The grass under the bird feeder has been worn away. This is where Sophie goes ferreting for sunflower seeds. Her first morning port of call.
Aude, the bipolar decaratrice, is late. She's put a can of Farrow and Ball 'Clunch' on the back seat of her little Peugeot. She's not secured the top on properly and as she turns out of the women's cooperative drive the can falls over. The back seat of her little Peugeot absorbs much of it. What isn't absorbed forms a not so small lake on the floor carpet. The lady with the cement mixer suggests they put sand on the paint to 'soak it up'. What sounds like a bad idea is aggravated by the fact they use wet sand.
The Old Farmer heads off to the cottage hospital for a check up. I see him walking slowly out into the middle of the lane with the aid of his zimmer frame. He's wearing a red check shirt and what appear to be a pair of grey nylon pyjamas. While we wait for the ambulance I chat to him. He didn't sleep much last night due to the pain. He then tells me with a directness and level of detail that is decidedly un-Anglo Saxon where it hurts. Mano a mano I sympathize profusely. I now understand why he's wearing a pair of loose fitting nylon pyjamas.
In the evening a band of clouds drift line astern across the sky. What looks like moisture spikes hanging below. I've probably seen this a thousand times but never taken in the simple beauty.
If your going to be interviewed by the BBC never ever do it from home : https://twitter.com/JOE_co_uk/status/840165524038377472