Why am I always moaning about the heat? It's horrible up here when it rains...

We've been waking up bright and early, the tiny chink of sunlight on the bedroom wall penetrating our eyelids, and the lilting song of the chaffinch encouraging us to seize the day. Our priority was to clean the interior of the house and clear the garlands of silken cobwebs from every room, and then unpack the overladen car and trailer. Before we could fill the house with wonderful things, however, we had to cart all of the carefully-stowed garden furniture outside. This series of 'me to you' exercises took a whole day!

Before our return to France, our farmer neighbour asked if he should cut and bale the grass on our larger fields, and we agreed quicker than it takes to say 'hay'. The grass had already been cut when we arrived, and it was a joy to see Farmer Joel's tractor appear over the brow of the hill, all kitted up to herd the hay into lines. 

Meanwhile, having discovered two broken mowers, Kevin set to work with the strimmer, his focus areas being around the pool base and my vegetable plots.

As if by magic, the hay was suddenly all neatly baled. 

I've begun the thankless and arduous task of re-establishing one of my vegetable patches. I sometimes suffer from hayfever, and close contact with so much grass is bringing my arms out in a raised, itchy rash. Also, my eyes have become pussy* pinpricks.

Do you like my work method? I can use this old gazebo side to sit on, because the gazebo it once belonged to blew away in a hurricane. Really! We eventually discovered a giant brillo pad tangle of metal in a neighbouring field.

In fact, the only plants left growing in this bed are lavender, gladioli and a little pink rose bush, but a host of vegetables are on their way! My daughter and her husband donated a range of young plants to help us get started: peppers, chillies, courgettes and tomatoes! By the way, never feel tempted to buy one of these little upright barrows; it's very unstable and impossible to pull along without it twisting and tipping everything out.

After about as much strimming as one man in a harness and hat can bear, Kevin took up position in his mower field hospital. The ride-on mower was discovered, mortally wounded, in the top barn. The underside had dropped to the floor. We have no idea how this happened; it had been running normally when we last used it. The key problem appears to be related to one small bolt, which has become mis-threaded, according to Kevin. In order to fix this problem, he needs his little orange box of die-cutters and a tap. (I'm not going to ask.) Obviously, he has no idea where this little orange box is. The other casualty befell Alain and Brigitte's mower, that we tend to borrow a lot. It's a formidable beast, just the weapon we need to tackle our triffids, but, as soon as Kevin pushed it into position, with nary a blade of grass severed, the handle broke and collapsed. In order to fix this problem, Kevin needs a welder. He has a welder, but, apparently, it's not the right sort of welder for this particular job, so he went up to Farmer Joel's workshop, where he has generous access to a treasure trove of machinery. The mower is now mended and has been discharged from the field hospital. It needs to get to work, sharpish!

As for this patient, it doesn't look good. The surgeon has just left him there all opened up and partially disemboweled.

* You'll have to be grown up about this. The adjective for pus is pussy. I know, it's a bit weird, but it's correct.