I love the Claudes

This morning Claude Carminati from Le Poujol sur Orb delivered 10 tonnes of the most beautiful potager soil I have ever seen. It's a mix of rich loam, river silt, rotted organic horse poo and leaf compost. I'm absolutely thrilled to bits with it. Light, well-aerated, friable and nutritious. 300 well-spent euros.

Now I have to wheelbarrow it about 100 metres to the raised beds, fortunately downhill. I have 12 beds ready with geotextile in place.

Each bed takes at least 8 wheelbarrows worth and a deeper one of them takes 16. I've done 8 loads, so just another,say, 100 to go. Easy peasy. I have a whole weekend and a tub of ibuprofen.

Claudes are my favourite men. Claude-at-the-garage swoons over our ancient tractor and caresses it like a lover before massaging its achy bits and replacing the over-worn shoes and pouring soothing oils into its joints. Claude-the-oh-so-speedy-plumber gave us yesterday's blip along with working water, loo and cooker. Claude-the-dirt pitched up full of smiles at 8:30 this morning, along with another beautiful sunrise, to deliver the soil in which all our future lunches and suppers will grow. How could I not love Les Claudes?