This morning the sky outside our window is a glorious deep blue, the quality of light here evocative of an Impessionist painting. The fields are golden brown, shaved of their bales of hay and early autumnal sunlight is glistening from our newly-refurbished swimming pool. All is well, unlike a few months ago when everything resembled a disaster zone. A leak had occurred in our pool and we couldn't find the source. All we knew was that a steadily increasing seepage of water was apparent, bubbling up through the cracks in our patio slabs. Rather like that legendary Dutch boy who tried to stem the tide with his finger in the dyke, nothing we did helped. And to make matters worse, when the water had descended to just a few centimetres, the laws of physics came into play and the inner walls suddenly collapsed inwards with a pop, pop, pop sound - something like press-studs breaking open of their own accord. The whole area looked like a scene from Basra, so with a heavy heart we contacted the pool installers and told them it was an emergency. But, as you know, everything moves slowly in France (rather like les escargots and you know what happens to them). It took two months for them to fix it! No doubt, all through the long winter the pool will be perfect. C'est la vie. At least now, him indoors can invite friends around with his customary 'why don't you drop in sometime?'.
P.S. Don't miss part 2 of Sunday's serial 'Sex a la francaise'.