The sky the sort of blue colour that you assume has been photo shopped. It's cold. At the cafe under the arcades the lady in the padded dressing gown, red curlers and pom-pom slippers is wearing grey track suit bottoms. She lifts her pre-breakfast glass of Pelforths in greeting.
The gardeners arrive, unexpectedly, to replace some laurel bushes flattened by last weeks snow. They unload the new bushes from the back of the flatbed and place them in the middle of the courtyard. Then they have a cigarette. Bob and Sophie are incensed by the arrival of what appears to them to be a forest of talking shrubs.
A man from the tax office comes to value the house. He's due at three but arrives at four fifty. No apology. He's wearing a GANT windcheater several sizes too small. His late arrival means he's not keen to linger. Having a French tax valuation is like selling your house but in reverse. Angus emphasises every negative he can think of. Better yet the man is clearly not a dog lover. He eyes Sophie's doo-doo , discarded in the middle of the downstairs hallway, with distaste.
A strange meteorological phenomenon. A rainbow pointing upwards into the sky rather than downwards. Something to do with a weather front passing through ? The word lenticular comes to mind. A fact dredged up from 'O' level days. 'The Font' thinks it's a prismatic cloud . Whatever, this is the first time either of us have ever seen anything like it. The i-Phone photo does it scant justice.
Things too small for a diary but too important to be forgotten.