Monday, March 23, 2015
Life is a little rosier.
A wet March Sunday. It rains for much of the day.
The PON's are loaded into the back of the car and taken to the upmarket cafe by the canal. The first motor boats have arrived. They've been given moorings facing the communal cemetery. Clearly some official is not happy that he's had to start issuing permits this far in advance of Easter.
The mayor shows up at the front gate. The boundary feud between the Belgian lady and the riding school has flared up again. The Belgian lady has got into the habit of giving her neighbours ' the finger ' whenever they drive by. This morning the riding school owners wife was passing and saw what the Belgian lady was doing. She slammed on her brakes, got out of the car and stormed into the Belgian woman's garden. The Belgian woman pulled out her mobile phone to call the Police. The neighbour grabbed the phone and threw it into the duck pond. The mayor is at his wits end. We give him a glass of a rather nice Pomerol. This makes him feel better. He has a second. Life is a little rosier when he leaves.
The French teacher has been trying to sell her house. She wants to move into a new build with a larger garden for the dogs. A Parisian couple came to see her house, twice. They said they wanted to buy it and made a verbal offer. The Parisian couple were supposed to show up on Saturday to formalize the paperwork. They didn't show. They don't reply to e-mails or answer their mobile. The French teacher is distraught. She too gets a glass of Pomerol.
Before dinner Bob, Sophie and Angus spend a good half an hour rug surfing. There is also time for ten minutes of touch rugby. It would have gone on longer but Sophie disappears downstairs with the rugby ball. This, much to Bobs annoyance, signals the end of the game. Angus finishes off what's left of the bottle of Pomerol.
A quiet tale of village life in deepest, deepest France profonde.