Our third day of showers after last weeks oppressive heat . You know you've become your father when you find yourself saying 'the garden needs the rain'. Bob enjoys his morning walk along the top of the ridge to the storm drain. We discuss last nights terrorist attack in Nice. We'd been warned to watch out for car bombs but this 2 kilometre trail of carnage was unexpected. The mood in the country is tense as people come to terms with the fact that there are those who are trying to stir up a guerre civile.
By seven thirty we're in the car and en route to the supermarket.
On the shelves of the wine section a luridly coloured pink bottle. Its name matches the packaging : 666 Secret of the Devils. Angus wonders why devils are plural rather than singular. He always thought there was one devil but many demons. This blog writer is always suspicious of wine that is in opaque bottles. The eye searing colour and the theologically doubtful name don't tempt him into trying it.
It had to happen. Sophie misplaces 'Lamb'. Bob finds it. His patience has been amply rewarded. A ten minute high speed chase ensues. Sophie lets her brother, and the village, know that she wants her dou-dou back. Bob, like all males, feigns deafness. 'Lamb' has lost half an ear and a portion of its mouth. Apart from that it's holding up remarkably well.
Peach tart time. Sophie spends much of Bastille Day evening in the kitchen monitoring the oven. A little pastry goes a long way to compensating for an oaf of a brother who steals your toy.