A zest for life.

Bob finishes his breakfast yogurt and is out of the door and into the back of the car at double quick time. Bob has a zest for life that is remarkable.

Angus has trimmed Bob's muzzle. It's just as well the family fellow doesn't understand that the hair on one side is longer than the other. 

At the greengrocers a collection of artisanal lemonades. Lychee, Candy Floss and an alarmingly blue Glacial Mint all on offer..... and easily ignored. Angus wonders if you could tell the difference in a blind tasting.

On the shelf below a solitary bottle of Violet lemonade. Definitely not a taste to be conjured with before eight am.

There is also an interesting book on all you need to know about bicarbonate of soda.'A miracle ingredient for the home and your health'. 

This took 4 days to build. The construction unions are not happy although the Berkeley students , presumably, are  : https://www.berkeleyside.com/2018/08/02/prefab-housing-complex-for-uc-berkeley-students-built-in-four-days

Little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness.

It rains. I catch myself saying to 'The Font' over breakfast : ' The garden needs it '. Another sign I've turned into my father.

The mother of the man with anger management issues is up early and painting her shutters Cornforth White. The same colour as those at The Rickety Old Farmhouse. I consider asking her why she's decided to paint the woodwork on a rainy day but think better of it. Her husband has recently been diagnosed with something serious.  She copes with worry through hyperactivity and feigned cheeriness. For some unconnected reason Wordsworth's line : ''The best portion of a good man's life - his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness " springs to mind.

We spend some time observing the foals and their mothers in the field at the edge of the village. The foals are keen to observe Bob and Sophie. Bob and Sophie are less keen to meet the foals. The brave duo stand behind me as a dozen horses stare at them. The PONs set off for home at a rapid pace. Bob turns from time to time to look back and make sure the horses aren't following us. I suggest that this is not a behavioural pattern associated with a ferocious guard dog. He glances at me briefly as if to say '' Did you see the size of them ? "

Two teenage boys wander along the lane. They come from Paris for two weeks every year to stay with their relations in the village and get away from the big city heat. When they were younger the boys lit fire crackers on the village green and used to tease the PONs as they did wheelies on their bikes over the speed bump by the gate. The sort of things teenage boys do. Sophie has neither forgotten nor forgiven. She throws herself at the gate like a dervish and makes it quite clear they come close at their peril. The two boys sensibly cross to the side of the lane away from the house and eighteen inches of snarling diva.

Just another start to a Saturday in deepest, deepest France profonde. A record of those things too unimportant to go in the family diary but too much part of life to go completely unrecorded.

You took your time.

Sophie chases across the village green after a cat. Following a tense 'standoff' with the hissing intruder she gets her head wedged between the town hall railings and a flower pot. There is an almighty 'howling'. 

After being freed the family diva gives me her '' You took your time " look. The cat is long gone.

So starts a Friday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.

Just another day.

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/

Laughter in the rain.

At last the heat breaks. A stunner of a storm bears down from the mountains bringing chill winds and rain the like of which was last seen by Noah. Bob and Sophie sit in the barn , tails wagging, as the storm rattles round them. They are finally 'encouraged' inside which requires their master venturing out into the elements in the dark to inform them it's bed time.

This morning the PONs are up at 5:53. Or more precisely, Sophie starts 'singing' at 5;53.  We head off down the lane and stop, as we always do, at the storm drain. Bob sits on my left, Sophie on my right. The young garagiste races past in his little black Citroen. He waves, Angus waves back. The PONs become uncharacteristically quiet. Down in the donkey field three young deer walk up the hill towards us, The wind is blowing from behind them so they're oblivious to our presence. Time to grab both PONs by their harnesses and head back home before Sophie thinks of giving chase. Metal knees do nothing to cramp her style.

Today, we're not the first in the greengrocers but we're not far off.

Local tomatoes. Big, fat, ugly things brimming with taste.

'Laughter in the rain'. Here's a Scots song and what might best be described as an enthusiastic  'Glasgow' audience.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjilebmqJpg

Beware the barrenness of a busy life

The hottest day yet. The mercury touching 39 degrees. 'The Font' has been to the toy store and bought two shallow plastic toddler paddling pools. The PONs steadfastly refuse to do anything other than drink from them. We try separating the two pools to see if Sophie will use hers for bathing. So far no such luck. Bob believes water to be the devils hand maid and has no intention of getting wet.

The heat that has been building up has now turned into a dark purple haze that stretches across the horizon. A sign an angry storm is on its way.

The motorway jammed with holiday traffic. Thankfully, after the pay station our exit ramp is clear. What fun it must be on the motorway with long tail backs and a car full of arguing little ones.

The pineapples from the Ile de Reunion make a come back in the greengrocers. Angus buys three.

'The Font ' arranges for the chimney cleaner to come. It's suggested he replace the tiles on the roof. He clambers up willingly enough only to discover an enormous bee nest in one of the chimney stacks. The chimney cleaner comes down from the roof, refuses to go back up and tells us he'll only return when we've dealt with the problem.

The Old Farmer wanders over to see what's going on. He informs us that it's the anniversary of the day when his wife, eldest daughter and dog were killed in a car accident. '' I'm driving off to the cemetery. I'll be back this afternoon after a good long chat ". His good long chat involves a picnic chair, an umbrella a bottle of wine and two glasses. One glass he leaves on the grave. After the better part of nine years in a French village neither 'The Font' nor Angus think this behaviour to be in any way unusual.

The mayor knew a gentleman who was an apiarist but sadly he's gone to the great bee hive in the sky. Inquiries will be made as to where we might get help with the bees.

We used to have a flat next door to the Castle in Edinburgh, The crowds at Tattoo time were a nightmare.  Start watching closely at the 5:40 minute mark and see the photographer walk backwards into a piper. Any lip readers are welcome to send their translation of what transpires on a postcard to ....
https://youtu.be/M57F70dywfw?t=313

There is none so blind as those who will not see

Courgettes of every variety in the greengrocers. This must be peak courgette season.

Gooseberries make an appearance. An acquired taste.  Angus loathes them. We do however buy some red currants.

At the bakers a slightly better than average display. The pretty young lady with the upturned nose is back after her holiday. The PONs get a bowl of water and choux pastry slivers. Both Bob and Sophie are delighted that the universe is once again ploughing its determined furrow. Monday is on track to be the best day ever.

This morning we avoid the tree obstructed waterfall and turn back up the hill after passing the cows field. There are  seven new calves to be welcomed into the world.

The bull rushes in the hedge rows must be eight feet high. Angus is reminded of flower arrangements done by practical and thrifty Presbyterian ladies. The sort of things that would last two possibly three seasons before the dust and Western Isles humidity did for them. 

Some Scottish music to start the week : https://youtu.be/eVSf-SXrYjs

''Maintenant elle est comme les autres''.

Hot and humid.

Sophie sensibly settles down in front of a fan on the cool  tiles of the kitchen floor. Bob is full of energy and not so easily satisfied. He wants another walk. Angus and the male PON set of along the ox track, down the hill, past the sunflower fields and towards the waterfall. Our companions on the journey swarm upon swarm of butterflies. As Bob races ahead they fly upwards, circle, then return to feasting on the wild flowers that line the fields and fill the shade.

A largish sycamore tree has fallen at right angles and is barring our way across the waterfall. Bob tries to navigate his way through but manages to get himself trapped among the branches. His master comes to free him and in doing so falls in the water. Sometimes you want to be angry but just have to laugh at the incongruity of sitting on your backside in a stream. My shaggy companion looks at me as if to say ' Did you mean to do that ?'. Too hot and uncomfortable to climb an hour back up the hill so a call is made and 'The Font' and Sophie drive down to the valley and collect us. 'The Font' looks at me and then at Bob and says ' I won't even ask '. Bob demonstrates that long haired dog ability to collect burrs, grass seeds and mud with the same facility that a magnet collects iron filings. Angus has no such excuse. 

Reading the new biography of DeGaulle. He and his wife Yvonne had an adored Down's-syndrome daughter, Anne. When she died at the age of twenty de Gaulle is said to have comforted his wife with the words '' Maintenant elle est comme les autres " : - Now she is like the others. Six words but it's as potent a description of love as you'll ever find .

Some Sunday morning music : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdF41Ne2cnQ

What we anticipate seldom occurs; what we least expect generally happens.

On a hot day there is nothing quite as refreshing ... or intellectually challenging ..... as a couple of frozen yogurt cubes in a Kong.

Silence reigns. Both brother and sister are completely engrossed.

There is a new statue 'Winged deity' on a plinth in Trafalgar Square. The artist, Michael Rakowitz, an American. The statue is made out of empty Iraqi date syrup cans.

When the sun catches it ...

 .... the whole thing glows as if it's made of silver and gold.

From a distance it manages to blend in with the backdrop.

One of London's more successful modern art installations.

In the National Gallery we stop to look at Mattia Pretti's picture of Christ changing six jars of water into wine of the 'finest' quality. Michigan Godson and Angus were intrigued by the way all the faces except that of the bride ( on the left ) are in shadow or obscured. The bridegroom in his red tunic with his back to us is the dominant figure in the composition. He's just about to discover that a miracle has happened.  It's also intriguing because the action isn't in the middle of the picture but is on the extreme lower right where a languorously droopy  finger is turning the water into wine. Clever.

'I am an optimist. It doesn't seem too much use being anything else'.

The Spanish south coast may register Europe's hottest ever day on Saturday. Some forecasters are saying it will reach 49 ( 120 in American money ). Here we're expected to be in the high 30's, possibly nudging 40. Not ideal for long haired dogs. They're allowed out in the morning and then ( barring comfort breaks ) in the evening. The tarmac too hot for sensitive paws. https://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-news-from-elsewhere-45048914

Thank you for those loyal blog readers who suggested frozen yogurt cubes. An ice cube dropped in a pot an eighth full of yogurt also works wonders.

Angus goes to London to talk to men in dark suits. They choose what turns out to be an unairconditioned restaurant on Jermyn Street for dinner . In the heat this is not ideal. Everyone is getting ready to strap themselves in for an 'exciting' ride through to the November midterms. We chuckle at the words of Winston Churchill  - 'I am an optimist. It doesn't seem too much use being anything else '. No one knows what an ostrich jacket is.

An afternoon in the National Gallery with Michigan Godson en route to Ann Arbor.

We agree there's a great book to be written on dogs in art. As we go through the galleries Chinese tourists crowd round us wondering what we're looking at. From the 13th century to the 17th there are a surprising number of canine companions worked into the corner of pictures. 

Angus thinks this dog looking upwards is well painted. Michigan thinks the neck is too long and belongs to a giraffe. The dog has a kind face.

Some artists seem never to have seen a dog and are painting what they imagine one might look like. There again they may just be bad at painting dogs.

The flight back is delayed and delayed and delayed. It finally lands at Toulouse at one thirty in the morning. By this stage passengers and cabin crew are all hot and tired and veering towards being uniformly crotchety.  Angus spends the night at an airport hotel before being picked up at nine. Sophie is delighted I've returned. She knows she can twist Angus round her paw. 'The Font' is altogether less susceptible to slipping her treats when the family diva tries on her 'orphan dog that's never eaten' routine. Bob celebrates with twenty minutes of mano a mano touch rugby along the full length of the upstairs hall floor. 'The Font' wonders if canine touch rugby should be renamed 'Dogby' or perhaps more correctly ' Noisy Dogby'.

This is a hidden but architecturally stunning new museum in London : https://www.westminster-abbey.org/visit-us/plan-your-visit/the-queens-diamond-jubilee-galleries/

Crispy but not greasy.

Bob is up early and keen to get into the back of the car and head off to the bakers. He looks at me intently. The yogurt coating his beard detracts from the seriousness of the situation.
.

A different bakers this morning. The croissant is very good. Crisply buttery without being greasy. The PONs each have a curved end which marks this out as the best day ever.

40,000 years  ? : https://www.sciencealert.com/40-000-year-old-nematodes-revived-siberian-permafrost

Foxes

Sophie has had one of those nights. She's lying on her back sound asleep when I come down the stairs. For a moment she thinks of sleeping on but the lure of a walk to the waterfall soon has her on her feet.

A trip to the poulterers for a roast chicken. Some morsels of lasagna bolognaise - the lunchtime special - proffered to the PONs. From the high pitched squeak Sophie emits we can assume this is the best day ever.

Foxes everywhere. It must be cub time. Bob is kept on his lead.

So starts another day in a very quiet village in deepest,deepest France profonde. In fact we may be the only people in the village who haven't headed off to the coast .