About this time last year I bought some troughs and supports to hang on the balcony rail, along with some trailing geraniums. Within a couple of weeks, the geranium leaves were looking rather lace-like and a month later they were barely alive. I think there must have been some mini-beasty chomping its way through them.

I ignored them until winter, when I bought fresh compost, some cyclamen and a selection of pansies; they looked lovely until we had a hard frost (-7°C), at which point the cyclamen lost the will to live. A week later there was a big storm, which shredded the pansies and what was left of the cyclamen. It’d be an understatement to say I felt discouraged.

A couple of weeks ago, one warm, sunny afternoon, I decided it was time to do something about the balcony; it could be such a lovely space with a bit of TLC; it’s quite big and faces southwest, so has possibilities, but somehow I hadn’t had the heart to really tackle it up to now.

I spent the next two afternoons cleaning; windows, walls, floor, even the big storage cupboard that had become a junk store. I googled “flower filled balconies” and that did it; so many images of tiny spaces transformed into oases of calm and tranquility, bursting with colour. It was time to hit the shops!

I got trailing geraniums for the troughs from the local garden centre, along with just one upright geranium (they were too expensive to buy more) and a pack of begonias to put in a big pot I had in the garage. My plan is to take cuttings from the geranium for next year.

I noticed a poster advertising a plant sale, run by a school PTA, so went along for a look; it was fantastic! A hall filled with all sorts of annual plants and the more you bought, the cheaper they were; I couldn’t resist and kept finding more and more that I just couldn’t leave. I came home with thirty little pots – petunias, busy lizzies, marigolds, alyssum, lobelia……

Another garden centre provided two sorts of  lavender and a cherry tomato plant designed for balconies.

I read of a pépinière (plant nursery) on my route home from the patchwork club; it got good reviews online, so I called in. It looked a bit disorganised and it took me a while to find anybody, but at last someone appeared; he then found the boss for me, who was delightful. I explained that I needed guidance and drew a plan of the balcony in the sandy ground; what could he suggest? A gorgeous, blue hydrangea, with instructions on how to keep it blue, a phormium, a loropetalum and a little palm tree, thrown in as a gift. He’s ordered a jasmine to climb up the wall too, that I can collect next week.

Mart and Paul were coming over on Sunday; Mart’s really green fingered and always has loads of cuttings and spare plants in pots, so she brought me two hydrangeas, three palm trees and a selection of succulents. Kieran cleared out his garage and unearthed a few pots too.

I spent Monday sourcing the cheapest pots I could (they cost more than the plants!), along with suitable compost, then I started potting up.

I’d need something to give a bit of height in places, so I went down to the garage, where there were several shelf units. A tall, industrial looking aluminium unit would go against the wall and house some of the annuals, once they grow you’ll hardly see the unit; a neighbour helped me to bring it upstairs.

There was also a shorter, wood and metal unit that I thought might cut down to go behind the sofa, but it turned out to be useful as it was for the tomato plant, in front of the balcony rail; I might grow lettuce on its lower shelves.

Then I noticed, tucked in a corner of the garage, behind other shelves, my bike, an exhibition stand and a load of other junk, a plastic shelf unit, that looked as though it was modular. Once I’d fought my way through to unearth it, I brought it up to my apartment, cleaned it, dismantled it, reassembled it  to suit my needs and tucked it away behind the sofa. Perfect! I’ll have to wait for Kieran to move the big palm tree onto it, as it’s too heavy for me to shift.

There are still spaces for many more plants, and I hope the ones I’ve got will grow soon (quickly – I’m impatient). I’m a long way from the image in my head of an abundant profusion, of a truly “garden” feel, of an oasis of colour and perfume, but already the balcony feels so much more inviting; I can see I’ll be spending a lot more time out there now.

                       Update

A few days and another garden centre later and it’s beginning to come together.

A local patchwork club organised a bus trip to the “salon de patchwork” in Tarbes; twelve ladies from my club signed up, including myself and my friend Jane.

After more than 2 hours on the bus, (we had a couple of stops to pick up other clubs), we arrived at the venue. Our first impressions weren’t great; the hall was big, but there was quite a lot of empty space and there weren’t very many visitors either. We learnt that it was a new venture, so hopefully it will be better next year. There was a campervan expo next door;  Jane and her husband have a campervan, so we decided that we’d go there later as we couldn’t imagine it would take the next 6 hours to see everything here.

However, we needn’t have worried; most of the stalls were very interesting, selling fabrics, buttons, patterns, bag making kits  and every kind of accessory imaginable for patchwork. There was also a decent exhibition of work, including that of two well known textile artists, who were very happy to chat about their work. My brain was buzzing with ideas.

Tucked away near the back of the hall was a “Lunéville embroidery” stand; I’d never heard of this, but loved the work the artist had produced and could see so many possibilities for its use. There was a little notice offering courses, so I signed up. Jane said she’d have a go too, so we ate our picnic lunch and went back to the stand at the appointed time.

The technique uses a tiny crochet hook to embroider thread on a stretched piece of fabric; you can use any sort of thread and once you’ve mastered the basic technique, can start adding beads and sequins too. We sat either side of a frame that had fabric stretched onto it and the teacher demonstrated and explained how to do the embroidery and drew a 2cm line for each of us to follow. There’s definitely a knack to doing this, which I think I was beginning to find by the time our hour finished. Jane was less successful, being distracted by the people passing by, who wanted to watch what we were doing, but I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it.

At the end of the hour, I’d done a little square with a wiggly tail; the artist seemed impressed, saying that most people manage a short line in that time. So I’m looking to buy some hooks and a table mounted frame holder, as you use both hands, but I can only find ones that come from America – I’ll have to ask Kieran to help.

So, in the event, we never got to the campervan expo and only just had time to see everything we wanted to see before it was time to get back to the bus for the journey home. A good day.

Claude, a new guy at the painting club, brought along a painting he’d done on a toile, or a canvas stretched onto a wooden frame. Most of us work on toiles, myself included. Claude’s very good, but what made his painting look so professional was the framing, a simple wooden frame around the edges. He’d done it himself and assured us that it’s really easy to do; he told us the dimensions of the wood he’d used, described how he’d done it and promised to demonstrate the following week. I don’t know why, but we haven’t seen him since; maybe we scared him off!

Nick always said framing was easy; you just had to get the angles right for the mitred corners. I thought I’d have a go.

I bought some wood, Kieran gave me a saw, a jig for cutting the corners, clamps and some nails and in my tool box I found a little hammer and a strapping device to hold it all together once it was glued up.

I cut some lengths of wood, (this turned out to be a remarkably strenuous activity!) and started to glue and nail them together to give the required profile, but for all my hammering, nothing seemed to happen, except when I missed the nail completely and hit my thumb instead! Another dig through my tool box unearthed a bigger hammer, this one weighing in at over a kilo; surely that would do the trick, though I definitely didn’t want my thumb in the way this time. I held the nails in place with pliers; much better, this hammer was the business! However, the nails were a fraction too long. I tried putting them in at an angle, but just ended up with a pile of bent nails; that skill is way beyond me. Back to the DIY shop for shorter nails; now I was getting somewhere.

Once the lengths were glued together, I started to cut the mitres. The first end is easy, but getting them to precisely the right length proved very difficult and I had to buy more wood as I sometimes cut them a millimetre or two too short. It didn’t help that once I cut the angle at 90° to where it should have been!

I persevered and eventually an older painting was framed and acceptable if you don’t look too closely at the corners.

Next were two for the exhibition that starts tomorrow. One I painted red once I’d cut all the pieces, the other black. I did a lot of sanding to make the corners fit together as neatly as I could, then touched up the paint where necessary.

They’re far from perfect, but I can only improve from here and I do like the effect the framing gives, they look more complete somehow.

I’ll be pleased to put away the tools and have my kitchen work surface back, but I think I’ll frame future paintings.

The painting club’s spring exhibition is always themed, so in October a suggestions box appears in the studio and anyone can suggest a theme. A few weeks later, we have a meeting to vote on the theme; I was surprised when my suggestion (I’d like to go to…….) won.

There’s no obligation to do a painting on the chosen theme, except for the caveat that those who voted for it are expected to produce a piece to be exhibited on the stage area; this must be 60 x 80cm.

I’ve never done anything bigger than 30 x 40cm before, so the prospect filled me with dread. I bought a canvas – it looked enormous – how on earth would I fill it? I’m no great painter, so it would have to be fairly simple; I thought maybe I could do something sort of Aboriginal, with lots of dots. I tried out the technique on a smaller canvas and was happy with the result; now it was time to tackle the real thing.

I asked a couple of people how to achieve a graduated colour effect, but their techniques didn’t work for me, so in the end I just slapped some paint on and dabbed at it with kitchen roll – maybe not a recognised technique, but it worked for me! The next problem was achieving nice clean lines between the colours, but I found bendy masking tape, which solved that one.

The date of the meeting to choose a painting for the poster was announced; could I finish in time? Yes, the base was done and I’d started the dots.

Little by little, through many hours, over several days, it came together and I’m very pleased with it; I took it to the meeting, not with any great hopes, normally my efforts get one or two votes. However, in the first round I shared first place with Fabienne;  in the tie break she beat me soundly, with 13 votes to my 8. Disappointing, yes, but better than I’ve done before

Once storm Nils had passed, within a few days storm Pedro arrived; more trees came down, the sound of chainsaws was everywhere as teams of orange clad men worked to clear the devastation. And still it rained. It had been raining for weeks already and showed no sign of stopping.

The river Adour in Dax swelled to many times its normal width, flooding the paths and little roads that run alongside it, and all the underground car parks belonging to the riverside hotels had to be evacuated as they were inundated.

Most of the paths around the lake in St Paul were submerged. I went to have a look one day; the building from which they rent canoes and kayaks in the summer was inches deep in water, the path in front of it completely flooded, so I turned to take the steps leading up through the gardens. Halfway up the steps I noticed a sign marking the flood level in 2014, at least 1 metre higher than this year! It seems this flood was nothing special after all.

Eventually the rain stopped and the water level returned to normal surprisingly quickly, the “high tide” piles of detritus being the only remaining evidence of the flood.

Next we had a week of what felt like summer; 25°C in the afternoons. It was lovely, I’m not complaining, but that’s not normal for February. Now it’s back to normal; we’ve had some cold, misty mornings followed by lovely days, the birds are singing their little hearts out and spring is on the way.

I hadn’t looked at the weather forecast for a few days; it was grey, gloomy, wet and windier than normal, but to my mind, unlikely to change much.

So I was quite surprised to be woken at 3 o’clock on Thursday morning by the sound of the bedroom door rattling, rain hammering into the guttering, things falling over on balconies (not mine, I hoped) and the wind absolutely howling. The doors and shutters were all firmly closed, but there must be a tiny gap somewhere, to account for the rattling and the whistling sound, or maybe it was the ventilation system. Storm Nils had arrived

Not much more sleep then; it was quite scary.

By the time I got up, it was a bit quieter;  I thought I’d go for a walk round the lake as I didn’t fancy driving to Seignosse for the patchwork club. Everywhere there were fallen branches and big trees completely uprooted; there was a couple of big stacks of logs neatly piled up and further round the lake, a team of workmen armed with chain saws, clearing blocked paths and loading the debris into a lorry. One big tree had already been cleared from where it had fallen, blocking the main road, the pavement around its base completely smashed.

Most of the fallen trees were huge; it’s been very wet for weeks, so I suppose their purchase on the earth had been diminished. I hope they’ll be replaced.

All in all though, we were lucky here, we got off lightly; two people lost their lives, hundreds of thousands are still without electricity and a friend has lost part of his roof.

Alex, Graham and Immy announced in the summer their intention to spend Christmas in France; as Jean and Doug, Graham’s parents, would be on their own, I invited them too and to everyone’s surprise, they accepted the offer.

It wouldn’t have been practical to have everyone stay in my apartment, so I had a word with Maryvonne, who has an apartment in the same building, that she lets to curistes; the thermal establishments all close around Christmas, so she was happy to rent it to me and it gave Jean and Doug a bolt hole when things got too noisy, such as when Emily put on her zombie outfit and threatened Jean with her plastic chain saw .🤣

I thought I’d prepared everything, including silly Christmas slipper socks to keep everyone’s feet warm on my tiled floors, but the day before they arrived, realised I hadn’t got a tree! I searched the supermarkets and the DIY shops, but none of them had any trees; apparently some moth or caterpillar has decimated the pines in the area, so Christmas trees were like hens’ teeth. I’d think about it when they all arrived.

The following day, once everyone was here, Kieran and Graham’s first task was to put my small dining table out on the balcony and replace it with the big balcony table, so we could all eat comfortably; it was also very useful for games, craft activities, jigsaws etc, and was never empty.

Then off to the garden centre; they too had no real trees, just a few artificial ones at vastly inflated prices. However Alex spotted the last few tiny artificial trees. They were cute, only about 25cm tall, so we got three – one for each grandchild. They worked really well; the kids were delighted to have a tree each to decorate and they took up far less space than a full size tree.

The first week’s weather was grey, wet and miserable; our planned trips to San Sebastian and the Pyrenees had to be postponed, a pity for Jean and Doug, who were only here until Boxing Day. Still, we found plenty to do; Immy offered to wrap my presents, which she did beautifully, we made Christmas crackers (Alex brought the pullers and I’d got a tiny present for each person) and  made Santa serviettes for the Christmas day table, as well as having a couple of meals out.

One cold, but dry, day we had a trip up the coast for a walk around the lake at Biscarrosse. It was lunchtime when we arrived, so Alex and I were dispatched to find food for everyone; the first boulangerie we tried only had bread and cakes, but they recommended another, that not only did sandwiches, pizza and paninis, but also chips. They smelled so good that we thought it’d be rude not to try some. They tasted really good as we sat eating them in the car, only feeling a little guilty – they’d have been cold by the time we got back to the lake, if we’d bought some for everyone!

Christmas day was delightfully busy; Immy opened a couple of presents in the morning, but waited very patiently for Kieran to arrive with Arthur and Emily, so they could do most of the unwrapping together. Graham was in charge of the cooking, producing a delicious meal of roast lamb with all the trimmings. I made a French “bûche de Noël” (chocolate log) and, at Kieran’s request, a Christmas pudding; for some reason, he wanted traditional, English fare this year.

Emily had spent the whole of December making Christmas crowns for everyone; colourful and sparkly, they were gorgeous, but wearing them to go for a walk Christmas day afternoon did draw some funny looks from the French!

Almost as soon as Jean and Doug left, the sun came out! We had an interesting journey to San Sebastian, with closed motorways and bouts of car sickness (my car still smells, in spite of repeated scrubbing and plenty of bicarb, but I’m sure it’ll get better eventually). Once we finally arrived, the tapas bars were all heaving, but we found a lovely Italian restaurant that had a table for seven. Then a walk to explore the mountain behind the town, followed by ice creams and a play park for the kids; Alex and I even got an hour to wander round the shops!

There was an ice rink and bungee trampoline in Dax, so the kids spent several afternoons there and on a particularly cold, grey day, we went to the bowling alley.

Towards the end of the holidays we’d decided to go to the mountains, but Alex was full of cold and I just didn’t fancy standing around, shivering, in the freezing cold, watching the kids sledge, so we nobly offered to stay at home so that they could just take one car. Kieran, Graham and the kids all had a fantastic day, taking the cable car up the mountain from Cauterets and sledging all afternoon.

Alex and I, child free, spent the morning in my garage; I had a cupboard full of some of Nick’s hand woodworking tools and since Alex has started to do some woodwork, it seemed like the right time to hand them over. She’s delighted with her haul. We then had a walk to the shops and lunch out, so everyone was happy.

Arthur’s birthday was a couple of days after they left, so on their final day we had a pre-birthday party for him, complete with cake and candles.

Alex, Graham and Immy left at 6 o’clock on Friday morning; after the busyness and noise of between seven and nine people for two weeks, it seemed very quiet and empty, but we’ll be together again in the summer.

I was getting pretty sick of Adrian’s criticisms of me at band practices, I don’t like being spoken to as if I’m something he found on the bottom of his shoe. And I wasn’t the only one; Jean Marc, the drummer, had had enough too.

A few weeks ago Michel, the old singer, decided to come back, in spite of still having severe tinnitus; he’s very different to sing with from Jean Michel, whose style I’d got used to over the last 2 years and I knew it’d be a challenge. Jean Michel told me to sing as I would with him, so I was surprised when, at the end of the first song, Adrian barked at me that I was too loud, as well as various other faults. This was too much for me, so I called him out over it. He’s someone who’s happy to dish out criticism, but can’t take it, so at the end of the practice he flounced off, like some ageing prima donna, announcing later that he’d quit the group.

Lots of messages flew around over the following few days and I was told I’d have to go to see Adrian, to sort things out; but as he wouldn’t even read messages I sent, this seemed rather pointless. Célia, a keyboard player who Adrian had just brought into the group, offered to arbitrate. We drove 2 hours to a meeting place chosen by Adrian, who arrived nearly half an hour late, by motorbike.

He spat a few orders at me about how I’d have to behave in future, as he wouldn’t be speaking to me and I needn’t bother to speak to him, then started to put his helmet back on.  I pointed out that this would simply cause a bad atmosphere and that we hadn’t driven all that way for that, we’d come to try to find a solution. A very difficult discussion ensued, with Adrian trying to leave several times, but Celia took the keys from his bike. Eventually, I thought we were getting somewhere; Adrian put his helmet on, then deliberately walked straight into me, shoving me out of the way and shouting “move”! I was so shocked that I didn’t say anything; no man has ever behaved like that to me before.

I was so angry, I thought it’d be better if I didn’t go to band practice that weekend, but I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to turn up. I’m pleased to be able to say that, in spite of feeling very uncomfortable and in spite of Adrian glowering at me, I played and sang very well; however that evening I received a message telling me that they didn’t like my attitude and could no longer work with me.

I’ve seen Jean Marc and his wife since; he spoke up for me at the following rehearsal and told them what he thinks of their behaviour towards me, but stopped short of leaving (I can understand, it’s his main social outlet of the week). Apparently Adrian has lied, (in the words of Mandy Rice Davis, ” well, he would, wouldn’t he?”), denying shoving me and saying he stayed on his bike all the time; but, having got over the initial shock and upset, I’m pleased not to have anything more to do with a man like that.

I’ve been asked to play some Christmas songs at the ladies’ club Christmas lunch this week and was invited to spend this afternoon at the house of a friend and her partner. They’re part of a folky/Irish band. I’m not sure if they’re actually looking for a guitarist/ vocalist at the moment and they need to speak to the third member of the group, but it was a very enjoyable afternoon. I’ll wait and see…..

Arthur and Emily wanted to spend their pocket money, so Kieran and I took them to GiFi, a huge shop, full of cheap tat. While we were there, I had a look for little gifts to put into the crackers we’re going to make for Christmas, when Alex & co will be here, but found very little. I wished aloud that I’d thought of this while I was in an amazing little shop in San Sebastian, to which Kieran replied that he needed a trip to Spain too.

So last Saturday morning I picked him and the kids up and off we headed for our day out. I love going places with Kieran as he’s happier driving than being a passenger, so it gives me a break from driving.

It only takes about an hour and a half to get there, so by lunchtime we’d already visited the Flying Tiger shop, leaving with bags full of goodies. The kids chose a stretchy, catapult dragon each, which they played with for the rest of the day. I was delighted since that’s what they’re getting in their Christmas crackers and the ones they bought will have been destroyed by then.

San Sebastian was rattling with tourists and locals so we quickly found somewhere to eat; they loved their tapas, I couldn’t believe how many slices of tortilla Emily got through! It was as well we’d got in before the late, Spanish lunchtime, as people were queuing when we left.

San Sebastian backs onto what I’d describe as a mountain, though it’s probably not really big enough to warrant that name; anyway, a very steep hill, on the top of which are the ruins of an ancient chateau and a more modern statue of Christ, Rio-style. We went to explore. The views over the city and the sea were fantastic and there was so much to see in the ruins. There were dozens of canons from different eras, the older ones covered in rust, though still impressive, the newer ones with beautiful embellishments worked onto their barrels. There were even “ladies’ canons”, with much finer barrels; but how many women fired these, I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess.

Exploring done, it was time to descend the mountain and find ice creams, then back to the car.

We called into the supermarket on the way home. Unfortunately they didn’t have the Danish bacon that Kieran wanted, though he did stock up on his favourite beer, and I bought some booze for Christmas and some olive oil, all very much cheaper than in France.

Arthur and Emily were much quieter on the journey home; they’d had a great day out, climbed a mountain, explored a chateau and nearly stretched their dragons to breaking point.

We’ll definitely be doing it again.

https://youtube.com/shorts/sAk2DfEO35w?si=QajFjaAJrJoioeZM