Aphids, art and powder rooms...

Hello my dears.

I trust I find you well and in good humour. You are generally a cheerful bunch of individuals, generous with your happy vibes and pleasant interjections. I miss you. I should come here more….I am preoccupied with the knotty problem of occupying a six year old bundle of energy for eight weeks.That’s fifty-six days. Two months. A mouth-dryingly, petrifyingly loooooooonnnnggg time.

Yes, it’s that time again. Sprog is about to start his monumental, summer break from school…and so life as I know it (ie.a bit of a doss) is going to change. I shall have to shape up sharpish. Get my ‘100 Superior Mothering Swindles:Amusing your Kids with the Littlest of Effort’ book off the shelf. But can I be arsed? It is a very well-thumbed tome. I think my favourite suggestion it contains is ‘ Set your child up in the garden with some paints and paper, then ask them to paint in the style of the pointillists, everything they can see that is green. In seven different shades of green.’ Pure genius.

I have declared a holy war on aphids. I am tickling them to death with my little tickling stick. At least they die happy, the greedy, bean eating little gits.

Sprog and Spouse are wrestling on the sofa, blowing fake-farts into their inner-elbows, then dissolving into fits of giggles at the ensuing cacophony. Ok, Sprog is. Spouse is just sort of humouring him, whilst keeping an eye on the two young gels hitting a tennis ball backwards and forwards on the TV. Wimbledon fortnight is upon us and I’m afraid we gorge ourselves somewhat, couch athletes that we are. The Belorussian player who is competing as I write, is irritatingly noisy. She whinnies like a distressed foal on every hit. I find it unsettling. Like I should be doing something to ease her anxiety. Like tell her to shut the fuck up.

Other exciting news is that I have started contributing to this new wonderful website. Those more observant among you, may have noticed the rather fetching glossy badge that has appeared on my blog. Isn’t it pretty? It lends a much needed air of glamour to this shit-hole of a blog.

That reminds me. If ever I needed reminding how far I have travelled from the glitz, sophistication and glamour of my previous incarnation in London – a casual remark from Sprog illustrated it perfectly this week. He was excitedly describing to me the costumes the children would be wearing for the Fete de L’ecole at the end of year concert. It all sounded quite normal. Transvestitism seems to be heartily encouraged in French schools – all the older boys dress up as ladies and apply full make-up. Sprog was describing that one of the boys looked hilarious…’Mummy, he was wearing some of those funny shoe things…you know…the ones with pointy things underneath them.’ For a moment a strange mental image of ladyboys in football boots sat in my head. Then, with horror, it dawned on me what he meant. The poor little darling was referring to high heeled shoes. Oh the guilt I felt. At six years old, he should know what a pair of high heeled shoes are.

Please do go and check out Powder Room Graffiti – it’s great fun. There are all sorts of great writers telling it like it is. And there’s me. Doing my usual thing….being a bit silly. But, hey. It’s what I’m good at. Go over and see, you will no doubt recognise some familiar faces and discover some new ones...

I’d better split now. Wimbledon has finished (the grunter won – so unfair!) and Glasto is on. Here’s a quick Mya review:

I have enjoyed the dancing of the vocalist in Friendly Fires – perhaps that’s not the effect he was aiming for, but my old acting teacher always told me that any reaction was a good reaction (supposedly to make me feel better as I recovered from mild concussion following a flying cabbage incident).

Lady Gaga. Fabulous. Move over Madge.Her arse (Lady G's) is like stone - can you get buttock botox?If you can, I want it. Now!

Lily Allen. Just move over.

Regina Spektor –wonderful.

That’s all I’ve seen so far. I must say, their mud is pretty lightweight amateur fare compared to the stuff we get around here.

Really, I’m going now. Mwah!

Mountain morning

I have just stuck my head out of the door to summon the cat. The perfume of the broome on the hills is incredibly potent at this time of day - it is one of my favourite times of year. The evenings are light and I can stay out in the garden until gone ten O clock. Mornings are the time for rushing around, getting through your tasks, so that you are able to crash in a heap in the afternoons when temperatures become crazy hot.I tried to find a picture of the yellow broome blossom, but I couldn't.You'll have to be satisfied with sheep instead. Wrong time of year, wrong size sheep and no cute little whiny lambs. Our woolly friends surround us at the moment. At night, we are lulled to sleep by the soft tinkle of sheep bells through the open windows. If it's bucolic you want, you've come to the right place.



Three more weeks of the school term left, and then the long vacance. There will be a lot of swimming. Beaches, lakes and ice-creams feature heavily in Sprog's plans. Relatives too, which is always a bonus.We might even manage a trip away, if we are lucky. Swanky (and cheap) destination of choice this year, is the South West coast of England. Quoi neuf? It's my favourite place on the planet, basically, with this place running a close second.

We have builders coming at some point. I can't be any more specific than that. French builders don't really do 'time scales'. Actually, that's unfair. They DO do 'time-scales', they just don't bother sticking to them at all. Which begs the question, 'What's the bloody point?' The building work in question is far from sexy. If it were an elegant new orangery for the east-wing, refurbishment of the infinity pool or a bespoke new kitchen, I might be getting excited. But it's more, yawn yawn structural crap - you know, just stuff to stop the place from crumbling around our ears. Expensive and invisible - totally dull. The only thing that adds a frisson of excitement to the whole sorry state of affairs is 'How the f**k are we going to pay for it?'

I don't often blog at this hour in the morning.It's perhaps a little early,I'm writing like a tit. Maybe I'll come back later this afternoon once my brain has engaged. Have a delicious, fragrant,sensory delight of a weekend.