The storm.

The PON duo are waiting for me in the garden. Bob exudes an air of well mannered impatience.

Outside the Post Office two pilgrim dogs.  They look at Bob and Sophie as if to say '' You two don't know what you're missing ". Sophie wonders if their backpacks contain food. She is hurried along before there is a 'diva' moment.

Overnight a huge mountain storm. Lightning to the right of us, lightning to the left. The temperatures plummet. A gust of wind rips tiles off the roof. Torrential rain pours through . 'The Font' assembles buckets to collect the water. Outside a tree has fallen and blocked the road. A seventeen year old farm boy returning home in the wee hours drives into it. No one is hurt but his ten year old Opel Corsa is rather the worse for wear. We call the mayor who arrives at The Rickety Old Farmhouse in dressing gown, wellington boots and a fur trappers hat . He has a length of cable in the back of his little Renault. The tree is dragged into the middle of the village green. The mayor goes home to bed.

Bob is completely oblivious to the wind and the lightning. He finds the unexpected activity great fun. That ' we should do this every morning ' attitude to life. Sophie is also oblivious to the weather. She is much more concerned about the presence of the farm boy in the kitchen. Another serial killer ? The farm boy - shaken but not stirred-  is given a cup of coffee and then driven home.

Today I'll try to find a builder to repair the roof. The benches and umbrellas have already been pulled out of the swimming pool.

PS. At 7:10 this morning aforementioned farm lad can be seen standing on the village green , with two mates, looking at the damage to his prize Opel Corsa. '' Not too bad " he says cheerily. Angus looks at the crumpled front wing and wonders how he could possibly have arrived at this judgement. The optimism, or is it blindness, of youth.