Bob wakes me at 5:37 by sticking a cold wet nose in my ear. Knowing the bedroom is out of bounds he then retreats through the dressing room and lies on the floor in the hallway where his tail goes thwump-thwump-thwump.
His sister, who has been sleeping ( and snoring ) inelegantly on her back, is having a flat hair day.
The village odd job man has refused to deal with the weeds in front of the church. '' I'm too busy with the strimming and grass cutting " he informs the mayor. There is to be a wedding this weekend. At the rate the weeds are growing the bridal party will need a machete to hack their way through to the church porch. A 'supplementary' allowance will be negotiated. It seems the swaying Jesus has recently developed a rather more noticeable lean.
An air conditioning malfunction in the greengrocers. The chiller cabinets are pumping out cold air which condenses as dense fog between the counters. Angus doesn't linger too long in case he develops hypothermia.
So starts another day in deepest, deepest France profonde.
7 comments:
Bob woke you at around the same time that my Lab, Inca, came to let me know she was awake too ! Are they telepathic, so you think? Poor Sophie, flat hair is not a good start to a Diva's day, but cheer up, things can only get better !
How do you find the veg through the fog?
Tip for the mayor: He can get rid of those weeds by treating them with ordinary, cheap vinegar. Non-toxic, too.
That greengrocer fog looks as if you need a good navigational beacon.
The fog might add an atmosphere of mystery to your shopping. Trenchcoats with collars turned up.
Love Bob's wake-up technique.
...and sinister music playing quietly in the background.....
... feeling your way down the aisle of unknown produce!
Post a Comment