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 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ob2_kbwSZJs