Autumn

It was a beautiful Autumn weekend. The sun shone brightly and warmly during the day and the clear blue sky became a fabulous backdrop, bringing out the best of the Autumn colours of the fields and vines and trees.

I took the car out for a run, letting it stretch it's legs beyond the ten minute trips to the DIY stores that are it's usual outings during the week. I drove up to Montolieu and from there over the top of the hill down to Fraise Cabardes, back down the valley to Aragon and then across the north of Carcassonne to pick up the Canal du Midi and finally around the back of the Cité. Roof down and shirt sleeves, naturally.

From the hill above Montolieu you could see the entire valley stretched out below and across to the towering peaks of the Pyrenees, showing faintly in the distance. The church on the peak at Montreal was clearly silhouetted above the patchwork of orange and yellow and red and brown fields before it, and the massive frame of Mont Canigou, a few traces of the first snow on it's topmost slopes, loomed menacingly out of the haze, looking much closer than it actually is.

Just outside Aragon I came across a massive buzzard sat on a tree branch next to the road. No more than five metres from me it hunched it's shoulders down before releasing it's massive wingspan, showing flecks of white on the underside, and gliding off lazily towards a new resting place where it wouldn't be disturbed by a noisy clattering old Audi. Despite it's closeness and it's languid movement, it was still away before I had a chance to stop the car and get my camera in hand.

At the Canal there were at least signs of activity - people out for a Sunday afternoon stroll along the towpath. Who can blame them. At this time of year the plane trees on either side of the Canal are bright yellow and lights dance across it's surface where the sun penetrates any gaps between the trees. There is a distinct lack of canal traffic though which I find bizarre - it must be a beautiful time of year to meander along the canal - maybe it is just a bit cold at night on a boat on the water.

There is one view of the Cité that is always in all the guide books and on the posters. It is a view looking down onto the walls and turrets across fields of vines and it is not an easy place to find because the vines are private land. But found it I have. There is a little lay-by on the ring round to the south of Carcassonne - park there and wander up the hill a bit at the dge of the vine field and the classic Carcassonne Cite view unfolds below. Yes, technically it is trespassing.

By late afternoon, back at home and the sun is already beginning to fade. The starlings gather in their thousands and swoop and dive in massive swirls above the rooftops - a prelude to their winter migration and both mesmerising and slightly scary at the same time. It is time to close the windows, change from shirt to T-shirt and jumper and get the casserole on the oven.

Just when I was planning the week's work and thinking about a quiet evening in front of a film, Chris pointed out a problem that appeared to be developing in the office where new ceiling meets old. The new plaster put up by the Poles last week was cracking away from the ceiling as it dried which either means that it hasn't formed a bond with the old paint or, more scarily, the new ceiling boards are dropping slightly on their frame, which might mean taking down and fixing - what a complete and utter pain in the neck that will be. We decide we will inspect it in the morning - not before a lot more cursing about Alison and Graham, the useless builders who have caused more trouble than good as a result of their work and who put this bit of ceiling in place. In their case we certainly didn't get what we paid for.

Certainly wiped the smug Autumn smile off my face and helped focus me on the week ahead.