Well what a lovely day.

Well, the weather was shite. It was 15 degrees and rained in the morning but there were bursts of sunshine at various times.

For the last year or so, I have been going to a local cafe for my French conversation group. I love having this weekly catch-up with them because the cafe is quite social. People know each other who go there and the owners speak French too.

Today was our last day for the year before the Christmas break and instead of going to the cafe, one of the group hosted it at his wonderful home. The moment I walked through it’s threshold holding my cheese platter, I felt instantly welcomed. The fireplace was lit (it was a cold day) and it’s smell and warmth was like walking into a cozy hug.

I loved his place. Timber beams, cozy chairs and sofas, throw rugs and books galore. This was a place that was lived in, had stories to tell. This was a house that I aspired to create.

We went outside in the yard where he showed me the stable (I nearly had conniptions). Through the bluestone on the ground and opposite the rose garden, was the original stable on the site since 1921 with the original original brick floors and the stable door that opened top and bottom.

Underneath the pergola under a giant 50 year old acorn tree we sat, ate our cheese and canapés, drinking wine and chatting in French. Nearby a lot belly wood fire was keeping us warm.

Afterwards, a couple of my classmates set up the amplifier and mic, grabbed their guitars and sang French songs and folk music. The weather has cleared, the sun was out and we sat around on the benches and chairs, glass of wines in our hand listening and singing along. I listened intently to understand the words being sung trying to madly translate them into English in my head. Later one of his other friends, a lady who is actually French (the rest of us were all simply Francophiles), sung us a few Edith Piaf songs. She had a glorious voice and while she sang, I thought about how wonderful it was to share this experience with them. I didn’t think of anything else except being there in that moment. It was so peaceful.

I wondered how lucky I was to be sitting in this beautiful garden near a couple of some very old trees, glass of wine in my hand, on a weekday listening to my fellow conversation group members playing music and singing and enjoying each others company. When the sun broke through the clouds, it was warm and magical. We spoke in French as much as we could so I guess it was a lesson for us.

I came home excited. My clothes still smelling of wood fire and not wanting to change just so I could keep smelling it. I came home inspired to recreate my own back yard into a place that I want to feel at peace too. I’ll have to start collecting more pots, bric-a-brac and plants. I said to Andrew, I want our home to exude that same cosiness. Books, rugs, paintings, candles, flower arrangements, lamps. It might seem “olde worlde” but I’d take that any day over modern sleek cold aesthetic any day.