Saturday morning. A large beer tent is being set up outside the Salle des Fetes. The local farmers are taking the rugby match between France and New Zealand very seriously.
Bob and Sophie have enough energy left after their morning walk for a spirited game of throw the Furry Fox.
Afterwards Sophie settles down, inelegantly, for a morning nap.
Sometimes I'm convinced she smiles when she's dreaming.
Big brother Bob has no time for idleness.
The farmers have to be glared at as they carry beer kegs into the marquee.
The festivities, which quickly turn into a beer soaked wake, finish at five twenty one in the morning. 62-13 ! There is much, slightly dispirited, singing of the Marseillaise. Bob barks as each of the farmers cars leave. Sophie sleeps solidly and unconcernedly through everything.
Sophie, unlike her brother, can be fiercely independent.
Today is not an independent day.
It's one of those 'why don't you devote yourself to throwing Furry Fox for me ? ' type days.
You'd think she might tire of this.
She doesn't.
The PONs are up and about at first light to greet the builders. Bob is on guard from the first second he wakes. His sister takes a little longer to start functioning.
Before we head off to buy the breakfast croissants there is time to clamber up the mountain of gravel. Sophie reaches the top, lies on her back and then rolls down. She does this three times before being 'encouraged' into the car. The rolling down the gravel mountain is accompanied by howls of delight.
The man with the Yorkie comes by on his afternoon walk. The Yorkie lifts a leg and christens the flowerpots outside the gate. This display of audacity drives Bob insane. We get the PON howl.
This is Basque sheep cheese week. To celebrate an 18 inch high statue of a Basque shepherd boy ( cradling what is presumably a lamb ) appears on the cheese counter. Does mans artifice have no limits ? Is there a factory that churns these out or are they hand made ?
Bob and Sophie are big fans of Basque sheep cheese.
A quick trip back to an overcast ...
..... and very crowded London. The place full of rugby fans and black suited Chinese diplomats waiting for the arrival of President Xi on a state visit.
On Oxford Street a man makes a dog sculpture out of sand.
The ultimate diamante encrusted motability scooter on display in the foyer of a Chemist. Bling written with capital letters.
In the window of a beauticians a piece of female philosophy that is beyond male understanding.
Home to find that the lustre on Sophie's nose is undiminished.
Bob keeps the solar system in check with a good shove from his nose.
In my absence the angelic duo have been digging.
All is well in deepest, deepest France profonde.
It rains overnight. The humidity does nothing for Sophie's hair.
The builders have been called away to an 'emergency'. Quite what the 'emergency' might be is left vague. They promise to return by the end of the week. '' Don't you worry M'Ongoose we'll get it finished ".
With no morose lads to 'throw the Furry Fox' , Sophie is left to explore the empty barn and mull over the meaning of life. That done she savages her brother.
Sophie has a new toy.
Bob, being more conservative, chews an old one.
More gravel is delivered. Thankfully, without incident.
Two small mountains now block the entrance to the barn. Sophie views this as a 'double your pleasure, double your fun' moment.
Bob watches it all.
'The Font' sets off across the village green for the six o'clock council meeting. The mayor shows up at six fifteen. At six thirty he announces that he can't wait any longer and the meeting will start. Four out of twelve are present. The lady with the beehive hairdo arrives shortly afterwards to find that the meetings has begun. '' Started already ! Some of us have work to go to " she says with more than a hint of irritation. ' I'm not saying you're late or apportioning blame ' says the mayor. '' I would jolly well hope not " says the beehive hairdo lady. Except she doesn't say 'jolly'. She spends much of the rest of the evening muttering under her breath. Two new street lamps are in the budget of 2016.
Such is the excitement of life in deepest, deepest France profonde.
Sunday was blindingly hot. A last of the summer wine day. Today is overcast and muggy. The first of the winters Atlantic fronts due to saunter in from the Bay of Biscay this afternoon. Time to put the heating on ?
Bob and Sophie start their day with a noisy and enthusiastic game of tug-of-war.
The Old Farmer has headed off to Provence to buy olive oil. He promises to pick up two cases for us. He's going in the silver Peugeot estate car as it's 'niftier' on the back roads. Angus is left to ponder what might be 'nifty' about a 40 year old Peugeot estate car that's been ( badly ) resprayed in metallic silver to hide the glass fibre repairs.
While he's away Angus has been entrusted with the task of feeding the Old Farmers two cats. The cats prove to be remarkably friendly. Bob and Sophie somehow know I've been seeing cats. They do not approve.
As I write Sophie is out by the barn waiting for the arrival of the morose lads. So far she has refrained from her favorite game of lying on her back and rolling down the pile of gravel. It's still early. Afterwards a day of 'throw the Fury Fox' awaits.
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Although we're in town early all the parking spaces are taken. It's the day of the 'Concours of Apple Tarts'. To add creative tension there is a bake off with a neighbouring towns apple pie makers.
Back at The Rickety Old Farmhouse the angelic duo chase each other around the small mountain of gravel that is piled up outside the barn. Sophie thinks it is wildly exciting to lie on her back on the summit and then roll down. She screams with delight as she does so - time after time, after time, after time. Bob digs.
Both demonstrate an abiding law of physics. A PON can absorb twice its body weight in sand and glump.
Some sticks to the nose. Some to the paws. Most to the coat. All is brought into the house.
Sophie is given a bath and emerges ( paws excepted ) looking almost lady like.
Bob sees what's happened to his sister and dons his mantle of invisibility. He can't be found.
Just another of those autumn days in deepest, deepest France profonde. Too unimportant for a diary but too important to go unrecorded.
A man arrives to deliver fifteen tons of gravel for the floor of the barn.
He's what the English might call a 'cheeky chappy'.
As the tipper truck reverses down the drive he
1) rips off a handle from the gate
2) breaks the newly replaced floodlights under the oak trees
3) runs over a pile of antique roof tiles
4) flattens a section of lavender bed.
He then announces that the drive isn't level and the hydraulics won't work . " It's a safety thing. You'll need to get a shovel and unload the gravel yourself ". At this point Angus's patience wears thin. Cheeky chappy soon understands that Angus is not going to be unloading any gravel.
Faced with a grizzly bear the driver fiddles with the trucks hydraulics. After much sotto voce muttering these miraculously spring into life. On his way out the gravel man manages to get his truck wedged between a tree in the courtyard and the large beam in the centre of the barn.
Bob is amazed when I tell him the story.
His sister, having decided food isn't involved, is less interested.
Just another day in deepest, deepest France profonde.
The morning weather decidedly nippy. The PONs love it. Off to the bakers at first light with the angelic duo.
We buy a lemon meringue tart and a rum macaroon. The PONs get given slivers of choux pastry. Bob does his soft shoe shuffle routine and shows his overbite.
Sophie continues to try to get the breakfast yogurt pot to refill itself.
The unexpected happens. The builders show up to repair the barn wall that was knocked down when Loic , the heavily bifocaled gardener, put the lawn tractor into forward rather than reverse gear.
A group of six morose lads unload cement mixers, manoeuver trailers and pile up roof tiles. Bob and Sophie try to entice them into playing 'throw the Furry Fox'.
One of the morose lads manages to drive his van over the spot lights that illuminate the old oak trees along the drive. Half an hour is spent picking up shards of glass.
Sophie finally puts on her 'determined' face and makes it quite clear to the morose lads that they're in her house and that she expects them to throw Furry Fox. Strange, and slightly annoying, that a female PON can get the builders to do things but the owner of the house can't.
