After such a soggy Spring, Summer's come as something of a shock. It's 8.30 in the morning and the thermometer in the shadiest, coolest part of the garden says 24 degrees. Elsewhere it's 30 already and rising. Once more the refrain of 'Ices, fresh ices' this afternoon as I trip my way up to the pool with a handful of cornets and a tub of home-made ice-cream for our lovely guests. They're not yet down to breakfast, but my guess is that they'll go off to the wonderful market in Pezenas then come back for an afternoon by the pool before heading out somewhere gorgeous like Le Presbytere in Vailhan for supper. Not a bad way to pass a day.

Here are a few photos taken early this morning.

(Our second guest poster is Cynthia, from Bellingham, Washington, just south of the USA/Canada border.)

Mother Earth must be laughing -- our brief stay at Le Couvent, June 1-2, coincided with the wettest spring weather in the Languedoc in nearly 60 years. No strangers to rain ourselves, coming from the Pacific Northwest corner of the United States, we had hoped for a glimpse of the sunshine that the south of France is known for, particularly as we'd had a very cold and wet spring.

We were sure that the weather in Roujan would be milder and more conducive to walking and exploring tiny villages than what we'd experienced the week before in the foothills of the Massif Central, where a memorable thunderstorm and nearly incessant rain kept us indoors.

As we entered the gate of Le Couvent, Ali and Lizzie met us with the warmest greeting we have ever had -- and big umbrellas, as yes, it was raining on the plain, too. But we really didn't mind.

 

 

In a lovely old building that radiates serenity, we reveled in our simple, supremely comfortable bedroom, hundreds of books, eclectic art, marvelous local food, delightful fellow guests, and most of all, Ali and Lizzie. We arrived as guests, but after that heartfelt welcome, we were family, and their home was our home, with its heart in the kitchen. Gathered around the long table, enjoying the extraordinary Le Couvent breakfast or an aperitif in the evening, we laughed, shared our stories, and were at peace.

And in what surely was a miracle, sandwiched between two thunderstorms and drizzle, we had a couple of hours of brilliant sunshine! We saw Le Couvent literally in a new light, spent time in the delightful pool and garden, and knew we would have to return.

The real souvenirs of travel are not tangible -- they are the remarkable people like Ali and Lizzie, Renaissance women with hearts of gold, who become part of our lives forever.

(Sent from Bellingham, where it is still raining…)

 

I know, absolutely ridiculous. After all, we're just a B&B. But you're going to buy stuff like boxer shorts and BBQ aprons somewhere, so why not from us?

Everything on the shop will be limited edition - that is, the over-printing will be changed when we've had enough of it, it stops selling, or there are complaints. So if you like something why not get it now?

We earn a bit of commission on all sales and we intend spending it on random kindnesses and senseless acts of beauty.

If you're interested take a look. Le Couvent Shop

One of my favourites is the Le Couvent, Roujan Dog T-shirt . Not sure how Kit the labrador feels about it though.

What's stoolball? It's an old English game, the fore-runner of cricket, originally played by milkmaids. You probably haven't heard of it because it's only played in Kent, East Sussex and now, Roujan. If you'd like to know more about the game you can check it out here .

Last year Ali & I made some wickets, painted them jolly colours and hauled together a team of friends and family & called ourselves the Languedoc Crocks. We were mentioned on a website and as a result the lovely Clare, captain of Causeway Stoolball Club in Kent, got in touch with us. Despite the fact that our team had played just twice Causeway was insistent on coming to play against us. It was a howling success as witnessed here .

Within moments of going home they booked to come for a long weekend again this year. So we did it all again. We had supper at Le Couvent, we went to Pezenas market, we played on the cricket pitch at St Pons de Mauchiens.

 

We laughed, we lost, we were 31 for dinner at Les Goutailles , we played again. Ali & Nicola got silly.

 

We were 36 for dinner in the vines at Chateau Mal Au Dos and then they squeezed themselves and all their bags into two people carriers and grinned their way back home to Kent. All between Friday afternoon and Monday morning. And then Clare wrote to book for next year. Hooray! What can we conjure up as a surprise then I wonder?

Thanks to all our friends and family who worked their socks off cooking and lugging stuff and providing wine, not to mention actually playing. And thanks so much to all our friends from Causeway Stoolball Club. It was fantastic. And we're going to beat you next year. 

 

The other day I was strolling with the dogs around the periphery of the newly acquired Le Couvent vineyards . As is quite usual I came across a couple of people collecting wild asparagus and taking the air.

"Are the dogs friendly Madame?"

"Absolutely" said I.

"Where is it you are from?" said the elder of the two smiling old girls.

"Roujan - the old convent and school - and we've recently bought these vineyards from M. Gineste"

"Ah, Le Couvent, you've done an excellent job there - I know it well. And we're neighbours here, because this is my land" she said sweeping her hand across some wild garrigue. "Is it you who's doing the vegetable garden?"

Bear in mind there is a sign saying that the land's private and the vegetable garden is buried right in the centre of the vineyards, pretty well-hidden and has a chicken-wire fence all round.

"Your salad, broccoli and strawberries are coming on very well" "What else are you going to plant?" she said with more than a hint of lip-licking.

It's curious. Just a couple of weeks ago I thought the water in the butt had gone down and that the plants looked already-watered. It looks as though I have a co-gardener. I do hope she has green fingers.