A smaller star.

In half an hour we'll be heading off to have Sophies stitches removed. How quickly time moves. 

The Metacam has made Bob calmer, steadier on his feet and seems to have given him the use of both eyes again. The drooling has eased and he's holding his body straight. 

On our walk down the hill he stands and glares at the goldfinches congregating in the mistletoe . The fact he's looking up and holding his head high another positive portent.

At The Rickety Old Farmhouse a Christmas ' partridge in a pear tree ' decoration goes up. The first of the season. Every year we vow we'll have a minimal Christmas and then rush at the last moment to put up a Christmas tree. 

To the florist to buy hyacinth bulbs. The florist, usually a taciturn individual, wants to engage in a deep conversation about Brexit. '' The problem with the English is they're islanders. All islanders are odd. The Corsicans are odd, the people who live on the Ile de Re are odd and the English are odd ". He pauses and then adds '' the Americans are odd too". Angus had never really considered America to be an island but there again Angus doesn't have the world view of a resident of deepest, deepest France profonde. We buy the bulbs, make suitable grunting noises in response to his diatribe and leave. Bob, ever hopeful that he'll find something to eat is disappointed .

We have fifteen hyacinth vases. 'The Font' finds six. The others are hiding together with the last five years worth of Christmas lights.

The Old Farmer has failed to weld together his Christmas Star. The metal has rotted clean through. He's put up a star ever since his first daughter was born. A routine that became all the more important since he lost her and his wife in a traffic accident. He's seen a replacement in an electrical store window in Toulouse. It's only a fifth of the size of the old one but '' it will do until I find something better ". He sets off in the Mercedes for his journey into the big city. Bob stands on his stump seat and watches him go.