Bitterly cold this morning. Sophie deals with the thin later of ice on the water bowl by tapping it with her nose.
The phone man comes - unexpectedly - to repair the Internet line. He's followed down the drive by the electricians - also unexpectedly - who have come to install spotlights in the rafters of the barn. The PONs greet them enthusiastically.
A sure sign winter is here - the hat man has set up his stall outside the newsagents.
Further down the street Bob and Sophie watch as two little dogs greet each other. One dog emits high pitched squealing noises. The other stands on its hind legs and hits the other with its paw - over and over . Bob is amazed. Sophie is hurried along. Bob is not a shrieker. When the spirit moves her Sophie can shriek for France.
The wonderful bakers has closed. The owner and his wife have decided to retire. '' It all goes to the taxman " he says to me with a Gallic shrug of the shoulders. This is sad. The baker with its deeply unfashionable blue and orange and purple creations was a hangover from an earlier age. A collection of chairs from the cafe are piled up outside with a handwritten 'for sale' sign on them.
Back at The Rickety Old Farmhouse Sophie reminds the workmen of her presence then savages a fallen oak branch.
Berlin. The British Ambassadors dog. Can diplomacy get any better ? https://twitter.com/SebWoodFCO/status/917701222341185536