Des Petits Morceaux

The kitchen sink is coming along. It works. It looks quite pretty. We're happy with that.

Kevin seems to be permanently at the top of a ladder these days, whether picking pears, putting up guttering, or illegally (probably) attaching the ridiculous satellite dish to the EDF post. We do receive an excellent signal! Not that we have time for TV.

I often drive through a barely there village called Ceyrat on my way to Uzerche, and I'm always distracted by this 'bear leapfrogging a sheep' statue. This week, I decided to stop and find out what it's doing there. Could I find any explanation? No. So, if you know what it represents, please do let me know.

I've burnt a lot of pear desserts recently, and now I've managed to burn an exclamation mark onto my inside upper arm. It's so perfectly formed that people think it's a trendy 'brand'. It hurts. It's hideous. And it's beginning to blister up now. I'll keep you informed.

Day 1

Day 2

While visiting a washed out vide grenier in Arnac Pompadour, we stumbled upon an exhibition of various arts and crafts, with a potent dose of textiles, including arty sewing, felting and knitting. I was mesmerised by the spinning process, becoming stuck to the spot for quite some time.

Our friends, Jean and Ray, run a super little B&B in Fontemazaud, which is quite near our hamlet. While the guests are away, we are kindly permitted to use their swimming pool, which is a real treat when the temperature is hitting the mid-30s, and work never stops. Well, unless we're swimming, or visiting craft fairs, or... 

We also discovered a public open air pool yesterday, just up the road in Correze. It's only open in July and August, which is a great shame, as it's positioned in the hills and has stunning views, and it only costs 2.60 Euros!


My animal update begins with some quite dreadful news about Polly. No, she's still with us. But one of our little red squirrels isn't. When she came to the door with it in her jaws, she was looking for praise. What she actually received was a squirt from the hose to make her drop the squirrel. We were too late- the squirrel, though apparently undamaged, had died. What made this incident exceptionally sad was that, throughout, the squirrel's partner was in the walnut tree above us making such a noise with its cries of horror and grief. They're a protected species in France! The squirrel continued to cry for the next three or four days as it made its way through the surrounding treetops. At one point it came down to the ground to seek its mate, while Polly was lurking nearby. I had to run at it, clapping loudly. It does now appear to be spending its time more peacefully, nibbling at walnuts.

I found myself, at one time this week, standing still between the barns and cottage #2. I'd been contemplating stripping the vines from the old ruin there, and had stopped to examine the degree of stone/vine entanglement. As I stood there in silent stillness, suddenly a vast creamy white shape drifted without a sound from behind cottage#2 towards the back of the top barn- a barn owl! He or she has made our barn a permanent place of residence. He or she seems to tolerate our frequent comings and goings to the barn to fetch paint, CDs, glasses, candles, chairs, etc., gazing on with owly curiosity, and perhaps, irritation.

Kevin is already calling it Barny, which I cannot condone. My first hamster was called Hammy, and my first guinea pig was called Guinea; this level of unoriginality cannot be allowed to continue.