Singing in the rain.

The day dawns with blue skies and a gentle wind. Two horse boxes appear on the village green. Four riders saddle up their mounts and trot off towards the Holy Well. Equestrian pilgrims. Within half an hour the skies cloud over and it starts to rain. A brief shower and then whooosh ! an almighty downpour. A sheet of water flowing along the lane towards the ox track where it makes a right angled turn and disappears down the hill. It takes one of the spring planted geraniums with it. Then, as suddenly as it came, the rain goes. Strangely there's no thunder.

Bob watches the downpour from his vantage point at the front door. Sophie steps over him and wanders out into the orchard. She's called back inside. She turns, looks at me and then trots off to the far reaches of the garden. Bob follows her. The two of them cavorting under the deluge like canine versions of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. 

The rest of the day is spent drying out, lazing in the sun and watching as latter day pilgrims and their rucksacks are loaded in the car and driven off to the station to get the afternoon 'connecting' train to Paris via Bordeaux. 

Today the builders return for two days to do some rendering . A trail of twigs and hazelnuts an indication that the field mice are starting to build their nests in the walls of The Rickety Old Farmhouse. Perhaps the rendering will stop them coming in. Perhaps it won't.