they are well behind this year. The fields are waterlogged in low-lying areas and none of the local meadows have been cut. The grass doesn’t even look as high as it should be. Walking down the drive to the road the sound of the water pouring over the dam is quite clear – usually I can’t hear it at all. Tim has given up splodging in the stream because it comes well up his chest and he doesn’t like that. He likes it at ankle or knee level!

Rain, accidents and gatehouses

Torrential rain today. To go out is to come back drenched. I could go swim in the pool but it wouldn't be much fun without the sun on my back when I got out. I''ll have to settle for indoor activities. Thank the Lord for the laptop and writing as a hobby.


I dare not smile at anyone because I bit down on a piece of crusty bread and pate yesterday - and the French know how to make wonderful crusty bread and delicious pate - and my front tooth snapped. It was a crown, not a real tooth, but still I'd rather have it than not. The gap  left behind feels a mile wide and now I'm terrified to eat anything that isn't smooth and easy to chew. And  of course, when I smile, which I often do because I forget about the gap, people flinch and look away. I e-mailed my dentist yesterday, but so far she has not replied.




When it is too hot, Tim has to make do with running around the mill grounds, which is not a hardship as they're far larger than our garden at home. But when it is cool we take him for walks on the lead, just to remind him what a lead is in among all this running free, and a couple of days ago we walked past this magnificent resident which has its own little gatehouse on the roadside. It isn't used, and there isn't even a gate there any more, but it is a nice reminder of how things were long ago. Imagine the carriages sweeping in, and the gatekeeper eating his French bread and cheese as he guards the entrance.

A rainy day

Monkshood

It's raining hard and blowing a gale outside, so I've postponed my intention to walk up the hill and bank the latest book sales cheque received last week. Our "tame" blackbird has been on the fence, singing, twice already this morning. Evidently dh put out some sultanas for him first thing, and as I sat down at my computer I heard the bird again. I now know exactly what Dunnett meant when she wrote the phrase about a blackbird's cherried sentence. So I laid out more sultanas on top of the BBQ, and down he flew, looking very wet and downcast, and gobbled them up. Two feet seems to be his limit of tolerance for my presence. Of course, it could be his brother. They're very hard to tell apart. I'm hoping blackbird Dad reappears. He brought the brood to feed early in the spring, but they got so vicious they chased him away. Ungrateful kids! I'll know it's him, because while the youngsters have very sharp tips to their beaks, his was a tad worn and he had a couple of white feathers in his wings.

So, it's a perfect day for writing. I offered to help dh tidy his study, and if you knew what an effort that is likely to be, you'd applaud me! He, obviously not knowing when he is on to a good thing, shook his head and pulled a face. 'No, not today.'

So that leaves me back with a perfect day for writing. Unless I make a list for what I'm going to pack in my suitcase next month. But I can't think of sunny Australia when the weather is so miserable here. It is slowly dawning on me that I could be accused of procrastination here...No. Decision made. I'm off to do some writing. Honest.

You can't trust the weather

Yesterday we sweltered in 31 degrees, so hot that the slightest exertion had us sweating, and walking any distance was very tiring. Then about 8.30pm last night it began to rain, the temperature dropped and it stayed cold today. We went for a brisk walk uphill wearing anoraks - and were glad of them.
We passed this building on our ramble. A rural gite - soft gee sound - so no doubt we could stay there if we wished. No need - we're very happy in the mill and there seems little or no sign of mice this year. Last year, as readers of this blog will remember, we had mice popping into and out of sofas, through cracks we couldn't find, eating crumbs off the breakfast bar and one unfortunate little creature got trapped in the toaster.
The stream at the bottom of the field was very low yesterday, almost dry in places, with only the thinnest trickle still running. Today it is almost back to normal levels, so the fish may survive. I can hear the wild ducks quacking as I type, but it's no good going to see what's up. They're so wild they take off when we're twenty yards away - and give us a fright. Tomorrow we'll have to go and seek more food. Maybe a trip into Bergerac. At least the weather forecast is good.

A death at the mill

The day began with a death. A mouse, a very small, baby mouse, lay down in the middle of the hallway and went to meet his maker. His little eyes were closed, and I could see his eyelashes. I took him out and laid him among the nettles and brambles.
It rained again. That’s the third day in a row. The grasshopper is still stuck to the window, and I suspect he may be dead as well. This afternoon I went out and hacked ivy off trees, and collected dead wood, nearly braining myself in the process as the twigs I was after brought down a twelve foot branch. The local farmer was tending his asparagus, and the first I knew of him was his four-month-old puppy Fifi racing over to meet me. She’ll probably be a big Alsation when she’s grown, but right now she’s a wriggling bundle of delight.
Conversation was difficult as he has Spanish but no English. We have un peu French but no Spanish.

The pic is the vieux ville of Bergerac.

Rain, rain and more rain

We drove to Rothbury yesterday to meet family, and hoped for good weather.

Why was I not surprised to find drowned landscapes and misty hillsides? Because that seems to be all this summer has to offer. This is a sweep of the

view from the car as we drove north, looking west. Not very appealing, is it? Yet on a sunny day it looks wonderful. We had thunderstorms and torrential rain this afternoon. The land is already sodden, the river is high, and when the water comes down from Alston and Kielder there may well be flooding along the Tyne.

My garden is waterlogged. The lawn squelches when I walk on it. The water ran down the slope and flooded the patio to the extent that Mr Frog was flushed out of his chosen patch of garden. I took the pic through the window. As soon as I opened the glass door, he calmly removed himself to the other side of the

fence where I couldn't see him. Camera shy, obviously.

All the frogspawn we had in February has gone, some eaten by magpies no doubt, but we have lots of tiny little frogs, about the size of my thumb nail, hopping about.
The one this afternon was a bruiser by comparison, fully four inches from head to rump. I hope all the little ones survived. There are plenty of slugs and snails for them to eat.