Fabien and Clovis the bell technicians are gone by lunchtime. The mayor is given firm instructions not to let anyone else interfere with the timer. The clock now chimes out the hours between seven in the morning and ten at night. There is a single 'clunk' on the half hour. At weekends the noon and five in the evening chimes play out a tune. How much of a tune you can get with three bells is limited. The mayor seems happy.
Yesterdays excavations were circular. Today we've moved onto digging trenches. Three of them. Strangely regular and of uniform depth. Sophie doesn't even pretend to show remorse.
Bob is just happy.
The bath tub in the dog 'loo' is once again put to use.
Scores of Chaffinches at the bird feeder and one Robin. A particularly daring fellow; plump, red breasted, fearless . He checks us out of the gate when we head off for our morning walk and back in when we come home. The PON's ignore him and he them. A line by one of America's Great War poets comes out of a long forgotten place : "Robins will wear their feathery fire,Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire".
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaaJ8NItYp4
