La simplicete est la sophistication supreme.

We're sitting on the storm drain watching the sun rise when the young garagiste drives by in his little black Citroen with the raspy exhaust and heavily tinted windows. He slams on the brakes and reverses. In the early morning half light the reversing lights shine brightly. It seems he's getting married in the town hall on December 15th. We are invited. '' It's going to be a small affair. Just family and friends " he says. I wonder why he should invite us but put the thought to the back of my mind. The reception will be in the truly hideous local restaurant. '' No expense spared " he adds. ' Indeed not ' I reply with what , hopefully, sounds like conviction.

We have found a new cleaning lady. A down to earth French woman. She will do three hours on a Tuesday and three hours on a Thursday afternoon. Seems that she is fully booked up but one of her clients has just died. After helping the bereaved family get everything ship shape she'll start at The Rickety Old Farmhouse in the New Year. 'The Font' takes the view that anyone who is booked up as heavily must be good. The new cleaner suggests she starts her morning stint at seven thirty. This is fine by us. PON owners are not late risers .

The Old Farmer takes out the venerable Mercedes and proceeds down the lane at a stately pace. He stops and winds down the window. '' You should know the mayor has had a bad diagnosis on his stomach. A very bad diagnosis ". Before I can ask what all this means he's raised the window and driven off.

At the bakers this morning a radical departure from our usual routine. A croissant for me and a vienoisserie for the angelic duo,. They also get their usual curly bits from the end of the croissant. Bob looks at me with the happiness of a gourmet PON. La simplicete est la sophistication supreme.