A battle getting them into the car. A battle getting them out. Finally Bob and Sophie are standing in the centre of the covered market ready for their trip to the cafe under the arcades. Collars, name tags and leads all in place for their great adventure.
A journey of twenty yards. But my goodness what a twenty yards ! Each of the markets pillars sniffed, sniffed again, marked, then sniffed again for good measure. Bob wants to go left. Sophie wants to go right. We end up doing both . A pile of pigeon guano. Bob lets out a high pitched squeal of delight. A half can of Coke. This is prodded with little cold, wet noses.
The lady in the blue dressing gown and red pompom slippers walks over the say hello. She's brought her glass of lager with her. Sophie licks her hand. Bob looks on suspiciously. The two stern gendarmes stop their Renault Megane patrol car . One gets out, smiles, asks their names and tickles each of them behind the ears. The other gendarme, perhaps mindful of his important republican role , doesn't. Having got the little angels out of the car we now find they don't want to get back into it - ever. The waitress brings over two coffees. We sit on the back fender, tailgate open, between us two inquisitive faces peering out . Perhaps we'll actually make it into the cafe tomorrow.
Home to flatten what is left of the garden. Sophie recquisitions an old plastic filing tray.
A typical Sunday morning in deepest France Profonde. .