Wednesday, July 15, 2015
'Bonjour M'Ongoose. Could you help me up with these ? '. The Old Farmer has found two metal benches for the back of the Ford Transit pickup. Yesterday afternoon was spent touching them up with white enamel paint. He wants both benches facing forward in the direction of travel. This proves to be impractical. Access can only be obtained by clambering over the side of the truck and then swinging yourself into position. An unlikely mode of entry for an eighty year old. Finally they are put in sideways, facing each other . This way the village octogenarians can climb in from the rear and make their way gracefully forward. ' What are you going to secure them to the floor with ? ' I ask. The look of incomprehension tells me that that Anglo-Saxons and the French will never understand each other.
To avoid the absence of 'comfort stations' The Old Farmer has plotted a tour of neighbouring Salle des Fetes with loos. Today they will be going to the village on the other side of the ridge. A thriving metropolis with a population of 42. A minnow in comparison with our chicly urbane 67. There will be 'fresh' faces to chat to and 'facilities'.
For Bob and Sophie a day for a long walk down to what was the stream but is now a slightly damp patch of mud at the bottom of the valley. On our way back we stand and watch as the octogenarians head off on their wind swept adventure. Angus prays they- and their unsecured benches ( and the wine filled stainless steel tea urn ) - don't have to brake suddenly.