Ten past six. The PONs wait while shoe laces are tied. It's noticeably darker in the mornings now. I'm having to turn the hall light on before heading downstairs.
The angelic duo pause, impatiently but uncomplaining, on the half landing. This is called being gently 'herded' out of the door.
Great excitement in the afternoon.The son of the lorry driver is getting married. A hundred cars show up. The village green turns into a parking lot. The mayor, standing on the town hall steps, is resplendent in his tricolor sash, crimplene blazer and pork pie hat. Today he has thrown sartorial caution to the wind and is wearing a purple shirt and black tie.
The PONs are intrigued by this unexpected activity. Big brother sits, front and central, on his stump seat, monitoring events. His sister sits just a little further behind him. Safely away from the action.
When the ceremony is over everyone toots their car horn. A hundred tooting car horns do little for the PONs equanimity.
After the beeping has ended there is time for a nap. Sophie finds the yogurt pot she'd carefully hidden after breakfast. She is disappointed to find that the yogurt pot still hasn't refilled itself. With a sigh she settles down under a garden chair. Perhaps the pot will be full when she wakes ?
High summer in deepest, deepest France profonde. Little things too inconsequential for a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.