Thursday, March 13, 2014
Every day is yesterdays disciple.
Sunset. A large green woodpecker lands on the bird feeder scattering grain and sunflower seeds in every direction. Sophie spends half an hour hoovering these up. At five thirty this morning she lets out a howl. Her way of letting us know that sunflower seeds and grain, en masse, have a laxative effect .
While Sophie catches up with her interrupted sleep, Bob joins me on an early morning walk round the village. We explore the German billionaires new garage. Bob, who is now lifting his leg at a debonair angle, christens two piles of bricks and a pile of tiles. He seems to do this with a particularly joyful glint in his eye.
The Very Old Farmer ( not to be confused with the Old Farmer ) is having a conversation with the mayors secretary. As we draw nearer we hear that it's more of a diatribe than a conversation . This year, for the first time, the government has stipulated that some form of identification must be shown at the polling booth. An attempt to cut down on electoral fraud. The Very Old Farmer is letting the mayors secretary know that that this rule doesn't apply to him . " I fought in the war to get rid of the Gestapo ! " He then says several alliterative things that the mayors secretary listens to with Gallic aloofness.
In the afternoon a comprehensive list of what types of identification are acceptable is delivered to every letterbox in the village. Democracy in action.
There is no sign of the electrician. We irrigate the farthest corners of the garden with watering cans. Bob eats the young shoots in the newly planted lilac hedge.