A dark early morning drive to Lavelanet, an efficient lesson despite the boys' sleepiness and then up into the hills with Radio 4 playing in my  pocket, mist and frost in the valleys, sun on the hill tops, Bernie away off yapping at inaccessible deer, a hunting dog in the woods; it's sorrowful bark tempered by the bright bell on its collar.

From deep in my pocket Matthew Syed talked about the inevitability of impermanence and the transformative power of decay.  My boots crushed acorn husks and squelched through damp oak leaves.  I got his drift and decided it would be beneficial for me to embrace transience and live in the moment.

Back at the Moulin I failed monumentally, unable to focus on the tasks I'd set out to do; starting one and getting sidetracked. Annoyingly I had 'there's a hole in my pocket, dear Liza' going through my head as it so often does for anything I endeavour to do in the Moulin.  

I gave myself a stern talk to and managed to finish all I'd started in a rather haphazard kind of way.