Wednesday, February 24, 2016
'' Amazing how a dog can come to look like its owner " says 'The Font'. A hint that Angus should have his hair cut.
A moment spent smoothing down those wayward curls and the PON boy is ready for a trip into town with his master . Sophie stays behind to supervise the preparation of lunch.
Bob settles on the linoleum next to the sickly aspidistra. By the window an old farmer reads aloud from the local paper to two other old farmers seated on the overstuffed red leather sofa. They all agree the world is in a dreadful state. The barber and a group of his customers have hired a mini van and are off to Perpignan for the funeral of one of the towns retired firemen. '' He should have been buried here but he went to visit his daughter for a holiday and died. That's why we're going there " the barber tells me by way of partial explanation. In deference to the age of those going to the funeral the mini van will stop at each of the motorway rest stops for 'comfort breaks'. Crates of beer have been acquired. They have allowed five hours for what should be a three hour journey. The return trip may be longer.
'' That will last you a couple of months " says the barber to a surprised Angus who now sports a French Foreign Legion look. Whatever happened to the light trim ?
On our way home we pass The Palace of Garlic and say hello to the owner.
Then it's onto the cafe for a coffee. Bob gets a bowl of water. Two old farmers come over and chat to him. They're at that marvellous age where it doesn't matter who you talk to. Bob is delighted to reciprocate.
One of the old farmers has parked his car in such a way that no one is likely to scratch the paint work. It's positioned exactly in the middle of four spaces.
So starts our day in deepest, deepest France profonde. Little things too unimportant for a diary but too important to be forgotten.