leaving

It's hard to leave at this time of year. We have pulled our first carrots, made the most sublime pasta dish with our own artichokes and parsley. Our first ever roses are about to bloom and Oscar is sitting proudly on the roof of the car admiring a rainbow.



Three years ago, Julian moved his printer and office into 'my' room in order to 'do the work' on the studio himself.

'It'll only be a month' he said. Humph.
Knowing it would be at least a year I said 'Perhaps you should put your office in the spare room?'
'You don't understand. I can't move the printer into the spare room; there are wires, plugs, phone points to consider.....'


('He's never gonna leave her'...When Harry Met Sally).


Today, three years (yes, years) later, Olivier started that very same work that Julian never began on Julian's studio. It has taken this long for Julian to realize that he will never be a painter and a builder (and open a restaurant and internet cafe and make websites and climb all the mountains on Skye) all in one lifetime.

He moved the printer and plugs and phone points and wires in to the spare room, no problem. And, of course, his paints and easels into my room.


Olivier is sensitive to The Artist. He does not play a radio. He shows up on time. He says 'Perhaps I should do this bit first as it makes the most noise....Then, when Julian is working I can do the quiet things. I have a new machine that just goes SHHHHHHH...'. Olivier is from the North.

We may even have Mallow...er...Cuckoo gallery by the time I get back from two months in England.



Meanwhile, the wildflowers continue to amaze. Wile pyramid orchids, wild gladioli, broome, poppies, and the Provençal sage flower which, Mmme Chauvet assures us, when boiled down with Eau de Vie, makes and excellent remedy for digestive problems.