Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Like mountains, high soaring above.
It's ' The Fonts' birthday. Bob and Angus are up at five to cut roses in the garden and lay the breakfast table.
Sophie wanders in to see if there's anything for her to eat. She stands and stares in her best guilt inducing way.
'The Fonts' father always said that first thing in the morning and last thing at night we should talk to family dogs as if they're our best friends. This way whatever disasters may occur during the day they know they're 'forgiven'. I tell Sophie she's a beautiful girl. After twenty minutes chasing squirrels this may not quite be the best description but her tail goes into hyper-wag mode. Angus is rewarded with a lick.
Bob watches me as I top up the swimming pool. Amazing how much water is lost every day through evaporation.
After a hectic start to the day the PONs settle down in the cool for a deep sleep. Their owners head into Toulouse. It's nearly nine when we get there but the town has that deserted post-apocalypse look that you only see in 'B' movies.
We wander into the cool cathedral. A strange building. It was going to be huge but the construction was interrupted by the Black Death. What is left is a smidgen of what was planned. An overly tall side aisle and various enormous chapels. None of them aligned with the other.
The cathedral deserted. We're joined by a trendily dressed young French father ( at that age where there's only one child and he's managing to get some sleep ) who points out the figures in the stained glass windows to his two year old daughter. He tells her that one shows '' Justice like mountains, high soaring above ". Presumably he's a lawyer. She giggles and holds out her arms to be picked up. Father and daughter pirouette out of the church to the sound of her ever louder laughter. Summer innocence.
Alone again we watch the sun light up a little side chapel. On the wall a huge 18th century picture of a virginal saint about to be put to a particularly grizzly death by a group of hairy heathens holding a variety of blunt objects.
The Old Farmer returns from his appointment at the hospital. He's gone in his late wife's car. Carefully polished and made road worthy for the occasion. Later today we'll find out what the prognosis is.
Who'd have thought it ? :