Well, it’s official. Not only are we sleeping in separate rooms, but we’re actually sleeping in separate houses.

Don’t panic, it’s not a thing either of us is actively seeking, it’s just I can’t stand the heat at night at the moment, and neither can our 9 year old French Bulldog. When we let him out with Freya for their final ablutions before bed, he has started to refuse to come back inside, instead opting to try to go to sleep behind the patio furniture. At least we can pop some shorts on or get in the pool, he can’t take off his woolly jumper, and while we think it’s likely he’s crossed with something else and that makes him pretty good with the heat in relative terms, he’s just really miserable. Shuffling from one cold tiled surface to the next, pressing his pink bits to it to get a little respite.

So here we both are, next door in the much cooler “gite”, with a fan on, relatively cool and comfortable. When I pick up my rucksack and head outside with the the keys, he’s so excited that all 4 paws leave the ground, and he skirtles off through the gate knowing exactly where he’s going to. As I type, he’s on the bed next to me fast asleep, his snoring might be my favourite noise in the whole world.

I don’t like not being in my own bed with the hubs, but we all sleep better this way, and it’s only for days where the night-time temp is still 17 degrees at 6am. Still, this was our home for more than a year, and I even miss it sometimes. It’s certainly far easier to keep clean than next door, but I don’t miss the pixie death oven though – thank god that’s a thing of the past!

In other news, I was a full on Disney Princess today. I heard a thud on my way back into the house and saw a little bird fly into the patio doors and fall back stunned onto the ground. My first thought was cats!! I rushed round there and picked him up, stunned and beak open gasping to get air back into his little lungs. I held him in my cupped hands and dipped my fingers into the birdbath, gently putting a drip on his beak which he gratefully drank. We had little walk around the garden, and I chatted to him the whole time, about how he had to stay awake, and if he had chicks he’d need to be able to go home and feed them. I felt something warm in my hand. Yep – thanks for that little bird. A bird in the hand most definitely does shit on your wrist, as per the old English proverb. He had just had a proper smack on the head, so I am willing to overlook such transgressions on his part. As we neared the front of the house again, he was starting to become more alert, and he tried to fly, making it as far as my shoulder. We did another lap of the house like this, until as I stood chatting to him, he managed to fly onto a branch in the hedge to continue his convalescence. He was still out of puff, so I stayed with him, wanting to make sure that the my two furry murderers were nowhere to be seen, until he was strong enough to look after himself. Sure enough, he got more and more alert and hopped off into the dense part of the hedge, tweeting and carrying on like he was trying to find his family. As I was holding him, I realised he wasn’t a Redstart, or a sparrow, but he was something else entirely. A yellow bib, and buff coloured feathers with a hint of olive green, tinged with yellow/green around the edges. According to the trusty RSPB bird identifier, I had rescued a Wood Warbler no less. Certainly not a bird I’d ever seen before and on the red list as an endangered species in the UK. How lucky was I to be able to spend some quality time with such a rare little sweetheart. I’m just glad I heard him fall, and he didn’t end up in a cat or a bird of prey.

I also harvested my garlic today, first time that I’ve managed to get some all the way to fruition, so I’m super happy. They’re hung up in the kitchen to cure for a while, making the whole kitchens smell gorgeous. Not a pungent garlic smell, rather an almost smokey, savoury smell. I really like it.

Time for snoozes I think, and cuddles with my Bulldog – if he’s not too warm.

Laters…. V x