Sunday, January 26, 2014
The less you know the sounder you sleep.
It pours all day. The sort of rain that stings the face and trickles down the back of the neck. Outside the cafe under the arcades there's a half hearted attempt at a market. A few dishevelled shoppers and even fewer stallholders. The townsfolk displaying a very sensible aversion to wet weather. The waitress feeds Bob and Sophie their 'illicit' half croissant. " It'll stay wet like this for the next eight days " she informs me with a Gallic shrug of the shoulders. We buy our baguette from the baker and head home.
Two lively sheepdogs. Constant rain. Limitless energy waiting to be released. Finally, Angus puts on his wellington boots and heads off across the fields. By the time we make it to the end of the village he's accompanied by what appear to be two Polish Lowland mud balls.
A communication from the town hall. This year there will be a change to the election procedures. Some form of identification must be shown at the polling station and it is no longer possible to vote for someone who is not a declared candidate. Both are likely to be highly contentious. There may be trouble of the " What do you mean I need identification ? I've lived here all my life ! " variety. Still no news as to whether the mayor is going to stand again or whether there will be a battle between the heads of the two mutually loathing village committees. Watch this space.
Sophie keeps on appearing with pieces of floor tile. Despite a thorough search of the house we are none the wiser as to where she's getting them from.