Saturday, April 11, 2015
Downstairs to find Bob sleeping . Late last night the cat that pees in the woodpile had the brazen audacity to make an appearance outside the front door. The PONs gave chase. The cat rocketed up into an acacia tree. The angelic duo patrolled the garden for more than twenty minutes before being coaxed indoors. They were completely oblivious to the fact the cat was up a tree.
To the barbers. He cuts my hair with a cut throat razor while maintaining a lively conversation with the three ancient farmers perched on the old leather sofa. Angus sits very still. Bob snores contentedly away from his spot under the sickly aspidistra by the cash register.
In the market square a mass of pilgrims. You can tell they're pilgrims. They eat sandwiches, drink soup from thermos flasks and murmur piously. There is a noise that only pilgrims en masse make. The sound of tempered contentment.
Bob and Sophie are in fine form. They spend their day digging, barking, guarding and chasing. Blackbirds, squirrels and cats require constant vigilance. A PONs work is never done.
The French air traffic controllers are planning more two day strikes. The next strike scheduled for the day we're off to the States. One of those times when we have to get away. Last week no British Airways flights made it to Toulouse on Thursday and only one late at night on Wednesday. Should we drive back to London and pick up our flight there ? To make matters worse another strike is scheduled to start on the day we return .