This year ( for reasons unknown ) the village cat population has grown. There must be thirty or so of the things. Our stretch of lane has three that call it home. For the most part they sit on the Old Farmers balcony, fight, play, drink milk from a saucer laid out for them and watch the world go by. At first light two of the three wander across to The Rickety Old Farmhouse and sit right outside the front door making loud 'meeowing' sounds. The effect of this ( as the cats know ) on the PONs asleep inside is nothing short of electrifying. For their master it's that 'time to get up' moment.
Sophie shoots out of the front door quicker than a cork from a champagne bottle. She emits a short sharp yelp of delight as she goes. Round and round the orchard she flies. Her big brother follows on behind. He eventually understands the cats have long gone. The family boy watches his sister continue to hurtle round the garden wearing his ' what did I do to deserve this ? ' expression.
The bakers is in brown mode.
Very brown mode.
So starts a not so quiet day in deepest, deepest France profonde.
What music ! One of the seated gentleman violinists has a 'characterful' face : https://youtu.be/cRSzXrQJ374?list=PLvKgJKCiHstFnnDScMClqjNnUrKodaaeL&t=262
Sometimes I look at Sophie and marvel at just how quickly a girl with two titanium knees can run along the lane. This morning she's in a hurry because a horse and its rider have been out enjoying a long walk in the pre-dawn cool. Sophie has caught the scent of 'recycled' oats.
Bob and Angus sit and watch the sun rise. Being a Sunday we have the storm drain to ourselves. No garagiste, school buses or farmers to interrupt our thoughts. The leaves on the plane trees are turning brown. They rustle in the slight dawn breeze. A pleasing sound .
On our way home the horses rush over to the fence to see us. They are sociable beasts. Sophie is completely untroubled by the horses. Bob is less keen on the way they stamp the ground, wave their tails and neigh. He stands behind my legs.
This mornings croissants light, buttery and flaky. 8/10. The curved ends are removed for the real croissant aficionados who settle down under the table with a bowl of water.
Yesterday was chocolate day at the bakers. Today it's fruit melange.
So starts an Oh so quiet Sunday.
Worth clicking on the comparisons at the end. The North Korean map of the world is great : http://metrocosm.com/mercator/
The better part of two hours on hold while waiting to talk to the credit card company. British Airways has been hacked. A young Scot deals with the 'issues' in a calm methodical way. The hackers were clever. Not only did they get the credit card number but also the 3 digit security code on the back of the card.
Friday night. A stream of visitors. Madame Bay brings us a tray of figs. Ten minutes later the man with anger management issues arrives at the gate with a carrier bag full of them. Shortly after so does the French teacher and the old Jewish lady from Paris. 'The Font' greets each fig bearer with the words '' How wonderful ! We adore figs ". We have already picked enough figs to last a lifetime from our own trees. Whatever shall we do with them all ? 'Adoration' has its limits. 'The Font' is considering fig ice cream on an industrial scale.
This morning Bob is the first to leap up into the back of the VW 'Loonj'. No sooner is he there than his face registers the fact that preempting his sister may not have been the best idea. She leaps up, decides he's taking up too much space, screams, he leaps down. Once she's settled he's allowed back up.
To the picture framers to collect the mirror that slid silently down the wall during the mother of all thunderstorms. The framers replaced the broken glass and re-gilded the wooden carving at the base that was damaged. The PONs love the picture framers atelier. Bob is still amazed by mirrors.
On our way back home we pass the local convention centre. There is to be a Tattoo Convention. Fifty or so little white tents have been set up in the car park. This is presumably where tattoo artists will display their skills. Tattoos like beards seem to have moved from the submarine service to the mainstream.
Strawberry season clearly over. The bakers have reverted to chocolate tarts. not a strawberry to be seen.
Back in Scotland the Texans are settled in the Wee House and have enrolled their teenagers in the local school. For the start of the new school year the weather is of course an idyllic 19 degrees ( although Texans may think a Scottish Indian summer is like winter ).
Amazing how much happens on a day when '' nothing " happens.
Bob gives his sister a morning kiss.
She, of course, noisily objects.
Across the road, on the other side of the church, work has started on the new petanque court. A bulldozer levels the ground. Three truck loads of earth will be delivered later today. This activity will keep the PONs engaged. The builder hopes to be able to finish the grass seeding before it rains.
Lots of bananas in the greengrocers.
And plantains.
The bakers haven't yet got back into the 'back to school' swing of things . However, the croissants are getting flakier. 6/10 this morning.
International cheeses make an appearance at the supermarket. Instead of cutting the cheese rounds into wedge shapes they slice them into 1/4" cross sections . This is unusual but not as unusual as the 'English traditional ' Cheddar with green onions that is on sale.
Reading the morning papers I must admit to being glad that life in a French village is anonymously '' dull ".
Farewell: https://youtu.be/fS2qsL-kQ6A
While others sleep Bob and Sophie and their master prepare for the arrival of the bee man. He's coming at first light while the hive and its occupants are still dozy.
A gentleman in his late 30's arrives. He's driving an Opel estate with a variety of aluminium ladders strapped to it. He sets up the ladders, clambers onto the roof and uses a drone to see where the bees are nesting. Angus and the PONs find this use of technology to be interesting.
Satisfied that he knows the ins and outs of the bees sleeping arrangements the apiarist comes back down and dons a blue bio-hazard suit. The PONs don't like the look of this at all. After a howling, designed presumably to let me know there is something large and blue and untoward in the garden, they retreat to a safe distance to watch events unfold.
The bee man shimmies back up and disassembles the capping's on the smoke stack. He then ties a rope round the base of the chimney, clambers up onto it and lowers himself down inside.
As many of the bees as possible are collected and taken away in a large thick brown cardboard box. A few irate left-behinders buzz angrily around. He finally sprays all the chimneys with a chemical that repels bees to prevent them forming a new colony. '' It's completely safe. Cats don't like the smell but the dogs will be just fine " he adds.
There are a few broken tiles but all in all it's 120 euros well spent.
Angus has developed classic flu symptoms. Runny nose, sore throat, itchy eyes. ' The Font ' goes to the pharmacy to get something to make him act less like a ''grizzly bear ". The pharmacists says '' That's not the flu. Everyone is suffering from it. It's ragweed allergy ". Seems that the heavy rains earlier in the year followed by the long period of high temperatures has turned the whole area into ragweed heaven. Angus looks up ragweed and finds that Google directs him to this young mans helpful advice. The video is quite spellbinding. He apparently says 'PACE' at the end which presumably means something to a younger generation : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEsfMrtk5Cs
The PONs start off their morning, as they start every morning, in the knowledge that this is going to be the best day ever. There is a high speed charge across the lawn to the gate that leads down to the valley. Sophie yelps with delight. Both PONs refuse the fresh water in the bowls in the hall or at the front door. At this hour of the day they will only drink from the stream. Figure that out.
Sophie is in one of her carefree ' the world is my oyster ' moods. Her big brother is altogether more collected.
On our walk down to the waterfall we are accompanied by a squadron of dragonflies. This is unusual. Some fly a few feet ahead, others flit on either side . They maintain their guard all the way down the hill, their busy lapis lazuli wings thundering away. This is perhaps the first time I've ever ( over such a distance ) been escorted by hovering things. The cows in the field at the foot of the ridge are not early risers. They, and their offspring, look at us in a '' who in their right mind would be up so early ?'' sort of way. The PONs ignore them.
The bakers short staffed. It's the time of year when the children are just back at school and family routines are still adjusting to the shock . This mornings croissant scores 5/10. It's large but is neither flaky nor buttery. Bob and Sophie, who are less cynical about such things, give it an 11/10. It should be remembered Bob and Sophie's 1 to 10 croissant scoring system starts at 11 and goes up ( rapidly ) from there.
Something of the 1960's about this picture. Maybe, it's just because it's in black and white. Women fill the front row. Are they staff ? Or, is it carefully stage managed for inclusivity ?
The bees that have taken up residence in the main chimney stack remain a problem. Three companies come to see what can be done and quote on taking them away. The problem is that the hive has formed a metre or so down inside the brickwork. This makes it well nigh impossible to remove it and transport the hive and its contents to a new site. One of the apiarists suggests lighting a fire to smoke them out. The other two apiarists are of the view that lighting a fire would be a disaster. 'You'd smoke them out but have a house full of very angry bees' says one presciently.
Bob and Sophie watch each of these visitors as they clamber across the roof with intense curiosity.
The Old Farmer and the Belgian lady have returned from their trip to Biarritz. They drove back overnight so the roads would be quiet. The venerable Ford Transit motor home has got to an age where any sustained speed over 65 km/h is 'taxing'. From the sound of laughter we surmise they have enjoyed themselves in that way only the very young and the post-80's can.
A coffee, croissant and bowl of water on the Square . The croissant scores 8/10. Crumbly crust, buttery dough but a hint of staleness that suggests it was baked three hours ago. The PONs love it. We then head back to the car. At the local garage Bob and Sophie are surprised to see a family dog that is basking in the sunshine while its owners have their car repaired. The PONs are 'hurried' along.
Time to go and visit the Cost Centres next month. One night dinner is booked here. Why is it that the US is the only place on the globe where you have to make dinner reservations a month in advance ( or if it's Nantucket - three months ) ?
http://huskrestaurant.com/supper-september-2-2018/
Over dinner 'The Font' reads and comments on the menu. Angus reviews the wine list - which he's looking forward to even though he's decidedly reticent about alluvial and granitic as key determinants of taste : http://huskrestaurant.com/about/wine/
First day of the new school year. The little ones stand waiting at the war memorial for the crack of dawn bus that will take them off to school. They wave and say a cheerful ''Bonjour ! " to Bob and Sophie. Their new satchels ( oh what a source of pride a new satchel is when you're six years old ) are almost as big as they are. This morning there's a small crowd waiting for the arrival of the bus. Three of the local farmers are there, joining slightly flustered wives for their first borns great adventure. The men folk pretending that they're oblivious to the quiet enormity of this rite of passage. The village teenagers look as though they're about to go to the gallows and stare silently at their mobile phones. Has anyone told them that mobile phones have been banned from all French schools as of today ? Good luck with that.
The PONs head through the sunflower field to the stream and the waterfall. Angus follows along behind doing his best to keep on the flat ground between the furrows. Even though it's early the bees are out and about. So too are lots of small insects of the type that you just know will be silently biting your ankles as you walk.
To the bakers in the covered market. This morning two millefeuilles are chosen.
The square where we stop and have a morning coffee is deserted. Service is quick. The young waiter brings a bowl of water, an excellent croissant and a cup of coffee for Angus. Bob and Sophie's tails maintain a constant percussion beat against the aluminium legs of the table. They get the curvy ends of the still warm croissant.
So starts a Monday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde. Routine for some, memorable for others, a source of wonder to the PONs. The best day ever.
Precision flying. The 'missing man' formation. Someone married to a naval aviators daughter tells me the pull up and transition into full 'soaring' took place directly overhead. A pilots shout of acclamation : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7vo313Eps4
The clear skies of summer gone. Our early morning walk accompanied by a patchwork of clouds. Sophie glows pink, then briefly orange, as the sun rises. This post dawn transformation has always made me laugh. Sun tinted PON. This morning she learns that if she lies on her back on top of the ridge she can tumble down the long, soft grass on the slope. Once discovered this action is repeated ---- endlessly.
The horses in the field at the crossroads wander over to say good morning. Sophie has absolutely no fear of them. Bob, recognizing that they get bigger the closer they come , takes up a heroic defensive position behind my legs.
On our way home, having greeted the two new calves, the goats and the donkeys, the family fellow sprints ahead. The world is in order and breakfast awaits !
A seasonal treat. Galia melons make it onto the greengrocers shelves.
400 pipes indoors ! A version of this was played at a memorial service in DC yesterday and will be played at a funeral in Annapolis later today. Angus wonders why the music of a poor tiny country on the outer fringes of Europe should have become near universally synonymous with solemn ritual : https://youtu.be/Swvr_AjS73E?t=69
Another fresh, sleeves down, morning. The PONs love this cooler weather. As they race round the orchard it's clear they've become TurboPONs. We sit on the storm drain. Bob is told, as he's told every morning , that this is his country. He wonders if Tom Cotton or Lindsey Graham have replaced Jim Mattis but I tell him 'not yet'. We wave as the young garagiste rushes by in the little black Citroen. Sophie looks for the shrew that she buried somewhere for safe keeping earlier in the week. She has little luck. A shrew in the mouth is worth two in the ground.
At the supermarket a new brand of 'gourmet' chicken coated dog chew on display . $12 for a pack of 5.
We're early at the bakers. Is the strawberry tart one of yesterdays or the advance guard of today's production ?
Behind the barn we maintain a wilderness area for the hedgehogs and butterflies. Once a year it gets cut back. Loic happily works away in the undergrowth with the battery operated strimmer. For him being allowed to use the battery operated strimmer is high excitement. He chats happily away to the ( invisible ) hedgehogs and the very visible butterflies that swarm round him. A deer wanders over to see him. He is not in the slightest bit bothered at being seen communing with the local wildlife. PON owners can understand this. When Loic finishes in the hedgehog garden he will be rewarded with the chance to use the lawn tractor.
What a wedding that would have been: https://www.msn.com/en-us/lifestyle/lifestyle-buzz/this-bride-canceled-her-wedding-after-guests-refused-to-pay-her-dollar1500-attendance-fee/ar-BBMvYKk?li=BBnb7Kz
