Wednesday night. The President goes on television to tell the nation what's been long expected. Lockdown will be extended across the whole country from Saturday for four weeks. Schools will close from Monday and then stay shut until the end of the Easter holidays. 150,000 non-essential shops will shut. The number of ICU beds will, hopefully, double from 5,000 to 10,000. Rather alarmingly for a politician he says ' We have not lost control ... but we can't be in denial either'.
This morning the postman stops at the front gate to say it's has last day on this round. He's got a promotion and will be moving to a desk job in the post office twenty miles away. This, it seems, means he won't need to get up at four every morning in all weathers. He was one of those always cheerful type of people and this news seems to have made him doubly cheerful. I wish him well.
As Angus and Sophie set off on our start of day tour of the village the Old Farmer shows up in the silver ' they don't make them like this any more' Mercedes. He's wearing a brown check shirt with a red 'pencil' tie, a brown trilby, and shiny blue track suit trousers held up by red suspenders. A pair of blue check slippers finish of the ensemble. He's not bothered with socks today. Quite the outfit. Formality and comfort in balance. The venerable Ford Transit motor home was running rough on last weeks trip to Marseille. This morning is a morning for cleaning the oil pump and planning future journeys. I don't tell him about 'lockdown'.
Sophie leads me down the hill. She is distracted by the dragon flies that have returned, en masse, to the stream by the waterfall. Nature is on a roll.