Just the two of us. The house finally empty. To celebrate the arrival of peace we eat dinner in the cherry orchard. The clouds that have obscured the sky all day lift. A perfect night to talk, laugh and watch the shooting stars.
Midnight . '' What have you got there Bob " ? asks ' the font ' . The question quickly followed, in an altogether less relaxed tone of voice , by '' That's my shoe " ! Bob looks back as if to say ' and very tasty it was too ' .
When you have two seven month old PON's 'things' are unimportant.
Perfect weather. Mid-twenties ( seventy something in old coinage ) , a few clouds, a light breeze. Warm enough to enjoy a dip in the pool but not linger.
The young deer becoming more adventurous. Three of them eating the leaves on the walnut trees when we wander out into the garden at first light. They're off over the fence and halfway , no - three quarters of the way , across the wheat field before Bob and Sophie see them. Much anguished howling from the family PON's. '' I nearly had them Sophie ".
As the sun rises our two seven month old companions settle down with a small branch and start to chew it from either end. PON happiness.
The morning croissant run with Bob and Sophie. We pass a new age travellers caravan on our way into town. A horse pulling, two mules tethered behind. A curmudgeonly old dog slowly leading the way. The new age traveller is sitting with his feet dangling over the side of the wagon happily talking to the horse. Life at two miles an hour.
Clouds over the sunflower fields. The local paper says that during Tuesday nights storms there were 2883 lightning strikes in the departement. How do they know ?
We haven't seen much of Madame Bay since the builders arrived on May 23rd. The house too dusty for her to clean . From time to time she would make a brief appearance to tell the workmen to wipe their shoes or update us on the complicated love life of the woman who runs the horse farm. This morning she appears in the gold metallic 'Wild Child' voiturette with her hairdresser daughter Sandrine tightly squeezed into the passenger seat.
Madame Bay is to retire. '' Sad I know but it can't be helped. I'm needed in the salon ". Sandrine rolls here eyes as if to say the last thing she needs is her mother spending any more time in the salon. '' Don't you go worrying. I'll teach the new girl how to do things properly ". Girl in this sense means someone under the age of seventy five.
' The font ' sighs. The interaction of a new cleaning lady with Madame Bay likely to be a diplomatic challenge.
Into the car to buy our morning croissants . Outside the garlic processing plant a demonstration. A dozen or so local farmers throwing garlic cloves onto the dual carriageway. Two large banners. The larger says " We have come here today to claim a fair price for this years harvest " . The smaller " Stop cheap Spanish imports ! French quality the best !! ". By the time we return the farmers have disappeared. The smell of crushed garlic lingers.
Bob and Sophie are groomed. Bob's hair lightly trimmed. We can see his eyes and he can see us. Sophie adores being groomed. Bob suffers the indignity, largely but not entirely, in silence. Ten minutes after being groomed they both look like they've never been brushed in their lives.
Aude the decaratrice is painting the dark wooden ceiling beams. '' Should they be white or grey ? ". Angus has no opinion on this. After ten minutes of having the differences pointed out to him he still has no opinion. Aude decides to wait for ' the font ' to return from shopping. The shaven headed lady from the womens cooperative sighs. I can almost hear the word '' men '' being muttered under her breath.
Summer reading time. Jean Smith's biography of Eisenhower finished and put on the library shelves. Probably the best Eisenhower biography so far. Long suffering Mamie Eisenhower gets full credit for her role as wife and confidante. After falling over at a formal reception the Presidents opponents claimed that she was an alcoholic. The real reason was that she suffered from chronic Meniere's disease.
Bob and Sophie peer out of the front door only to find it's raining heavily. In fact it's tipping it down. The parched clay soil slurping up the water. A moments hesitation on the hearth and then they're off - heads down, tails up. A quick whoop of delight as they scamper through the orchard. Ten minutes later they reappear. Wet , muddy and very happy. A day for lying, dozing, in the kitchen.
Bob's coat continues to change. It started off looking like a zebras ; then it became an indeterminate melange of black and white. Now he's beginning to look like a Dalmatian. He's also continuing to grow. A robust 21 kilos at this mornings weigh-in. His paws look as though they were designed for a bigger dog. They are quite simply, enormous.
The large pot now sits on a tree stump in the courtyard. What a weight ! The potter says it's stoneware and frost proof. How many times have I heard that ? One thing is certain - it's not moving.
Aude the decaratrice talks away happily to herself as she limewashes the winter kitchen walls.Outside her bib overalled friend mixes cement for the garden terrace. From time to time they can be found sitting, chatting, on a garden bench in the orchard enjoying a ' roll your own ' cigarette. ' The font ' is not entirely sure the womens cooperative smoke tobacco.
I'm supposed to write something for ' men in dark suits '. Bob wanders into the office and wonders why I'm not outside in the sunshine.'' You've got twenty minutes and then we'll go and chase squirrels ". He falls asleep, head on my foot .
Time for their worming tablets. Their first adult dose. Sophie doesn't respond at all well to the Drontal. She lies in the kitchen crying. Full time reassurance called for. In future we'll find a different way of worming.
Our collection of artisinal earthenware grows ever larger. This year three very large breakfast cups ( 'robust' says 'the font' ), a glazed bowl decorated with stylised palm fronds and two enormous bright red egg cups join the prior years purchases in the cellar. In the garden a very large pot bought from a potter with a Lenin beard and a frayed straw hat. He'd said that he'd not sold anything in weeks. It weighs sixty kilos and needs two CC's to carry it home.
Monday morning. The whole of France is on holiday but not the local womens cooperative. Aude,the decaratirce,and her shaven headed friend in bib overalls show up to do some plastering. They were supposed to be here in mid-May. '' Where are you going on holiday ? " I ask the tobacco chewing lady as she unloads a cement mixer from the back of the van. '' Holiday ? Too busy for holidays ! ". This said in a way that would lead you to believe it's only men who need vacations. Bob and Sophie observe their arrival and the building of the scaffolding in engrossed silence.
Seventeen potters are expected. Nine show up. Not that this does anything to dampen the villagers excitement. Beautiful weather brings with it a steady stream of cars . Their occupants enthusiastically greeted at the front gate by Bob and Sophie . Visitors and villagers soon mingling at a long, bottle covered, table under the plane trees.
The sixteenth century kiln has run amok. Due to some technical oversight the bricks have melted together into a vitrified lump. Much squabbling of the '' I told you not to let it get too hot ! " , ' You were the idiot who said cheap bricks would do ' variety. In the evening , having allowed time for it to cool, the kiln is opened. There's a sale of items straight from the oven. A crowd of forty or so gather round expectantly. Suffice it to say that the extreme heat has not been kind to the potters creations.
Bob and Sophie think this has been one of the best days - ever.
The day of the village pottery fair. The reproduction sixteenth century kiln all ready to be fired up. This year someone has sensibly removed the roof tiles that cover the chimney.
It's barely seven but the very old farmer is sitting by the village pond ,a bottle of home made wine on a fold up table in front of him. He's wearing a blue smock and a black beret tilted at a jaunty angle. '' Keeping an eye on things " he announces as I wander by. He repeats himself, tickles Sophie and offers me a plastic tumbler full of wine.
On our way back home we see that the local council has dropped off twenty or so crowd control barriers in the car park by the war memorial. Crowd control barriers are an unusual sight in our little village of 67 souls. The word incongruous springs to mind.
Another hot morning. Bob and Sophie settle down in the shade of the courtyard. For them there's a busy day ahead. Seventeen potters and ceramicists to be barked at. Who knows ? There may be vast crowds to control.
High summer. A group of German painters in the village square. A folkloric festival in the local market town. The whole of France about to close the shutters and sink into a heat drenched stupor.
On our morning walk we meet the ancient priest leaving the old abbey church. The steeple was hit by lightning in last months storms. He takes us into to see a side chapel where building materials are being stacked up. '' Heaven alone knows when they'll start the repairs ". Seems we're not the only ones who have problems with the local tradesmen.
Late at night we head off to an outdoors music festival. A youngish lady in a slightly too short cocktail dress is performing on a stage in front of the town hall. She's backed by three pony tailed gentlemen with guitars. '' Sounds of the Pampas - French folk songs the Argentinian way " says the poster. The youngish lady is very enthusiastic. Her audience, lulled by the heavy heat, less so. A gaggle of toddlers sit in front of the stage clapping with their hands above their heads. Bob and Sophie settle under a table and are soon asleep. They wake briefly when they hear one of the pony tailed gentlemen start to play the castanets.
The morning walk with Bob. Out along the ridge, past the sunflower fields, a quick drink from the stream, back across the village green, a brief christening of the fire hydrant by the war memorial, then home. Our daily PON parade .
Mid morning. The repairmen for the hi-tech solar powered swimming pool cover arrive - unannounced. Bob and Sophie greet them at the gate . Earlier in the week they dropped off the screws for the control panel . Today they've come to fix them in place. We view this as a positive development.
In the evening Angus goes to close the pool cover ( after a spate of toddler drownings French laws about leaving pools uncovered are very strict ). He turns the key. Nothing happens. He tries it again. Ditto. The repairmen have replaced the screws but taken away the control panel. This development is viewed less positively.
