Well it’s been neglect all round. Too much time spent indoors up a ladder painting ceilings and not enough time weeding. But the end of the house renovations is in sight. I am planning on everything finishing by next Friday. And then I return to gardening, and researching, and feeding house guests.

But last night I had a lovely session doing the first watering.  We had a downfall of rain on Thursday afternoon that has kept things ticking over nicely for a few days now.  And I’m thrilled that so many things are alive and many are thriving.

I ate the first gardener’s delight tomato off the vine.  And munched on bolting lettuce as I passed.  Plenty of herbs, plenty of beans coming along. And at last, plenty of lilies.

These are my edging plants around the middle of the design in the lower vegetable bed. Not much use when green; but now they are divine. I have a large bunch in the house to scent the late evening cooking sessions.  And watering is fun when you can stand so close to them and inhale.  Artur the cat from next door seems to like them too. He is forever haunting the area when I water. He doesn’t meaow – but sort of appears out of the corner of my eye when I snake my hose about the paths.  His favourite spot is just behind the cassis bushes.

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First peaches from the tree in the orchard.  That would have been the best and most important news of any posting.  But then we discovered that the deer (a new one) has taken up residence below the mulberry tree in the lower terraces.  And we had a lovely afternoon watching its antics.  Two treats in one day.

Isn’t that a beautiful word? Shame it means dripping with sweat. But it’s appropriate. Morning tea time and I have come indoors to towell off.  Goodness only knows why but I decided to do a spot of mowing.  The grass may not be growing in this relentless heat.  But the weeds are.  So I nipped off the flowers in the orchard, up the track, in the main lawn, under the plums and down the road.  Only one and a half hour’s work but I’m dripping. Off chin, down cheeks, everywhere.  So it’s on with the kettle and upping the perspiration with a mighty brew.

But it will be sweetened with tart. One thing I forgot to mention: I have made the first season’s tarts: raspberry, jostaberry and apricot. Three mighty treats.  Hope they freeze well.  There’s no way we can get through three big desserts on our own.

There I was upended in the potato patch up at the top of the vegetable bed at 715am when I heard a shout: it was Jean Daniel. Would I fancy a tray of figs? Clatter. Down tools and I scrabbled up in an instant.

His brother has a glut. So I am on the benificent list. And in exchange I handed over a big bucket of flowers for the house. Not a bad swap.  So instead of digging up yet more potatoes I have four kilos of figs and sugar sitting macerating in a big jam pot wating for me to find time make the fig jam.

It was an early start today as I had to plant so many of the seedlings. Lettuce – romaine and appia – and pak choy. Way too many of each as they all germinated so well.  And where to put them? There isn’t a lot of shade in the lower vegetable garden.  But I have hidden them under large swiss chard plants, under the towering sunflowers. And I have done lots under cloches which are now covered in white dust sheets.  My painting is almost done in the house, so the dust sheets can serve a more practical purpose for a few days.

If you were to ask me what one of my favourite sounds were it would have to be this: the sound of someone else strimming our brambles.  Nicolas came by today to slog away in heavy protective clothing and a big strimmer and remove brambles from all the walls on the terraces below our houses.

He then did the entire quince bank: I had missed bits owing to the steepness of the slope and my propensity to follow gravity’s pull.  And then for an encore he went up to the entrance to the forest and took out brambles and spanish broom and generally laid waste to the weeds.

Was I languishing in a deck chair by the pool with a long drink and a Swedish crime novel? No, alas. It was back down to Valence in search of more chipboard, plugs for the chimneys, groceries and an attempt to get at the junk shop for the second time.  We were thwarted by the Tour de France.

Junk shop doesn’t actually describe these stores. In French they are depot vente. You sell things through them and the punters (when we can actually get there) can find bargains galore in antique furniture, furnishings and stuff.  The stuff we are looking for is a large table to live outdoors under the grape vines.  But no such luck today. Another day when I can face the drive down the valley for the umpteenth time this month.

Gardening? Well, er no. I painted ceilings this afternoon. One more coat and I’m done.

But I’ve already drawn up a stonking list for the morrow. Those potatoes are coming out of the ground and the lettuce and pak choy are going in.

And on that note I think it’s time for a cleansing ale and stalk down to the potager to pick dinner.

Well, it didn’t rain. Not a drop.  But I have actually spent more than two hours with water this morning. An indulgence indeed.  We have our own water supply here on the property. It’s a spring that usually flows in rainy weather.  And therefore the twelve cubic metre tank is full at Christmas with the winter rains, and then slowly drains until the summer.  We then switch over to town water and don’t usually go back until October or so.

But this year it’s different. Mid July and the tank is still three quarters full.  We had those lovely soaking rainy weeks in the late Spring.  None since, but it has been enough.  And I am watering with impunity.  In fact the only thing stopping me from watering like mad twice a day is the time.  I just don’t possess enough of it.  But today I bunked off painting ceilings and decided to spend the early morning outdoors instead.

I have planted out the cucumbers which were pushing out of their pots up at the shed, and potted up the pak choy which are languishing.

Suddenly it’s the 12th of July and I have not written so much as a word.  Too too busy, alas.  But this evening I was doing a quick watering in between turning the roast chicken in the oven, and I noticed that I have squash at long, long last.  The plants have been healthy, producing flowers, but not fruiting.  I was desparing. But there are two plants with some rather fat and bulbous fruit. No idea how I’m going to tell when they are ripe, but that seems to be a long way off.

For the past fortnight it has been over 30C each day. Which means that gardening is mostly restricted to watering both morning and evening to get round to every part of the parched garden.  But things are alive and if I could clone myself I could actually get onto useful things like tying in the tomatoes, clearing some space around the aubergines so they can get more light; cutting down all the spent peas and broad beans. Chipping more so I can cover this part of the soil.  Watering and weeding the strawberries more carefully; planting out more dill and fennel.  Pulling carrots; making pesto from the basil that has finally decided to romp; what else? Tie in the beans better; pull out the spent sweet peas.  Need I go on?

And in the meantime I have managed to have a weekend at Andrew’s helping with a wedding of flowers. Building work and painting ceilings. Cooking and baking and even heading off to town to get a lorry load of wood for all the skirting boards and the kitchen work surface.

Rumblings of thunder in the distance: I will have to unplug soon. Oh that this storm would produce rain that would fall on this mountain top.

This is the second night I have found myself in the garden after 10pm.  Last night it was watering until 1030pm and digging up a row of Charlotte potatoes.

Tonight I was planting dill and eragrostis and violas almost by torchlight.  But that’s what happens when you have  a ‘day job’.  For me that’s being a builder’s mate all week. Renovations.  I hauled and held plasterboard in place (a playful activity), sanded said plasterboard when in place and patched.  Consulted with a bulldozer driver, spoke almost intelligently about electrics.  Painted messy bits of wood that had the odeur de fouine liberally sprayed.  Carried kit. And was general dogsbody.

Not as fun as the huge bunch of sweet peas I have nonchalently dropped on my desk beside me. Not even time to put them in a vase.  Or the sight of my wonderful potager.  The cosmos are quite vivid and brilliant now and it makes a very pretty scene.

I planted up the half barrel that may be full of squash later in the season with the violas from Leslie and Teo.  I know I’m supposed to cut off their flowers, but I just couldn’t resist keeping them intact for a few more days.

The rest I planted in the other barrel, and I have more to plant in the rose planters in the courtyard. It’s just that every time I put on my ‘must go and do gardening’ hat I am bidden upstairs to sand plasterboard or unload or answer tricky questions.

A cup of tea and piece of my favourite fruit bread from the boulangerie in Vernoux.  Thursday morning is definitely the most fun you can have at our local town.  It’s market day.  The whole population from around the region pile in and buy fruit, veg, cheese, plants, meat, specialty deli delights. And gossip.

I bought three kilos of apricots from M. Bois, my favourite stall holder. He sells fruit and veg all year round.  And when you struggle in the depths of December and January in a wind tunnel around the old streets, you have to give him the custom.  His wife was working the fruit and veg as well, so it’s must have been a busy morning.  She uses pen and paper to add up so it’s a bit slow.  But no one minds as everyone gossips while they wait.

My cheese lady was there. But having a cup of coffee and a ‘papote’ with a girlfriend so I didn’t buy anything.  But dear M. and Madame Orisette were there in their usual stall outside their terrace house.  They are a lovely couple, and even though they have very little to offer – garlic, red currants, old apples, new potatoes in small quantities, it feels important to buy from them and get the news. I bought a dozen garlic (for Andrew) and asked after his apricot trees.  They survived the winter (just like the elderly couple) but aren’t as prolific as the year before so they had none to offer me, even though it was 1030am.

I usually go before nine in the morning, but I had to strim first thing today before the heat hit the mountain. I’m at work on the top terrace. I swear two verbascums shot up overnight. They had to be massacred, and I then started work on the new picnic area. I don’t have any other name for it yet, but it’s very promising. I’ll attack again later.

Annoyingly the pictures make it look very benign and fluffy.  But the grasses and weeds and brambles and such are above knee high in this area.

Next up was the boulangerie for pain au levain and the delicious fruit bread. It’s a dense loaf of dark chewy bread shot through with nuts and dried fruit.  They had done a roaring trade already, and there was only a three quarter loaf left for me.  But I took it gratefully and then went further down the main street (well, tiny lane) to buy soap and have a chat with Yvonne.

That done (no need to go to the butcher’s as there are no guests in the house at the moment) I went to the garden centre.  Potting compost, local honey, 30 bottles of water (we are still on the spring water here which is fine for showering and bathing and cooking, but not for drinking. But luckily the French subsidise the sale of water so it’s very, very cheap), three bottles of local apple juice and beer.

I’m only buying the beer for the bottles, honest. They are the perfect size for raspberry cordial and the new cherry syrup.

Then to the supermarket – a necessary evil – but only a quick dash. And it’s so fun to sashay past all the fruit and veg knowing I won’t be needing anything (bar bananas and lemons) for at least four months.  Or more if my potato and brassica crop is as bumper as it appears.

And that’s my morning. I didn’t take any photographs in town (one wouldn’t want to be taken for a tourist!) save for the soap vendor’s stall.  Sarah has put an order in for some soaps and I need her to persuse the colours and tell me which she wants.

Now I must chain myself to the kitchen and get things done. I’m poaching a dozen apricots in a cup of raspberry cordial right now for dessert tonight. But must make apricot jam. And blanch the kilos and kilos of broad beans and peas that are piling up all over the kitchen surfaces.  They then go into the deep freeze for later feasting.