Butterflies and caterpillars

July chitchat

I love Leo season, which starts today. The cool night breezes and the sound of cicadas through my open window, while I stay safe from mozzies inside my Out of Africa net. The kitchen smells of pungent melons, nectarines, peaches and multi-coloured tomatoes, my freezer is pleasingly full of ice.  It’s thirty degrees outside and a good ten degrees less in my stone-clad sitting room. The hoopoes came to visit. The hibiscus and hollyhocks are flowering and the mint is just about to. Good old  fleabane continues to bloom but the wisteria’s second coming and honeysuckle’s first are now looking a little straggly. I must garden.

The view from my bedroom window.

A few weeks ago, my little house was sold. A wealthy French man, from Arras, whom I did not meet, was looking for a halfway house between properties in Deauville and Biarritz, had fallen in love at first sight and made a full price written offer on the spot. “White wisteria was my mother’s favourite flower!” he said.

All other viewings were cancelled, and then he disappeared. Leaving the agent embarrassed and my cortisol levels creeping back up once more.

Now I am in a sort of hazy, passive state, trying to sleep properly and have my mind soak up and believe the affirmations bloody Instagram  keeps showing me. “I will not stress about things I cannot control”.  “Everything will unfold in its timing and I will accept that”. “Patience is also a form of action” (Auguste Rodin).  “Il n’y a rien de plus triste qu’une vie sans hasard” (Honoré de Balzac) and, my favourite at the moment -  helpful when I think of the English couple who tipped up in the most massive, ugly, square camper van and had the gall to say that my gorgeous house had ”too much character” - “You can’t talk butterfly language with caterpillar people.”

It's enough to drive you mad, and I do feel slightly unhinged. It’s been a tough few months on many levels, and I want so much to have someone fall in love with the place the way I did. (Here it is). But that’s life, and this,  the final (ish) part of my master plan for Life After 60, was always going to be a risky one to navigate. At least all the paperwork is in place for my new home in le Perche. I should have the keys at the end of August.

As a welcome antidote to the stress, I’ve been writing and collating material for this place, and when I work out the shape of it, will be launching subscriptions soon, hopefully when I return from my 60th with my children next week. In the meantime, I’ll post some of my favourite, high-summer recipes to celebrate both the Olympics (so exciting!) and those wonderful glimmers of hope reaching us from across the pond. Haut les coeurs!