It was time. I’d put it off far too long already. It would have to be a Monday as the swimming pool is open on Tuesday and Wednesday.

I’d remove and replace the somewhat revolting, discoloured silicone sealant in the shower; and while I was at it, the sealant in the kitchen was in a similar state, so I’d do that too.

So I scraped and scrubbed, bleached and blow-dried (What? You’ve never blow-dried a shower? You’ve never lived!) I treated the more stubborn bits with WD40, then wiped it all down with alcohol, to remove any traces of grease.

Then I left it to dry while I went for a walk around the lake to ease my back and knees; which hadn’t enjoyed being scrunched up in such a tiny space for so long.

Halfway round, a young woman with a large camera approached me. She explained that she was taking photos of a triathlete on his bike and as there are loads of fallen leaves, they’d covered part of the path with leaves for him to ride through, the idea being that, as he did so, the leaves would fly up in the air. However, the leaves hadn’t moved at all. Would I be prepared to throw some leaves around as he rode past, to give the effect they were hoping for? Of course, I’d be happy to help. She found another woman, who joined in with her daughter and we did two runs. The photographer seemed happy with the photos she got and explained that they’re for a feature in a free local magazine. I’ll have to look out for it. She agreed to send me a copy and took a photo of me with Florian, the cyclist too.

Back at the ranch, the excitement over, I applied masking tape and the new sealant to the shower. I’d have to leave it for 48 hours to dry thoroughly, hence the swimming pool opening hours being convenient, I could swim and shower there for the next two days

I was on a roll, so I removed the old sealant in the kitchen; some bits were silicone, others acrylic mastic and yet other parts were done in something that resembled used chewing gum – gooey and sticky, it was horrendous to remove!

I had very little masking tape left, so bought another roll the following morning and now the job’s done. I’m pleased with the result, it’s so much better than before.

I’m part of an “international women’s club”, based in the Landes and the Pays Basque; mostly I just attend the book club, run in English, which means that once a month I can express myself properly, without effort and understand everything that’s said – a real treat! A lot of the other activities, such as lunches, cooking demonstrations, apéros, mah jong and bridge don’t really appeal to me.  Occasionally, however, they hold other events, such as Wednesday’s trip to Bordeaux. A cousin of one of the ladies has lived in Bordeaux all his life and is the president of the Bordeaux automobile club; he was our guide for the day and organised lunch for us at the club’s headquarters.

Anne Marie gave me a lift as far as Hossegor, from where we had a coach to Bordeaux, setting off under a glorious blue sky. Unfortunately the fog rolled in not far from Bordeaux, but that did nothing to dampen our spirits.

Vincent led us on a walk around the heart of the historic city, pointing out the important buildings and explaining a bit of their history. It was my first visit; I’d heard that it’s impressive, but I wasn’t prepared for the magnificence of the architecture, which I found imposing and rather majestic. I’ll definitely be going back.

Lunch was excellent, an imaginative menu, beautifully served in the automobile club’s restaurant, by waiters in old fashioned uniform. When I declined the dessert, because I can’t eat sugar, they brought me a plate of fresh pineapple instead – no fuss.

Once lunch was over, we had a short, “digestive” walk; there are some very interesting looking shops that I’d love to go back to explore. A bonus was the lack of traffic; I don’t know if cars aren’t allowed in the centre, or just discouraged, but there were very few. However, there is an excellent, modern tram system.

It was soon time to get back on the bus for the journey out of the centre to the Bassin des Lumières, which, for me, was the highlight of the day. Built by the Nazis during WW2, as a “service station” for submarines, this ugly, square, concrete block, on the banks of the Garonne river has been transformed into an amazing art centre. The whole is divided into three sections, each one with a huge, water-filled parking space for a submarine, surrounded by wide concrete walkways. The only light comes from the images projected onto the walls, and in some places, floors. These images are closely based on the work of various artists and move, sometimes fading from one image to the next, sometimes seeming to fall into the water. Of course, they’re all reflected in the water too and are accompanied by specially chosen music.

I went for the first time last year, to see a Dali and Gaudi exhibition and was blown away by it! This time, we thought we were seeing Mondrian and Van Gogh, but discovered on our arrival that Wednesday afternoons, at the moment, are for children (schools close on Wednesdays), so it was “le Petit Prince”, which was truly magical. I’m going back to see Van Gogh/Mondrian in a few weeks with Graham, my son in law, when he comes over, so I wasn’t at all disappointed.

It was late by the time the coach dropped us in Hossegor ; I was pleased not to be doing the drive home. A quick bite to eat, then bed; I was tired, but it had been a wonderful day.

When I moved into my apartment, it was obvious that the big head on the shower was clogged with limescale, the water coming through was little more than a trickle; I’d have to do something about it……… sometime. However, the small shower head worked perfectly, so I used that and ignored the other. Then the support for the small head broke; I had no choice but to shower under the trickle.

You get used to anything, don’t you? Well, I do.  So nothing got done; I didn’t want to ask Kieran, he’s got enough on his plate; and Cedric seems to have become really expensive.

Then Graham decided to come for a visit later this month; I couldn’t expect anyone else to use the shower as it was, which also made me realise that I still haven’t got round to replacing the badly discoloured silicone sealant in the bathroom and kitchen either.

How difficult could it be to replace a bit of a shower? I’d have a go. I measured the diameter of the pipe and went to the DIY shop. There was a bewildering array of parts for showers, in different shapes and sizes; I suddenly realised that I didn’t really have a clue what I was looking for – not a good start to my venture into the world of plumbing. I found a member of staff and showed him a photo of the part that was broken; he was very helpful, found the correct part and explained, sort of, the basics of how to detach the broken one and replace it.

Back home, feeling more than slightly apprehensive, I found the main water tap and turned it off. Now I’d started, I’d have to finish. But what if I got it wrong? Would I flood the apartment? The apartment downstairs?………

I checked all the taps and took a big pile of towels into the bathroom; every time Nick did some plumbing, there was a mini flood and I was always sent to find towels. I located the screws to loosen the pipe and realised that the junction below wouldn’t turn enough without hitting the wall, so I’d have to remove the flexible pipe too.

I had a look through my tool box,  found a screwdriver and a monkey wrench and undid the screws, but the monkey wrench was fractionally too small. Patrick, who lives downstairs, seems pretty good at DIY, so I went to see if I could borrow a bigger monkey wrench. He brought one round, obviously thinking that I wanted him to do the work for me, which I didn’t. However, I was very pleased when he stayed to supervise, giving me some useful tips along the way.

A few minutes was all it took. Patrick insisted that I turn the water back on and run the shower, to check for leaks, before he left; success – the water flowed just where it’s meant to.

The shower heads are now soaking in vinegar; I’ve poked all the holes with a large sewing needle, to loosen the limescale, so tomorrow’s shower should be a big improvement on today’s.

Soon I’ll have to redo the silicone; hopefully before Graham arrives.

Due to all the upheavals and uncertainty of the last few months (losing both the lead singer and the bass player), the band hadn’t played a gig for some time. Then François asked if we could do half an hour at one of his cabaret evenings, held to raise funds for sick children and their families in this area.

This would be my first gig as bass player; I was very nervous, in spite of telling myself that nobody listens to the bass. The rest of the band would hear my mistakes!

Because the stage was to be used for the main event – a sketch about a talent show – we were squeezed into a corner of the Salle des fêtes. The sound check was something of a shock, to me at least; we were so close to the drums that they were deafening and the rest of the sound was far from clear, I couldn’t tell if I was close enough to the mic, in fact I could barely hear myself and the rest of the guys had similar problems. We all put in special earplugs, I think they’re called attenuators, but although they cut down the overall volume, they didn’t help much, it was still a mishmash of sound.

Pascal, the sound man, had other people to see to, so we left him to it and practiced quietly in a side room.

Someone appeared with food for all the performers; baguettes, cheese, paté, ham, beer, etc. But no knife and no bottle opener! Eventually someone found a knife and Adrian tried using his guitar capo to open beers – it worked!

The show started; before long, it was our turn. Pascal must have done something different for our sound, as it was much clearer; I just put in an earplug on the drums side, which helped.

I made a few mistakes on the bass, due to nerves, but I don’t suppose any of the audience noticed, and I wasn’t the only one not perfect. The gig passed pretty well, though the audience were fairly dead; afterwards the Maire of the village asked if she could book us for a two hour set at their village fête next June, so it can’t have been too bad.

When Jan and Kate came to stay with me last year, we got on so well that it seemed a good idea to arrange another get together; this time we included Liz, another long term friend.

None of us having previously been to Porto, in Portugal, that was chosen as our destination. Jan found a lovely apartment in the centre of the Ribeira district, within walking distance of so many interesting and historic sites, as well as some excellent restaurants.

There was a great little restaurant just up the road from the apartment; by 4pm on the day we arrived , having had a very early start and having eaten nothing since breakfast, we were all famished, so that’s where we went. Kieran had recommended that we try a francesihna, a traditional Portuguese dish. It’s a sort of hot sandwich; two slices of bread, filled with steak, spicy sausage and ham, topped with melted cheese and served in a pool of gravy, with chips. Not at all my usual fare, but it was actually delicious!

The weather wasn’t great for the first few days, but somehow we managed to avoid the worst of the showers, sheltering in the cathedral,  shops or a market.

We were able to eat lunch outside, on the banks of the river Douro the first day; the threatened rain not materialising until later, just after we’d admired the cloister and climbed the tower of the cathedral, rewarding us with fantastic views over the whole of old Porto.

From the top of the town, we took the funicular down to the top level of the Ponte de Dom Luis 1, a beautiful iron bridge spanning the Douro, and walked across. Trains run across this level of the bridge, within inches of the pavements on either side, but without anything to separate the trains from the pedestrians!  The whole place was refreshingly free of any sort of health and safety measures; it seemed very strange to us Brits.

On the far side of the river are the port producers, all with their shops and tasting areas. We intended to go for a tasting, but ran out of time; however we did take the cable car down from the bridge, walking back along the riverside, soaking up the ambience and stopping at one of the many restaurants for dinner.

We visited the “golden” church of St Francis, so named because the inside is almost totally decorated in gold; hideously over decorated and overwhelming in my opinion, but a must on the tourist trail. I didn’t even take a photo!

We walked miles every day, going to markets and museums, listening to some very talented buskers, ambling round shops and along the riverside and up and down the steep cobbled streets of the old city.

Finally, on our last full day, the rain stopped, the sun showed its face and the temperature rose; we took an old fashioned tram out to where the river meets the sea and watched the waves crashing over the breakwater, while soaking up the sunshine, then stopped for lunch in a sports bar, run by a gruff-looking bear of a German (who turned out to be delightful), wearing a St Patrick’s day Guinness tee-shirt.

Two of the foursome will celebrate their 70th birthdays next year, so I think that’ll be a good excuse for another trip.

After the departure of all my summer visitors, it was great to have something else to look forward to – a trip to London, to see my brother and his partner. He’d moved house since my last visit, as had his partner and his ex-wife, so I was looking forward to seeing all their new homes.

It was a busy few days; knowing that I miss the theatre, Peter had booked for us to see MJ the musical. I’m not a fan of Michael Jackson, but the production was faultless and the guy who played the lead role sounded and moved exactly like the man himself. The standing ovation was well deserved.

Penny is a real culture vulture and  always knows what’s worth going to see in the city. We visited Tate Modern to see an exhibition of the “blue riders”, a group of artists including Kandinsky. I’d not heard of them before, but it was fascinating to learn their story.

Peter and Penny had arranged a party on the Saturday, to meet her new neighbours, who include a concert pianist and a professor of music, amongst others – some lovely, interesting people.

I spent Sunday with Peter’s ex-wife and children, seeing their new home and catching up on their news.

Monday was a trip to Kew gardens, the waterlilies were especially beautiful and the weather was so summery that we went around the treetop walk too.

It was a great trip, with unbelievably good weather and I always love catching up with old friends and family, but as the Pyrenees came into view on the descent into Biarritz, I realised just how much this has become my home now.

A few days before Alex, Immy, Katie (Alex’s friend) and Sienna (Katie’s daughter) arrived for a fortnight’s holiday, I received an email from my Australian nephew, whom I’ve only met once, when he was 13. He was on holiday in London and could he come over for a couple of days? Fortunately Alex and co had decided to stay in an apartment in Dax, as my place isn’t huge, so I was able to welcome Chris.

I went to pick him up from Biarritz airport the day before Alex’s arrival, armed with his name on a sheet of card; I needn’t have worried about recognising him, an obvious blend of both his parents. Nor need I have worried about how I’d get on with a 26 year old aspiring actor who’s just finished drama school; he was such good company and a very easy guest; just as well as two days had morphed into five.

He was a huge hit with Arthur and Emily, when we looked after them the next day, so Kieran could pick up Alex and the others from Bordeaux; they soon cottoned on that he could lift them up onto the zip wire at the park, or give Emily a piggy back when her legs were tired, unlike their aged grannie!

Thursday was the start of the Dax fete; a huge event attracting over 100,000 people to the town. I explained to Chris that everyone wears red and white; so we headed to the supermarket to buy him appropriate clothing, before going to Kieran’s for a barbecue lunch. After lunch we all went into Dax; one item on our timetable was to listen to Kieran’s neighbour’s choir competing against two other male voice choirs. The contest was held in a big marquee; most of the people there were either drunk or heading that way, we were squeezed in like sardines and the noise levels were high before the choirs started singing! The winner would be decided on the level of applause, so we stayed quiet for the first two and cheered wildly for Didier’s choir. They won and we wandered off to look around the rest of the fete.

The following day was “children’s day” at the fête. I suggested to Chris that he might like a trip to the Pyrenees; it struck me how far we are from Oz, when he’d never heard of them! We spent a few hours in St Jean Pied de Port, in the Basque Pyrenees, near the coast, a beautiful old fortified town, but when I joked that we could go to Spain, Chris couldn’t believe his luck! This was his first trip to mainland Europe; if he could tick off Spain as well as France that would be fantastic! So we drove just over the border and went for a short walk; we could tell we were in Spain by the “policia nacional” building in the village.

After a day at the beach with Alex, Kieran and the rest of the gang, it was soon time to take Chris back to Biarritz; I think he enjoyed his stay – we certainly enjoyed meeting him.

Katie’s partner was coming to join them, so Alex and Immy moved in with me for the last part of their holiday. We spent a great day at a big water park on the coast and no, I didn’t do any of the many slides – I’m really not that brave, but offered to look after all our belongings – more my style.

We had meals out and at mine, spent an afternoon painting and Immy loved the accrobranch (treetop obstacle course). All too soon it was time to take them back to the airport, a trip Kieran nobly volunteered for. The apartment felt very empty for a while, but it’s not that long till Christmas.

If I’m honest, I’d been rather dreading the summer holidays; almost everything closes down for two months; there’d be no patchwork, painting or book club until September, and although the cycle club continues as normal, I can’t ride at the moment. What on earth would I do? How would I fill my time? And more importantly, would I see anybody at all?

I needn’t have worried; I heard that Annie, from the painting club, spends some Wednesday afternoons in the grounds of the library, to provide children with a place  to draw, supplying paper, pens, etc. I went along to help, only to discover several other painters gathered in the gardens to paint together. It seems that I’ve somehow missed being put on the members’ email list, so I didn’t know about the almost weekly gatherings by the lake either. The next day I joined them, taking my paints and contributing something to the”auberge Espanol” lunch; it was a lovely day, very relaxed.

A message arrived from the patchwork club president, inviting anyone who was interested in doing a “twisted log cabin” piece to a special day. I’m not a great fan of traditional patchwork, but it would be a day out and it turned out to be very enjoyable. The bonus was that I now have a new cushion cover for my sofa.

It’s the Marciac jazz festival at the moment, but as it’s a 2 hour drive from here, I didn’t go last year and really missed it; Nick and I went every year from Caupenne, usually for several days at a time in the campervan. So when Mart invited me to join them for the day, to see her daughter Annabelle, who was playing in several student bands, I jumped at the chance. We filled 3 cars; Mart and some of her extended family, as well as several friends. The kids played unbelievably well, the standard was so high, there was some really serious talent among the performers that day. The 4 hours driving was well worth it.

I headed to the lake one day, just for a walk, only to discover an outdoor art exhibition. Yves, my neighbour upstairs was there, with some of his paintings, as was another artist I met a few months ago. Dominique was very keen that I should be part of this world, and introduced me to Reine, who organises this and several other exhibitions in Dax and St Paul ; she too would like me to join them, but how can I, when I’ve currently only got three pieces and am giving two of those away as presents? So I’ve said I’ll think about it for next year and try to make a few more pieces over the winter. In the meantime, it turned out that Reine lives in the apartment block next to mine, so we’ve had a few walks together; so good to have someone to talk to on the way around the lake.

I had a walk to Dax this morning, for a look at another of the group’s exhibitions; there are so many artists that the content changes from one time to another, as different people are available each time. Reine took me to meet all the artists and when one woman heard me speaking, exclaimed “you’re Dominique’s English friend; we all know about you”! I think there must be a certain kudos involved in having foreigners as part of any group, though it certainly seems odd to me that people think I’m quite exotic!!

So, between all that and occasional days looking after Arthur and Emily, the summer holidays are passing very pleasantly. Even the weather is on my side; in common with most places, it’s very strange this year and we’ve only had a handful of days in the high thirties so far. I’m not complaining, it suits me perfectly.

When I moved into my apartment, I planned to have all the redecorating finished within a year, but life got in the way; the first year anniversary arrived and my bedroom was still as it was the day I moved.

Maddy and Dom’s impending visit provided the motivation that I’d been lacking, so a couple of weeks ago I emptied the wardrobe and moved the furniture into the spare room. I’d have to get on with it now; the spare bed was all but invisible under a heap of clothes and drawers containing more clothes and I could hardly move in there for the extra furniture.

I covered my bed with dust sheets and stripped the horrible, old lady, vinyl wallpaper, then knocked in the dozens of Rawl plugs and plasterboard fixings and filled the holes with polyfilla.

The lining paper went up easily, once it had had time to dry, I painted the walls and ceiling white and headed to the DIY shop with the throw Alex made me.

They didn’t have the shade of pink paint I was looking for and the price to have a sufficiently big tin mixed made my eyes water, so I got a small tin of a deeper shade, which I mixed with some white – perfect!

I painted the wall behind the bed pink, cleaned up and put back my clothes, shoes and furniture. It was a treat to have a choice of what to wear, ie not just whatever was on the top of the heap.

I found a pair of table lamps in a local shop, to replace the work lamp I’ve been using for the last 16 months.

Now I just need Kieran to help me put up the lampshade and hang some pictures.

In the meantime, I’m making a patchwork quilt for the spare room. I’d painted the room all white, thinking the quilt would be colour enough; but laying out the quilt pieces on the bed, it became apparent that the wall behind the bed needed some colour.

There are plenty of colours to choose from and I had some green left over from the living room, so mixed it up with some blue tint and a bit of white, to get a lovely turquoise shade. I think the room looks much better now.

It’ll be even better once I finish the quilt, but that could be a few months yet.

Whenever people hear that I can’t do something-or-other because I have a rehearsal, they usually ask what sort of a choir I’m in; do we sing sacred or secular music? I love to see the look on their faces when I explain that actually it’s a rock band. It’s not at all what they expect of an otherwise quite ordinary grannie.

There’d been some tension in the band for a while,  between Adrian, the lead guitar, and Mika, the bass player. I’m not sure that Mika was even aware of it, but the rest of us certainly were. The problem was that Mika is a very good bass player, but not a great team player; he just cannot play simply, even when that’s what’s required. He was playing everything as if it was his solo, his fingers flying over the frets, which really upset Adrian, whose solos couldn’t be heard properly. He tried dropping hints, but they went straight over Mika’s head.

Then we encountered another problem, a fundamental difference in attitude between Mika and the rest of us – he would only play paid gigs. The rest of us are quite happy to play if we’re fed and watered.  Mika informed us that he loved playing with us and would continue to do so, but only if and when we’re paid, which obviously leaves us in the lurch, with no bass, for free gigs. The discussion got quite heated, with Mika shouting down anyone else who tried to speak and laying down the law to the rest of us. He sent us a message later in the week to let us know he was quitting, but then turned up to the next rehearsal as if nothing had happened!

I was very confused, not having been able to follow the conversation very well at the end of practice, but it seems that he sent his quitting message to shock us into realising how much we’d miss him – his plan was to stay and thought we’d be so grateful that we’d be cowed into abiding by his rules!

Well, that backfired badly.

We gave him his marching orders.

So….. what to do next?

Find another bass player and start again? No, Adrian, Jean Michel and Jean Marc, who’ve played together for years, didn’t think much of that one, saying that, apart from me, everyone new to the band has been a disaster. I was very touched.

Could we play without a bass? No, it just doesn’t work.

Adrian and Jean Michel can both play bass as well as guitar, so suggested that if I play a bit of rhythm guitar occasionally, that can free up one of them for bass. I mentioned that for years I’ve fancied having a go at playing bass, but had never had the chance, though I didn’t think anyone heard me.

So when I got to rehearsal today, there was Ade’s beautiful bass hung on the wall. Had we got a new bass player? I asked. Who? “Yes”, came the reply, “It’s you”.  Oh…….maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

I was amazed at how heavy it is! Our song, “L’amour germinale” can have a very simple bass line, so they thought I could try that first. I made notes of the notes and we started, but bear in mind that I still had to sing my harmonies, yes, in French, while trying to play. It wasn’t easy, and I made plenty of mistakes, but they seemed to think it was ok for a first attempt. I’ve brought the bass home to practice on, along with instructions to find the tabs online for “knockin’ on heaven’s door” and learn that too.

It’s all very good for the little grey cells, I’m sure, but is it normal behaviour for a 68 year old grannie? Well, I don’t know about that, but it is for this one!