Quasi illicit.

Another Friday. Where did the week go ? On our pre dawn walk we see Neptune, Mars and Venus all glinting in a line above the horizon. Venus sparkles like a diamond.  Over on the other side of the valley the fat jovial harvest moon ( and what a moon ) merges with the dawn.  Owner and dogs, in their different ways, recognize this is going to be a great day. The Old Farmer is standing on his balcony in his pyjama bottoms looking at the sky. '' C'est magnifique " he says as we pass.

The PONs hurtle down the hill towards the stream. They'll be five in January. You'd think that their energy levels might have eased off by now but not a bit of it. Zest is what it's all about. Squeezing as much into life as they can.

Zest is not a word I'd associate with the ladies from the Womens Cooperative. The drawing room isn't finished but two of them have mysteriously started work on the end bedroom. They inform me in a somewhat peremptory tone that the bed and a wardrobe need to be shifted. A hallway full of furniture means there's no scope for rug surfing or touch rugby. There is some good news. Bob has taken to curling up and spending his nights asleep on rolled up rugs. This is both comfortable and quasi illicit. What could be better ?

A truck and a man on a mechanical digger roll past the house. The PONs watch from behind the safety of the gate. The mechanical digger excavates three holes. We cannot possibly imagine what they're for. Bob and Sophie make it plain that they'd like to be involved.

Such is the the excitement of life in a French village.

'Tasted the sweet perfume of the mountain grass'. There is something rather innocent and out of time about this. Springsteenesque music : https://youtu.be/7Qp5vcuMIlk