Sophie can see no earthly reason why she shouldn't go for long walks, savage her brother and hare around the garden. She howls to make it absolutely clear she's ready for anything. We put on an Adaptil collar to see if that makes her less 'demonstrative'.
She wakes wearing her feisty face and keeps it all day.
The Very Old Farmers internment takes place in the afternoon. It is what the Scots would call a 'dreich' affair. Four shaven headed undertakers in ill fitting polyester suits carry the coffin. They look like airport limo drivers ( couldn't they have done up their ties ? ). The only music a French song about Grandpa going to heaven. This is played on a boom box set up on a small card table by the cemetery gate. On the third attempt the chief pall bearer finds the right track on the CD. On the first go we get four bars of Don't cry for me Argentina, on the second three bars of Non, je ne regrette rien. The mourners look at their feet. No eulogy, no speech by the son, no refreshments afterwards. The mayor mutters a few words to fill the void as the coffin is lowered into the ground.
It seems the son has been responsible for the ceremony and has opted for the absolute 'no frills' option.
We invite him ( out of courtesy ) back to the house for a glass of champagne. He declines. '' No thanks Mate. I've got things to do ". The villagers are delighted to join us.
When I take Bob on his evening walk I notice that a For Sale sign has been prominently positioned on the Very Old Farmers front door.
On a jollier note the village monthly newsletter informs us that the lady with the beehive hairdo has grown a tomato weighing 1.152 kilos.