That beautiful old classic  “September Song” (above) also reminds us that  “the days grow short when we reach September”,  and so they do, and the people of the Languedoc prepare to look inward,  though the old folk still sit outside their houses or in the town squares, gossiping and enjoying the slanting light and kinder sun.

Our weeks  have not yet fallen into any sort of routine, as we try to visit new places every two or three weeks, and visitors give us a reason to revisit favourites.  Visitor-less August, however, found us getting closer to a pattern, with twice weekly golf for Gazzie, our French conversation classes, beach days  and the never-ending saga of our dip pool.

A cool pool would have been a boon in the past few months, but despite the fact that it has been administered to by a parade of “Fixers” since the end of May, it is still luminous green in colour, with the consistency of porridge.    And is a happy breeding ground for a whole variety of wild life of the bitey/stingy kind.   I have a feeling we won’t be dipping anything in it while we are here.

Gazzie has had to limit his sunbathing.  Regular bloggees will know that, for him, it’s like withdrawing water from a dying man.   He has had a terrible heat rash, so we seek the shade and aircon of the car and go off exploring.

We took  a breathtaking ride across La Route Causses et Vallées de l’Herault (a UNESCO World Heritage site).  Walls of green parted before our eyes to reveal limestone plateaux of poetic beauty.   Yet again we found ourselves having to stop the car to gulp it all in.  We drove past the Cirque de Navacelles (a series of limestone gorges)  though my fear of heights prevented us overlooking those.

…. and on across the high  plains through villages abundant with flowers blooming brightly against ancient stone, stray  cats rolling  luxuriantly in the dusty streets, horses and cattle flicking their tails lazily  against the flies …. and not a single human being for mile upon mile upon mile.

Our final destination was the ancient home of the Knights Templar at Couvertoirade, a tourist magnet,  but who would not want to visit this amazingly well preserved 12th century village.

We still attend the Jazz concerts in Laurens, now held in the beautiful Mairie high above the town.   We saw an amazing American jazz singer and saxophonist called Jersey Julie.   The castle walls echoed to some funky sound that night!

Coincidentally I met Julie again yesterday on my Sketching Course, in Beziers.   Yes I’m learning to sketch   I’m pretty hopeless but I do enjoy it and our teacher Annette certainly winkles out any microcosm of talent that might be lurking.   Mine is still very lurky:

I attended my second lesson  (I know what you’re thinking, so much progress after only two lessons!) with our beloved girl Sara, staying with us for about the sixth time since we came in December.

We took her up to Lake Salagou as she is a big water sports lover.   She was as blown away by this lovely area as we were.

Above,  Salagou, movable  “graffiti”done in white stone across the red hills.

Sara and I enjoying the view over Lake Salagou.

Charity events have formed a large part of our lives in the past two weeks.   We attended a Curry  for Kerala lunch  in a garden in France that looked exactly like an English garden in summer.

 

….. and for a sick little boy in Puissalicon, as always, great music and dancing, food and wine and oh, people:

This road safety sign alerted us to the fact that the wine harvest season was upon us:

Loosely translated. “Road slippery with wine”.   I know that feeling!

So we decided to throw our hand in with the locals and help bring the wine harvest home.  Vested interest.   Obviously.

5.45 a.m.   Sara, Gary and I rose in the dark for the first time in many, many months.   We put on sensible shoes, grabbed hats and water and set off for Paul and Isla’s house to join a small caravan of vehicles heading to their vineyard.

Dawn rose in time for us to find our way deep into the countryside, past wild boar being spooked by the three Springer Spaniels who accompanied us.

I was disappointed at first to find we were picking black grapes,  as my grape progress had always been with white, but we set to at a cracking pace, after  a two second training.  The  sun started to climb high behind us.  And boy we worked hard.  And boy we loved  it.  We reckon we picked enough for  200 bottles!

We have no record of Gazzie actually picking.

.  …. but he was there for our lovely coffee and cake break.

And,  for a lady of uncertain years, but a very good memory, there were compensations:

Tomorrow is my birthday, and we have been living here for nine months   It is a year since we decided to come to this lovely part of the world and, despite crippling homesickness at times, it has been a life enhancing experience.    Thank you for making the journey with me.   Here’s to another exciting year!

“And it’s a long, long time from May to December                                                                                                                   and the days grow short when  they reach September                                                                                                         And the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame                                                                  and I haven’t got time for the waiting game.

Oh the days dwindle down, to a precious few                                                              September, November                                                                                                                   And these few precious days I’ll spend with you                                                                   These golden days I’ll spend with you”

Kurt  Weill