Monday, May 11, 2015
The gentle scent.
Hot. Up into the 30's. For non-metric readers that's 90 degrees plus. The PON's doze, chase pigeons and then doze some more. The morning trip to the cafe under the arcades now undertaken at seven when the air is still cool.
Bob is keen to take his squeaky toy with him to the afternoon rugby match. I explain that this may not project a suitably 'rugby playing' image. He settles for a carrot from the chiller compartment of the fridge.
The roses this year growing rampant. After five years of investment there's now more than a hundred of them. On a still evening the gentle scent wafts into the house. Roses and Ceanothus seem to love the thick clay soil that The Rickety Old Farmhouse is built on. Everything else seems to wither. This makes the choice of what to plant straightforward.
Sophie , for some reason best known only to her, avoids the sun by sleeping under the car. Bob comes indoors.
And so another lazy almost summer day comes to an end in deepest, deepest France profonde.
At the end of the VE Day service at Westminster Abbey the bells are 'fired' . Instead of peeling they all strike at the same time. A procedure that is more complex than it sounds due to the length of ropes and the duration of the chime. The sound quite remarkable - not least for the fact that this is the first time I've ever heard it. 'Firing' is presumably only used for very special occasions.