Another grey start to the day. Sophie's paws bear witness to some serious mole hill excavating.
Two farmers dogs come for their morning tour of the village. Sophie really wants to get out and play with them. She whimpers with frustration from inside the garden.
Then it's the turn of the post lady to show up at the gate. She's selling calendars . Calendar sales are usually done in November but the post lady's been in hospital - again - for major cancer surgery . She's got bored sitting at home and is driving round her old delivery route chatting to whoever crosses her path. There is a cigarette in her mouth. The Old Farmer wanders over for a long chat.
The yellow vest protesters had erected ten wooden crosses on the roundabout by the motorway pay booths. This morning workmen are removing them. No one in the village knows why there were ten of them or why they were put up in the first place.
At the motorway exit there are yet more workmen at work on another roundabout. They're removing the remains of the cars that were hijacked and set alight in early December.
We ignore an unappetizing strawberry and vanilla concoction at the bakers.
Seems there was a general strike on Tuesday that we managed to miss. The traffic on the motorway was down to a single lane and there were people blocking one of the slip roads in Toulouse but apart from that nothing. The radio was playing music non-stop which may have been n indication that the announcers were on strike. French breakfast radio announcers have a self satisfied jollity bordering on the manic. They were not missed.
Howls alert us to the fact that someone is coming along the lane. It's a young woman with bright red hair pulling a two wheeled cart piled high with black plastic bin bags. She's accompanied by a pit bull and a pointy eared mutt . Both dogs christen the new fence around the war memorial. After that she, and they, are quickly gone. The PONs relax.
A van with British number plates has been parked outside the church for three days. The new owners of the house by the Pond have found Polish plumbers to install water and heating. The Polish plumbers are based in England but hire a van whenever they get a job on the other side of the channel. They sleep and eat in the van. Their boss is a thin faced man called Piotr who chain smokes. He is very affable and speaks an approximation of English. ' Good day to you mister. I come from Poland. My French is not so good. Perhaps you help me with France ? ' He bows at the waist as he says this. Angus says he'll be delighted to help him with France. The plumbing team have been working every night, overnight; the lights in the house blazing away, doors and windows wide open. '' Other peoples say it takes six weeks. We do in three !" . By working round the clock they can get the job done quickly and cut back on the van rental costs.
Piotr explains their mode of operation. While two of the plumbers work the other two sleep in the van. After eight hours they change shift. If heavy duty lifting is called for all four of them pitch in. Piotr thinks that two more years of doing jobs like this and he can pay off his mortgage and get a job near his wife and little boys in Poland. Once a day one of the plumbers heads off to the local supermarket for beer, cigarettes and a variety of canned products. How the local girl behind the cash desk communicates with any of them is a mystery. How they survive on a diet of cigarettes, beer and canned sausages an equal mystery. Angus can only hope that their first priority is installing a shower . The second priority ensuring the shower is connected to hot water.
I'm sure the red haired girl with the cart and all the Polish plumbers have life stories that would amaze. History would have us believe in the greatness of some lives and the smallness of others. Life in a quiet French village teaches that all lives are intertwined in ways none of us comprehend.
After that exciting start to the day the PONs are fired up and ready for the off.
Which are more memorable ? Some of the faces or the music ? :
https://youtu.be/iFGrooN6YDc?t=18
Revelation of the day : https://twitter.com/fermatslibrary/status/1082273172114862083
Sophie is having one of those ' winter hair ' mornings.
Her brothers coat is still asymmetrical. Hopefully the hair on his muzzle will grow.
At the supermarket they've put up a display of Christmas gifts. The display is trimmed with black crepe paper - which is an unusual design element.
Closer inspection shows that Mexican skull glasses are a central feature of the display. Just the thing to toast the festive season.
Something luminescently green in a packet of dried fruit. Could it be dried water melon ?
The bakery display continues to take its inspiration from 'sludge'. Absolutely nothing here to grab our attention.
Angus and the PONs return to the car. In our absence two pigeons have flown over. They have scored direct hits on the front wing and the passenger door. We detour to the car wash. The PONs find going to the car wash to be the height of adventure. Safe and warm inside while a hurricane blows outside. They sit inside and look out of the back window as a jet of foamy spray is directed at them. How neat is that ?
Just another day with two lively sheepdogs in deepest , deepest France profonde. The demonstrators are still blockading the motorway junction but elsewhere they seem to be taking a rest before the weekend.
The things you learn. More witches than Presbyterians in the US :
https://jonathanturley.org/2018/11/18/report-witches-now-outnumber-presbyterians-in-the-united-states/
One of those profound questions for all students ( and parents of students ). Does listening to music while working help or hinder concentration ? : https://www.gwern.net/Music-distraction
Sometimes I look at Sophie and marvel at just how quickly a girl with two titanium knees can run along the lane. This morning she's in a hurry because a horse and its rider have been out enjoying a long walk in the pre-dawn cool. Sophie has caught the scent of 'recycled' oats.
Bob and Angus sit and watch the sun rise. Being a Sunday we have the storm drain to ourselves. No garagiste, school buses or farmers to interrupt our thoughts. The leaves on the plane trees are turning brown. They rustle in the slight dawn breeze. A pleasing sound .
On our way home the horses rush over to the fence to see us. They are sociable beasts. Sophie is completely untroubled by the horses. Bob is less keen on the way they stamp the ground, wave their tails and neigh. He stands behind my legs.
This mornings croissants light, buttery and flaky. 8/10. The curved ends are removed for the real croissant aficionados who settle down under the table with a bowl of water.
Yesterday was chocolate day at the bakers. Today it's fruit melange.
So starts an Oh so quiet Sunday.
Worth clicking on the comparisons at the end. The North Korean map of the world is great : http://metrocosm.com/mercator/
Noses wet. Eyes bright. The angelic duo are up and ready for the off. This morning their master has his shirt sleeves rolled down. It's not cold but it's not exactly warm either. The first gentle hint that the year is steadily ploughing its course towards autumn.
The village is quiet.The Old Farmer has polished the veritable Ford Transit motor home and is taking the Belgian lady to the coast near Biarritz. 'Near' is a subjective term. It transpires that near Biarritz actually means a camping site inland and close to the airport. The Belgian lady has bought our neighbour a black leather waist coat. This gives him something of a retired Hells Angel look. The trappers hat with ear flaps may not be the perfect accompaniment.
There was a time not so long ago when the avocados in the greengrocers came from the US. Now they're mostly from Latin America. The Brazilian ones huge round things - more like green grapefruits . Today Kenyan avocados make an appearance. The first time a non-Francophone African product has been seen.
Fresh dates also appear .
Big disappointment at the bakers. Either we're early or they're late in getting ready but the cake offering is decidedly sub-par. Croissant slivers, ear tickles and a bowl of water go a long way to making up for the PONs disappointment. Bob gives the young lady who brings him the croissant slivers his '' I loves you and I loves the lovelies " look. Sophie is too busy licking the floor to take the time to thank anyone.
A trip to the site of the first nuclear explosion.
https://inkstickmedia.com/road-trip-trinity/#gallery-744-1
A stormy night but this morning the ground's dry and the PONs are ready for a new day. Around midnight the lawn was covered in hail. It lasted all of twenty seconds before melting but lit by the lightning it was a wonderful sight.
Sophie receives ( and objects to ) her morning kiss from Bob.
Through the sunflower fields to the stream. The weather forecast seems to indicate that the extreme heat is now behind us. This will be a relief to both the human and four legged inhabitants of The Rickety Old Farmhouse.
A reasonable collection of cakes at the bakers this morning. Even better the PONs get croissant slivers, a bowl of water and hair tousles from the regular staff. Bob is told he's handsome. Sophie fidgets and squeaks with impatience.
Curried cashews at the greengrocers. 'The Font' claims not to like them but some claims can safely be disregarded.
So starts a Monday morning with Polish Lowland Sheepdogs. Mundanities too unimportant for a diary but too much part of life to go completely unrecorded.
A very Spanish rendering of a piece of music by Charpentier. It must be the high point of the drummers year : https://youtu.be/WFThaphw5Ys?t=91
Sophie is snoring like a trooper when I tiptoe downstairs. She wakes and joins me in the kitchen. This morning the family diva suffers a joy overload. Her feet move up and down like pistons, her tail wags like an overwound metronome and her whole body sways from side to side. She emits weird rising and falling wailing noises. One happy lady. This is definitely going to be the best day ever. Angus tickles her chin and tells her she's the prettiest PON girl in France. The wailing and tail wagging step up a notch as she absorbs this news.
We pause at the crossroads. The storms have washed a patch of mud and sunflowers onto the small lane that runs alongside. We try to understand how this happened. Was it caused by a small tornado ? Why were the sunflowers at the edge of the field left undisturbed while others were uprooted ? Our train of thought is interrupted by the young garagiste beeping his horn as he races by. Ten seconds later the old farmer in the Toyota Land Cruiser with the manic Westie does the same.
To the cafe in the little market town. A so-so croissant that's more like brioche. The PONs each receive a curled end and share a bowl of water. They rank all croissants as truly great . They drink noisily and lick their lips theatrically.
The pre-schoolers are up and out early. Working parents dropping them off at the kindergarten at seven. The little ones sit in the porch of the little abbey church and look up at the weird and wonderful carvings of demons and monsters. Saints are ignored - they just don't hack it. The children giggle and wave at Bob and Sophie. Both PONs, unsure about the wall of sound emanating from these small humans, pick up their pace and hurry along.
Just another day in deepest France profonde with two happy ( and cooler ) dogs.
The past is such a different place : https://flashbak.com/take-off-to-1960s-space-motels-403711/
Sophie enjoys a post walk carrot half.
The mayor arrives. He'd like to borrow the ladder to put up the flags on the war memorial. He was supposed to do it on Saturday but events somehow overtook him. He shrugs his shoulders.
'The Font' has to go to the airport tomorrow. The big car low on fuel. Of course this has to be the day when the fuel delivery drivers are staging a national strike. The petrol station at the supermarket has a large handwritten sign informing customers that it hopes to get more petrol tomorrow.
Angus and the PONs head off in search for a functioning petrol station. Angus thinks this tedious. The PONs view a trip in the car much the same way a human might view a Mediterranean cruise. There is much tail wagging and excited singing.
There has been an incident on the road into town. We get stuck in a queue for ten minutes.
A group of militant fuel truckers have parked their lorries at either end of the bridge over the river. This blocks the traffic and creates gridlock. A man is standing on the parapet giving a speech. Angus mutters under his breath. The words he mutters aren't found in the Baptist hymnal.
We find petrol and fill the tank. Angus and the PONs head off for a well deserved coffee, a bowl of water and a shared croissant. 'Meet the farmers day' has been extended so the inhabitants of the special needs home can enjoy it. Bob and Sophie are hurried past the piglet, geese and miniature sheep. The farmers are at the bar.
Zimbabwean oranges at the greengrocers. Another first.
At the check out the cashier rings up the oranges and a pineapple. '' You certainly know how to choose a good pineapple ' she says as if this is the most natural thing in the world to say. Angus is unsure how to reply. Is it a joke ? Is she serious ? How much skill can there be in choosing a pineapple ? The French often say things that sound bizarre to Anglo-Saxon ears. Angus opts to say 'thank you' and hurries out to the car.
This is the most truthful description of Polish Lowlands I've read. Rather more honest than the ' ideal pet for an apartment dweller ' description we found in one dog book :
Chill in the morning but warm, borderline hot, in the afternoon.
Sophie sunbathes. Bob proudly disports a headless and largely destuffed orange and pink turtle that he's found in the shrub border.
On our way to the cafe for morning coffee we pass a sign in the barbers window. Truly frightening.
The cafe busy. It's retired farmer day. The PONs settle down under table. As if by magic a bowl of water and two oatmeal biscuits arrive. The coffee takes a little longer. Angus reads Le Monde. The PONs feign sleep.
Off to the bakers then back to the car.
An old medieval house, modernised in the 1890's with an art deco front window, falling into gentle neglect. Must have been quite the thing in its day.
Further down the road some one has taken an old shop, removed the glass front, built up the wall and inserted two small windows. These have then been painted red. The proportions aren't right. At least the building is occupied. I read this week that a million flats could be created in Britain if empty shops and storerooms were re-zoned for domestic use. The shop owners, ever hopeful that their section of the high street will come back into fashion, refuse. The councils are happy to take the business rates. Re-zoning would solve the housing problem at a stroke . A couple more years of people moving to online shopping and the property owners might get the picture.
This made me smile : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oapUe8u2Ujs
