Why have I been writing about the pyrale du buis? Because it means I can put off what I should be doing this afternoon: getting ready to go to hospital tomorrow.
I don’t know how long I will be away – one month? two? At any rate, I have had to make sure fridges are emptied, bins put out, the pool furniture stored for the winter, various garden tasks completed, Edith – the cleaning lady – ready to look after the inside in my absence, the bathroom and clothes tiedied up so Margaret can, as usual, track down things like clothes, if and when the present summer weather becomes autumnal.
This morning we did the most important task: Margaret and I drove for an hour, over the winding roads of the Causses, to St Maurice de Navacelles, to meet the woman who will look after Poppy for the ten days when Margaret and Hans are on holiday. She comes on the commendation of two people and we saw immediately that she is devoted to animals – there are goats as well as the three dogs she is currently looking after (one an English dog, appositely called Scruffy).
Poppy was clearly not impressed by the sight of a room filled with dog beds and some rather enthusiastic occupants. I think she sensed something was afoot and on the journey home resisted going into the back of the car. Needs must, sadly. I have not found anyone nearer able to give a home to Poppy at this time. Then I took Poppy and her bed to Margaret and Hans. She was more interested in playing with her new rubber ball than saying goodbye to me.
Tomorrow I drive to Ganges and report to the now all too familiar surgical wing on the first floor. Dr Glaise will be operating on the éventration on Tuesday. I don’t yet have a sense of how long I will be in the clinic in Ganges and then the maison de repos, Les Chataigniers. But I reckon I will not be home for at least a month.