If it’s endurable, then endure it. Stop complaining.

Start of day pandemonium as the PONs get ready for their morning walk. Sophie is incensed with the collar doves nesting in the rafters of the barn. She gives them one of her throaty 'eighty a day' barks. They are unimpressed. She glares and adopts her ' If it's endurable, then endure it. Stop complaining ' pose.

Bob has a slightly lopsided expression. He's slept on his side and the fur has yet to regain its full ' free form' state.

Sophie's bionic knees are in fine form as is Bobs shoulder. We walk the long way down to the stream along the track that leads past the little 12th century chapel. The roadside verges a riot of summer flowers. Not that the flowers interest the PONs. They're in search of badger droppings. On our way back we chat to the mayors wife who is opening up the town hall for todays voting in the Presidential elections. The outcome is not in doubt but it will be interesting to see how many of the farmers vote for the extreme right.

Onto the little market town for croissants. They've installed new Miroesque stainless steel street sculptures on the recently pedestrianized shopping street. Bob is greatly taken with these. They are 'dethreated'.

On our way home we detour to the iris farm for some tubers to replace the wild irises the builders drove over.

The wild blue ones, which grow in all the verges, are a joy.

Some of the 'blousy' hybrids less so.

I've forgotten cash and the man doesn't take cards. We'll return tomorrow.

Just another Sunday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.