Bob starts his day as he means to proceed. Enthusiastically.
Twenty minutes of Throw the Furry Fox is enough for the PONs owner but not enough to satisfy the PONs.
Sophie finally settles down for a rest.
In the Enid Blyton world of the French village we head off on our morning walk stopping as we go to stare at the six donkeys, the bad tempered goat in the old lady's front garden and the two horses in the field by the crossroads. We hurry by the field with the bull in it.
Late afternoon. The bells in the church toll. There's a funeral of a 98 year old farmer who used to live in the village. He's been in a home for the last fourteen years so we've never met him. A dozen old combatants holding flags are standing outside the church door in blazers, berets and grey crimplene trousers. The uniform of the Algerian war veteran. A priest has come from the departmental capital to officiate. All the villagers are there. The mayor is wearing his red tartan pork pie hat and his blue, white and red sash. We stand at the back of the crowd but the mayors wife sees us and ushers us to the front. '' Don't be shy ".
In the shopping centre car park they have started to erect Father Christmas's Grotto.
Angus can remember the more traditional islanders extinguishing the old years fires on Halloween.