It's been wet but now it's dry. And warm. 21 degrees yesterday. We're back to morning walks without a jacket.
'The Font' heads back to London to do the Christmas shopping. Angus is asked, as he's asked every year, what he wants. Angus can't think of anything. This is deemed to be extremely unhelpful.
The angelic duo have long walks. At the crossroads we stop to talk to the man who breeds goats. He ignores the PONs which is just as well as they are completely engrossed in smelling his trouser legs. The goat man talks in highly animated sentences complimented by uncoordinated arm waving. I have absolutely no idea what he's saying. When faced with impenetrable local accents the best thing to do is stare someone in the eye and make sage noises. I think he's told me that he went to Toulouse yesterday, that it took two hours and the demonstrators were blocking the bridges. He also, and less probably, seems to tell me that he used to be a police sniper who could shoot someone dead at 800 metres. 'Oh la la' I reply. This is an affectation that is only used when I have no idea how to extricate myself from a conversation and don't wish to appear impolite.
After smelling the goat scented trousers the PONs have a long, dream filled sleep.
The young garagiste stops to chat. I ask what he would like as a wedding present. He promises to ask his girlfriend and tell me tomorrow.
And here is Christmas song #2 from New Zealand. The big brothers glance ( something all younger siblings will recognize ) at the 0:55 mark is priceless : https://youtu.be/VAjLBOb4AVY