Saturday evening. A time to lie on the cool grass and watch the world go by.
At nine the PONs start howling. Not just any howl but THE PON howl - the sort that spells out maximum danger.
The donkeys have got out of the barn and are careering through the village. I wander out to see what's happening. Five of the donkeys rush past and head off towards the chateau. The angelic duo redouble their howling.
Two other donkeys have been eating the wheat in the field opposite the gate. I manage to get them to reverse course towards their barn. They detour into the garden of the house belonging to the matron of the old folks home . There the donkeys display a keen interest in her primulas. The farmer and two of his sons eventually arrive. They escort the two primula loving miscreants away and then head off towards the chateau in search of the others.
This morning a crowd standing on the village green. I wander over with the PONs to find out what's happening.
During the night the village hall has been burgled.
A tearful Madame Bay ( today wearing her Turkish Sultan outfit of yellow velvet trousers, red velvet jacket and gold velvet turban held together by an enormous faux diamond ) watches as Monsieur Bay and his retired gendarme colleagues examine the scene for evidence . They inform us that the door had been jemmied open. '' The thieves forced the lock " Monsieur Bay informs me slowly in case I haven't quite understood what has happened. Madame Bay adds, with disregard to understatement, that 'the village will never be the same again '.
The thieves have stolen four trestle tables, eleven orange plastic chairs, a dozen bottles of red wine ( they've left the white ), six roast chickens and an iced sponge cake that had been intended for a couples 40th wedding anniversary. Their family had set up the tables the night before and had planned to surprise them this lunchtime. Angus quietly wonders who would steal such a strange assortment of items. Sitting at a stolen table on a stolen chair and drinking stolen wine would the thieves feel a pang of guilt when cutting into a cake inscribed to 'Thibault and Marie - 40 Happy Years ' ?
So starts a Sunday morning in a little French village where nothing ever happens .
7 comments:
What bad luck for Thibault and Marie. I do hope the burglars were caught.
But who knew donkeys could cause such mayhem in the village!
An inside job. Somebody has it out for the happy couple. I am impressed that the door had even been locked.
Our mairie rents out tables and chairs for something like €2 a table and 50 centimes per chair. It's cheaper to rent (municipal employees deliver and pick up) and let the mairie bear the hassle of storage. Why steal them?
In our village the school was broken into several times. Everybody knew who did it, but there wasn't enough proof to arrest, and the stolen goods were probably sold off for drugs immediately. The mayor eventually pressured the suspect's family to send him to relatives in Paris. Amazingly, no break-ins since.
So proud of your pups! What wonderful guard dog abilities!
I feel for Mme Bay: you hope to be long gone if such a thing should happen in your "home".
It is such a violation. I feel that way about Trump. Violated.
Hari om
...where nothing happens so much, it entertains the world! I do unedrstand Mdm Bay's distress thoug... YAM xx
What a great start to my day. You paint such a picture!
How unfortunate for the celebration. I hope another way is/was found to mark the anniversary. I miss reading about Madame Bay - And I can't help but think that if anyone could find the culprits, it would be her. Or Sophie, since she's pretty good at finding leftover morsels.
That was a strange assortment of stolen items. Perhaps the police should scope out parties around the area.....
Post a Comment