Tuesday, February 7, 2017
Monday morning. The garage comes to take away the 'Loonj'. We're hoping the repairs will be done next week.While the car is being winched onto a trailer the men arrive with the new clothes dryer. The electricians also show up.
Sophie continues her schedule of ever lengthening walks.
The Old Farmer falls down the steps from his terrace. Fortunately, we're in the garden and hear him shouting for help. It was his 85th birthday yesterday. The sapeur pompiers are called. Angus brings across a garden chair and the old fellow is lifted into it. We call his daughter. He worries about his identity papers and credit cards. ' The Font' finds them then wraps him in a blanket in case he's suffering from shock. He protests but makes no attempt to move it. The Belgian lady is summoned. She was on her way to a yoga class and is dressed in a black body stocking and a yellow straw hat. She is distraught. ' Mon pauvre! Mon pauvre! ' .
The ambulance takes twenty minutes to arrive. The paramedics assess the old fellow then sedate him. I'm hugely impressed with their focused professionalism. The paramedics ask me who the lady in the body stocking is as if they're wondering whether to sedate her too. I'm presented with the clothes the old fellow had been wearing. They must have put him in a gown in the back of the ambulance. The mayor is called. Later, in the evening, we phone the hospital and discover our neighbour has broken his hip. This is not good news. They're thinking of operating as he's in great pain. A major change in this old soldiers life is coming. Tomorrow ( or possibly even this afternoon ) 'The Font' will drive the Belgian lady to the hospital.
On our pre-dinner walk Bob demonstrates his preference for muddy water in a ditch rather than fresh water in a bowl.
So passes a Monday in deepest, deepest France profonde. All of life's little victories and defeats are played out here.