Any Old Iron?

Winter is but a distant memory, as summer has well and truly arrived. The log burners have fallen silent, several togs removed from the duvet, even my trusty winter gilet is now in its summer hibernation – “sleep, my precious, until we meet again”. Instead, we have whirring fans on the bedside tables, fly screens on the windows and the sticky fly-papers-of-death hang from the ceiling like long Garibaldi biscuits. My hot-water bottle has been replaced by a fly swat, with which, Ninja-like, I splatter the enemy into the coffee table, kitchen counters or any other surface they have landed on. 

The paddy field that is our garden in winter has been cooked by the summer sun; the lush verdant grass now golden and when working in the vegetable garden a pickaxe is my preferred tool of choice. 

After two years of living like hermits we are looking forward to a packed calendar of social events. Our son is getting married this year so we will be zipping back and forth to the UK for the stag and hen dos and the wedding itself. Suits have been purchased and hang in the wardrobe, promises to lose weight before the big day have been made and the mobile constantly 'pings' with the latest contribution to the Staggy McStagface WhatsApp group (“Oh god! It's fancy dress”). 

We are having both our families to stay this summer too. Anna's younger sister is celebrating her 50^th with us and her big sis is jetting in from Australia. Then a few days later my family descend. Over those few days I will have to adjust my auditory perception – as well as the Scottish accent Anna's family all whisper and I can't hear what anyone says, whereas my family suffer from degrees of tinnitus and/or deafness so tend to communicate through a series of repetitive shouts, followed by “what did she say?”' when Anna says anything. After our weekly family zoom I will find I have a rasping sore throat from having barked at the computer for 40 minutes.

In readiness for their arrival Anna has been busy. The swimming pool has been transformed from a cold, uninviting green colour (with Saharan sludge at the bottom) to a warm, shimmering azure. PH levels are checked on a daily basis and any floating woodland creatures are trebucheted over the hedge. Inflatables have been purchased, inflated and can be seen blowing across the farmer's field on a daily basis.

The summer fridge has been stocked, the drinks cabinet replenished with colourful bottles of booze purchased in readiness for the cocktail season. For the more adventurous alcoholics we even have a bottle of something akin to rocket fuel with a whole pear floating in it. 

Anna can never be accused of doing anything by half, and has purchased a wooden bar from Emmaus which she has tarted up and adorned with beer mats, brewery towels and an ice bucket in the shape of a golden pineapple. She has even bought two bar stools from a French gentleman we met in a carpark in La Peyratte. I dread to think what will appear next...a cigarette machine, a couple of urinals in the barn, packets of peanuts stuck into a piece of cardboard revealing a woman in a skimpy swimsuit... 

It was all coming together until our neighbourly farmer decided to make an unsightly pile of cattle feeders, gates and other ironmongery lying around in the field next to us. Like the Parisian barricades this unsightly carbuncle rises out of the earth (see picture). I get the urge to clamber to the top and launch into 'One Day More' brandishing my air rifle. 

A number of young Leylandii have been planted (using my trusty pickaxe) ...but, I fear, even these mighty conifers will not have grown enough to block the view before our visitors arrive in July. 

Now, as you can imagine, after all her hard work Mrs Shaw was not best pleased. Polite emails were sent asking if Monsieur farmer Barleymow wouldn't mind moving it when convenient. The farmer said it would be moved at some point in the future...as I write it is still there. The student uprising of 1832 lasted just two days, I fear the stand off of 2022 could go on longer.