The Town Hall
Today is Madame Bay's day to come to clean the house. Madame Bay, for those of you who haven't been introduced, is a lady of a 'certain age' with a penchant for primary colours and somewhat earthy language who has been 'looking after' the house for many years. She arrived, mid-breakfast this morning, in what appeared to be a bright lilac smock surmounted by yards of orange chiffon, tightly and lavishly wrapped around and about her neck. I had barely struggled to my feet ,coffee in hand,before I was wrapped in her customary embrace. Not for Madame Bay a curt 'good morning' or a quick handshake but an arms wide greeting coupled to a emotional 'Oh! Monsieur Ongoose' (Angus rhyming with mongoose) as though I am a long lost son returned from four years at the front. All a bit much at seven thirty in the morning and a source of much amusement to 'the font'.
Madame Bay repeats her sentences to me - possibly for effect or possibly because she assumes I'm either deaf or slow witted. " It rains,monsieur, it rains" or " the poor children,monsieur,the poor children". The effect is rather akin to living in a radio adaptation of a classic French novel. I for my part am happy to go along with it responding with a jolly " Yes,madame, it rains" . This morning our conversation took a different and darker turn . " There are mice,monsieur, there are mice". 'Yes,madame, there are mice'. "Yes,monsieur there are mice". Eventually after a few more repetitions of this formulaic conversation and a shriek from 'the font' the message got through. Yes, there are mice, and in abundance.Spurred on by an agitated 'font', the boyz and I shall shortly be enroute to the local market town to see what humane but effective ways of dealing with our uninvited visitors are to be found. Oh and by the way, a Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.