It's hot. By noon the readout on the little Skoda's dashboard shows its 39 degrees.
The seven seat Volvo comes into its own. 'The Font' heads off to the high mountains with the Americans. Up there amidst the snow it promises to be cooler.
There was some discussion about taking Bob and Sophie but the thought of a long drive in a full car, in the heat, with two lively Sheepdogs only had one possible outcome. Experience counts. The PONs and Angus stay behind.
Sophie, who initially greeted the newcomers as if they were mass murderers, has now decided that they have their uses. They can be cajoled into Throwing the Furry Fox at all hours. She is decidedly unhappy to see them go. Bob wonders who will play touch rugby with him after midnight.
From the top of the ridge Bob and Angus can just make out the Pyrenees peaking out from the heat haze. Sophie is too busy exploring in ditches to have time to look out for mountain peaks. She finds a pigeon skull which she crunches with self evident satisfaction. Angus says ' No ! ' to deaf ears.
The village is taking on that late summer look. The grass parched, the leaves on the plane trees turning brown. Two tractors roll down the lane in the morning and a small convoy of cars holding itinerant Spanish melon pickers rolls the other way in the afternoon. Sophie spends much of her afternoon lying in front of a fan, snoring.
So passes a quiet , high summers day in deepest, deepest France profonde.