Corinthian

Georgie gave me a tour of the garden pointing out various growths, one of which she called a corinthian plant, or summink simla. Then she went on about Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, Tuscan and Composite, some of which names I vaguely recognised as Greek columns, or summink simla. Then she asked in a very superior manner "didn't you do classics?" Being a yob, of course I didn't. So I countered with "Norman, Early English, Decorated and Perpendicular" which had nothing to do with the classics but it was better than saying nothing. Er, took some snaps of other garden stuff plus some plants round and about on canine strolls. It's a good time of year for plants. But, drought conditions mean we can't legally water le jardin. We need rain.

Mint

Dogwalking at this time of year is almost enjoyable. I say 'almost' because there's one thing that ruins it. Or dozens rather. And what's my annoying bugbear? I'll tell you: flies. For some strange reason the bastards find me really attractive. Not Georgie though. She reckons it's because I stink and she doesn't. As a typical attack by flies, take our meanderings up at Sprocket Hill for example. Within minutes of leaving the car and unclipping Hamish from his lead, I'll slowly but surely become aware of numerous black dots hovering and swooping above my head. So I start swatting with flailing arms. Does no good. Probably increases my sweating which causes even more of the flying filth to inspect my balding bonce. Georgie has suggested wearing a hat. Tried that. Didn't work. My solution is to dogwalk in a covered area, such as the forest up at the Walkers' Barn. Or somewhere devoid of cattle, which is almost impossible to find locally, here in the centre of Limousin cattle country.

Couple of days ago I was sitting outside, wine glass in hand, admiring the evening view after yet another fly splattered dogwalk, when I spotted a few of the dreaded dots dancing above my head. Swatted with my left hand, spilt vino with my right. Was just about to waddle indoors to escape the bastardo nasties when Georgie suggested I put a sprig of mint on my head. Being a gardening expert she reckoned this was a sure fire deterrent to even the most determined fly. She cut me a small bush of the stuff and placed it on my head. Couple of vinos later I was feeling quite mellow as the distant hillside across the valley turned orange in the low evening sun. Quite beautiful. Then the farming mayor drove past in his pick-up truck and, as usual, we exchanged cheery waves. He probably thought why is that strange Britisher sitting there with a bush on his head?

  

MGBGT

Warwick and Lorna came to visit a couple of days ago. Drove here in their classic black MGBGT. Stayed at the B&B in Felletin. Left this morning to head back north. Amazingly, they didn't seem too horror struck by seeing our rustic abode. In fact, they seemed favourably impressed, especially with our attic room and garden. Mind you, it was sunny and the garden's looking at its best, thanks to Georgie's travails. Visitors have been known to reel back in shock as soon as the front door is opened. Bit disconcerting.

Anyways, neither of them 'do' Facebook so they wouldn't have seen my daily bletherings with photos. But Lornie mentioned that she often checks out my blog to see what we've been up to. Mentioned that I hadn't blogged for ages. I didn't realise that any of my chums still visited my bloggeau. It's one of the reasons I sort of gave it up. Maybe it's time to quit Facebook and return to blogging. Trouble is, I remember thinking most of my postings were a bit repetitive with photos of a Westie trotting along country tracks. Boring. 

So..., what's been happening since my last bit of scribing? Well, not a lot really, apart from Georgie's impressive work with the garden. And, of course, the changing seasons as enjoyed on our daily dogwalks with Hamish. Winter changed to spring, then summer. The days grew longer, the swallows arrived, jackets and pullovers were stashed, the upstairs wood burner was allowed to go out, ditto the kitchen one too. Problem is we now can't burn most of our plastic packaging so it gets binned or, if it qualifies, recycled. But..., how can we be sure all those empty plastic water bottles and stuff really gets recycled, rather than getting shipped off to the Far East where it ends up dumped in the oceans? Quite worrying.

Drove in to Felletin this morning at about 9.30 to say farewell to Wal and Lornie but, alas, they'd already gone. Left at about 9ish apparently. I'll keep in touch with their progress by email. Hope the old car keeps going in this summer heat. They're planning an overnight stay at Poitiers. Not too far in one day. Should be okay.

Drove back from Felletin and stopped off at Felletin's 'leafy chapel' (as I call it). Didn't get around to showing it to Wal and Lorn on our brief tour of the town. Took some snaps in the hope that they'll see this posting - presuming the MG makes it back to the UK without heat exhaustion or a nervous breakdown. It's an interesting structure. Looks like the old roof collapsed some time ago and was replaced by wooden criss-cross beams with greenery growing up and over, but I may be wrong. Seems to be a place for meditation and contemplation. Or maybe it's simply a cool escape from the summer sun.

Then onwards into the homeward valley where there's currently an impressive display of foxgloves. Took a few snaps then continued uphill to HQ. Not really a big fan of mobile phone photos. They're too convenient. Lazy bones. Much prefer my little Lumix LX3 camera, but I keep forgetting to take it. Time to get back in the habit. (Photos include a hailstone the size of a golf ball from last week's storm - apparently in nearby Clermont Ferrand they had hail the size of tennis balls. Impressive huh. And a photo of the garden thermometer from a few days back. Hasn't exactly been chilly.)