Suddenly

The builders cleared the cottage on Saturday because the underfloor heating is being installed this week.

Suddenly the cottage is no longer just a building site, it's become a place where people will live.

View of lounge / third bedroom to hall

View from lounge / third bedroom, through hall to kitchen

View from kitchen towards hall

First bedroom towards landing

First bedroom looking towards what was chimney wall

Front of cottage

Same blog posted on La Petite Maison

Kitchen Floor Lunchtime

Two empty orange halves, face downwards, skins zested and juice squeezed. One batted around ‘til it’s wedged down the side of the fridge.

Half an egg-shell, investigated and left in smithereens.

Top of a carrot, partly chewed.

Two fly-blown lamb shank bones, discarded.

Two empty Volvic water bottles, crunched but still fun to chase around because they bounce and make a satisfying noise.

Fragments of well-chewed, soggy wood.

Lumps of fresh mud brought in from the cottage building site. It rained again last night.

Vita is playing, while I’m making carrot cake for this afternoon’s French lesson.

Five Days of Sunshine

Last Sunday, abandoning the hundred and one jobs in the garden and instead walking the Lateral Canal towpath with Vita, under the shade of the plane trees. Then sitting with a glass of wine and watching the Bank Holiday weekenders on their pleasure boats.

Supper on the veranda and not wanting to close the shutters until late.

Hacking at grass grown too long to cut with the lawnmower and then raking up the fallen bundles.

Tuesday afternoon's French lesson in the garden.

A myriad tiny plums on the Reine Claude plum tree.

Yesterday, daring each other to go into the swimming pool as the water temperature had reached 20 degrees. After the first shock it was almost worth it.

Getting a red nose and burnt cheeks from a morning's gardening.

All day and night, the sound of crickets.

Driving the batmobile at night with the hood still down.

The sound of bells from across the valley - the cows are back in their field for summer.

This evening watching the thunder clouds rolling up round the moon as Vita and I play football in the fading light.

Links:

The Lateral Canal

The First of May

Yesterday evening walked with Vita up the chemin rural from our house.

We tend to think of the narrow road as "our drive" because it only comes to us. In fact it's public and the local commune maintains it, which involves a tractor coming down twice a year to cut the verges and the banks of the ditches that border the fields on either side. The tractor came down about two weeks ago but we've had so much rain since the grass and buttercups are shooting back up and the first red field poppies are beginning to unfurl.

I heard the cluck of quail hidden in Monsieur F's field and Vita got muddy paws nosing after their smell in the long grass in the ditch.

We turned left out of "our drive" and walked along the road towards the horse field. It's up above a bank, so while we were on the road we could not see the horses. I thought they might be in their stable for the night, but one was still out, silhouetted against the pale blue of the evening sky, her tail flicking while she fed.

We stood on the bank at the corner of Monsieur F's field. Vita had her tail between her legs at the sight of her first horse and tried to dive into the long grass, but I persuaded her to stay and finally she sat and in the fading light we just watched.

The clear sky and touch of warmth in the air promised fine weather. About time, there have been too many days of cold rain in April.

I'd forgotten just how much puppies chew...

... and just how sharp their puppy teeth are.

Everything goes into Vita's mouth and she's already at the size where she can reach up to the table.

First paw on lap, second paw on table edge, mouth round tablecloth or placemat. So in good Dog Whisperer style, get in early and push her away with a sharp "ttzztt" and look away. At which point, mouth is round sweater, teeth hooked into wool. Another "ttzztt" and push and this time the mouth (and teeth) are round hand, and with a quick shift of grip, round wrist. A loud (and pained) "aow" just spurs her on.

So extract the wrist/hand with difficulty and shove a chew or tattered Pooh Bear into open mouth, but not nearly such fun. Lift wriggling puppy and place in crate, where after a few whimpers she sits looking like butter wouldn't melt. Relent after half an hour and she's off to find the padded seat corner of the dining chair, closely followed by the open zipper of my (hung up) puffa jacket.

To distract her, find small hard ball and throw it along the veranda (still raining) this spurs breakneck dash and turn round the veranda, through the kitchen and into the lounge, where ball forsaken in preference for piece of firewood lying in basket by the Godin. Extract wood, replace with chew or tattered Pooh Bear, but not nearly such fun as the hand holding the chew. Repeat as above.

She looks so angelic when she's asleep.

Evening Light

Walked (slowly) down to the cottage this evening with Tod to see progress. Vita patters down with us, hunting for stones and pieces of wood in the long wet grass.

It's the first time I've been down to see the cottage since my back went on Sunday and even now I'm sore and tread gingerly across the muddy ruts left by the builders' lorries, nervous of jarring already tender muscles. I'm seeing a chiropractor tomorrow - here's hoping!

The rain of the last few days has left the air crystal clear and against the grey clouds of the next storm that's banking up to the east, the late sun brings out the sharp yellow of the flowering rape in what is now "our field". The colour that always looks so out of place in the soft light of the English countryside glows against the browns and greens of the surrounding land.

Wet Easter Sunday

Got out thermals again.

Back went while combing Vita. Spent rest of day staggering between bed and sofa and watching too much TV.

Late evening on veranda with Vita, saw first glow-worm of the year.

Wet Easter Saturday

(E)Vita and I, between downpours, at 6.30am on the wet grass, enjoying the nightingale song.

Strange number plates in Leclerc carpark - not Lot & Garonne (47).

Groups of small, ruddy Spaniards and Portuguese back for summer work, gossiping in Leclerc, wearing too little clothing and wet open-toed shoes. I feel cold just looking at them.

Empty holes in the Kinder Easter egg stand. Large elaborate cakes covered in brightly coloured eggs, bunnies, piped icing nests in the fridge where I usually buy my after-shopping millefeuille.

(E)Vita spooked at the rain pouring over the gutters and rushing back to the kitchen door, tail between her legs.

This rain is promised for all week and stocks are low in the woodshed.

No work done on the partly finished cottage roof.