The PONs start the day with a level of energy and enthusiasm that makes their master feel decidedly old. Bob bounces out of the front door followed by his equally bouncy sister. They hurtle round the garden in pursuit of invisible things. Sophie sees a blackbird on the lawn and shrieks at its audacity. Some dogs bark - Sophie's a shrieker.
In a couple of hours I'll get the big car out and collect The Old Farmer for his trip to the hospital. The front seat has been moved as far back as it'll go so that he can get in easily. Bob and Sophie's dog blankets have been taken out of the back to improve the air quality. The angelic duo will be keen to join us but PONs, an eighty six year old with a dodgy hip and a hospital admissions desk are not the ideal combination for a stress free day.
Yesterday The Old Farmer spent his day mowing the lawn and making sure the venerable Ford Transit motor home and the equally venerable Mercedes were polished and ready for his return. He seems cheerful enough. 'The Font' remains unsure that elective surgery at 86 is a good idea but we keep this thought to ourselves.
Here at The Rickety Old Farmhouse the ladies of The Women's Cooperative have settled in. They start to shift furniture then sit cross legged on the floor in a circle and smoke something that may, or may not, be entirely legal in France. They make their strange meditative noises. Little work is done apart from the stripping and sanding of the skirting boards. Three of them believe that they're going down with a cold. The afflicted trio leave after two hours.
I ask Aude, the bipolar decaratrice, if the decorating will be finished today as promised. The reply is non-committal. The paper hanging lady has been busy at a architectural welding course in Bordeaux. She will be here this afternoon to put up the striped paper in the hall. Decorating the downstairs bedroom and snug will , I fear, have to wait.
Rather good to know that some anniversaries are still remembered : https://twitter.com/twitter/statuses/975861005334073349