Not much longer...

I wrote to Orange in September to ask for information on steps needed to shut down my telephone and broadband subscriptions.  A month later: silence.  Dug out the English language customer service line number.  First attempt: 'Bugger off, we're busy'.  Second attempt: ditto.  Third attempt: 'Your call should be answered within two minutes'.  Euphoria short-lived: 15 minutes later the inane music on hold gave way to a ring tone, which promptly led to the call terminated tones.  At least the calls were eating up my mostly unused allowance of minutes included in the monthly mobile contract, rather than being billed exorbitantly to the BT fixed line.

Next stop, the Banque Postale, to ask what notice they'd need for the biggish cash withdrawal I'll need when I'm down south at the end of the month.  The only phone number given is a four-digit short code, inaccessible from outside France.  A friend in the village provided me with the full-fat telephone number which, of course, now diverts to an announcement: 'in order for us to serve you better, please call the four-digit number'.  Deep sigh.  Letter sent, with request for advice by email.  Suspect I may finish up ringing Jean-Luc at home in his lunch break.

I've been hoping to put off grass cutting till more leaves have fallen, but gave in yesterday when I saw how long it had got.  Much cursing later (the long, wet grass kept clogging the mower, and the tank ran dry half way through), the composting bin is full (grass cuttings and mouldy courgette plants), and the trees are still shedding leaves. 

There is still colour here and there in the garden, particularly now that the cornus have shed practically all of their leaves.  It's surprising that there are still a few flowers on the cistus pulverulens - in the garrigue, it comes and goes in three to four weeks.  The hypericums are covered in a new flush of flowers, and the good old penstemons are doing pretty well.  The bedding plants have largely been and gone, though the over-wintered fuchsias are flowering well.  The petunias are under a layer of mouldy courgettes and grass cuttings, and are about to be donated to our ever-benevolent toon cooncil.  There are still a few flowers on a few of the roses, notably Queen Elizabeth and the Justice of the Peace, and I noticed yesterday that Compassion has put up a strong new shoot from the base.  That's one of the nice things about gardening: even when the garden is slowing down for the winter, there are signs of good things to come in the spring.

Miss has been getting us to do seascapes.  I did a few hopeless water colour sketches the week before last, but took a canvas and the acrylics last Thursday, turning out a quickie of the salt pans near Gruissan.  I was rather taken with the way that the reflection of the sky diminishes as you get closer to the point of view, revealing the pinkish brown salt deposit.  I may fiddle a bit with it, but am inclined to keep it simple.  As a rule, if a piece goes over to a second visit, it is not going to work.  But then, I'm usually in favour of the 'do nothing' option anyway.