Kangaroos, football and foam noodles

So first up, we’re still having a heatwave. We’ve had days and days of temperatures hovering between 35 and 40 degrees and there’s no sign of it easing any time soon.

I am, as I think I’ve mentioned before, basically a lizard. I love the heat, so it really isn’t bothering me. The house, thankfully, is coping well too, although we’ve developed something of a daily ritual. Open every window at first light, close them again once the temperature starts climbing, shut every shutter and curtain, and then repeat the whole performance in reverse late in the evening. It feels a bit like living in a medieval fortress, but it works remarkably well.

The only downside is that the evenings never really cool down. It’s often still well into the high twenties when we go to bed, which makes sleeping a little challenging. The dogs have also become early risers because by mid-morning the ground is simply too hot for them.

Meanwhile, our daughter had a rather chaotic last couple of weeks at boarding school in the UK, with the school actually closing because of the heat.

That would have been the ultimate childhood dream.

I can vividly remember living in Hong Kong and waking up every morning to listen to the BBC World Service, desperately hoping for news of a typhoon signal that meant school would be cancelled. I don't think I was ever quite so invested in the weather forecast.

Unfortunately, because we couldn't collect her, she stayed at school while everyone else went home. Oddly enough, I remember a similar thing from my own boarding school days. Once the crowds disappeared and only the international students remained at the end of term, the whole atmosphere changed. The house mistresses stopped being mythical authority figures and became... actual people.

The last few days here have brought the Mistral back. This time it's a warm wind, so it isn't trying quite so enthusiastically to rearrange my facial features, but warm wind and dry countryside are never a particularly good combination. There was a bushfire over in the next village last night that burned around 70 hectares before being brought under control, and today we saw more smoke on the drive to Montpellier.

Anyway... enough about the weather.

What I actually wanted to write about this week was social connection.

There's now an enormous amount of research showing just how important it is. Strong social connections are linked to better physical health, better mental health, greater longevity and even a lower risk of dementia. As psychologists we talk about it all the time.

It's one thing understanding the evidence.

It's another thing living it.

Since arriving in France I've spent far more time on my own than I'm used to. I'm mostly an introvert (unless someone hands me a microphone!), so I don't need to be surrounded by people all the time. But I've realised there is a difference between enjoying your own company and becoming isolated.

During my first week here I discovered there was an 'English Speaking in Tavel' group. I emailed the lady who runs it to see if they needed a volunteer. They didn't, but she kindly suggested I come along anyway.

At my first meeting I was immediately identified as "the Australian" and interrogated accordingly.

"Do you have snakes?"

"What about the kangaroos?"

"The spiders?"

"Crocodiles?"

"Sharks?"

I'm beginning to think Tourism Australia may have a slight branding issue.

I did my best to reassure the group that Australia isn't quite the wildlife death trap the internet sometimes suggests, while also trying not to completely lie. I told them about cute echidnas and koalas. I even showed them pictures of wombats and told them that they do square poos (I think that one was definitely lost in translation). Sadly, they were not convinced and almost everyone in the group said they were too scared to visit Australia.

I've continued going to the group most weeks. Everyone has been wonderfully patient with my French, while simultaneously refusing to let me hide quietly in the corner. Apparently I am expected to speak. Regularly.

Oddly enough, they also enjoy asking me to read passages aloud in English because they like hearing the "correct" pronunciation.

No pressure then.

The group has now broken up for the summer and to celebrate we all met in the village for a shared meal. Everyone brought food, there was plenty of local wine, and despite the heat we spent the evening chatting in a cheerful mixture of French and English. It reminded me a little of the community get-togethers back on Scotland Island.

The conversation eventually moved from Australia's apparently homicidal wildlife to football, where I was asked whether the Australian team was any good.

Standing in the middle of a French village, there really wasn't much point pretending.

I admitted that compared with France... perhaps not.

The group have also been trying very hard to recruit me into their weekly aqua gym classes.

Now, I really do appreciate the invitation. It's genuinely kind, and I know it's really their way of including me.

But here's my dilemma.

I already do plenty of exercise. Walking, indoor cycling, strength training... all good.

Bouncing around in waist-deep water to enthusiastic French music while attempting to co-ordinate my limbs with everyone else's?

That may be where I draw the line.

Part of me thinks, "Go on, it'll be good for you to connect with some new people."

The other part suspects I'd spend the entire session trying not to accidentally punch the nice lady next to me.

Social connection, it turns out, sometimes involves stepping outside your comfort zone.

I'm just quietly hoping there might be another route to friendship that doesn't involve foam noodles.

Summer has well and truly arrived now and the whole village feels transformed. In June we celebrated the Fête de la Musique, when towns all over France fill with live music to welcome the start of summer. The roads through Tavel were closed, restaurants spilled onto the streets and there was a cover band that reminded me very much of our own band back in Australia. It was one of those evenings where everyone seemed to be outside and nobody was in a hurry to go home.

We've also made a couple of trips into Avignon to watch the World Cup on outdoor screens. Avignon really is a beautiful city. Almost every narrow street seems to open into another square filled with cafés, restaurants and people enjoying warm summer evenings.

One of the matches we watched was the Socceroos against Egypt. I'd assumed we'd find at least a handful of Australians cheering on their team.

Nothing.

Not one.

I wore my Australian football shirt anyway and, after changing pubs at half-time in the hope of finding some fellow countrymen, eventually accepted that we might be representing the entire nation.

When the match finished and Australia had lost, several locals came over to console me.

"C'est pas grave," they smiled.

"It's not serious."

They were all extremely kind.

Although I couldn't help noticing they looked just a tiny bit pleased that Egypt had won.

I'm still not convinced that aqua gym is going to feature heavily in my future, but I am becoming convinced that social connection is built one small interaction at a time.

A shared meal.

A conversation in broken French.

Someone patiently listening to your terrible pronunciation.

Or a group of delighted French football fans kindly pretending to feel sorry for the Australian in the room.

À bientôt!