Friday, July 31, 2015
The frou-frou lady.
It rains in a desultory ' I can't really be bothered' type way. The small army of melon pickers in the field at the crossroads seem delighted with the break in the heat. We wave. They wave back. Bob and Sophie bark.
The wrens nesting in the wisteria are also rejuvenated by the fresher weather. They chirrup happily away. Sophie sits for hours glaring at them. Bob wonders what she's glaring at.
The village fete on Sunday. The lady in the purple hat who sings the Marseillaise on Armistice Day has set out a variety of plant pots along her garden wall. The pots are colour coordinated in a rather frou-frou way.
In the afternoon the council workmen deliver crowd barriers. These are stacked up behind the war memorial. An unbiased observer might wonder if arranging for crowd barriers is wishful thinking on the organizers part. On our evening walk Bob christens them.
Just another of those days with dogs, too uneventful for a diary but too important to be completely forgotten.
The heat returns tomorrow. The mayor and The Old Farmer will be getting the replica 16th century pottery kiln ready for its annual firing.