Sunday morning.

The regional elections take place today. The new mayor has moved voting from the confines of his room in the town hall to the village hall. This is a sensible idea amid a pandemic  but one not approved of by the village elders who are surprised  that the venue has changed. The polling booth will be open until six this evening but most of the voters, being good country folk, will have cast their ballots by nine this morning. At six thirty the new mayor and three councillors are already in position. This is slightly unnerving as its a good hour and a half before the doors open. They all greet Sophie.

The old i-Phone manages to catch a youthful moorhen hurrying to the safety of the shrubs that edge the pond.

Yesterday we went to collect the new i-Phone. Getting logged on proves to be  a 'challenge'. Somewhere along the line Angus set up an Apple account and has subsequently forgotten all the security questions and passwords. This is not a straight forward issue to rectify.  The security code has gone from 4 digits to 6 and the set up process requires a PhD in cyber technology.  'The Font' somewhat unhelpfully observes that this is a story line that Angus trots out whenever new technology such as a new toaster enters the house . Further proof that I've turned into my father. 

Off with Sophie for some carrots. Nothing like a chilled carrot to cool a girl down in this heat. By the carrots in the greengrocers a pile of some sort of enormous root vegetable.

We venture down to the river for a coffee . The little cafe on the embankment has no croissants. Indeed it has nothing to eat. I promise to return at a later date.

 Sage advice:https://twitter.com/thrill_tweeter/status/1406133063445139459