A cynic might wonder.

As far as Wilf was concerned it was a day for staying close to home, dozing on the door step and generally doing as little as possible. Not even the promise of a trip to the cafe for croissants and a hair tousling would get him to move. We were concerned about his lethargy but as 'the font' observed, any dog that can cover the distance from the downstairs door to the upstairs kitchen in three seconds flat still has plenty of fight left in him.

While our little touch of paradise continues to bask in bright sunshine the rest of Europe remains shrouded in snow. Even Paris and Frankfurt have cancelled 40% of their flights. As for Heathrow the less said the better. The repeated ineptitude of this airport a national embarassment. Let's wait to see what today has in store before panicking.

A telephone call to say the Glasgow Rugby team have delayed their match until seven o'clock tonight. A cynic might wonder if they're reluctant to leave the southern sun and return to the cold of Scotland. The kilted fans,sitting drinking at the tables on the central square in Toulouse, seemed happy enough. The delay was welcome. The sturdy little Volkswagen chose yesterday to have another of its temperamental moments and was hauled off to the garage. A reminder that it really does need to be replaced.

In town I literally bumped into the joiner coming out of the cafe. " When might we see you up at the farmhouse again ?" I asked. ' Oh! In the New Year M'Ongoose. In the New Year ' he replied cheerfully , sauntering off with a wave and a smile. Very helpful. My thoughts were less than seasonal. At least we know he's still alive. Now all we have to do is find the electrician, plumber, tiler, gutterer, and decorator. Mental note :- Never try to restore a rickety old house when you're actually living in it.

Frosty winds made moan.

Londons Heathrow airport closed and Scotland,to all intents and purposes, cut off. The coldest night in more than twenty years. Heavy snow, freezing fog and black ice are once again disrupting Christmas travel plans. I'd always thought Christina Rosettis poem 'In the bleak Midwinter ' was a piece of sentimental flimsy but at times like this the lines : " Frosty winds made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; snow had fallen snow on snow, snow on snow " stand out as inspired brilliance.

Glasgow Rugby Club were scheduled to play Toulouse on Saturday. The Glaswegian team duly arrived here but their kit got stranded at a snow bound Heathrow. It's still at Heathrow. The match has been rescheduled for today and the Scots lads will have to play in borrowed strip. I'm betting that the French side will let them play in their canary yellow training shirts. A decidedly unpresbyterian colour scheme. Wilf and yours truly will be there to cheer the visitors on.

Here in southern mountain country the skies are again blue and the air warm and mild. Wilf spent much of yesterday ferreting around on the banks of the little stream, gleefully tracking down enticing odours. When he got back to the house he turned on his back and fell sound asleep outside the front door. Time aplenty for a boy to bask in the sun. If we didn't know differently we'd swear that he was the healthiest dog in the world. I'd like to think he's one of the happiest.

A vertical dog blanket.

Wilf and yours truly finally settled down to watch what remained of the rugby. Downstairs 'the font' and the manic curtain woman dealt with the new drapes in the hallway. How it could take two hours to hang two lengths of cloth is one of lifes imponderables. Even more amazing is how a non-stop conversation could be carried on throughout the entire process. Is there any subject under the sun duller than ' triple lining ?' Hopefully, the extra long and incredibly heavy curtains will help keep out some of the chill Pyrennean winds that whistle through the gaps in the doors.

To begin with Wilf was somewhat suspicious of this stripey new addition to his hallway. However, he soon found that they are great to nestle into. 'Whoooa - a vertical dog blanket' . Any attempts to shoo him away from his favoured spot by the door, on the new curtains, are doomed to certain and complete failure. Curtains come and curtains go but a boyz favourite lounging spot is inviolable.

Wilf has had a really good week. Full of life and vigour. His recent lethargy and aches pushed aside. Fresh salmon fishcakes now firmly at the top of his list of favoured foods along with coconut icecream. The coming week is set to get even better. Turkey, gravy and a reunited flock.

A bad year for melons.

Another frigid start to the day. The ground covered in thick, glistening, hoar frost. Wilf who has become quite sniffy about going out in the cold surprised us by rushing delightedly out of the door. The sort of bone chilling morning when you're hoping for a short walk and your canine companion has his heart set on a long one. And a long one it was. Across the green, past the church and down to the lake. 'The font' and yours truly in fits of laughter as Wilf tried skating on the frozen puddles. Much truffle hound snorting as long hidden scents were discovered. Pungent delights.

Eleven thirty and the mayor came past for a restorative glass of champagne. He was feeling low. Another local farmer is giving up melon growing and going over to livestock rearing. It seems that in 2007 the farmers were getting 73 cents a kilo for their cantaloupes. In 2009 this had slumped to 54 cents and this year a disastrous 45 cents. ' Une annee catastrophique '. Incomers are oblivious to the changes in the landscape but for the old timers like the mayor it's a source of sadness. An hour and a half, and three glasses of Bollinger later, he seemed to have rediscovered his equilibrium.

After the mayor it was the turn of the curtain lady to show up. She rang the bell just as I was settling down to watch the rugby on television. Five nothing in her shoes and imbued with super human energy the curtain lady is a living nightmare. She always wants to ask my opinion about pleats or borders or linings. This is a mind numbing nightmare to someone whose knowledge of curtains can be summed up in the words 'Open or closed '.

Reassuring good measure.

Madame Bay arrived at the front door, unexpectedly, to bid an emotional farewell. She, the long suffering Monsieur Bay and fifty or so other members of the local retired gendarmes club are off to New York for a week. For the journey Madame Bay was wearing a lime green headscarf that had been knotted at the front. Those old wartime posters of Rosie the riveter sprang to mind. " Don't worry M'Ongoose. It's only a week " she said wrapping her arms round me in a remarkably hearty, breath depriving embrace. Then, she repeated the " it's only a week " for reassuring good measure. Wilf had a little boy look on his face that seemed to say ' please tell me she's not going to plant one of those kisses on me '.

A slight dusting of snow yesterday. Wilf was delighted. Polish Lowland Sheepdog heaven. He followed me across the fields, head high into the wind. Every so often he would run on ahead and pounce on something invisible in the long grass, emerging with a smile on his face and a muzzle and nose covered in snow. I'd like to say that his hunting technique was lithe and graceful but that wouldn't be entirely true. It was however highly entertaining. Play mode firmly set.

When, after a long day out in the cold, an old dog sits in front of the fire, lays his head on your foot and falls gently asleep is that happiness, delight or joy ?

Joining Peary .

It's bitterly cold with the thermometer showing minus six. Deep winter in this most temperate part of the world. Wilf followed me across the fields and down to the river, the grass frozen hard with the thick frost. Eagles, kestrels and the occasional languid heron our only companions. Under the blue winter sky the verges of the fields still thick with rose hips, sloes and berries. Maybe it's the ice underfoot or maybe it's the fresh scents the cold throws up but our old family fellow was as lively as a puppy. He zigzagged backwards and forwards along the valley floor, nose down, ears trailing along the ground, oblivious to the chill. Every so often he'd roll on his back, squirming contentedly in some choice scent. No need to hurry him back. Sometimes a thick woolly coat is a blessing.

Into town for the morning croissants and our 'Bonjour Wilfee' routine at the cafe in the square. The locals at the bar dressed as though they were going to join Peary on an expedition to the arctic. The peroxide waitress wearing the ' Bon Noel' apron with the flashing lights over her duffle coat. The show must go on.

Home to hang the last decorations on the tree. Then half an hour of touch rugby, meerkat hunting , and rug surfing. Wilf charging along the full length of the hallway, his aches and pains forgotten in the thrill of surfing. He finally turned over and fell asleep in the middle of the floor. He's still there - snoring gently. Time enough to recharge his batteries before 'the font' returns. A good day. No - a very good day.

Prepared for the day, ready for the night.

To the market town for Christmas lights. Not a set to be found anywhere. The Christmas locust has swept through our little patch of France devouring every set of tree lights in existence. With Wilf in the back of the car hastily hurried off to the large town 40 minutes away and bought the last 3 sets in the new Auchan supermarket. €14 each ! A young woman sales assistant squirted me with 'male fragrance' as I was leaving. The poor girl must have been very bored or very desperate. Purchase a bottle of this and "you'll be prepared for the day - ready for the night" she said. As I was wearing a bobble hat and a shaggy jumper at the time this made me laugh out loud with genuine delight. I'll try the line on 'the font' and see what the reaction is.

Set up the Christmas crib on the half landing. Somehow we seem to have lost Joseph and acquired a little old lady instead. Maybe it was always like that and I'd simply never noticed before. There again perhaps it's some strange Biblical revisionism on the part of the Slovak crib maker who decided single handedly to write Joseph out of the plot. Curious.

Over lunchtime pizza turned on the televison to get the weather forecast. Instead I got the Wendy Williams show. I had never heard of Ms.Williams until this chance encounter. Now, here before our very eyes Wendy was interviewing Rachel, a full time Christmas tree decorator. Must be a seasonal job I thought but suspended my disbelief as the rara skirted Rachel told us the four golden rules of tree design :

1) Always use at least 100 lights per foot . A seven foot tree - at least seven hundred lights

2) Always start from the top

3) Choose a theme and stick to it

4) Stand back and view your work. Remember you're an artist !

Wilf looked at me. I looked at the half decorated tree. We then both looked at each other. " Blimey ! Shouldn't have started at the bottom" he seemed to say before we headed off for some touch rugby in the hall.