Rose garden

Not quite.

Last night, when a pal let slip on the phone that there was a hurricane due in the UK today, I understood why Mr B had told me not to look at the weather forecast... Some investigation followed and even he agreed that not flying - given that we didn't absolutely have to - was the best option. So we are re-booked to fly tomorrow.

And so, our bonus day was spent fixing a broken sink and a broken shower (mostly Mr B) and making a start on garden paths (mostly me). During the day we had some bad news about Mr B senior who is in hospital. Sadly communication doesn't allow us to know any more than that. We will find out more tomorrow. Other people's families have a seemingly endless capacity to confound expectations.

The payback for chickening out of flying today is that tomorrow high winds are forecast in Carcassonne, where we are flying from. Nothing's simple.

This is one of the roses almost certainly planted by the last Englishwoman to live in this house. There are several beautiful old rose bushes, very overgrown and straggly, which have clearly not been cared for for a long time. Learning how to rehabilitate them is on a long to-do list.