Summer has arrived. The heat building as the day wears on. Bob and master are out of the front door at five thirty to water the garden while it's still cool.Bob takes the idea of watering the garden literally. He then clambers onto the wooden garden table where he can supervise what's going on.
The mayor arrives at seven to borrow a ladder. He's putting up the flags on the war memorial. Something to do with the Algerian War. He'll do the same again next week for the anniversary of General De Gaulles first wartime radio broadcast from London. The life of a French mayor is not a sedentary one.
In the afternoon I wander over to the church porch. Some measurements are better checked. The language used on the frescoes isn't French but Occitane. The old language of the region. The last Occitane speaking priest in the village retired in 1923. Some of the older villagers, the man with the Yorkie being a good example, still use it. Some , like Madame Bay, speak French but with an impenetrable Oc accent.