The world from my window

I'm back in my old haunts, up on the hill, dog walking when I make an interesting discovery. I haven't been up here for months but  I vow to thee my country that I'll get back to my old routine and do this early morning walk at least three times every week. At 28 kilos, Arty certainly needs the exercise. And me, at ahem I prefer not to mention but said quickly in imperial measures is at least a stone too heavy, well, I need to exercise too. It's late summer and the children are still on holiday but ready to go back to school soon, with new uniforms, shoes backpacks, sandwich boxes and pencil cases all to shop for this week.  (It always irritated me immensely that high street stores insisted on 'Back to School' displays as soon as the children broke up for the summer. How dare these commercial types spoil the magic of holiday time. Talk about pressure.) This morning, it's quiet on the hill until the rain starts dropping in ever increasingly large spl

It's the height of fete time here in France, with the weirdest, wildest, wackiest festivals you could ever imagine. Most of them involve eating and drinking, which is perfectly fine if you're into that sort of thing. Luckily, I am. I think I'm going native. August is the time to have fun with friends. However old or young you are. I could be here for some time. This one involved rows of mussels in soaked paper and then straw put on the top and set alight. Seems rather a convoluted way of cooking mussels en masse, but ho hum, why keep things simple? Later this week we'll be enjoying an omelette made with two and a half thousand eggs. Porquoi? Porquoi pas. That's about it. Love Maddie x