"Give Your Back a Break" Day - Sunday 17th August

My Beloved en route to the Tabac for the Daily Telegraph

“Ouch, Ow, Arghh”! I don’t quite know how else to describe waking up this morning, or waking up throughout the night. I was in serious pain and it felt as though the muscles of my stomach and middle back had been put into some awful medieval torture device and squeezed. The only thing to do was to stagger out of bed as soon as it was light, and go and sit in my comfortable relaxing chair on the terrace and wait for the pain killers to kick in. Clearly the Princess was having major trouble with the pea and something had to be done.

Once I had regained some movement, we went back through the past few days of the diary and tried to work out just when and where things had gone seriously pear shaped. This wasn’t the pain of lifting and shifting or painting and pruning; this was some awful muscle strain that happened at night and which, during the course of the day slowly cleared until by 8pm I was once again feeling like a spring chicken, only the spring chicken eventually had to go to bed whereupon the chicken was put back on the rack.

“Papy’s mattress has made it too soft” was one idea.
“The planks that we put across are too rigid” was another.
“You ate too much of Marco’s pizza last night” but this got shot down in flames.
“The good news is that I haven’t been bitten for two nights” was the only bright light on the horizon.

Once I was able to help, we removed the old mattress from under the new one and re-arranged the planks and this afternoon, Jean nobly offered to have his afternoon siesta on the double bed while I lay down on the one in the spare room. Result! We were both fine so that was progress. Tonight I shall sleep on the spare bed which has a very good mattress despite being rather narrow, and I shall see if my midnight torture abates.

We were definitely rewarded when we went out for a trundle in the vineyards this evening and incorporated a short walk. Just around the corner from where we had parked the car we found a pile of excellent but obviously dumped good quality brand new sprung floorboards, just the exact length and width that we needed. Into the back of the car they went and when we got home, we washed and cleaned them and installed them across the base of the bed and ditched the ones from Leroy Merlin.

It was an evening of rewards. Jean’s brother-in-law who has got fed up with the telephone situation, phoned from Toulouse to say that he had contacted a pal of his who is one of the “Powers that be” with France Telecom and he is taking on our case first thing tomorrow and is intending to beat the drum until we get action, thus proving yet again, that “It is not What you know but Who you know”.

Speaking of trundles, we went for one this morning and drove slightly further than we had anticipated. Last night, Priscilla and Damien had given us clear directions how to get to the clinic where our grandson will be born. Both Priss and Damien were born there so a rather nice pattern is emerging, but rather than have to find it in a hurry, we thought we would reconnoitre and be prepared. We were doing fine until we overshot the unmarked major road that led to the clinic, and the next thing we were off into the wilds of north west urban Montpellier.

A nice guy who looked like Barack Obama’s younger brother sold us a map in a gas station, and a pretty young girl pointed out the clinic, and we promptly set off once more in totally the wrong direction. The long and the short of it is that we finished up doing a complete circuit of the outskirts of Montpellier and decided to quit while we were ahead and got onto the A9 which took us quickly back home again. Having had some lunch, we looked again at the map and worked out where we had gone wrong, so let’s hope when we get the call to arms, we can sally forth and head straight for the right medical facility and not wind up in the dental clinic or the eye specialists office demanding to see our new grandson.

For those of you who are feeling peckish, it is only fair to mention that right now, Jean is basting a row of brochettes on the barbeque which are skewers of marinated chicken breast, red peppers, mushrooms and onions all basted with a rather nice olive oil and herb mix. If the smells are anything to go by, it is going to be utterly delicious. And on that very selfish note, I leave you in the hopes that tomorrow I can report a pain free back and a ringing telephone, and then, let joy be unconfined.

Gardeners Note: The beans are in full flower, the radishes are popping up on a daily basis and the ants appear to be laying off the spinach seed. The new blue plumbago is looking a bit tired in the heat today but hopefully a cooling spray tonight will revive it. We’ve put the portulaca into the full sun and have been rewarded with a variety of different coloured flowers. Ralph underwent surgery yesterday and has been sulking today and only a sharp tap on his house will encourage him to sing. Maybe that transatlantic chirp has worn him out and he needs a new battery. I could sympathise with him this morning.

Update: Just in case you were wondering, the brochette were utterly delicious and were accompanied by a charming white wine from the Mas Des Oliviers from Fougeres.

Footnote – any parent who buys his thirteen year old a “buzz bike” for his birthday should be dragged into the streets and horsewhipped, especially when he lives on the road behind our property. Roll on the 4th September when the little darlings all go back to school. Not for nothing does Jean call me “The Grandmother from Hell”.