Glaring.

Thursday night. Sophie joins us as we stand in the garden peering skywards at Jupiter and Saturn. The two planets shining like diamonds in the dark sky. No wonder the locals think their ' friends from the North' are mad. Any sensible French person is sitting in the warmth by the fire. 

This morning down in the valley it's overcast and chilly. Sophie has a staring contest with the minnows in the stream. It's unclear who wins. She also sees a duck. Chasing the duck requires wading into the middle of the stream so instead the duck is glared at. While glaring she manages to position herself so that her front paws are on rocks in the stream while her rear paws are firmly on dry land. The duck seems unperturbed.... as in completely unperturbed.

Up on the ridge by the storm drain we could be on a different continent. It's sunny and borderline warm. Or at least unseasonably warm for a November morning. The young garagiste drives by in his black 3 series BMW. This now sports a set of gold wheel trims . These garish additions  give the vehicle a south LA drug dealer look. A pimp my ride touch that's out of place in deepest, deepest France profonde. I wave.

Sophie leans in for a full on ear crunch.  This is unusual. Usually she's off hunting for 'delights' in the grass verges. Later today she will get a trim. Her ear  fur has grown so long it dangles in the stream when she drinks.

This mornings croissant an acceptable 8.3/10.  It would have been a 9/10 half an hour ago but is now showing its age.

 Animals and C-19 :https://www.instagram.com/p/CWMYgI9s7ai/

Why only 2 views  for this very simple Swedish video? A church with a smiling face. The accompanying music is an early outlier of Advent music to come. Angus notes the very practical way of dealing with snow on the inside of the front doors. The altar piece is wonderful art: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zjz-RJFfG2o

Plastered down.

Seems the diva has been asleep on her back. Our day starts with the 'plastered down hair' look.

We take the big car out for a spin. Yesterdays trip to the shopping centre was a great success. We do the same today.

Observants readers will spot the evidence of 'crumbs' post croissant sharing.

At the greengrocers more Christmas Panettone have arrived. A sure indication that Christmas is hurtling towards us.

There is also a seasonal truffle display.

Goats cheese covered in papaya or cranberries is an unusual ... and perhaps acquired .... taste.

Danish restaurants are, in a way no other restaurants ever quite equal, a delight : https://amassrestaurant.com/food/

Go to the 53:30 mark for some guitar playing from SF.   :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e26zZ83Oh6Y&t=22s

Fumes and fog

Rural France in November. Wherever you go you'll likely find yourself stuck behind an old, fume belching, tractor pulling a barely road worthy trailer . The driver, oblivious to the queue of traffic behind, will maintain a constant speed of 20 k/mh. Half that going up a hill. There may or may not be a brake light. Forget indicators. Unannounced  turns can be expected. There will always be someone behind you in a Citroen who will try to overtake you, the tractor and the line of traffic on the brow of a hill or in dense fog. Watching someone in a grey saloon overtake a long line of cars, in the fog, on a hill is a surefire way to enjoy a full cardiovascular workout.

This mornings cow audience is relatively calm and unthreatening. They stay well away from the fence that runs along the lane. To be safe Sophie doubles her pace and stares straight ahead. What you can't see can't hurt you.

As a reward for bravery she is driven off to the modern bakers for a tour of the shopping centre car park and a shared croissant with her master . She watches me dump my cup and the paper bag in the trash can. Match that for the chic high life if you can !

The flags are still up on the village war memorial. By the village pond we meet the Anger Management Man collecting eggs for his breakfast. He informs me that one of his chickens has had a heart attack. This is not the sort of thing you expect to hear early in the morning ( or indeed at any other time ) so it takes a little while for me to process what he's said. Unsure how to respond to the death of a chicken I say ' That's a shame'. This seems to satisfy him.

Lady of the lake.

After a week of fog this morning dawns bright and fair. A perfect day for strolling by the river. Sophie has a long leisurely drink and chases things only she can see. There is a log in the water which Sophie discover she can push with her nose. What fun !

A young and very boisterous Golden Retriever is also out for a walk. He bounds over to see Sophie. She doesn't so much give him the cold shoulder as ignores him completely. He finally wanders off but casts wistful glances back towards this long haired 'vision of loveliness' that's standing with two paws in the water.

'The Font' joins us for a trip to the good bakers . This mornings offering given 8.6/10. The council refuse collectors greet Sophie as we arrive. One unusual thing about PON ownership is that complete strangers get to know your PONs names while remaining indifferent to, or ignorant of, yours.

 

On our way back into the village we drive by the war memorial. The flags from the November 11th ceremony are still up. Will they still be out in December or will the new mayor bring them in ? I'm betting they'll stay up until the end of the month when the Minister of the Interior comes to the village to present the old mayor with his medal. 

 Yet another new hotel. This time in London :https://www.beaverbrooktownhouse.co.uk/

Silent presence.

I'm joined in the kitchen by a silent 'presence'. My companion knows it's rude to bark at breakfast time so she sits and quietly lets me know that she's  ready for her kibbles and cauliflower. There is an impatient shuffling from one paw to the other. PON ESP is used together with the unwavering stare.  Her muzzle is proof that Sophie's already been down the hill, across the stream and back home along the roman road. 

Sophie's also come face to face with a group of lively and extremely inquisitive young calves. All of this before breakfast ! Just goes to show - a divas life is never dull. No wonder she's hungry.

An interesting insight into national consciousness . Two of the twenty somethings at the Artificial Intelligence Company in Hoxton tell me they went , separately and with toddlers, to yesterdays Cenotaph service in London. Not something either would usually do. There is a sudden hint of a long chapter ending in the nations history. The crowd, which ordinarily mumbles the national anthem, belted out 'God save the Queen' with unusual gusto. 

This mornings music on the Toulouse radio station. Listened to while collecting the morning baguette :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfLVsHzccAg

 

A name.

The year racing along. Sophie's six am  ' comfort break' is now conducted in the pitch dark and with the help of a torch. Our second, less frenetic, tour of the garden takes place as the sun rises. In between the two Angus has a cup of coffee, fills Sophie's water bowl , has a yogurt and speaks to folks in Palo Alto. While Angus speaks Sophie assiduously cleans out the yogurt pot. 

In the letterbox there's a letter from the phone company. Our broadband is being upgraded to fibre. As a result the lane is ( for the first time in history ) to be given a name and The Rickety Old Farmhouse ( for the first time in its history ) given a number. The fibre optic company insists that every house have a number and every street a name for billing purposes. Our village of 67 inhabitants moves into the modern era although any indication of when all of this will happen is left gloriously vague. 

After breakfast dog and master wander down to the stream for a drink. Goodness only knows what has been standing on the banks of  the stream overnight but Sophie is in no hurry to leave. She sniffs away happily. We amble homewards along the roman road. The cows wander over to see us .  My companion positions herself so that Angus is between her and these bovine interlopers. Our pace picks up.

The local paper has a story of a man 20  miles south of here who was driving along a country when he was hit in the head by a bullet from a hunters rifle. In the UK hunters use shotguns with pellets that lose their lethality after a hundred or so metres. Here in France the septuagenarian  and octogenarian hunting folk use high powered rifles with bullets and a range of a kilometre or so. The political chance of regulating them is exactly zero. They are a powerful lobby.

 

Great BBC article on dogs :https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20211105-the-bizarre-dog-breeds-time-forgot

'Masks on'. German military pomp during Covid times :https://youtu.be/n-puuL5Nbcc?t=2440

All at once.

The post Armistice get together outside the village hall ( it used to be inside but in this Covid era things have changed ) is a chance for the new mayor to set out his plans for the coming year. We all collect a plastic beaker of wine from The Old Farmers tea urn that has been set up on a trestle table by the front door. The Old Farmer used to dispense the wine. Now he sits by the side of the urn on a village hall chair and slowly drinks it. 'I don't usually imbibe but today is an exception' he tells me. 

Top of the new mayors hit list is the sterilization of the feral C-A-T population. The Anger Management Mans wife thinks that the C-A-T numbers are growing and threatening the blue tits that come to her bird table. Money has been set aside in the budget for the local C-A-T sterilization people to come to the village and deal with the problem. Angus wants to ask how this will be done. The village felines seem to be wary souls that are unlikely to be enticed into a cage.... or a net. 

The mayor goes on to  announce that we have won one star ( again ) in the Floral Village competition. 'It would be good if a second ,or dare I say it, a third star came our way'. To this end he suggests a roster of volunteers to tend the church flower beds.  To conclude he reminds us that the speed limit in the centre of the village is thirty kilometres an hour. 'How wonderful it would be  if we could observe this' ( a subtle criticism of the permanently late school secretary in the silver Ford Fiesta that hurtles through at ninety while brushing her twin boys hair ). 

This morning the fog has gone , replaced by a gentle mist. As we head down the hill to the lake and the stream I chat away to my shaggy companion about world events. Britain has sent troops to Polands frontier with Belarus. Sophie shows zero interest preferring to scamper off , ineptly, after a hare. 

Down in the valley the hunters are out and about in force. They've just shot a huge wild boar. The thing is lying in the ploughed field next to the waterfall. It seems an ignoble end for such a majestic animal. It must weigh 300 lbs.  Angus quite understands why the farmers might want the deer and boar numbers to be controlled. What he can't abide is the arrogance of the hunters. They block the road as if they own the place. Sophie and her master retreat. No point in crossing self important men with rifles.

On our way back up the hill we pass a fresh crop of wild flowers blooming in the November sunshine. This is one of the slow pace discoveries that dog owners, and only dog owners, are privy to.

Miami hotels have come a long way :https://www.faena.com/miami-beach

The ceremony.

Nothing happens and then everything happens at once.

The ceremony at the Monument aux Morts is a little late starting. The attempt to move the dead pigeon that has wedged itself under the clapper of the church bell has been unsuccessful. Instead of ringing the church bell makes an undignified thud thud thud sound. 

We can see that the crowd that has shown up for the ceremony is divided into two roughly equal parts. Adherents of the German billionaires builder cluster to the left while supporters of the Anger Management Man are gathered to the right.  We position ourselves in a neutral position on a corner of the war memorial nearest the church. We smile noncommittally in a way which we hope exudes impartiality. I fear that smiling noncommittaly is akin to grinning inanely and makes us look sixpence short of a shilling. In the absence of a default position I keep this thought to myself.

When everyone is finally ready, a mere quarter of an hour late, the new mayor starts the ceremony. The names of the dead are read out, a wreath is laid, a speech from the President about amity amongst nations is delivered. A man dressed from head to toe in black ,in the style of an Armenian gangster, appears with a boom box. He places this on the war memorial steps. He disappears, then reappears with a length of electrical wire. This is plugged into the back of the boom box and the other end to a power socket in his Ford Mondeo. A discussion with the mayor ensues about something we can't quite hear. There is arm waving. The Armenian gangster disappears again. At this point a white flat bed truck comes through the village. The driver gets down and asks is anyone would like to buy firewood. The mayors wife shoos him away. The boom box springs into life to the sound of the Marseillaise performed by the Paris National Orchestra and choir . The villagers join in lustily only to have to start again when they discover they've been singing along to the fanfare. We sing one and a half verses of the national anthem . The intent was to sing one verse but the Armenian gangster is somewhat slow in unplugging the boom box so we get an extra half verse.

At the end of the ceremony the new mayor announces that the Interior Minister will be coming to the village to present a medal to the old mayor for his many years of service. A visitor from Paris. This promises to be an event not to be missed.

According to this helpful map Scotland is on the same latitude as one of those places the Alaska cruise boats stop at :

This is a a very theatrical London afternoon tea. Why this should be considered something the Brits do is beyond me  :https://lilyvanilli.com/afternoon-tea/

Sparse.

A national holiday here in France. Armistice Day. There may, or may not, be a ceremony at the war memorial. In the old days, under the previous mayor, villagers would receive a note in their letterbox telling them what was happening. Under the new mayor communications are sparser. In fact they are borderline non-existent. This may be cost cutting or it may be inefficiency.

After a damp and misty walk by the river Sophie returns home for a napette and a chance to dry out. No sooner is she in her bed and asleep than the new mayor arrives at the gate. ' Bonjour M'Ongoose. Would it be possible for me to borrow a ladder to put up the flags ?'  I'm only too happy to oblige . The mayor confirms that there will be a ceremony at eleven... or shortly thereafter. The village elders are trying to get the church clock working again. A dead pigeon has fallen into the belfry and clogged up the works. As a consequence a chimeless and ever so slightly delayed Armistice ceremony may be on the cards.

By the time we head off to the bakers Sophie's paws have dried but her beard has something of the 'Lenin' about it. Unusual cloud formations today.  I'm betting a cold front is on its way.

 

Magnificent.

The village owls convene at 5:35 am. Some sit on The Rickety Old Farmhouses window ledges. Others make themselves comfortable on the roof beams in the barn. They shoot the breeze, happily and noisily, for quarter of  an hour, then go. 'The Font' sleeps soundly through their  hooting. Sophie is less forgiving. Our day starts.

Sunrise. Angus checks the new bulbs that were planted last month. Some of them are already starting to sprout. Sophie checks for C-A-T-S or squirrels.

At the shopping centre they're starting to put out the Christmas decorations. A large star has appeared on the pavement outside the modern cafe. It hasn't been wired up yet and looks more utilitarian than festive. Dog and master sit in the back of the car and share a croissant. We are the only folks up and about. You can put that down to sharing a house with noisy owls. Sophie likes these early morning excursions to the shopping centre in a country girl visits the big city way.

The local paper informs its readers that a baker has won 4th prize in a national croissant baking competition in Vannes. The next time we head off to the airport I shall make sure to stop and see how good his croissants are. The baker stands in the middle of the photo looking suitably serious.  The other men in the photo look altogether much happier but we're not told who they are. The croissants in the photo look enormous. Sophie would approve.

We are now at the time of year where Christmas culture appears in the French countryside. An article about  two performers with their music and dance routine catches my eye. Let it not be said that the caption editor is lacking in a sense of humour.

This website made me chuckle. It's for those born before the 60's : https://grannygetsagrip.com/

Another hotel delayed by the pandemic but finally opening. Apparently French hotels had a really good 2021 summer season. Not a lot of foreign visitors but the French stayed at home and booked many places solid :https://www.maybourneriviera.com/

Secede

The German billionaire is up and about at the crack of dawn. He passes us on a pristine green vintage Panhard tractor with dark blue wheel arches. It would seem that his latest hobby is restoring old tractors. Today he's wearing bright red dungarees, an ochre polo neck, and a blue and red striped bobble hat. The tractor/billionaire colour combo makes for a cheery start to the day.  'We shall soon be travelling to join a cruise that takes us to the South Pacific for sightseeing and recreation ' he tells me with a degree of fluency in English that I would find hard to match in German. He pauses before adding a staccato and heavily accented 'Bora Bora'. This slightly throws me ."That sounds very exciting" I  reply. The billionaire seems satisfied with this answer and heads off with a wave and a cheery ' Wiedersehen'.

At the storm drain dog and master stop to take in the view. There is a gap in the trees here that allows the wind to blow up from the valley in full force. This morning it's blowing ferociously in a way that shapes Sophie's hair into tufts. She seems oblivious to the wind and to what it's doing to her fur. This morning the tufty PONette and her companion discuss events on the Belarus frontier and Senator Cruzs view that Texas should secede.

After our chat at the storm drain it's off at high speed to the Holy Oak before a sharp right turn onto the path that take us back to The Rickety Old Farmhouse. From time to time my shaggy companion pauses to make sure I'm keeping up. We pass a field of red toadstools. I worry that Sophie might try to eat one but she ignores them. Perhaps there's something in her DNA that says red is a colour to be avoided. She certainly seems keen to eat just about everything else she finds in the long grass.

This mornings croissant light and fluffy but getting to be borderline stale. A 6.8/10.

This is alarming if you live in North Georgia :https://www.livescience.com/giant-spiders-invade-georgia

Wagnerian.

Rather a Wagnerian look to Sophie this morning as we head off to the shopping centre. The Valkyrie PONette . I keep this thought to myself. The fly away fur does nothing to inhibit Sophie's interest in croissant ends. I sit next to her in the back of the car, share a croissant and together we put the world to rights. After we finish Sophie shreds the brown paper bag the croissant came in to make sure there's not another one hidden inside. In a perfect world brown paper bags containing croissants, and yogurt pots, would refill themselves.

Ginger from Brazil. Why this should surprise me I don't know, but it does. The fresh black olives also come from Brazil which is even more surprising. Why ship them round the world when places much closer like Spain and Italy and Turkey also grow them ?

The only British product in the store is some bright orange and jauntily packaged Cheddar Cheese. Brexit has certainly been the kiss of death for UK farm exports. There was Scottish smoked salmon last year but it looks as if customs barriers have done for that.

The e-mails keep on flowing. A new Italian hotel in a glorious part of the world. Anyone who has ever tried to drive here from Naples will know that the traffic jams can be 'monumental' and that the first thing the driver will do is head to the bar :https://borgosantandrea.it/

In German but a blast from the past :https://youtu.be/er0kiw-tm08