Sophie is looking more 'stylish' this morning.
Is it my imagination or are there the first flecks of grey in Bobs hair ?
The baker has been busy. A wider and more appetizing selection of cakes today.
No less than four types of mangoes in the greengrocers. Angus can't imagine the locals are that keen on mangoes.
While we're in the cafe a small flock of ducks flies over the car. We return to find they've left their calling cards all over the Volvo's front. True to form I'd been to the car wash the day before.
Bob and Sophie have scratched the paint off the gates where they stand on their hind legs monitoring passers by. The day in, day out, impact of furry paws. I collect some flakes of paint and head off to the hardware store. ''Can you match this ? " I ask the man behind the counter. 'But of course' comes the reply.
When I apply the paint it's clear that the word 'match' has a different meaning in French.
'At least it's green' says "The Font", demonstrating a healthy illogicality.
On the day Britains Foreign Secretary noisily resigns the French Embassy displays a masterful touch of Gallic wit : https://twitter.com/FranceintheUK/status/1016298810853781504
It's been one of those hot and sultry nights. Louisiana weather. I come downstairs to find that the family diva has positioned herself in front of the floor fan . She's snoring gently.
It's explained that this is a rather inelegant position for a lady.
Sophie opens one eye, briefly, and gives me her 'You try living in a fur coat in this heat ! ' look. She doesn't move.
So starts a new week with two lively Polish Lowland Sheepdogs. Not yet six and I'm already laughing.
Blue skies and the hint of a breeze. There are , by my count, eight sparrows nests in the gutters on the side of the house that faces the courtyard. This morning all the young sparrows are out practising their flying skills. Backwards and forwards they go to the branches of the holm oak. Some squabble, some rest after their exertions, some do figures of eight but all contribute to the wall of sound that wraps itself round us as we head off on our morning walk.
Down the ox track to the stream. We cross by the waterfall. Bob and Sophie drink at length. Bob drinks slowly. Sophie hoovers the water up as if it's going out of fashion. The shimmering lapis lazuli of dragonflies dart around us. On the far side of the stream we turn right, pass the cows that have given birth, then pass the field filled with soon to be mothers . Then right again and up the hill towards the old chapel.
The PONs play hide and seek in the sunflower fields. Perhaps hide and seek isn't what they're playing. A better description would be the ' Chase your brother while shrieking loudly' game.
At The Rickety Old Farmhouse the PONs have breakfast. Sophie heads into the hallway and settles down under the sideboard with her yogurt pot. She bombards the pot with concentrated PON ESP in an attempt to get it to refill itself.
Off now to the bakers which will put a spring in the ( disappointed ) family diva's step. One day that pot will fill itself.
And this is how professional diplomacy works : https://twitter.com/sohlstromt/status/1015626267973115904
And this Stonehenge myth busting story is interesting : https://www.livescience.com/63003-sloppy-stonehenge-study.html
The Beautiful Village judges are due to come and inspect the flower beds mid-afternoon. At 9:10 the mayors mobile rings. Three of the judges have gone down with a bug. Heartfelt apologies for the inconvenience are proffered. Callous would be the man who observed that the judges visit coincided with the four o'clock kick off of the France v Uruguay match in the World Cup. This obviously had absolutely nothing to do with the sudden change of plans.
In the greengrocers some unappetizing brown things and something Chinese wrapped in cellophane make an appearance. There are no signs to indicate what these might be. The lady behind the till shrugs her shoulders when asked. She continues her conversation with the woman at the other till over the price of bottled gas.
The baker has decided that cakes will not be much in demand today ...
.... but he has made a mountain of sandwiches for white van men who will work through lunch in order to be home in time to watch the match. The PONs get some small pieces of baguette.
In the village hall the mayors wife's dried vegetable arrangements are locked away in the office. The prize giving will be rescheduled to coincide with the judges visit later in the month. Putting the dried vegetables under lock and key removes any chance of the two tike's repeating last years trick of rearranging the gourds and pumpkins into a series of phallic tableaux. By quarter to four the place is packed in readiness for the match. The farmers and their male offspring all sing the Marseillaise lustily and with studied indifference to both the tempo or the tune. They weep. This always surprises foreigners who tend to sing their anthems almost apologetically and most certainly do not weep when doing so.
France win their game 2-0. We learn that the Uruguayan national anthem ( which I had never heard before ) has a long introduction, is very operatic and has words that are studied with exclamation marks. We leave shortly after the final whistle. The villagers stay on until the small hours.
$19.25 for a beer. Have absolutely no idea how big 22oz's is but still seems like a cause for revolution. The comments are entertaining : https://twitter.com/lucchesi/status/1014940115880140800
Strange weather this week. The days start off sunny then quickly cloud over. The heat stifling. Short violent storms arrive mid afternoon and then again before sunset. You broil one minute and get drenched in downpours the next.
On our morning walk we check the roses by the memorial . They don't seem to have suffered from the 60 mph gusts. The judges for the Beautiful Village competition are due here this afternoon. Judgment Day.
By the time the PONs have made it to the end of the ridge the clouds are building. Bob stops and watches the six donkeys who have wandered down towards the valley and the waterfall. Angus observes that both Scott Pruitt's names end in a double 't' which is highly alliterative and unusual. Bob doesn't really get the concept of having more than one name so our conversation is a short one. He does however know a dog called Elliott - a name which also ends in a double 't'.
En route to the bakers we come off the roundabout and are surprised to find an enormous truck hurtling towards us on our side of the road. A reminder that France is a 'latin' country when it comes to driving surprises. Angus wonders whether we should have a dashcam fitted.
In the car park a very shiny black Renault with '' Free like the Wind " appliqued to its side. Would anyone pay to have this charging wolf put on their car ? Presumably it's an option rather than standard. Bob is unimpressed. He christens the front tyres.
The bakers still stuck in a summer rut. There's been a problem with the icing for the eclairs. We see the French word 'Fraizy' ( strawberry tart ) for the first time.
On our way home we follow a builders van. It has long metal bars sticking a good six or seven feet out of the back door. They are so long that they flex up and down and at roundabouts, side to side. When they flex down the ends of the beams touch the road and generate a flash of sparks. There is no safety sign to tell you to stay well back. Less observant motorists might get a surprise if they follow on too closely.
All of this passes the PONs by. For them it's a day of standing on the stump seat, barking at passing pilgrims ( who don't seem in the slightest intimidated ) and waiting for the post lady. Another of those days when a lot happens in a village where nothing ever happens.
This is so Swedish . Go to the 38 second mark and look at the players dead pan facial expression as joy and happiness are discussed : https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2018/06/world-cup-2018-i-swedens-team-180623142921511.html
Bob starts his day in one of his 'why walk when you can run ?' moods. Upon reflection there is nothing unusual in that. Bob starts every day in one of his 'why walk when you can run ?' moods. The young sparrows nesting in the gutters practise flying in the pre-dawn cool. They squabble loudly as they flutter inelegantly from the Rickety Old Farmhouse to the branches of an oak in the courtyard. Sophie sits and glares at them.
The standard roses we bought for the war memorial bloomed in May then did absolutely nothing. They have started to bloom again two days before the garden judges visit on Friday. How's that for timing ? 'The Font' will go to Toulouse later today to find some Hidcote lavender to plant between the smaller rose bushes and tone down the mayors jaunty colour scheme.
The most amazing large butterfly on the French lavender along the driveway.
A line of serrated black probosces and two long probosces along its tail.
The sunflowers are suddenly everywhere and covered in happy honey bees who've struck it lucky. The PONs play hide and seek among the sunflower stalks. The bees ignore them. The fields literally sing with contented buzzing interspersed with whoops of delight from Sophie. PONs are not a quiet breed and Sophie is not a quiet PON.
Another day when a lot happens in a village where nothing happens.
This song is apparently enjoying something of a renaissance amongst those too young to hear it 30 years ago: https://youtu.be/X8lQFZ1OBWQ?t=6
Bob wanders into the bedroom at 5:32 to let me know that the best day ever is waiting.
I tell him to go away.
The happy but continual thwack-thwack-thwack of his tail against the floorboards stops me from drifting back to sleep.
5:47 am. Angus gets up and joins Bob in what is going to be the best day ever.
Sophie hurtles round the garden in search of C-A-T-S.
The first of the sunflowers come into bloom. Yesterday there weren't any. Today there's a few. Tomorrow, if the heat holds, the fields will be awash with them.
Brussel Sprouts in the supermarket. The PONs love Brussel Sprouts. These come from Morocco. An unusual place to grow them. I buy two bags. These will be cooked and added to today's kibbles. For Bob this will be proof that today is simply the greatest.
Yesterday the special needs home has a karaoke afternoon in the village hall. Despite it being 36 degrees burgers and hot dogs are cooked on an outside grill. The two cooks , still in their aprons, finally take themselves off and fall asleep under the lime tree on the village green. Around them the special needs folk dance and sing. Local farmers come to watch the Sweden v Switzerland football game. The two groups coexist happily. The lady cooks slumber on oblivious to the shouts of the farmers or the reggae beat of the karaoke fans. On their evening walk Bob and Sophie are delighted to discover that the special needs folk are messy eaters.
And here's some July 4th music . Bach turns into Paul Simon: https://youtu.be/O8U9bzT968k?t=82
Who would believe we're into the second half of the year ? Angus seems more surprised by this than Bob.
On our morning walk we meet the mayor busily weeding the flower borders and watering the roses ahead of the visit by the 'Beautiful Village' judges. He tells me the workmen are due to start work on the 'Swaying Jesus' which is now not so much swaying as leaning forward at an ever more alarming angle. The concrete that holds the down beam in place is suffering from concrete cancer . The statue will need to be winched out and new concrete poured. The angle of the lean has worsened in the recent rains and the stone slabs at the top of the plinth are now buckling upwards and outwards.
The painters have finally finished the church porch. This should have been done three years ago. A divorce, an illness, pressure of work and various other, ever more creative excuses, were used by the decorators to postpone starting work. Thankfully, the job has been well done. The colour - Farrow and Ball 'Clunch' is just right. Not as stark as white but not so colourful that your eyes are drawn away from the frescoes inside.
The mayor - and his dog - return to their gardening. The mayors dog is very taken with Sophie. His interest is not returned. She emits a gurgling growl that is decidedly unladylike.
At the bakers a rather humdrum collection of fruit pies. This mornings croissants are particularly good - crisp and fresh. Bob and Sophie - if wagging tails are anything to go by - agree.
Esoteric link of the day. Rain on Mars : https://www.ethz.ch/en/news-and-events/eth-news/news/2018/06/geometrie-von-mars-flusstaelern.html
Bob starts his morning by standing on his stump seat and barking at four early rising pilgrims. Sophie heads into the kitchen to see if any yogurt pots have miraculously landed on the floor. Such different characters.
Bob also barks at three combine harvesters as they pass us on the lane. The grain harvest in full swing.
Sophie positively sprints along the lane. The owls that nest in the plane trees must have had an '' eat all you can '' evening. The verges strewn with partially eaten shrews and voles. Sophie has had two of the first and one of the latter by the time I recognize the reason behind her purpose.
This morning the baker is in a more adventurous mood.
French (as opposed to Spanish) melons make it into the greengrocers. We buy two but know that after all the rain they'll disappoint. Give them another week of this heat and the sun will make them sweet and perfect.
Flat peaches also make a first showing.
This table is intriguing and may explain much of what's going on in the world. Apologies to whoever produced it but I can't for the life of me find the link :
Sunday morning. Sophie is ready for the off.
So is Bob.
Before we go Bob has to find his old friend Lamb on a Rope who has been 'vacationing' in a lavender border.
After last nights bacchanalia ( France beat Argentina 4-3 in the World Cup ) the lane outside The Rickety Old Farmhouse in preternaturally quiet. Not a car to be seen this morning. Hangovers to be worn off.
Bob stops long enough to explore an exciting scent outside the front gate. His tail wags. While he's distracted Sophie picks up Lamb on a Rope and heads off down the lane - head high - with Lamb clasped between her jaws. Bob, belatedly, realizes what has happened and chases after her. At the storm drain we all stop to discuss the Supreme Court and the pre and post mid-terms electoral arithmetic of the Senate. Sophie refuses to drop Lamb. Bob makes little whimpering noises and looks glum. A more cynical dog owner might think the PONs aren't really interested in SCOTUS nominations.
So starts an already hot summer Sunday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.
