Is someone trying to tell me something?

A few days ago I sent my passport off for renewal to the British Embassy in Paris. Like all other Brits in France no doubt I moaned and groaned about the cost of it all: nearly 200 euros including the compulsory courier fee for the new passport to be returned.

Today I got the proof of receipt:

Are they trying to tell me something?

Sharing lunch with a swallowtail

We've just shared our lunch terrace with the first of this year's swallowtail butterflies, who's spent the best part of the last hour snacking on the nectar from the dianthus in the flower bed around the edge (in fact I think he's - she's? - still there).

Although swallowtails are not uncommon here, and you'll almost certainly see at least one if you're here, it's still a Big Event for us. In the UK, swallowtails are now confined to very small areas of Norfolk, the county where we used to live, and we like lots of others used to make annual pilgrimages to those places - sometimes just a few metres square - where they could be seen. So to have one casually join us for lunch is a huge thrill ...

I was a bit confused by this one when I first saw it, because its markings seemed to be rather different from those I'd seen before. But my learned guide book told me that there's a distinct difference between the first brood, which flies round about now, and the second, which flies from July to August or September: the purply-blue markings are a lot less evident, the red spots almost non-existent, and the yellow and black of the wings are much more pronounced.

I wish I could say that these photos were mine, but I haven't yet found a way to persuade them (the swallowtails, that is, not the photos) to stop fluttering long enough and pose nicely for the camera. So thanks to the RSPB and to this site, which so often comes up trumps with some lovely pics!

The greenest greens

May at Grillou is always a special time, when the greens are at their very greenest ... at the end of last week the light was so perfect that I couldn't resist spending the afternoon outside with the camera ....

Ponting

It's best, I've learned in the five years we've been here, not to bank on getting too much done in May. And I'm not talking about the weather this time.



Actually, I'm not talking about yoga either ... :-)

May is the month of the ponts. Well, no, let's take a step back first: May is the month of the public holiday. Four of them, to be precise: the Fête du Travail (Labour Day), Victoire 1945 (Victory in Europe Day), Ascension and Lundi de Lundi de Pentecôte. Depending on the date of Easter it usually works out at about one a week. That's not half bad in itself.

But when a public holiday happens to fall on a Thursday or a Tuesday, the French like to faire le pont, or bridge the gap, by taking off Friday or Monday as well. In fact it's become so common to faire le pont that even if the holiday falls on a Wednesday people will be still ponting all over the place. Many small enterprises and commerces - and even schools and public services - shut down altogether on pont days so that you have to keep a weather (oops - sorry. I'm not really obsessed with the weather, honest) eye on the calendar if you've got Things To Do. I made the mistake of not doing that last Monday and found half the places I needed to go closed, and the other half teeming with ponting families determined to spend their buckshee day off in a queue ....

There is a kind of trade off though. When a public holiday falls on a Saturday or Sunday, so be it. There's no compensatory day as there is, for example, in the UK - so when last Christmas and New Year's Day both fell on Sunday, workers here got no time off at all. And let's face it, who wouldn't prefer time off in May to mid-winter?

Next Monday will be another pont, as will Friday of the following week. So that's three four day weekends, followed by the three day Pentecôte (Ascension) weekend at the end of the month. Now if we could only have some half decent weather ...........

Getting artistic

While the wind howls away outside (yes, still) and with most of the big inside jobs now done and dusted, I've been getting artistic.

Yesterday I made a picture screen for L'Atelier's bathroom, into which I've put some of my favourite whirling dervish pictures. I love the Mevlevi dervishes. They're a Sufi order founded by Rumi who use the practice of whirling as their zikr. Zikr literally means remembrance: it's a meditation practice to remember God / the One. Having been very involved with a western Sufi order in the UK I've taken part in many a whirling session and it's an amazing experience, of finding the still point in the midst of movement - a big inspiration for me of being Slow before I'd even heard of it. And so it seemed like a Good Thing to have my dervishes here as a reminder of the Slow life .....

And today I've been in signwriting mode. I've been making various wooden signs out of some ancient oak floorboards that we found in one of the outbuildings when we arrived here; I really like the idea of Grillou's original floorboards taking on a new life to welcome people here. Here are two of today's creations, with their 'captions' painted, and just now waiting for their protective coating before they take their place outside at the end of the drive:

Dear Evelyne Dhéliat ...

Have you no shame? Look, if I'd wanted wind, I'd have lived in the Aude. And to be honest I don't really care if we've only had 50% of of normal rainfall over the last 12 months - I just can't be doing with these sudden onset squally showers that you keep sending my way, every day at random intervals, usually when I'm in the middle of something outside.

Maybe you haven't realised what the stakes are here, so let me be upfront with you: I've got a seriously big job on outside, preparing the garden for us and our guests to hang out in this summer. I've got chairs and sunbeds and tables to get out, clean, oil and generally get looking good again. I've got hammocks and parasols to set up. I'm trying my damnedest to paint the floor of the covered eating area, but you keep sending me winds that blow trillions of blossom petals right onto my wet paint. (Um - this is Ariège. We live in the Couserans. We don't get wind).

I've got a potager to finish digging over and plant up so that we don't all starve this summer but your rain is keeping my soil too wet. I've got seedlings to tend, but your winds keep blowing my mini greenhouse over. I've got hundreds of flower plants ready to fill all the pots that line the front of the house but your low temperatures are keeping the soil too cold. And we've got nightingales singing, but it's just too bloody cold to sit outside and listen to them.

And look, even as I'm writing this, there's Big Rain - or is it hail? - blowing horizontally outside my window. And I have a thermal vest on.

All right, I accept that you've probably been put under some pressure to keep the weather miserable this month because of the presidential election. And yes, I realise it would be improper if everybody went off on holiday instead of staying at home and voting. But I'm sorry, I've really had it with April now. And if I have to wait another 2 weeks before it gets better, I'm afraid I shall have no alternative but to worship a different weather god in future.

PS Just wondering, given your current track record .... have you by any chance got anything to do with the three major things that have gone wrong with my car this week? Because not only is the weather crap, but I'm confined to barracks and when the work's done next week will be several hundred euros poorer to boot .....


Evelyne Dhéliat is the weather god(dess) from TF1, the French TV channel. She is France's favourite weather person, much loved by all (but especially by men. She's 63, intelligent, blonde and looks 43).