It was hot; now it's not

It was SO exciting to return to France, and the baking hot sunshine seduced us into believing that life was good! Now, during our third week back, it seems that it's been raining FOREVER! Our semi-mountainous position brings with it icy cold nights, and, of course, we still have no heating. Apart from our little friend the paraffin heater. Buildings with walls constructed from great lumps of stone, a metre thick, behave just like the semi-subterranean ice houses of old, maintaining static low temperatures all year round. This is a very useful and much appreciated trick during the summer, but in every other season, IT IS NOT FUNNY! 

Anyway, despite the aching chill, we decided to erect the swimming pool! 

Sue (No, that's not Sue!) and I spent a lot of time carefully levelling the ground and sand last year, so there was only a little bit of cosmetic smoothing to be done this year. The sections of plastic-grid fencing that we put down under the sand layer prevented any mole invasions.

We coated the launching bay with some wood preservative, as it had taken quite a weather-bashing over the winter. I'll also need to repaint the little white picket fence.

Up goes the frame. It looks like Kevin is doing all the work here, but that's only because I'm the (unstoppable) photographer.

As you can see, the pool has a VERY crinkly bottom, and this is something Kevin cannot abide! He spent ALL of last summer castigating me for allowing a few underfoot creases to embed themselves. His nagging drove me madder than the creases drove him, so this year, I adopted a clever smoothing technique. You'll see... Last year, I got into the pool as the water began to fill it and simply smoothed it out with my bare feet. I then found that I was stuck in the pool and had to use a series of inappropriate items in order to clamber out.

Pedant Debbie found great pleasure in the neat boxes of bits.

You're not supposed to construct the outer shell until all of the water is in, but Kevin couldn't restrain himself... Can you see that smooth bottom?

This photo doesn't do justice to the extreme smoothness of the bottom! My technique involved standing outside the pool and walking round the perimeter with a soft broom and sweeping from the centre to the sides. It worked beautifully!

Now all we need is some sunshine...

More than that!

The cloud formations have been extraordinary here. If you're not a fan of clouds and sky, look away now.

A peek into the inferno!

How can there be a shadow? The sun's behind the first 'Brian the snail', so how can this be? Someone please explain! Draw a diagram.

For goodness' sake!

How I feel.

Despite the downpours, I set about gathering hard core and flattish stones to continue the slow creep of the terrace.

Completing about one square metre takes three days! Day 1: Harvest and position stones, Day 2: Cement stones in place, Day 3: Fill with lime mix. I've now run out of sand and my lime powder is mostly solid, so back to the brico store it is. I decided to up the ratio of cement this time in an attempt to prevent frost/ice damage in the future. I'm hoping it won't stay this grey colour when it dries. It probably will. Giant ants kept trying to walk on the wet mix; one got stuck. I tried to help him out, but the rescue mission didn't work. I've been feeling bad about that, which is ridiculous, I know.

If the ant had been alive, it may have seen this view...

An ant's view of one of the reinstated molehills.

The words 'Cold Comfort Farm' always come into mind when I look back at our ugly mix of buildings.

Farmer Joel has replaced the fence on our adjoining boundary. Previously, it had been a big tangle of weeds and barbed wire, so this is an improvement. So far, we've found twelve golf balls in amongst the mud. There will be more.

This terrible example of a hand is mine. My hands usually look like this. You'll never find me with perfectly manicured nails, and certainly not with my ring fingernails sporting a different more spangly design, as appears to be the fashion. My hands are permanently thirsty; I can apply hand cream every five minutes, and they return to dried out parchment. I started using Flexitol anti-crack foot cream, and  even that only restores their buxom plumpness for a few minutes. Even though I wear gloves when I'm liming, the lime gets in and sucks out all moisture. I'm like an Egyptian mummy. But Scottish.

My brother and I went for a walk to Bar* and back. The shape of the walk in cross section is a capital U. I guess you would call the walk there and back a capital W. It's about eight miles there and back. My glutes didn't ache the next day; they left the pain until the day after that! 

Surrounded by breathtaking scenery, perversely, I took photos of signs.**

We foolishly thought that this sign said, 'Chemin Brive' and laughed because it's such a long way to Brive on foot. We joked about finding Chemin Paris, then Chemin Bangkok. I've only just realised that it says, 'Chemin Prive', 'private footpath'. We took it anyway and weren't shot.

Thank you for reading! I'll get back to you when the sun's shining again.




* There's no bar at Bar.
** I also took photos at the cemetery, but publishing photos of my neighbours' family tombs didn't seem right. The French give a lot of respect to their dead.