Sophie is up bright and early. She stares to let me know that it's time to get the day started.
Bob joins her .
In case I've missed the point they clamber onto their wooden table and power stare .
Bob licks his sisters ear. She sighs and gives me a look that says 'this wouldn't be happening if you'd been quicker'.
The first of the seasons Gariguette strawberries on sale. Six weeks earlier than last year. This mild weather is bizarre.
The fresh vegetable section continues to amaze
The mayor arrives with two suitcases of documents. The full village archives were lost in a fire in June 1945. The two suitcases contain everything that was salvageable.The first document I find and translate is the census for 1800. The population then was 725. Today it's 67.
'The Font' is off in two weeks to look at stars from the top of a mountain in California. Angus is asked if he'd like to come. The thought of three teetotal days spent above the cloud line with a dozen astrophyicists is uninviting. Angus opts to spend time in Laguna Beach. He's never been to Laguna Beach but the name sounds balmy.
The workmen have been busy painting the new zebra crossing.
Bob and his master both agree that this is a disproportionate traffic calming addition for a village of 67 inhabitants.
The PONs are loaded in the car and driven to the little market town. We have found a new dog friendly cafe.
Perhaps a bit too dog friendly. Sophie lets a Spaniel and a shaggy mutt know that she's a Princess and does not want to make their acquaintance. We quickly drink our coffees and leave before there is a 'diva' moment.
The circus is back in town. It's here for 5 nights. The PONs discover that real live elephants have recently been out for their morning constitutional. This is a dog walking hazard their owners were not prepared for.
Sophie is 'hurried' along before her urge to 'recycle' gets the better of her.
A van arrives to install two speed bump signs.
We go to buy some cakes from the post natally depressive bakers wife.
The PONs get given some flaky pastry crumbs.
Angus is asked if he'd like to buy a chocolate coated doll. The terrible thing looks like a praline encrusted Barbie. Where would you start ? Tear the head off and grab an arm ? We decline.
Sophie is in need of a grooming.
Post grooming she looks altogether more composed.
'The Font' has suggested Angus write a history of the village . '' You don't want to appear standoffish ". An early evening champagne gathering is arranged. Everyone shows up. Angus asks the villagers what their memories are. The mayor tells a wonderful story . One of the medieval bells was transferred to the new clock tower when the old church was demolished in 1860. During the war the other bells were taken to be melted down but this old one was overlooked and survived. In 1945 on the day the Germans retreated the local youths rang the bell so long and so hard that it cracked. A huge pent up tumbling out of joy. It has never been rung since.
The Very Old Farmer has been wheeled into the downstairs library by the District Nurse. He perks up when he hears this story and happily informs us '' What a night that was ! I made a number of young ladies very happy ". He then chuckles. Madame Bay rather primly announces that I don't need to write down every story.
It is cold and wet in the UK. We return to find it warmer but equally wet here.
Sophie tries to give us her cold shoulder ' How could you have left me ? ' treatment but she's too happy to be standoffish for long.
On leaving the kennels Bob amazes us by literally flying into the back of the car. Can a dog leap twenty feet ?
Spaghetti for dinner. Sophie wolfs it down. Bob, comically, savours it strand by strand.
By nine the angelic duo are sound asleep.
Normal service has been resumed at The Rickety Old Farmhouse
Bob knows that something isn't right.
So does Sophie.
Perhaps it's the sight of their beds being loaded into the car but they sense a trip to the K-E-N-N-E-L-S is imminent.
We're off to the funeral of an old friend. After a long, unfair illness her defiant last words were ' I want a Cobra' *.
It takes a very special sort of person to be remembered for her mirth. This isn't the same as being funny, or good-natured. Nor is it simply the opposite of morose. It's having a sense of wonder. A mind that seeks out the kind and well mannered as an antidote for what ails the world. People have plenty to worry about these days, politics, jobs, terrorism, climate change. Perhaps that's why there is plenty of comedy but less merriment.
The PONs will be picked up on Wednesday. Normal service will resume on Thursday morning.
* An Indian bottled beer.
That Monday morning feeling. Sophie's face says it all.
It was a PON party night. Around eleven a family of hedgehogs wandered through the orchard. Bob howled and pawed at the door. Angus went in search of his thick leather gardening gloves. The hedgehogs were picked up and safely carried into the field by the stream. The PONs 'helped'.
Hedgehogs must be really malodorous if sleeping PONs can smell them from a hundred yards away.
This was played as the theme tune on the Radio France breakfast programme this morning :
Bob hears the church bells, barks and appears in the kitchen. His day has started.
Sophie isn't far behind. She gets a morning kiss. This is not appreciated.
Bob leaps into the back of the car and sits in his sisters spot. This causes a ruckus. After much howling Bob repositions himself . The angelic duo are then ready for their morning excursion into town.
Easter eggs make a appearance en masse on the supermarket shelves.
We try a baker we've never been to before. The choice unexciting. The PONs are ignored. The baker will not be on our fixtures list. Sophie gives a '' we shall not return " yelp as we leave. The Scarlett O'Hara of the dog world.
So starts a Sunday morning in deepest France profonde. It would be a quiet Sunday morning were it not for the PONs belief that every day should be greeted exuberantly.
The French teacher phones to say she's spotted the first procession of poisonous caterpillars. Her two Labradors are now kept on their leads. Bob and Sophie will be too. http://anglophone-direct.com/pine-processionary-caterpillars/
We go to the prefecture in the departmental capital. Angus has a cheque for the coming years tax bill . 'The Font' goes to explore the possibility of getting a Carte de Sejour.
The lady at reception is unsmiling. She points Angus in one direction and 'The Font' in another. We start to wander away but are called back. ' You'll need tickets. There is such a thing as a queue '. This said in a disapproving tone of voice the Scots use for habitual criminals.
When it comes to receiving money the system is fast, efficient and devoid of charm. An attempt at small talk '' It's cold this morning " met with a blank stare. Angus hands over the cheque.
'The Font' has less success. There is a discussion as to whether Sweden is part of the EU. 'The Font' says it is. The lady who deals with such things isn't sure. She disappears to consult her supervisor. Annoyed to find that Sweden is indeed part of the EU she returns with the news that no new applications are currently being taken. ' You'll need to prove that you're not receiving benefits. The unemployment office will provide you a certificate '. To preclude any further discussion the lady wanders away.
Angus waits outside the prefecture. To pass the time he reads a graphic sign about what to do if you're attacked by terrorists. 'The Font' has problems with the exit door. It's got one of those security locks. '' Press the button " shouts the woman behind the reception desk. 'The Font' looks around and finds a sign that says Push Button. The rest of the sentence says 'in an emergency'. This part is unread. No sooner has the button been pressed than a thick metal security grille descends silently and rapidly from the ceiling. This keeps outsiders out and insiders in. ' Not that button ! The bottom button ! ' screams the receptionist displaying the opposite of joie de vivre. ' Oops ' says 'The Font'. All things considered the gendarmes were remarkably civil.
Bob and Sophie would have loved it.
Just another quiet day in deepest, deepest France profonde.
Today it is the turn of the dishwasher delivery men to face the inquisitorial PON gaze. The men are delivering on Gascon time, a day late.
Bob and Sophie give them their supposedly terrifying ' and where do you think you're going with that ? ' look.
The delivery men are unperturbed. They plumb in the new machine and cart off the old one. The process completed within ten minutes. Sophie is told she's a 'honey' by the man who plumbs in the machine. She glares at him from beneath her fringe.
It's only after they've gone that we notice that they've headed off with the Japanese solar system door magnets. Bob is unimpressed. Anyone passing a Muji store in Tokyo please contact us urgently.
The special needs children are dancing on the village green all afternoon. They love this song. Their unburdened joy makes me smile. I'm humbled by the tenderness of the young carers and staff . Kindness and patience in combination are great virtues:
Bob is without a doubt way up there in the affability stakes. Always inquisitive, always happy, always on the look out for adventure, always attached to my ankles. A kind of 'wherever you go, I go' type of dog.
Sophie is rather more independent. A ' wherever I go, you can follow and adore me ' type of dog. Being the first female PON we've ever had we are unsure whether this is simply Sophie or relates to all female PONs.
Both PONs are equally intrigued by the twenty metre long, five metre wide, speed bump that has appeared in front of the war memorial. The district nurse wheels the Very Old Farmer out to see it. Bob christens it. Presumably, at some stage, someone will come and paint it.
Sophie rediscovers Furry Fox who has been enjoying a sabbatical in the laurel hedge. She has a satisfied ' just when you thought a day couldn't get any better ' look to her.
Bob howls to let us know that someone is outside.
It turns out not be just someone but a small army of workmen.
Construction of the new traffic calming zebra crossing has started.
The PONs are intrigued. Sophie stands on her hind legs and peers through the railings. Bob sits on his stump seat to see at first hand what is going on. They spend two hours watching in almost complete silence.
The rest of the day is spent at the receiving end of the PONs ' Don't you want to go out and see what's going on ? ' stare.
This admonitory look is dispensed jointly ...
..... and singly.
Finally, Angus gives in and puts his coat on. We saunter over to the bench on the village green to monitor the road rollers and tipper trucks. A water carrier darts backwards and forwards spraying the newly laid tarmac. Sophie turns on her back and dozes. Bob is on alert, taking it all in - noise, smell, the hissing steam that rises from the freshly smelted tar. 'Walking the dogs' is the perfect excuse to sit and watch this partially organized mayhem .
Exhausted, Bob is asleep by nine. His sister ten minutes before. This has undoubtedly been the best day ever.
Up early. Bobs hair is a gravity defying miracle.
Sophie's nose glistens.
Two lanes of the motorway are blocked by a group of farmers. Another 'escargot' protest. Today, instead of burning tyres, they've set up a 'Salon of unhappiness' . This involves a group of them sitting on deck chairs in the fast lane. They're surrounded by a small caged menagerie of goats, an unhappy looking pig and a bemused donkey tied to the rear fender of a tractor. Three lanes merge into one and we drive by slowly. The farmers don't look very unhappy. They seem to be having a whale of a time.
The driving school instructors are also blockading the roads. They are 'en colere' over proposed changes to the syllabus. A group of instructors have parked so that all the roads into the town centre are impassable. We find a spot by the river and walk, PONs leading the way, to the electrical store.
We need a dishwasher urgently. A fitted one can be delivered in two weeks. We settle for a stand alone one that should fit into the gap in the downstairs kitchen where the old one was. Delivery and fitting is promised for Wednesday afternoon. Hope springs eternal.
In the green grocers some strange leathery brown things are on sale. 'The Font' looks at them . I look at them. We both look at them. We are still none the wiser as to what they are. We have got to the age where the old adage ' you should try everything once' no longer applies. This is particularly true if the 'everything' in question is unlabeled. The lady behind the counter doesn't know what they are either.
