Out as the sun is rising. PON owners aren't allowed to sleep in on a Sunday. Bob pokes a cold wet nose in my ear at five fifty to let me know it's going to be the best day ever.
The Old Farmer and the Belgian lady head off early in the venerable Ford Transit motor home. They're going to the Pont du Gard in Provence for a few days. '' I've changed the brake linings' volunteers The Old Farmer. Some of the recent fibre glass 'improvements' to the motor homes body work remain unpainted. As they disappear along the lane I note that new curtains in a jolly multi-coloured swirl pattern have been fitted. A feminine touch.
Walk over, the angelic duo sit waiting, with barely concealed impatience, for their morning trip into town for a bowl of water and an illicit 'bakery' tasting.
The drawing room ceiling is now almost finished. The awful yellow replaced by a calm white. The walls are ready for their first layer of undercoat. The ladies of the Women's Cooperative tidy up and go. They are hosting a workshop on spinning and won't be back for two weeks. This works out quite well as we have to go off to the States for a few days and the thought of them in the house unattended sends a shiver down my spine.
The lawn mover has died. Angus buys a new one. Bob tries, unsuccessfully, to get into the back of the car to check it out.
The thickness of the berries on the trees is really quite remarkable.
Some Sunday morning music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a23945btJYw