There's a chill wind blowing as we head off to the bakers. This morning they're power washing the war memorial ahead of Sundays ceremony. The water from the jet wash blows everywhere. Most of it seems to end up on the poor workman, who is drenched, rather than the stonework.
In the bakers a very 'brown' collection of cakes.
Angus pops into the hardware store to buy some picture hooks. In the lobby they have a display of '' Illuminated Apparel ". Angus finds himself studying the display closely. 'Why in heavens name would you want to wear that ?' he finds himself thinking. Another sure sign ( they're coming thick and fast ) that I've become my father.
Back to the village to find the wind has died down. The war memorial is looking wet. Perhaps when it dries it will look brighter ? The workmen have started to install a wooden fence. First impressions are that it's too big and too heavy and out of proportion. let's reserve judgment until it's in place. The village is now the proud owner of a car park that no one ever uses, a petanque court that's used once a year and now railings round the war memorial that wouldn't look out of place in a stockyard.
While Bob goes off for a walk round the lake with 'The Font' Angus and Sophie head off to the Arab barbers by the railway station in the little market town. The Arab barber is a demon with the clippers so I'm in and out in ten minutes.
Sophie seems unconcerned by the trip to the barbers. She adopts her ' If you're not worried why should I be ? ' attitude and settles down for a doze. Ahead of us a six year old boy who squeals with delight when the shears tickle his scalp. His mother tells him to behave. Sophie sits up and looks in utter amazement.
Those little things too unimportant for a diary but which taken together make life, life.
"The scent of rum in your voice makes my head spin ". This is perhaps the most French video ever: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsqG176hmUY
We're up early talking to men in dark suits. Rarely has a press conference been so discussed and analyzed. Bob and Sophie snore, almost quietly, under the desk as I talk about how 'reviews' by an 'acting' AG can last forever.
The water company has almost finished laying the new drainage pipes into the field that was blasted by the August mini tornado. Bob is still entirely engrossed in what the workmen are up to. Thankfully, today, they're at the far end of the field.
The Peruvian oranges in the greengrocers aren't selling. Hardly surprising as they're small, bruised and green. The price has been reduced to E0.99 a kilo. If that isn't inducement enough a sign has gone up informing would be purchasers that despite their rustic appearance they are '' sweeter than traditional varieties ".
On the way back to the Volvo and the patiently waiting PONs I notice a rather 'architectural ' tree.
Christmas goodies make an appearance in the supermarket.
Bob, Angus and Sophie stop on the way home for a walk along the old ox track that wends its way down from the ridge to the Holy well. The Holm Oaks still green but the beeches and elms turning yellow. The low winter sun casting long shadows. There are fewer trees that there would have been and the fields are larger but otherwise this view can't have changed much in a thousand years .
Macron starts a week of Armistice memorials with the German President at a concert in Strasbourg. Madame Macron is looking good. The German President will be in London with the Queen on the 11th : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFPmPbp65kk
This light show in Notre Dame is nothing short of stunning. Perhaps we'll go next year ? : https://youtu.be/CEdC8x-tABY?t=637
And the British Ambassador has been out selling Poppies at the station : https://twitter.com/UKinFrance/status/1060193189322280965
A local museum is hosting an exhibition of stone fragments discovered during the excavation of a medieval church. This is as interesting as an exhibition of medieval stone fragments can be.
During the excavations they found a 12th century enamel reliquary which once contained the bones of a saint. Presumably, it was thrown away when the church was ransacked during the revolution. How amazing to think it just lay there for two hundred years until someone stumbled over it. The enamel work , if not exactly fresh, is in good condition.
The old Englishman in the village three miles away drops off two poppies in the letter box. His wife always did this for Armistice Day and he's continued the kindness.
Angus is up early talking to men in dark suits about overnight developments. Absolutely no surprises although the result is far more profound than it appears. On the other side of the lane The Old Farmer is trying out a new mobile phone. While Angus is busy 'The Font' spends an hour or so showing him how to take photographs. Another 'refresher' course may be needed tomorrow.... and the day after.
Plans for the November 11th commemoration well underway. Just over two weeks after the outbreak of war the first of the village boys was already dead. His best friend, standing next to him, was riddled by machine gun fire. The friend came back to the village but died from the loss of his limbs eight years later. The two friends lie alongside each other. There has been much activity today with the graves being washed and tidied up. On Sunday morning each of the soldiers that returned ( many were buried in graves elsewhere ) will have a family member visiting their grave. For those who can't be traced a roster of local farmers will be on hand to stand guard. At 11 everyone will gather by the graves for a vin d'honneur.
Just another day in a small French village where nothing ever happens.
This is very French : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fC6YV65JJ6g
We're up early talking to men in dark suits. Overnight polls have been a surprise. We discover that the word 'gubernatorial' is very difficult to pronounce if you speak English with a Beijing accent. The names Claire McCaskill and Joe Donnelly are also difficult for the Mandarin tongue to get around.
Conversation over we head out into the garden. Angus is still coming to terms with the asymmetrical nature of Bobs muzzle cut. Bob, thankfully, seems unaware of his lopsidedness.
Sophie's windswept facial asymmetry is entirely natural.
This morning our walk is interrupted by
a) the arrival of men from the water board to lay new drainage pipes ( Bob is 200% transfixed )
b) the mayor to tell us that the Very Old Farmer ( as opposed to The Old Farmer ) has been admitted to hospital after falling out of his bed again
c) the wife of the German billionaire to tell us about her new pre-distressed kitchen.
We go to the modern cafe for our morning croissant. Not a good choice as the local teenagers are skipping school and racing their motorbikes over the speed bumps. Sophie settles under the table but due to the noise Bob is on edge. He stands and wolfs down his croissant end. The modern cafe appeals to a 'southern' inner city crowd. This is perhaps why it serves rather alarming looking chocolate croissants.
Swiss Miss Marshmallow Madness appears in the supermarkets American foods section. It's next to Bob's Red Mill Honey Oat Granola. On closer inspection the Miss Marshmallow product turns out to be some sort of cocoa drink with brightly coloured pieces of jelly floating on top. The claim on the box that there are no artificial sweeteners is presumably there to draw your mind away from the cornucopia of artificial colourings that go into it.
These people seem very happy. In terms of sentiment 'Let the River Run' seems a good choice for today : https://youtu.be/OArIoBORaYs?t=4
Bob rushes out of the front door, ears flying, tail waving. His way of celebrating the start of a new day. He does a high speed tour of the garden then rushes back to the front door. His ears are still flapping and his tail is still waving. Bob it must be said is a particularly happy dog. Somewhere along the line someone put a quart of happiness into a pint sized cup.
He and his sister then sit at the front door and wonder why it's taking their master so long to get his act together.
Life is back to normal after the All Souls holiday. We wave at the young garagiste in his Citroen, two farmers in little white Renault vans and the man in the green Toyota Land Cruiser with the manic Westie . This morning the school bus passes marking the end of the two week holiday. The two village tikes sit in the back looking decidedly unhappy.
A millefeuille for me for lunch.
And a rum baba for 'The Font'. Bob and Sophie get millefeuille pastry crumbs. This immediately elevates today into best day ever category.
What better way to start a Monday than with a little Glinka : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7vGnKXrVYI
PONs and master are in agreement. This mornings croissant is nearly perfect. Straight out of the oven, almost piping hot, the outside crisp and the inside buttery. 9.8/10 on the human scale. 22/10 by the PON scale. Tails beat against the aluminium table legs.
The selection of cakes eclectic. The meringue-chocolate- chantilly concoction described as ''Marvellous'' which is an efficient use of language. What more needs be said ?
Later today Bob and Angus will wrap up warmly and go to the rugby match.
Sophie will stay behind to oversee the preparation of some turbot which will be coated in breadcrumbs and served as upmarket fish and chips.
Each PON thinks they've got the better Sunday morning deal so there will be no disagreements.
The National Museum in Stockholm has reopened after a 5 year renovation : https://www.nationalmuseum.se/en/
6:00 am and it's cold outside. Their master is a little sleepy but the PONs are up and ready for great adventures. Their impatience to get the day started is palpable.
Loic arrives to blow leaves. This he does all morning. Bob and Sophie follow on behind leaping in and out of the leaf piles. Sometimes Sophie will turn on her back and squeal with delight. Loic, being one of Gods happy people, is oblivious to the presence of the two shaggy gardening iconoclasts that follow on behind and 'undo' his work.
Raspberries in the supermarket. We used to grow raspberries in Scotland. The taste of these ones aren't the same but in November who's complaining ?
Difficult to work out what the baker is up to. The kiwi and mandarin flan makes a reappearance as does an enormous Paris-Brest that could feed a dozen. There is also an enormous Opera.
The concrete has now set on the repositioned and repaired Swaying Jesus. Angus can't help but think that the failure to support it while the new concert was poured was a mistake. The forward tilt must be at least 10 degrees. The pressure exerted by the down beam against the brickwork at the back of the statue can't be much less than it was before.
Monsieur Bay stops by to tell us Madame Bay has been into the local hospital out patient department for a small knee operation. Something to do with misplaced cartilage. The nurse gave her a local anesthetic. Minutes later the surgeon called her in. As he made the first incision Madame Bay made it quite clear that she could still feel everything. She was given something stronger ( enough to knock out a mule says Monsieur Bay - a tad ungallantly ) to stop her screaming and is now home and doing knee 'exercises'. '' She's a difficult patient " adds Monsieur Bay.
The weather in lyrical mood. A morning of sunshine and scudding clouds. Loic, the heavily bifocaled gardener, will be here around nine to collect the leaves and blow them into piles. Deconstructing the piles will keep the PONs happily occupied until lunchtime.
Bob and Angus sit on the storm drain and discuss world affairs. We wonder what a Troika of Tyranny is. Sophie, ever independent ( and easily bored ), wanders off down the hill in search of anything vaguely edible. Dessicated shrew, road kill, badger poo - she's not fussy. The young garagiste races by in his little souped up Citroen. He slams on the brakes , reverses back , winds down the window ( how many cars have wind down windows ? ) and informs me he's marrying his girlfriend. " I'll let you know what day it is so that you can be there ". He is heartily congratulated although I'm surprised to be invited as we've done nothing other than buy a replacement brake light and exchange half a dozen pleasantries before.
The bakers selection somewhere south of interesting but north of lacklustre.
'The Font' has asked me to buy some lamb chops to try out a new recipe in the NYT. All sorts of strange French cuts are on offer. All of them are the same price. We settle on a kilo of Cote Filet d'Agneau. Bob and Sophie watch the transaction with great interest.
Today's croissant could be anything, anywhere. Some sort of generic white bread - chewy and stringy. I'd rank it 4/10 , the PONs give it an enthusiastic 11/10. Perhaps the curly ends really are the best bits ?
The florist delivers chrysanthemums to the church yard. This year the village is paying for flowers to be put on the graves of all WW1 soldiers. Little tricolour bows mark them out from the family offerings.
Another day in a little French village where nothing happens.
Country music meets China : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnbHVcm5MGI
This advert ( despite what you read in the papers ) a reminder that that civility is still alive and well in America : https://twitter.com/BostonGlobe/status/1057629033251422208
Sophie is looking particularly disheveled this morning. It's been one of those nights. Can it only be yesterday she spent half an hour on the grooming table with 'The Font' ?
Today, All Saints, is a national holiday here in France. The supermarket is open until lunchtime and will then close. A big morning for the sale of Chrysanthemums. We head off to stock up on milk. The PONs monitor my movements from the back of the car.
For All Saints The Old Farmer is going back ( again ) to his wife's grave. He's had a variety of marble plaques made up. These are adorned with photos of happier times. Brightening up graves is a very French thing. He asks me to take a photo of him standing with these new acquisitions. They're frost proof he tells me. '' The marble is treated with resin ". Our neighbour has dressed up for the journey. Long trousers, check shirts, lace up shoes and a black felt hat. "Not too formal ?" he asks. I assure him he's not.
One of the plaques commemorates the dog who was killed in the car alongside his wife and daughter. 'Cyrus our guardian angel' it says. Never let it be said that dogs aren't family members.
He's also had a plaque made up with a photo of his father on the day he was called off to the war in 1939. His father, captured in 1940, disappeared on a forced march from his PoW camp as the Russians advanced towards Germany at the end of 1943. It was only by pure serendipity that our old neighbour found the grave three years ago. '' We'll soon all be together " he says matter of factly.
I help him load the valuable items into the back of the venerable Mercedes. He'll set off later this morning and be back tomorrow.
Just another day in a little village where nothing ever happens.
This is playing on Radio Nostalgie this morning : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFEB9xLeLmY
And here are some bagpipers : https://youtu.be/vUCFvefMbTI?t=279
