Our day starts with a trailer load of cow dung being towed through the village. It will be spread on the field by the crossroads. Sophie thinks this is the Chanel No.5 of mornings. Angus is less sure.
We stop to admire The Old Mayors recent flower plantings. The concrete trough on top of the village well now looking resplendent in a multi-coloured display of begonias and pansies. The committee that awards points in the ' Best Floral Village' competition are due any day. Whether their tastes and those of The Old Mayor are in synch is yet to be seen.
Mother and three baby moorhens scatter as we approach. They seem to have moved their nest from the shrubs that line the edges of the pond to the water lily leaves in the centre. In this heat that's an entirely sensible thing to do. The chicks have grown from ping pong ball sized to double that in the space of three days. They spend their time paddling contentedly around the pond under the ever watchful eye of their mother.