Monsieur Bay, the retired gendarme, is down with a summer cold. 'The Font' has agreed to take Madame Bay and her friend Yvonne from Angouleme into the departmental capital for the Wednesday morning market. Our octogenarian neighbour likes the Volvo. It's high enough off the ground for her to slide down from the front passenger seat with relative ease. Getting her up and into the car is less easy. Madame Bay and Yvonne from Angouleme are very taken with beige car seats although they are deemed impractical. Yvonne from Angouleme is wearing a broad brimmed straw hat which has to be taken off before she gets into the back. It takes some time for her to understand this. Madame Bay is wearing her trademark paisley patterned turban held together at the front by the Kohinoor diamond. 'The Font' has a look that tells me that even the abstemious may require a restorative/calming glass of wine for lunch.
A bright sunny start to the day for the two PONs and their master. The roofers return to finish off the work. Monsieur Noddie informs me that he starts work at six and finishes at one. '' To escape the afternoon heat ? " I inquire. ' No ! The wasps come out in the afternoon and we don't like being stung ' he replies with gusto. Sophie gives wide berth to the friendly pony that has escaped from the enclosure by the churchyard and is eating the primulas in a basket at the front door of the town hall. We lead it back into its field. No sooner is it safely back than it tries to get out again. The pony makes it quite plain that eating the primulas was much more fun.
The regional authorities have built a new site for the rubbish bins on the edge of the village. This started off well but it has now been discovered by fly tippers. The bins are always full. This morning someone has carefully arranged a variety of containers full of engine oil and aerosols of used wasp killer around the bins. The PONs take great interest in the bins but are ' encouraged ' along.
At the greengrocers a variety of round aubergine I've never seen before.
The shelves brimming with local peaches.
So starts a quiet Wednesday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde