Cuckoo

Six am on a Monday morning in June. Dog and master are up and about. They have been for some time. Half an hour ago dog heard a C-A-T outside the front door and felt it necessary to let everyone know that there was some serious malfeasance afoot. 

At this early hour the only village life is a particularly noisy cuckoo enjoying the sunrise. The cuckoo  repeats his line twelve times, pauses and then does his start of day routine all over again. We head off down the ox track to the stream. Sophie has a long , noisy drink before heading back up the hill through the long grass.

This morning we drive to the greengrocers for the first time in a year. Despite the early hour there is a queue of people waiting outside. Shopping habits have changed due to the pandemic. Looking at this mornings age profile we can assume that shoppers of a 'certain age' are getting up an hour earlier to avoid the crowds. Everyone is wearing a mask although three of my fellow shoppers are of the 'wear it over the mouth, not the nose' variety. We head straight for the white asparagus.

Peaches appear. They look the part but are as hard as iron. Still too early in the season.

I've given up listening to France Inter on the radio in the mornings. To appeal to a younger audience the presenters have developed an enforced enthusiasm that sets your teeth on edge. They have a heartiness that seems 'pharmaceutically' enhanced. This was the song du jour on the inanity free Toulouse station that we now listen to - a toe tapping start to the day :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08beVMVWfnI

The last place in London where you can buy those things that every other shop in the UK no longer stocks :https://www.labourandwait.co.uk/collections/household