Many a slip

 I should remind myself that plans have a way of going awry!

At the beginning of April my husband suffered a mild stroke and was hospitalised for nine days. Thankfully he is making a good recovery, doing his exercises and in many respects getting back to how he was before. But caution is now necessary and ambitious adventures are on hold - I hope, for now. 

Our beloved dog Rosie has featured on this blog, often in conjunction with photos of France. We lost her at the end of March, at the grand age of seventeen. Sometimes I toy with the idea of getting another rescue dog, but we are hesitant: it's good in some ways to have that freedom which we haven't had while a dear creature is dependent on us. Meanwhile we are content with our daughter's two lively and lovable spaniels.

On the writing front, while there's possibly another story brewing, I am currently concentrating on promoting existing books, and soon I will be launching a brand new website. When it goes live I will put the details on here. Following this there will be posts on social media regarding republication of some of my titles under the banner of Resolute Books, an author's consortium to which I belong, involving, among other things, new covers. All this, I hope, will be in place by the end of the year.

A last goodbye

 

I've posted a fair bit here about our home in France with images both beautiful and desperate - for example, the state of the garden after our long absences during the covid pandemic. The above is a view from the terrace up the garden, lightly dusted with frost. There won't be any more, because we have sold up, after 23 years. Those long absences, plus the restrictions imposed by Brexit, not to mention we aren't getting any younger and an acre is a lot to look after when you can only visit from time to time, all contributed to our decision. It was the moment to go, and we are thankful that our buyers are younger, French, live locally, and have plans for the house which will improve it, I'm sure. It's a strange feeling that it's no longer ours, and of course we are sad, but there's also a sense of relief to have relinquished the responsibility. I won't be wondering, in winters when the weather is fierce, whether the big old trees are still standing, or whether there are tiles off the garage roof.

Our love affair with France isn't over, though. In a few months we'll be back for a few days, hoping to catch sight of the glorious field of irises in Monet's garden. And having made many dear friends there we will certainly be visiting. But for now, after a bit of a breathing space, we'll be looking out for new adventures.