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FRENCH VILLAGE LIFE
A Dead Sheep On My Dashboard, Funereal Gloom & Days Of Torpor
Trying to deal with the August canicule as the French do . . .with a few concessions
August by the third week feels like a guest who has stayed too long. This year, it wore out its welcome early — before it even arrived in fact. Enough with the heat, July was already the hottest on record, I would have been quite happy to skip August and go straight to September.
No such luck, August shows no signs of fatigue. Heatwave after heatwave. Wildfires, ruined crops and no rain in sight. Europe is facing a severe drought. The most severe ever recorded in France, according to the prime minister.
Water restrictions are in place. Gardens have to go — it’s a Darwinian thing. Out with thirsty roses and delicate blooms. In with whatever can survive. Yesterday, the neighbourhood vigilante reprimanded me for sneaking a drink to the tomatoes. This morning, I piled straw around the roots of the citrus trees and covered shrubs with old gauze curtains. It looks as though I’m decorating early for Halloween.
