The enormous paella pan.

Another 100 degree day. We're out before six so that the PONs can enjoy an hours walk in the cool morning air. They get a second quicker trip around the village green at ten. Then after that it's time for lazing in the shade of the orchard or sleeping on the cool stone floors indoors.

Something opaque about the air today that says a sand bearing storm is heading our way from the Sahara.

Down by the river it's already hot. We turn and saunter back home. Loic, the heavily bifocaled gardener is there. He enthusiastically strims the peonies. My fault for letting him use the battery operated strimmer. It gives him such great pleasure. They'll grow again. Probably. 

Loic is in his fifties, still lives with his aged mother and is one of Gods happy people, completely trusting. He's as kind and gentle as the day is long. His mother has fallen and broken her ribs. He says she's at home but in pain. 

Angus works in the downstairs library. The temperature down here borderline chill. The PONs nudge me with their noses every half an hour or so. A reminder that there are more important things to do than work.

Sophie goes through life in the expectation that I might, just might, have some cooked sausages close at hand. In this she is disappointed.

Much activity on the other side of the village. The Salle de Fetes is being prepared for Saturday nights football final between France and Portugal. Red, white and blue bunting is hung from the rafters. The local cabinet makers widescreen home entertainment system is installed on the stage. Barrels of Pelforth are delivered. Late in the afternoon Wally, the depressive accordionist, arrives in his white flat bed truck with his enormous paella pan on the back.