It's been an eventful fortnight, in which I painted the spare room (quicker than waiting for the artisans or Luis to do it), cleared all clutter to prepare the house for photography, wrote several features and went to London to interview Tom Ford.
I have also been entertaining a house guest: Biff's sister Milou, who has come to stay for a week while Frances and David are in the UK. I'm sure they are feeling anxious as the last time they left a dog with me, I kept him. But they needn't worry this time. Milou is adorable and very well behaved - Biff deserves an ASBO by comparison - but I've realised that two dogs are a lot more work than one.
Still, if I ever find that my writing skills are no longer in demand, I could have a second career as proprietor of a luxury dog camp. In the past week I have been playing the role of chief entertainments officer (three organised country walks a day, one game of dog football), head chef (one home cooked organic dinner in the evening) and spa director (daily aromatherapy shampoo and brush out following a daily swim in a stagnant lake.)
The daily programme of activities starts at 8.00am with two sets of paws beating on the bedroom door. They then follow me everywhere for the rest of the day, two pairs of interested eyes staring at me intently.
But when I walk them round the village, everyone seems to smile. Curled up together like yin and yang, they look adorable. Or as Martine said after watching Coco Avant Chanel, 'these dogs, they could be Chanel dogs. They are black and white and very chic.' But I don't want to give Biff any ideas. Thanks to the compliments lavished on him on a daily basis, he already has an ego bigger than Brittany.