Il dolce far niente

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Mutterings have been heard that your correspondent and husband do nothing but involve themselves in worthy pursuits such as taking health-giving walks, festival -reconnoitring, and do-it-yourself projects.

We wish to refute this with evidence that this week at least, we have done absolutely nothing but enjoy ourselves. This is partly because of the scorching weather we’ve been having, and partly because all that activity repairing the roof has left Malcolm with an extremely poorly back, which is slowly recovering, with the help of physiotherapy down at the local clinic and an indolent lifestyle.

Yesterday for instance, we strolled up to the square in the evening for a meal at the local bar which had only recently become restaurant too. We’d taken a while to try it out, suspicious that it might not be up to much. This was a big mistake, as le patron can cook, and cook well. The owners have erected a large platform in the square and decked it with flowers to make a charming outdoor dining area. Lunchtimes are the time for an excellent three course menu du jour with wine, but this was the first time we’d tried the evening. We’ll be back. Lovely to sit in the evening sunlight with a glass of cold white wine, waiting for your food to be cooked for you, as passers by wish you ‘bon appetit’, and the swifts swoop and dive for their own supper.

Today we went to Puivert. It’s a village not far from here with the sort of picture-book castle you imagined when you were a child at morning assembly in primary school, singing that hopelessly outmoded hymn which I always really liked:
‘When a knight won his spurs in the stories of old
He was gentle and brave, he was gallant and bold…..’

We didn’t explore the castle. We strolled round the village and had a leisurely coffee by the ancient covered market, we picnicked by the lake, and then we sat at the lakeside café with a beer, watching families enjoying themselves on the beach, and deciding it was too hot to do anything more energetic than just people-watch.

But later, at home, cross with myself that I hadn’t taken a costume to Puivert, I went off to the Lac de Montbel for a swim. I was happy. The sky was that clear, bright blue you only seem to get in Mediterranean countries, and so was the water. Sailing boats lazed slowly from one end of the lake to the other. Beyond were the foothills of the Pyrenees. It was 6 o’clock, and it was hot.

And later again, up on the roof terrace, we ate grilled sardines fresh from our local shop and potatoes and courgettes that had been growing on our potager only about an hour beforehand. It was still very warm, even though the sun was by then setting.

That reminds me. I’ve been exchanging Gardener-to-Gardener type emails with someone I met who lives further over to the west, higher in the Pyrenees. Recently I boasted of the quantity of my potatoes, the quality of my tomatoes, the sheer reckless abandon with which my courgette plants produce young, day after day, and she responded with one-upmanship of her own. Her potatoes, she tells me, are a disaster, having been turned over and eaten by the local wild boar population…

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Photos

We liked watching the Thelwell ponies
..taking the children for a ride

Clean plates again....
...after a meal on the roof terrace