At the age of almost 52 I had never been stung by a wasp, until today. I thought it was rather unsporting as the wasp was hiding in my yellow trouser leg and stung me as my foot emerged from the hem. Off he flew angrily as if I was the one at fault. They were my trousers!
While it was still hurting an hour later, it seemed fine and looked unlikely that I was going to go into anaphylactic shock.
After the huge build up and excitement of the Euros Final including company emails giving us Monday morning off to recover from our inevitable hangovers, Monday was very flat indeed.
Being in France, we didn’t quite get the full excitement, but with expectations running high, the mens final at Wimbledon and the final leg of the Tour de France, it seemed everything had been crammed into one day. We cheered, we screamed, we booed, and then there was nothing.
Despite the England loss, it had been a good match, gripping football and then sadly a loss at penalties. Everything riding on five players and five attempts at goal. And then game over. Back to work.
This week we listed the French house for a winter rental as we’ve done for the past two years. It means we have guardians on the property and the mortgage is covered, a win-win situation.
Last year we had some difficult tenants so we were keen not to make the same mistake twice.
We had two viewings, felt cautiously optimistic about the second viewing and then the third viewing arrived and the devil walked into our house.
It’s fair to say that I am an extremely bad judge of character. I take everyone at face value and assume everyone is as honest as I am. Luckily Big T is an excellent judge of character and is not in any way as naive or trusting as me!
A 50-something French soon-to-be divorced father of three arrived to view the house, he walked around, didn’t ask questions, claimed to be an opera singer, told us that he liked to maintain an open house policy with his friends but of course he wouldn’t in our house, invited Big T to stay rather than staying in the studio and accused the dog of taking cocaine when she zoomed around like a maniac obviously picking up on his energy. It’s hard to explain!
He seemed keen to take the house but finally I started to realise that something wasn’t quite right. As he backed his black Mercedes out of the driveway, winking at us as he went, Big T caught my eye and looking down at his number plate, three black sixes stood out in relief against the white background. The devil had surely come to visit!
I have proudly reached ultimate clarity with the pool as the water looks like glass and every tile is visible. It is a delight to behold!
As a result I have reached the pinnacle of pool obsession because every house with a pool must have a pool obsessive.
The person who can’t swim without sweeping, the one who diligently skims every leaf from the surface, who checks the chemicals, backwashes the filter and empties the pump basket.
Without the pool obsessive, it’s impossible to maintain ultimate clarity and so I have taken on the role and so far, I’m very pleased with the results except… now I can see where the grout needs to be replaced!
Yesterday Agnes became a dual citizen as she now has a French passport. This is in addition to her UK EU passport which allows her to get back in to the UK but no longer allows her into Europe after Brexit.
Having gone through the paperwork required for an animal travel certificate which took an hour, cost £90 (normally £160 and is only valid for four months) a French passport seemed like a good idea.
Of course there’s something so wrong with all of this as the dog now has dual nationality and we’re not allowed to stay longer than 90 days.