Free advice for French bank managers. When asked why the bank is sponsoring a hunting association that allows dog beating - use your Public Relations training. Pretend to be interested and say : 'I'm horrified. I shall look into it straight away and come back to you ". The foreign mad person across the desk will then be satisfied that something is being done and go. Job finished.
However, do not under any circumstances use the following responses :
- "No one else seems to have noticed"
- "These photographs could be of anything. You're not a very good photographer"
- "It's really not something that's important enough to spend more time on"
- "Write to whoever you want. It'll make no difference. It's my decision and it's final ".
- "If you don't like our ( the French ) way of doing things perhaps you should move".
These are the equivalent of pouring benzine on a smouldering fire. Not a good idea.
This morning 'the font' is buying ten shares in a French bank. This is enough to ask questions at the next annual general meeting. A hand written letter is being sent to the Chairman. 'The font' thinks that no one ever writes by hand these days so it may, just, get onto his desk. Getting head office involved may not stop the dog beaters but they might think twice, or at least look over their shoulders, before doing it again.
Bob and Sophie spend a pleasant day noisily savaging one another. Sophie discovers the windfall cherries.
We return from our morning visit to the bakers to find Madame Bay sitting in the kitchen chatting to 'the font' . Madame Bay has returned from Boston bringing with her a collection of tiny jello cartons 'liberated' from the restaurant of their hotel. These now sit in a small pile in the middle of the kitchen table. '' I thought you'd like them ". The emphasis is on the "you". This implies that Madame Bay and her fellow travellers have tried them and found them unpalatable. '' It's a shame to waste them " she adds as an after thought. ' There's nothing Angus loves more ' says 'the font' with a degree of enthusiasm rarely heard when breakfast jello is being discussed. Angus thinks that there are many, many, things that he likes more than grape flavoured jello. However, he keeps this thought to himself.
The battle of wills over Sophie's digging continues. Stones are placed in the bottom of the hole before it is filled in for the fourth time. This will hopefully put an end to it.
Little black bags. The ' must have ' accessory for any dog owner. Not only are they great for dealing with their intended purpose but they're also ideal for scooping up potentially lethal mushrooms, road kill, the vole the owl dropped last week and anything else that Sophie might have in her jaws and be attempting to swallow.
We now order our black bags in bulk off Amazon. British black bags come scented , the French ones aren't. I wonder why ? Are the noses of British dog owners more sensitive than those of their neighbours across the Channel ? Another mystery of dog ownership.
Sophie continues her recovery. There must be something about the medication she's on. The little angel has developed the appetite of a ravenous lion. She hoovers up her food and would eat Bob's if he didn't stare her down.
The mornings suddenly dark and chilly. A bracing 5 degrees when Bob and Sophie head out onto the village green. Time to close the pool and turn on the radiators. The first snows already dusting the mountain passes. Winter signalling that its on the way.
Much activity ahead of the unveiling of the Algerian War memorial and the generals visit. Two large tractors arrive to cut the grass verges and trim the hedges. Workmen remove the last of the scaffolding from the church. The mayor and the man in the fluorescent yellow jacket attempt to get the organ to work. What the field mice haven't eaten, generations of pigeons have blocked . The instrument makes a herniated hissing noise. Not a hope that it can be used for the celebratory mass. The depressive physiotherapist with the accordion it will have to be.
Sophie chases a beautiful young red squirrel up into an oak tree. The squirrel stands on a branch unconcernedly chewing acorns. Sophie spends twenty minutes , head craned upwards, silently staring at the errant creature. Life in deepest France Profonde.
