" I write poetry too ".

The first flock of geese are spotted heading south down the coast towards Northumberland. They honk loudly as they go. A group of them break away and land on the recently harvested wheat fields and are soon busily gleaning the fallen ears of grain. The swallows that we thought might have headed home, haven't. They are busy doing miraculous feats of airmanship in the barns by the cows field.

The farmers wife has been invisible for the last few days. Babies have been born in the village ( two so far this month and a third on the way ) and well honed neighbourly routines have sprouted like wild flowers after rain. Advice is given, visiting parents entertained, dinners cooked ,shopping bought and elder siblings given lunch and sleep overs. News of the newborns progress is passed on by word of mouth and greeted with delight. In a small farming village there is an entrenched feeling that the arrival of new lives pressages continuity. It was exactly the same in the French village. All is well with the world...or at least this small part of it.

With the fun fair gone the shopping street is once again looking recognizable.

The newly restored fountain has sustained some damage to its concrete balustrade. It could have been worse.

For dinner we go to the new restaurant that's opened up where the old Brewdogs pub used to be. In the space of five weeks its been transformed from somewhere tired and dingy into a bright and modern restaurant. We've delayed going to allow time enough for any teething troubles to subside and for the chef to settle in. There is a queue at the front door which augers well. The food proves to be good, the service efficient and the cost reasonable. It was fun and we shall go again. All of the nights co-diners were fellow townies which I think is a good sign. The owner takes the time to come over for a wee blether with each table. This is good PR . Happy locals are the ones who are likely to turn out  for dinner in February.  At the moment the chef is managing three seatings a night. 

Afterwards we pop into the pub facing the divinity school for a night cap. A local mutt decides Angus is a dog person and is keen for a chat and a tickle.  The place is full of tables of hearty young men in shirts and ties with a few tables of golfers and English tourists interspersed among them. There's a summer rugby school on at the university and scrum halves from all over the country are here to hone their kicking skills. Rugby being a conservative game they've dressed for dinner. Some are wearing jackets that they've grown into and are in the process of growing out of. Others wear 'interview' suits. Haircuts are uniformly short and practical. They eschew wine for the volumetric cost effectiveness of beer . When one of them becomes too boisterous the others silence him with a loud shhh followed by silence and embarrassed laughter. Who'd have thought that 20 year olds have ties - let alone wear them? There are some quietly conservative things about life in Britain that surprise even the British. One young man tells the attractive young American student working behind the bar that " I don't only play rugby. I write poetry too ". How's that as a line ? Her heart seems unmoved by this  revelation of his inner muse. They finally finish leaving the rest of us to marvel at their boisterous civility and good naturedness.

Practical advice for dictators :https://fridainsight.substack.com/p/how-to-become-president-for-life

English ideas for hot weather eating:https://theyorkshiregourmet.substack.com/p/appetite-in-the-age-of-heat-addled

Men and women respond differently to drugs :https://www.the-scientist.com/female-brains-wake-up-from-anesthesia-differently-than-male-brains-74843

It was quite literally a different world. The hit song from this day in August 1939 :https://youtu.be/U1NeqzYqgEU?t=98