Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Away from the bright lights.

Overnight another storm. The power goes off . At two thirty Angus peers through a crack in the shutters and sees a solid sheet of hail blowing along the lane. More Siberia than France profonde. 'The Font' and the PONs are oblivious to the manic percussion above and around them. This morning the Internet very slow. The wireless antenna on the roof might have been hit by lightning.

By seven the sun is up, the ground is drying out and the PONs are ready for a day of high adventure.

Both Bob and Sophie run everywhere rather than walk. I wish I could remember if previous generations of PONs were as enthusiastic about life at this age. The things one forgets.

Bob has had a major beard trim. Today I can see that one side is longer than the other. Bob did not sit still for his beard trim so a degree of lopsidedness is not surprising. 

On our way home from the morning walk we pass the mayor in dungarees and tartan pork pie hat watering the window boxes.  For the centenary of the end of the 'Great War' Angus agrees to buy four 'Princess Anne' standard roses , one for each corner of the war memorial and some Noble Anthony's to make a rose border between them. The mayor informs me that as a twenty year old he stood at the catafalque in Algiers guarding the bodies of soldiers who were being returned to France. 

I ask after the mayors wife. It seems she fell on her new hip on Saturday and again last night. '' She's in agony " he says with an almost invisible hint of emotion. The mayors wife is always smiling, always willing the mayor on, always at village gatherings. They are without a doubt some of the nicest people we've ever met. You would never know, walking stick excepted, that she was not fighting fit.

This morning the mayor will be putting up the official photo of the new French President on the wall of the mairie. At the moment it's wedged into a space behind the photocopier and his desk. It will be hung from a nail on the wall as soon as the mayor finds a nail. '' M'Ongoose. You wouldn't happen to have one ? And a hammer I could borrow ? ".

Village life in France profonde, or Scotland or anywhere far from the bright lights and sophistication.

Here's some indescribably beautiful cello playing for an unrelentingly hot August morning :


  1. All those beautiful David Austen roses. Angus, your goodself, the Font and of course the PONS are very gracious and caring people. Absolutely no doubt about it.

  2. Our internet (in the Touraine) has been unstable for a couple of days. No signs of storms though, except one flash of lightning last night.

  3. We once inherited a garden full of David Austen roses, and lovingly fed them with the best that the local riding stables could provide and were rewarded with the most magnificent blooms. Some years later when we sold, the future owner said they would be the first thing to go - to be replaced by a few square metres of ready-mixed concrete !
    Heavy storms here last night, thunder, lightening - earth shaking, but at least the pool is being filled.

  4. Bob, about the uneven beard thing, I totally sympathise. Gail has now been living in Aberdeen for too long and has become reluctant to spend money on 'fripperies' like a professional dog groomer.
    Toodle pip!
    Bertie (a fellow sufferer).

  5. Good luck to the mayor's wife. She sounds like a beacon for the village.
    I keep watering the tomatoes, which usually makes the dark clouds unleash plenty of rain a few hours later and moot my effort. So far, no luck with that. A few feeble sprinkles. Some lightning and thunder. But no real rain. The heat is supposed to end tomorrow, though. I suppose it's all the best for the wine harvest.

  6. Hari OM
    Having just spent a slightly manic week in Edinburgh, it has been rather blissful to leave the bright lights behind and settle into the rain storms and mists of dark West Coast and the welcome of neighbours. We haven't had the thunder and lightning. Sophistication does lurk in various corners though... YAM xx

  7. Thank you for the beautiful peaceful.

  8. One has to wonder what the odds-job man does...the mayor seems to undertake all the tasks which would fit that job description. I hope you'll supervise the planting of the roses so that it's done correctly.
    Wonderful cello.

  9. Sending wishes for rapid healing to the mayor’s good wife.
    The roses will be splendid.
    I don’t like to say that Bob looks unbalanced but . . .

  10. Sending more good wishes to the mayor's wife...Bob, who ever even looks at your beard with those beautiful brown eyes of yours to stare into!

  11. At the end of my day, the video was perfect to listen to. I can't remember when I was not in love with the cello - To me, it's one of those instruments where you feel like you can hear a person's soul when they play it.

    Your mention of the storms of course has me thinking about Texas. Am I remembering right that you have friends there? If so, I hope they are safe.