Seven thirty in the morning. Aude, the bi-polar decaratrice, arrives accompanied by the lady who weaves 'natural' alpaca wool into pashminas at the 'Wimmins Cooperative' . They're here to return the front door key belonging to Caroline - the bad-tempered ex-cleaning lady. With the key comes a scrawled missive stating the reasons for her abrupt departure " I am unable to clean a house where there is no order. IT IS BAD KARMA !!!! Never, never. I AM A PROFESSIONAL. I will not do walls !!!! ". There are another three paragraphs in this cathartic vein, much of it relating to muddy dogs. ' The Font ' reads the letter and sighs. ' Politer than her comments the last time she was here' observes Angus with a smile.
The rest of our day is rather mundane. The PONs check the perimeter fence clockwise then anti-clockwise. Unsure that they've done it correctly they repeat the process. From time to time we catch a glimpse of a tail waving in the far distance. This takes an hour.
Bob and Sophie then arrive in the cool downstairs kitchen and look expectantly at 'The Font' . Ancient Romans used to go in for bread and circuses; the PONs go in for a chilled carrot and a game of 'throw the furry fox'.
Before dinner Bob and his master go for a long walk along the top of the ridge. Sunflowers on one side, fields of stubble on the other. No sign of the mountains - they're shrouded in heat haze. Sophie, who continues to eat for France, stays behind to monitor the preparation of boulettes d'agneau aux herbes, sauce a la feta et au yaourt and clafoutis aux peches et amaretti. Hot weather food.
One of those days that's too unexciting to warrant an entry in the diary but too important to go unrecorded. Those ordinary moments that make up life in deepest, deepest France profonde.