Julien is in the garden. He has a huge machine for cutting grass strapped across his chest, probably called A Grass Cutter (?) He is sporting gloves and protective goggles and is moving this ghastly machine in a rhythmic sideways motion. Grass is flying about. Beside him is father, who is brandishing a rake and cheerfully pulling at the debris Julien is leaving behind him. They look so happy that they could be whistling “Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it’s off to work we go”. That is if I could hear them over the terrible racket they are causing.
The family cat Minou (which is French for Menggay or Muning) and I are in the bedroom, trying, unsuccessfully, to block out the sound of the Grass Cutter. Minou looks pissed off, royally pissed off. He’s probably wondering why he didn’t vomit in the car on the way up here. Minou was having the time of his life in the garden, batting away at butterflies with his claws and hunting insects, up until the men decided it was time to cut the grass. Now he is sulking because he’s been driven away from the source of his happiness and is made to share a room with a human being. Minou is a grandfather cat, by the way, yet still unwise beyond his years.
Lightning flashes, then thunder rolls. It has been raining every afternoon since we arrived in France, and this afternoon is no exception. I think of my bathing suit, crumpled forlornly in my bag, then look down at the two sweaters I am wearing, and sigh. The first thing I did when I arrived in France was to buy a pullover. A wonderful waste of money, since there is no need for sweaters back in Qatar.
The rain starts to fall. Julien is shouting outside, announcing to the skies that he will continue to cut grass whatever the weather conditions may be, so bring it on.
I decide to make myself a cup of tea and sit by the fireplace while finishing Suite Française. Minou follows me in the hopes that I will give him some rillette.
Currently listening to:
Death in Vegas