I'd half expected to see an array of elves on the village green but the deputy mayors decorating urge seems to have been sated by the creation of the cheery Santa Claus and his four log reindeer.
Sophie displays exemplary courage and takes two slurps from the stream before deciding that her paw hold is too tenuous and the fast flowing water too dangerous. She reverses, carefully back and opts instead for a lengthy drink from a puddle that's formed in a pothole on the Old Roman Road.
'The Font' gifted the town council two Swedish fir wreaths for the front door of the church. An attempt to give the village a more festive air. Their intertwined fir fronds and pine cones the epitome of svelte understatement. Perhaps they are just a little too Nordic for the locals. One has appeared high up on the wall of the village hall. The other has appeared on the wall beside the door into the town hall. The Swedes think wreaths are festive. I have a feeling they appear 'funerary ' to French village tastes. Best to put them where they can't be seen.
After a morning like that the best thing for a girl to do is repair to the kitchen in the hope that her family will have some form of muscular spasm and spill baked products on the floor. Failing that it's a good, warm place for a restorative nap.
Difficult to say what's the more impressive here - the Elizabethan English - ' In fury raging stout ? ' , the music or the photography. At times almost achingly beautiful. Covid has spurred creativity :https://youtu.be/f0UK5Bw89-s?t=23