Everyday life in a rickety old French farmhouse with two very lively Polish Lowland Sheepdogs.
A record of those little things too unimportant for a diary but too important to be forgotten.
Friday, June 19, 2015
The mayor is having problems with the funerary bier. There were complaints at yesterdays ceremony that it looked tired and could do with a new coat of paint. '' How old is it ? " I inquire. The mayor thinks it dates back to 1814 but can't be sure. He's thinking of painting it a colour other than black. ' Perhaps taupe ? ' . We leave him, and the funerary bier, outside the church.
To celebrate a full recovery from frozen shoulder Bob and 'The Font' head off for a power
walk round the lake. The first time they've done this together since the
unfortunate episode with the fisherman and the fish in a bucket. Bob skips as he heads off to the car. Sophie is left with me.
A very happy Bob ( he's followed ducks into the lake ) returns home to find that the builders have picked up the tiles for the terrace and are unloading them in the courtyard. They plan to start work sometime next week. '' Monday ? " I suggest hopefully. ' Maybe ' comes the reply followed shortly afterwards by a qualifying ' more likely Wednesday ... or Thursday '. Bob tries to interest the morose lads in a game of throw the furry fox. They finally succumb.