Dogs and master are up early. Another startlingly bright but chilly morning. The sky the perfect blue only seen in estate agents photographs. On our morning constitutional we pass the mayor opening up the town hall. His wife is whistling while setting out a plate of honey croissants on the trestle table at the front door. Bob and Sophie are keen to say hello to the mayors wife and her honey croissants but are hurried along. The little lady with the purple hat is also there trying to open a thermos of coffee. She will be manning the 'security' table. Bees buzz, frogs croak and roosters crow. The sounds of a French Sunday morning. As we pass the mayor shouts out from the terrace '' I hope we don't vote for Frexit ! ". I laugh politely.
Amazingly, all eleven election posters have survived unscathed. The horrid little tike and his brother have resisted the temptation to draw horns and moustaches on them. There again even the tikes have understood that in a village of eighty seven souls it wouldn't take long to work out who the culprits were.
On our way home a small silver car drives slowly along the lane. Such is the peace of a Sunday morning this unexpected visitor is worthy of comment. In twenty minutes the combine harvesters carrying the young farmers will start to draw up on the village green in readiness for the opening of the Mairie and the start of the voting.
And here's a relaxing sound to start the day :