Sunday. Poussanges. Woke up to a bright sunny morning, gave the dogs a quick walk up the granite cross, nipped down to Felletin for a few provisions, made a cuppa and some fresh bread jam sarnies and settled down in front of the telly in eager anticipation of watching the 125, 250 and 500 (they're no longer 500s but I can't get out of the habit of calling 'em that) races at Mugello, the Italian round of MotoGP. With the 125 racers lining up on the grid, I heard someone at the front door. Neighbour Isabelle. She was just off to the (world's best) butcher's at Crocq. Could she get me anything while I was there? No thanks petal, I have everything I need. Then she invited me round to lunch. Er, I'm watching MotoGP. You must come round to lunch. A bientot. Damn. Bang goes my MotoGP.
Managed to watch the superb 125 race (well done Bradley Smith). Then nipped down to Isabelle's in the hope that she'd be back from Crocq and ready for an early lunch, which would mean missing the 250s but I'd still be in with a chance of getting back to see the main race. No sign of her. Or Hadrian. Or Christian. The place was deserted. Double damn. Returned home and watched the 250s. Then the phone rang. Isabelle. Come on round for lunch immediately. Triple damn. Bang goes the main event. No choice but to get on down there.
Had a lovely lunch (fresh asparagus in home-made sauce, risotto, cheeses, strawberry yoghurt) with Isabelle and her mum, sat outside at the big garden table, shielded from the blazing sun by a massive brolly. Hadrian and Christian were away helping Davide with his new roof. Knowing I like a tipple with my grub, Isabelle opened one of Christian's 'special' red wines. As neither of my hostesses drink at lunchtime, I had the bottle to myself. Delicious stuff. Was rather tempted to guzzle the lot, but thought better of it. Then, lunch over, the ladies prepared to visit Isabelle's dad in his local care home and I waddled off back to my telly. Fortunately managed to catch the second half of the main race, so not too disastrous.
Was then looking forward to a quiet afternoon, catching up on a few odd jobs, when peace was interrupted by another knock on the door. Hadrian. Can I borrow your mountain bike 'cos mine's cassay (busted)? Er..., dammit, s'pose so (would YOU lend anything to a youth with a reputation for breaking things?). Then spent ten minutes and oodles of energy pumping up the tyres before watching the brat whizz off into the distance with the words 'don't break it' ringing in his ears. Had a cuppa, changed the Citroen battery, moved the cars, mowed the side lawn, strimmed the front bank and out the back, had a quick wash and walked the dogs up the cemetery run.
Very interesting up there a ce moment. An abundance of wild flowers (especially some strange bluey-purpley ones), the old orchard trees are all in leaf (the one I painted a few weeks back now looks completely different) and on the denuded slope where the pines were felled back in winter, rows of newly planted pines are beginning to grow.
Heard seven bells ring in the distance so headed back home. Fed the dogs, poured a large scotch and sat outside in readiness for an evening aperitif and smoke before having a quiet night in front of the telly. But before I could get stuck in, the phone rang. Hurtled upstairs, tripping over barking dogs, leads and doormat. Typically, it rang off before I could answer. Maddening. Returned to outside table. Just about to take a first sip of the amber laughing juice when the phone rang again. Repeated previous chaotic ascent followed by a flying dive for the phone. Thought it might be Georgie. Wrong. Isabelle encore. Come round immediately, Christian wants to hit you for nicking his best bottle of wine. Aaargh! Big trubs. And bang goes a quiet evening.
Ambled round there clutching my untouched scotch, passing an impressive flowering cactus outside Didier's mum's. Peeked round Isabelle's corner expecting to be hit with a flying shoe and a torrent of abuse. Survived a jovial ear-bashing from Christian and joined the merry throng at the ouside table (Davide, Katrine and their youngest daughter were visiting).
Had a very pleasant soiree. Polished off my scotch plus a couple more, helped Christian and Davide finish the remaining half bottle of lunchtime's special vino, plus a couple of others, then shared a marvellous al fresco nosh-up, waddled off back home in moonlight, gave the dogs a late night amble up the granite cross, made a cuppa, switched on the telly, promptly fell asleep, woke up at 5.30 and went to bed. (Isabelle insisted I photograph her roses, of which she's justifiably proud, plus two of their four dogs, despite my inability to walk or focus.)
Another quiet Sunday in the back of beyond.
The blue flowers are Aquilegia, otherwise known as Granny's Bonnets. Very popular in cottage gardens. Earn some Brownie points and collect the seed later on for your garden!! They come in all sorts of lovely colours.