Dogs dinner.

 

The view from the top of the ridge looking across to the mountains and the Spanish border can best be described as 'arid'.

By the village pond the old mayors efforts to cajole the local farmers into laying a kilometre long pipe to transfer water from the lake to the village pond seems to have worked. A 1" diameter pipe is disgorging a steady, if not luxuriant, stream of clear water into the moorhens pond. The water lily leaves are once again 'floating' rather than 'standing'. There are what I take to be contented 'chirping' noises from the shrubbery that line the pond edges. The moorhens are presumably happy ... and relieved.

We find the road to the bakers blockade by a farmers truck. He's one of those bolshie types who doesn't bother to acknowledge us. We decide to reverse and go another route rather than  spend an indeterminate time waiting for something to happen.

This morning we choose what appears to be an out of season  Buche de Noel to go with our Sunday lunch. I tell the bakers wife we'll be leaving in a couple of weeks. She too becomes emotional. Angus can't imagine a Scottish bakers wife becoming this emotional. 'The Font' thinks the tears may be related to losing a regular customer with a sweet tooth. 

We'd expected Emmaus, the French version of Goodwill, to come and collect some sofas and chairs. They fail to show which means the rest of the morning is spent waiting , in vain, for their arrival.

No point in delaying matters. We'll push on with clearing out The Rickety Old Farmhouse in the next week or so. Then we shall drive north at a leisurely pace while the lawyers do the paperwork on the house in Scotland. Until the new tenants move in we'll stay in the wee house in St.Andrews. 

Yesterday, we charted a route back northwards and made reservations. We'll ( generally ) not do more than 200 miles a day. This will allow plenty of time for Sophie to have  comfort breaks and long walks . Nearly all  French hotels will take dogs which makes travel easier. Despite it being peak tourist season we've been able to book ground floor rooms with their own exit onto gardens should Sophie need a midnight comfort break. ( Although it must be said that this may be overly prudent as once Sophie is asleep nothing wakes her ). Outdoor tables for dinner have been booked so that she can join us and not be left alone. Two of the hotels have even suggested that a member of staff walk Sophie while we're in the restaurant. All the hotels provide 'dog dinners and breakfasts ' as part of their e25 a night 'canine package'. The owner of one particularly grand ( and on the basis of our first conversation - somewhat snooty ) hotel even e-mailed to ask if Sophie would like to join 'their' labradors on an evening walk. The owners wife, who takes pride in being a dog person  had never heard of or seen a Polish Lowland Sheepdog .The French, it has to be said, make dog ownership an art.