Winter Gardening

When the Happy Holidaymakers first started to trickle to Chateau Coldspot they often pointed to areas we hadn’t yet tackled – such as our not-so-functional Function room – with the frowning enquiry: ‘What are you going to do with that then?’ And then proceeded to give us lots of ideas that we couldn’t possibly have thought of in five years of staring at it.
In case you are tempted when you visit the really obvious ones are:
Turn it into more gites?
(Too many people. Chateau Coldspot is not Eurocamp.)
Weddings?
(Would you like a wedding reception on top of your holiday home when you were trying to get the toddlers off to sleep? Thought not.)
Demolish it?
(My favourite option but this is a nineteen sixties municipal building. Not easily destroyed.)
Le Comte and I have developed special phrases for dealing with these enquiries so as not to seem rude. A thoughtful ‘Hmm,’ is usually safe or ‘We’ll think about that,’ in an interested tone.
The other favourite gambit of the Happy Holidaymaker is;
‘You still have a lot of work to do.’
We are always very tempted to reply;
‘You should have seen what it was like before,’ in order that our visitors might appreciate the effort that has been put in to get things thus far for their benefit. But that would be pointless; the HHs only care about what it looks like during the week they are paying to be here. So le Comte usually manages a sanguine smile and nods in agreement. However, it all gets a bit tiresome, so to prevent these comments he is now working from dawn until dusk to improve the Function room and its surrounds.
It is to be a Winter Garden encapsulating the essence of our ancient chateau, lined with lemon trees, incorporating zoned areas for reading or playing the flute and featuring a delightful water-nymph fountain as its centre piece. Guests will glance through the huge open sides of the building across to the orchard of sweet chestnuts and listen to the distant rush of the river where the beaver cavort playfully.
You get the general idea; a seriously upmarket space.
To achieve this vision we have been having more bonfires, clearing the hill so the gnarled old trees and the mossy stone walls of the terraces are visible.
‘Maybe,’ said le Comte as we stood today amidst the debris of branches and brambles, ‘we could fence off this area next year and let Luna and Daisy in to eat the ivy.’
I shook my head doubtfully, prodded the recalcitrant fire and added another half a tree. ‘I don’t think donkeys and ponies eat ivy. Sheep and goats eat ivy.’
‘We could get some sheep?’ suggested le Comte, gazing upwards at the sky. ‘Or goats.’
Maybe it’s the seven year thing. Perhaps we have now come full cycle and are back at the beginning. It’s a terrifying thought.