Saturday, September 6, 2014

Head out, rump in.

Bobs favourite position is head out of the front door, rump in the hallway. This way he can monitor all the comings and goings at the Rickety Old Farm house. 'The font' exits by way of the kitchen door. This causes much consternation. There's a ' how did that happen ? ' furrowing of the eyebrows. 

The beefsteak fungus in the tree stump continues to grow. If it carries on growing like this it'll soon be a side of beef fungus. Sophie loves this foul, olfactory delight. 

The lady with the beehive hairdo arrives at the gate . '' I'm so glad you're home. There's a talk in the Salle des Fetes tomorrow night. A man's coming from the prefecture. You will be able to come ? ". The final sentence said with enough desperation to make us agree we'll be there. The invites were supposed to have been sent out ten days ago but somehow our new village secretary has forgotten to send them. She's unsure what the talk is about.


  1. A talk about an unknown subject by someone from the prefecture does not sound like that much fun for a Saturday night.
    You must be either very dedicated to village life or very sure there's nothing much on the telly!

  2. We think you might have to give the PONs tinned dogfood, in hopes they can clear the room if the talk is dead boring.

  3. The title had us worried for a moment. Sophie's new exercise video?

  4. Oh the cakes !
    Love the picture of Bob sun puddle surfing his paws

  5. We wait with bated breath to find out the subject of this talk...I hope all will be revealed tomorrow!

  6. Looking forward to your summary of the evening's talk.

    The fungus begins to look like something left over from special effects for a sci-fi flick. Do you hear it rumbling and muttering in the night?

  7. Bob, my dear, I know you wish you could command both doors at the same time, so that no one passes undetected....but you may have to get Sophie's help on this one.
    These poor invitations that never get mailed on time....why don't they just pop them into the mailboxes themselves's a small village.